Las Vegas For Cheap Las Vegas is not the capital of Nevada, which is just as well, considering the city already serves as one of the world capitals of hedonism. We can't think of any other place so synthetic, so indulgent, so... desirable. The appeal of Las Vegas is frustratingly intangible and difficult to explain for the uninitiated. Eventually, one discovers the answer lies within the question: Hey, it's Vegas. Perhaps the best way to begin to understand Las Vegas is to see it firsthand. If you haven't been in a while, and especially if you've never been, plan a jaunt immediately. Not enough cash to party like the casino whales? No worries. You can still have a decent time on a guppy's budget. After all, in this desert mirage, the suggestion of wealth is often just a fallacy supported by "comps." We'd like to take in as much as we can without maxing our accounts and suffering a vacation hangover when it's all over. So here are some easy ways to cut expenses when visiting Las Vegas. We'll look at cutting costs on flights, hotels, dining, clubs, transportation, and more -- all without sacrificing the fun factor. All amounts are listed in U.S. dollars. cheap travel to vegas Remember: The theme here is vacationing in Las Vegas as cheaply as possible. There's no point in dropping a lot of cash to get there. The best way to achieve this is to be flexible and shoot for weekday travel in the offseason. With conventions and events perpetually taking place, some will argue that Vegas has no offseason, but fewer folks invade the city from January through February, July through August, and in the weeks leading up to Christmas. For the best fares you can find, shop and compare on discount travel websites like Expedia.com, Hotwire.com, Orbitz.com, Priceline.com, and Travelocity.com. While prices vary based on a number of factors, here are some recent examples of roundtrip flights for two:
How to keep saving after you arrive in Vegas... cheap rooms in vegas Hotel accommodations in Las Vegas are an easy way to either spend a fortune or save a bundle. Considering our mission, we're obviously shooting for the latter. Think about it: You really just need a place to crash and wash up. That doesn't necessarily mean that you'll end up in a sleazy roach motel with hourly rates. When you research airfare on the major discount travel websites, you'll notice you can do the same with hotel rates. You'll have the option to bundle airfare and hotel rates together or separately. Try it both ways and do the math. Either way, consider lodging around McCarran International Airport, Fremont Street (the old-school, downtown casino area), at the north end of the Strip, or off the Strip altogether. You'll still be close to the big attractions, and a few extra steps can mean big savings. As found on Expedia, a stay at the near-north Strip-area Palace Station Hotel and Casino can be had for under $40 per night. Hotwire found a three-star hotel downtown for $46 per night for me. Orbitz, Priceline, and Travelocity offered me the Howard Johnson Inn near the airport for around $30 per night. Travelocity produced a rate of about $44 for the Sahara, located around the south Strip area. As tantalizing as these examples are, remember to read the travelers' reviews while researching so you have an idea of what to expect from your hotel of choice. get around in vegas Once you've landed, you'll want to move freely -- or should we say, cheaply. You can save bucks by renting an economy car from the off-airport and off-brand agencies, but be sure to weigh the pros and cons of doing so beforehand. Parking is free in Vegas, but be prepared for tipping if you park at the casinos. Also, traffic on the Strip is typically heavy, so even simple drives can be a pain. We were reminded of a scene from Office Space on a recent visit when a senior citizen on a Rascal scooter covered more ground than we did in our rental car. So, if your hotel doesn't offer a low-cost shuttle from the airport, try public transportation or let a cab take you. Just be sure to verify the rate before you roll, as this is a prime chance to get gouged. Be wary of quoted fares over $20, even to the Fremont area and off-Strip hotels. You can also grab a limo for around $35. No appointment is needed, and if you're with a group -- or schmooze your way into a group -- the per-person fare can be less than a taxi. Whichever mode of transport you choose, tell the driver to skip "the tunnel." This link from the airport to the I-15 will add a few unnecessary bucks to the fare. A low-dough way up and down the Strip -- but not to or from the airport -- is the Las Vegas Monorail. A popular option offered is the 10-ride ticket, which sells for $35 and can be shared with those in your party. The Monorail runs from 7 a.m. to 2 a.m. (3 a.m. Friday through Sunday). City buses also cover the Strip and downtown areas, with some routes running around the clock. For $2, you can ride the quaint Strip Trolley bus, which hits the hot spots on Las Vegas Boulevard.  cheap vegas food & drinks Las Vegas has no shortage of urban legends, including tall tales like the $1.99 steak buffet. Think about it: Would you really trust a two-buck trough-o'-beef? Don't be discouraged, though. There are plenty of ways to fill your stomach without draining your wallet. A few buffets under $15 on the Strip include the New York Steak Buffet at the Riviera Hotel and Casino, the Surf Buffet at the Boardwalk Hotel and Casino, or the Circus Buffet at Circus Circus. Here are a few more cheap eats: Dollar hot dogs You bet! Look for the vendor by the sports booking area in Gold Coast or Hound Doggies at the Riviera (with a coupon). A cool 99¢ even gets you a beer with your dog at Mad Money in Lady Luck. Breakfast chow Breakfast specials under $2 are found at Caf Siena, Cannery Casino Hotel, Ellis Island, and Texas Caf. Stretch your breakfast budget to $5 and you can hit at least a dozen joints, including Barbary Coast, Boulder Station, the California Hotel and Casino, the Fiesta Casino and Hotel, the Las Vegas Club Hotel, the Marriott, Pink Pony Caf, and Sam's Town Hotel and Gambling Hall. Cheap drinks But of course! That's another Vegas specialty. A lot of places have specials for the ladies, but we can buzz for less with a little effort. Even if you hit the cheap slots at casinos, you're bound to score some free drinks. Just don't expect stellar service, even if you tip well. After all, you're at the nickel slots, Slick. If you have a powerful thirst, hit Slots-A-Fun Casino for $1 bottles of beer. Coronas are $1.50 at the Fiesta. The Plaza has $2.50 drinks, and Gilley's lets you suck 'em down to your liver's content Thursdays after 9 p.m. for one flat price. Remember to consult print and online coupon books and attraction guides for specials, and even the front desk at your hotel. For instance, guests at the Hard Rock Hotel can chill at "Rehab Sunday" while skipping the lines and cover charge. economical entertainment If you haven't already guessed, there's more to Vegas than sitting at casinos, blowing your vacation budget one game at a time. Online and print attraction guides and coupon books are prime sources for discounts on attractions. You can also score club and show tickets on websites like Craigslist and eBay, or on the street -- just be careful you don't buy fakes. Also, the Monorail's main station has a free slot machine that spits out discount coupons. If it's free entertainment you're after, there's no shortage of options. Make it a point to hit the Barbary Coast Hotel and Casino and catch Pete Vallee as "Big Elvis" (what's Vegas without Elvis?) and the Imperial Palace Hotel and Casino has a "Dealertainers" pit, with celebrity impersonators slinging the cards. While you're at the Imperial, head up to the fifth floor to the Auto Collection, featuring a constantly changing display of over 300 rare and celeb-owned cars. On a recent visit, our $6.95 admission was comped when we allowed staff to photograph us in front of a Model T Ford in front of the casino. Other good locales for free fantasizing are the Caesars Palace Exotic Cars showroom and the Penske-Wynn Ferrari/Maserati showroom. more vegas freebies Vegas offers plenty more affordable activities. There are the fountain shows at the Bellagio Hotel and Caesars Palace, the brilliant lights and booming sounds of the Fremont Street Experience, the Sirens of Treasure Island pirate battles, and the volcano at the Mirage Hotel. While at the Mirage, the white tigers are also always good for a gawk, as well as the wildlife habitats at The Flamingo and at the MGM Grand Hotel. Here are some other frugal ways to spend a day: Hit the clubs on an off day For example, there is usually no cover charge at the VooDoo Lounge on Sunday nights since the place isn't as "happening" as it is on other days of the week. Some clubs also have restaurants where you can eat first, then stay longer and not pay a cover charge. Just ask, and you may receive. Golf outside the Strip Don't even try to golf at the hotel-chain courses (like the Wynn Resort). In most such instances, you need to be a guest to play on the course. And even as a guest, you'll still need to dish out about $500 for 18 holes. And why do that when a short drive beyond the Strip will find you quality courses for a fraction of the cost? Cheap drinks Vegas is a melting pot of visitors from many countries and walks of life -- even celebrities. Among the locals, one can regularly spot notables like James Woods, Wayne Gretzky, Charles Barkley, Verne Troyer, and Steve-O strutting around town. extra economical tips Here are a few more money-saving tips: Use vouchers If you do stay at a high-end hotel (in other words, most any on the Strip), speak up if the accommodations don't meet your needs. Have a chat with the manager and insist on compensation for your trouble. This will usually land you food vouchers for buffets, or even more, like the cancellation of certain charges from the mini bar. Use the concierge The concierge is there to help. He can really assist you in finding the best deals for tickets to shows, nightclubs, restaurants, and more. Remember to tip your concierge for his assistance. Ask a local Locals can suggest deals and attractions "off the beaten path," like high-quality restaurants that are close to the Strip and not too expensive. If you can charm some local ladies into partying with you, bringing them to certain places on certain nights can translate into free drinks and cover charges. Use the concierge The concierge is there to help. He can really assist you in finding the best deals for tickets to shows, nightclubs, restaurants, and more. Again, remember to tip your concierge for his assistance. Buy events tickets in advance Do this well before your trip, even a couple months in advance. If you wait to buy from hotel ticket booths, you'll probably be charged more. Dress sharp If you really have to ask why you should put a bit of effort into your appearance, just check out the herds of retirees in their matching warm-up suits. Try to be comfortable and look your best at the same time. Sometimes the illusion of wealth can make others believe you're part of the "in" crowd, and you might get away with some special treatment at clubs, restaurants and on the casino floor. Since you'll be on your feet for extended periods, break in your new shoes well before the trip. viva las vegas You could easily drop your life savings on a single game at just one casino, but with a little planning you can have a great time in Las Vegas and still have open bank accounts when you return to the real world. Resources: http://www.lasvegasnevada.gov/ http://www.visitlasvegas.com/vegas/index.jsp http://www.lasvegasweekly.com/ http://www.vegas4locals.com/freebigelvis.html http://www.lvol.com/ Las Vegas Travel Guide Business Travel, Mexican Style
This article is provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/.
Whenever someone tells that they think frequent business travel is a life of luxury, I tell them this story. During the course of my employment with the firm it has been my pleasure to visit some rather interesting places. Chuquicamata and Antofagasta, Chile; Gary, Indiana; Blytheville, Arkansas; and Fukuoka, Japan, to name a few. Some surely rate as monuments to the greatest ecological and social catastrophes of modern times. Torreon, Mexico falls into this category. Many may think it unkind to make this kind of remark about a place, but I can assure you that the people of Torreon are under no illusions about the city. Torreon is a city that built itself around a lead smelter. Like most other unsightly mining operations, it is in the middle of the desert. Everything is coated with a fine patina of dust. A situation made all the worse by the smelting operations belching out clouds of zinc and lead dusts. From time to time the air smells like someone just set off an entire pack of matches under your nose or worse. And it is, of course, hot. unhappy arrivalI arrived in this charming location with my migraine headache in 5th gear, and in a foul mood because I had my credit card declined when I went to purchase the plane ticket to this charming locale in Monterrey (turned out to be fraud).Foul went to wretched when the clerk claimed he had no reservation for me. Nor did he have a room. The subtext of his responses to my increasingly anxious inquiries clearly said, "why don't chu p*** off, gringo?" We finally sorted it out, and when it was finally determined that I was there rightfully, Eduardo, the clerk, became the epitome of hospitality. "Perhaps the Señor would care to relax in our wonderful pool? With a margarita?" I cast a bloodshot and jaundiced eye at the pool that bore a close resemblance to Kipling's Limpopo River and declined the gracious offer. I shuffled off to my room to indulge in dangerous quantities of Advil and mineral water. To my relief, my colleagues from Mexico City arrived and I was marginally better. can't beat the meatTorreon is a vegetarian's nightmare. The cattle industry is second to base metal processing. I have never seen steak served in so many new and interesting ways. No part of the cow is left to waste.Tripe is not my thing, but bone marrow was not as bad as I thought it would be. I will say that the restaurants did know how to cook a steak that was both tender and tasty. Dinner was unfortunately cut short by the return of my migraine. dehydration situationI woke up the next morning, fully clothed and mummified in the bedspread. The headache was gone, but my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. A quick shower and shave and I was ready to go.Lorenzo came to call -- more to check that I was still among the living than to invite me to breakfast. It was to be a full day. I had to leave before anyone else because of my connections to Houston, so I would give my part of the presentation early. Actually, I never shut up the whole time. The more I showed the clients, the more they wanted to see. From 9 in the morning until 3:50 in the afternoon, I talked non-stop. I was getting anxious about catching my return flight at 5. But the VP of Technology kept reassuring me that his secretary would look after me. Finally, Rodrigo stepped in and said "If Señor is to make his connection to Houston, he must leave now!" Begrudgingly, I was allowed to go and was placed in the custody of the secretary. charming secretaryThe secretary, Juanita, was charming. I was beginning to relax. We got in the car where she turned to me and said, "I'm terrible at driving." To prove it, she ground her way into reverse and stalled three times in the parking lot.My heart sank. The ride to the airport involved more near collisions than I would care to remember. All the while, I was subjected to Juanita's life story. It wasn't that I was disinterested; I just wish she had paid more attention to the road... and oncoming traffic. I arrived in good time, checked in and went to the waiting area. More like a stall. What do you expect from a 2-gate airport? And I waited. And waited. My plane never came. It was delayed, I was told. After 2 hours, I knew I wouldn't make my connection in Monterrey. my grain againMy migraine was starting up again. At that point, Rodrigo showed up for his flight to Monterrey. He was surprised to see me. Thankfully, he latched on to a gate agent and demanded an explanation.The agent rudely informed us that she hadn't the foggiest idea about my flight and that they would fly me out the next day -- if there was a seat. Saturday. It felt as though someone was trying to dislodge my eyeball with a red-hot poker from inside my skull. Visions of being sucked into the Limpopo pool flashed before my eyes. I guess one look at my troubled expression told Rodrigo how I felt about this. Something akin to a verbal scuffle ensued. Could I not go back on the same flight as Rodrigo? No. That flight was full and if Rodrigo did not board now, the agent would not answer for the consequences. Rodrigo bade me farewell and left to catch his plane. On the way, he accosted another agent and a very expressive exchange of words took place out on the tarmac. I watched Rodrigo's plane take off. The sun was setting and I was alone. If I didn't have a wife waiting for me, it would have been a different story. But "She Who Must Be Obeyed" was not going to be happy. My migraine took on new and sinister dimensions. My Advil was in the bag I had checked. I was hot, tired and hungry. What a mess. things got seriousA gate agent approached me, calling me by name. Now what!? Let me guess, my bag is on its way to Monterrey, but I'm staying here. Right? A change of underwear is always nice, but I wanted my Advil! No, this was more serious. I was asked to accompany him out of the waiting area and back into the terminal -- to the manager's office.The manager, Gloria, reminded me of Odd Job from James Bond and had enough gold dental work to open a jewelry store. One of the perks of being a manager, I guess. She introduced herself and the other minor officials that had congregated in her far from spacious office. We all shook hands -- a very important aspect of social and professional interaction in Mexican society. We all sat down. First came a series of apologies. Then I was asked to surrender my tickets. All of them. These were examined in detail by the entire staff. There was a lot of tut-tutting and tsk-tsking. There was much debate, but a consensus seemed to be forming. For a moment I thought I was back in Japan. Finally, Gloria took control. A series of commands were issued to individual members of the staff and they departed to execute them. It was just me and Odd Job. With the aural dentures. Curiously I was less anxious. Whatever was going to happen would happen and there was little else for me to do but accept it. I was offered an assortment of beverages from the manager's personal stock in her small refrigerator. fresca gloriaWe settled into our drinks. Mineral water for me, diet Fresca for Gloria. We passed the time in idle conversation comparing the relative virtues of a dry climate versus the near arctic conditions in Montreal.Gloria had never seen snow and asked many questions on what it was like to be knee-deep in the stuff. I'm afraid I didn't leave her with a favorable impression. The gate agent that had brought me in returned, dabbing his forehead with a lacy kerchief, and handed my ticket folder to Gloria. It was bulging with a wild assortment of colored paper that looked something like an experiment in miniature piatas gone wrong. There was a quick exchange of words and then he left. explanations were dueGloria then proceeded to explain the contents. I was guaranteed a seat on the next flight out -- in 20 minutes. My luggage would arrive with me. My reservations back to Montreal had been rearranged so I could go back on the first flight in the morning.The airline would cover all my expenses in Monterrey -- hotel, food, taxis, etc. I was shown what paper I was to give to whom and when I should give it. I was given the name of the manager in Monterrey. I was given telephone numbers, in case I had trouble. And finally, I was given a card with a phone number and the message "call me" written on it. "This is the private number of your friend in Monterrey. You call him when you arrive at your hotel. He is very concerned that we make sure you are there tonight." I made it to the hotel in Monterrey and called Rodrigo. I thanked him for his help. The next day I was on my way to Montreal. I arrived home late in the evening, but was glad to be back. This should have been the end of the story, right? But there was the little matter of the credit card. credit card crudMonday morning, I checked the messages on my business phone. One was from my credit card company. Over my limit? I wondered. When I called, they informed me that they had stopped all transactions on my card due to suspicious activity.Define suspicious activity. Did I purchase $5000 in theatrical supplies, while I was in Mexico? No. Yes, I would say this is a fraudulent use of my card. So this means that someone was having a great night out on the town while I was stuck in my hotel room with HBO? The casual traveler would see an incident like this as being a nightmare. As someone who travels a lot for work, this sort of thing happens about once a month. Any sane person would wonder why anyone would subject themselves to such adventures so frequently. I'm afraid I'm not equipped to give an answer. Article provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/. Resources: Mexico Travel Guide A Cheap & Fun London Vacation
This article is provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/.
It's a hard year to be a visitor in Britain. The pound is exceptionally strong, business is booming and many tourists are finding that many of the country's best-known attractions are simply out of their reach. London is more expensive still -- prices in the capital are more than 10% above the rest of the UK. If you're a backpacker, a retired visitor on a frugal budget, or simply strapped for cash, the prospect of trying to make your money last while still enjoying the flavor of Europe's most vibrant capital can be daunting. But a visit to London does not have to mean queuing for hours behind a family of screaming children to pay £12 for an overcrowded hour or two at Madame Tussaud's. The new and much-heralded Tate Modern Art Gallery is just one of London's many completely free attractions. Many of the services and events listed here are a bit offbeat, and most are located outside the Leicester Square/Piccadilly tourist trap, but who wants to follow the herd? free artTate ModernCan't afford the Dome? Or even the wheel? The Tate Modern is the hottest new millennium addition to London's attractions -- and it'll cost you nothing. The former Bankside power station, which stood derelict for years, has been transformed into a unique art space. But if art is not your thing, the Tate Modern is still worth a visit for the impressive views of London offered by the glass-sided café on the newly built top floor and the building's peaceful, spacious architectural design. On weekends, the crowds outside can be overpowering and queues for entrance tediously long; so visit during the week for the chance to wander around the cavernous interior and visit the art collections in peace. The works are grouped into four themes, inspired by French 17th century traditions: Still Life, Landscape, Nude, and History. Paintings date from the beginning of the 20th century to the present day. Tate Modern, Bankside, SE1. Nearest tube (subway): Southwark/London Bridge Tel: 020 7887 8000. Opening hours: Sunday to Thursday, 10am to 6pm. Friday and Saturday, 10am to 10pm (galleries open at 10:15am). Not the Royal Academy The Royal Academy's Summer Exhibition is one of the mainstream art events of the summer. It will, however, charge you £8 to get in, so why bother when you can visit Not the Royal Academy, featuring the artworks NOT chosen to grace the walls of the Summer Exhibition. It is completely free and is meant to echo the 19th Century 'Salon des Refuses' in Paris, at which Manet and Sargent rebelled against the French Royal Academy and mounted their own exhibition. Llewellyn Alexander Gallery, The Cut, SE1. Nearest tube: Waterloo/Southwark. Telephone: 020 7620 1322. Opening Hours: 10am to 7:30pm every day except Sunday. worthy marketsLondon boasts several world-famous markets. If you can't afford to buy anything, go along anyway for the people, the colors, the smells and the bohemian atmosphere. If you're into photography, here's the opportunity to get all those 'people' pictures you've been looking for.Camden These days, you'd be hard pressed to find a British person in the crowd that descends on the trendy suburb of Camden in North London on Saturdays and Sundays. But Camden Lock market is the daddy of them all -- and if you can't buy it here, it doesn't exist. From plastic lighters shaped like aliens and retro furniture, to designer bags and Indonesian fertility statues, Camden's got it all. Plus, of course, a kaleidoscope of stallholders sporting the absolute latest in woollen Rasta hats, novelty hair colors and piercings. Camden Market, Camden Lock, NW1. Nearest tube: Camden (exit only on Sundays. Opening Hours: Open all day Saturday and Sunday. Old Spitalfields There's been a market Spitalfields in East London since 1682, but it has enjoyed a raised profile recently and gained a new following among those trendy young things for whom Camden is really just TOO obvious. It also has the advantage of being all under one roof -- easy to get around and dry in winter. Spitalfields has a little bit of everything, but its real strength is in knick-knacks such as lampshades made from recycled paper and little silk embroidered handbags. Absolutely perfect for buying souvenirs, plus a great selection of organic whole foods, to eat there or buy and take away. Old Spitalfields Market, EC1. Nearest tube: Shoreditch. Opening Hours: Monday to Friday -- 11am to 3:30pm and Sunday 10am to 3pm. finnicky festivalsThe Brits love a festival, and every summer you can see hundreds of them descending on various soggy fields around the country to sit in tents, drink homemade cider and shiver inside their ethnic jackets.But if you prefer your festivals a bit closer to your hotel room, or can't afford the eighty pounds or so charged for entry by the likes of Glastonbury and Homelands, many parts of London have thoughtfully provided free entertainment. Coin Street Festival Coin Street is part of the South Bank -- the area on the river around the London Eye and the Oxo Tower, which has recently enjoyed a revamp and an injection of businesses, shops and arts venues. The Coin Street Festival takes place throughout the summer and includes international dance acts and performance art. A free music session every lunch hour features acts from Colombia, Brazil and Ghana, as well as homegrown talent. The festival goes out with a bang on September 17 with an illuminated nighttime river parade, lantern procession and fireworks. Coin Street Festival, Bernie Spain Gardens, SE1. Nearest tube: Waterloo, Southwark. Tel: 020 7978 0011. Old Spitalfields Festival Aside from the market, Spitalfields is also the home of the Old Spitalfields festival, a summer-long event with lunchtime and evening concerts, theatre, art exhibitions and events. Those concerts that aren't free are relayed live to the market area for the hard up. Old Spitalfields Market, EC1. Nearest tube: Shoreditch. Tel: 020 7377 1362 british humorYou want to experience the talent of Britain's stand-up comedians, but without the hefty ticket prices in the West End theatres? Try the Cosmic Comedy Club, which plays host to new and upcoming acts. Entrance is free on selected evenings.Cosmic Comedy Club, Fulham Palace Road, W6. Nearest tube: Hammersmith. Tel: 020 7381 2006. fancy the telly?Fancy hearing yourself guffaw in front of an audience of millions? Both the BBC and a number of independent production companies provide free tickets to recordings of their comedy shows.BBC television: Call 020 8576 1227 or email http://www.askmen.com/fashion/travel/mailto:tv.ticket.unit@bbc.co.uk for tickets. Most shows are recorded at Television Centre, Wood Lane, W12. Nearest tube: White City. Avalon productions: Call 0700 2222 111 for tickets or send an email to: Whitney Houston and Bush. Tower Records, Piccadilly Circus, W1. Nearest tube: Piccadilly Circus. Call 020 7439 2500. read the dailyMetro , London's only morning newspaper, is available from tube and rail stations, not to mention stuffed in every litter bin, blowing along the street and on the seats of underground trains all day.If you need a paper with a more national flavor, McDonald's generally has copies of most of the daily tabloids and broadsheets. are you hungry?The Hare Krishna Restaurant offers visitors the chance to eat delicious vegetarian food with the members here, who believe that the act of giving provides spiritual blessings. Don't abuse their generosity by constant visits.The Hare Krishna Restaurant, 9 Soho Street, W1. Nearest tube: Tottenham Court Road. england's information highwayKeen to e-mail home and let them all know what a frugal time you're having? All the libraries in the borough of Westminster (the centre of London) provide free Internet access. Start with the Charing Cross library at 4 Charing Cross Road, and they can tell you where the rest are. You may have to book in advance.Charing Cross Library, Charing Cross Road, W1. Nearest tube: Leicester Square/Charing Cross. Tel: 020 7641 4628. Article provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/. Resources: London Travel Guide Not Your Typical Hollywood Vacation
This article is provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/.
Contrary to my previous perception, Hollywood is actually in the city of Los Angeles. I found Tinsel Town not to be the stuff that stars are made of, but just another hunk of steel and glass that forms the concrete jungle that is L.A. I think most people have great expectations of Hollywood. And why shouldnt they? They have spent a good portion of their life focused on images and icons which have originated from the area. I would not be far off in saying that Hollywoods fabrications are one of the most, if not the most influential force on earth. Much of North American pop culture -- almost everything we consider "cool", came from the mind of a Hollywood costume and prop designers. the thrill is goneI found no magic in the streets. Hollywood Boulevard is nothing more than a few cheesy sidewalk attractions and t-shirt shops, with the exception of a strip club or two, and the store with a large neon sign out front stating "We sell guns and knives!"I felt no pleasure in treading over the stars on the Walk of Fame. Robin Williams is one of my favorite actors, but seeing his name embedded in the sidewalk meant little to me. I called Riley from a pay-phone. "Hey, Its Max. Im on Hollywood Boulevard. Yeah, a half hour would be fine. Ill meet you in front of the Chinese Theater. Bring your hiking boots. I want to climb the HOLLYWOOD sign." Riley is a cardiovascular nurse that I met him in Yosemite National Park. There, he was just another person. One of the thousands I have met throughout my travels. This afternoon in Hollywood, I connected with him and formed a friendship as strong as any Ive ever had. up close & personalWhile driving down Hollywood Boulevard, Riley turned to me. "Have you seen that new Apple commercial; the one with all those well-known people, like... Churchill, Gandhi, Earhart, and Hitchcock?""Yeah... its great." I replied. "Well, the first time I saw it... it almost brought tears to my eyes." Riley continued. "It totally reinforced my desire to become a somebody. I want to make a contribution. I want to be a writer. Ive already started a book." I like Riley. We think alike. Hes not a cardiovascular nurse. He just does that to make money. To reach the famous landmark, we twisted our way up through the hills on a narrow roadway lined with million-dollar homes. In many places, there was barely room for oncoming traffic. Finally, five hundred feet below the sign, we came to a spot where we could drive no further. Riley parked the car in a driveway shared by two houses. He figured either house would think we were a guest of the other. As we started the approach, we passed a "NO TRESPASSING" sign, which warned of a $103.00 fine. Riley told me that the police were mainly concerned with people "tagging" the immense monument with spray paint, and committing suicide by jumping off the top. "Lots of people have died up there," he informed me. I figured the $103.00 fine wouldnt be much of a deterrent if a person was heading up there to kill himself. The following three hundred feet were a struggle and, at times, dangerous. We had to claw our way up a steep, loose, gravelly bluff fortified with thorn bushes. At half way, I noticed a helicopter in the distance moving straight in our direction, and it seemed to slow down as it approached. I got close to the ground and ducked behind a bush. Riley seemed to be less concerned. "Dont worry about it man," he said. "No fat cop is going to chase us up here! Even if they do catch us. Just tell em youre an ignorant Canadian and you didnt see the sign. I use that line all the time." At first when he told me that, I felt a little insulted. I didnt like the idea of someone else using my countrys identity to excuse their criminal behavior. Then I remembered that Riley actually was Canadian, and it was okay. climbing the big oThe light was fading fast. The sun had been down for over fifteen minutes. As I was taking shots of the sunset through the "O", Riley appeared in my view finder. He was half way up the O. "Keep going man!" I hollered. "This is going to make a killer photo!"When we reached the sign, the chopper came back. With adrenaline pumping through me, I ran for cover behind the "W". Behind the sign, surveillance cameras peered down at me from above. Jail was not an adventure I was looking forward to. Riley and I had split-up. I couldnt see him. After the chopper had departed again, I heard what sounded like voices near the "H". I thought Riley might have gotten snagged. Handcuffs or no handcuffs, I wasnt leaving without pictures. All was dark except for the billion specks of light fanning out over the city and the radiant pink and orange band of blazing fire across the horizon. I began to think we would not have enough light to get back down safely. My survival instinct told me to leave immediately. hanging by a threadIn that moment, an image filled my mind. I imagined myself on stage in front of two thousand people saying, "Now take a look at this..." This is my friend Riley hanging off the side of the O on the HOLLYWOOD sign. Is this guy crazy or what!?! It must have felt amazing up there! But I decided not to try it. It was getting dark. And it definitely wasnt a safe thing to do. And... And... And..."When he had reached the top and his hands were on the last rung of the ladder, I told him, "Okay... now take one more step up, and hang off the ladder using just one hand and one foot. YES!!! I love it! Okay... hold it like that. Let me get a couple." "Max..." Riley hollered back. "Looking over the edge on Half Dome wasnt nearly as scary as this! I think this is the scariest thing I have ever done!" "Riley... I left my camera back there." I called out, scrambling along the steep rocky slope. "Be sure to get both verticals and horizontals." my art will go onAn hour later, I was sitting in the Chinese Theater on Hollywood Boulevard watching Titanic . It was the most captivating movie I have ever seen. And so it should have been: it was the most expensive movie ever made, costing two hundred and twenty million dollars. The theater was sold out. I felt honored to be in attendance. It was only a week earlier that the movie premiered in that theater, on the very same screen.There was never a dull moment. The sound was phenomenal. The whole theater quaked with each thunderous explosion and horrifying shriek as the mighty ship sank. I was near the front row. The screen filled my field of vision. I was totally into it. i am jack dawsonDuring one scene in particular, it felt as though I were personally being portrayed on screen. Leonardo DiCaprio played the role of Jack Dawson, a carefree adventurer in his early twenties, riding 3rd class aboard the Titanic. The story begins with Jack saving the life of an attractive young woman -- a first class passenger.To thank him, the young womans fiancé invited Jack to join him and his family for dinner. During the dinner Jack made a toast, and it felt as though he took the words right out my mouth. He spoke about the importance of having adventures and being spontaneous; and then ended the toast by stating, "A few nights ago, I was sleeping under a bridge... and now here I am in first class with you fine folks!" I could think of many occasions on this journey where such a toast would be appropriate. Jack was me -- I was Jack. That night, sitting in the Chinese Theater, I found the magic I was searching for. It had little to do with the fact that I could have been sitting in the seat Leonardo DiCaprio had sat in a week earlier, or that I was actually in Hollywood. sometimes i feel like a nutSometimes Im a big brother, but more often, Im a little brother. While writing e-mail home to Dad, Im a son. When I knock on a door, Im a nobody. Hopefully, when I leave I will be a friend. I am in love almost always. Im a lover almost never.But that night on top of the O, I was an action hero in Hollywood. I felt unstoppable. I could do or say anything. I was the producer, the director and the props man. I had total creative control. I wrote the script. What happened next was up to me. religious celebrity churchesOn the way to Rileys apartment from the movie theater, Riley and I stopped to check out the Church of Scientology. It was a massive building that was once a hospital and later renovated. A lot of celebrities go there, Kelly Preston and Nicole Kidman, to name a few.I got out of the car to take a photo of the enormous eight foot high and thirty foot long SCIENTOLOGY sign that loomed above the building -- illuminated Hollywood style. As I put the camera up to my eye, a teenager wearing a security guard uniform sped over to me on a mountain bike and asked me not to take any photographs if I was a newspaper or magazine reporter. I assured him that I was not, and he let me continue. Strangely there was a cross on top of the building. I asked the young man if the church belonged to the Christian faith. He told me that it did not. I found it curious that someone would have enough imagination to invent a new religion, but not enough to make up an original religious symbol. Later that night I found myself lounging on a couch in Rileys apartment, sucking back some eggnog while watching the uncensored version of Natural Born Killers . As I laid my head down on the pillow, I recounted the events encompassing the preceding 40 hours -- 39 and a half of which I was conscious and active. It was undoubtedly the most diverse 40 hours of my life. Resources: Los Angeles Travel Guide Down & Out In Amsterdam
This article is provided by www.CultureConnect.com.
When I stepped off the train at Central Station, I thought I had been mistakenly transported to Gotham City. It didn't take me long to adjust to the dark hedonism of the place, however, where day runs into night and night runs back into day. I blinked, and a week had passed me by. I could count my few remaining brain cells on one hand. When I arrived in Amsterdam, I was expecting mad craziness beyond comprehension. What I found was exactly that. Amsterdam is known as the world's most tolerant city. Name it, and it's probably legal. Mass consumption of the good-time condiments is the national pastime where a typical day, for those willing to shed responsibility and inhibition, will be anything but. My week-long festival of debauchery is a foggy recollection at best. With the aid of my poor penmanship in a beer-stained journal, here is a recreation of an Amsterdam day much like all the others. the soiled toiletI awoke unusually early -- around 1p.m. My dorm room in the hostel, The Flying Pig, resembled a cramped military barrack, only with no rules. After stepping on the poor soul sleeping in the bunk beneath me, I climbed back down to sea level and stumbled to the shower. It was a medieval assortment of discarded hardware store supplies -- duct tape, chicken wire, a white picket fence, sheets of clear plastic, and more duct tape.The makeshift plastic walls had many holes and caused a standing water supply of 2 to 3 inches on the floor at all times. I brushed my teeth, then used the toothbrush to rake the muck and cobwebs from my eyes. The haze from the night before hovered above me like my own personal cartoon rain cloud, as I staggered into the alley. Outside it was dark and drizzly. Perfect. Direct sunlight in my condition would have caused a spontaneous combustion-like reaction in my hangover-infested brain. I walked to The Last Watering Hole to hook up with Becky, Monica and Kelly -- three girls I had met a couple of days earlier. I got lost in the maze of cobblestone gloom, then came upon it by accident. They were huddled around a wooden table with an odd Chilean whom they introduced as Rod -- we came to know him as The Dude . the dude, puff and some heinekenThe Dude was a meek fellow who always had the look of confusion on his face. He was short, in his early 30's, with curly black hair and a genuinely mischievous grin. He wasn't sure how long he was staying in Amsterdam, where he was going next, or how long he'd been in Amsterdam for that matter.One night at dinner, a spiritual conversation erupted amid the usual giggling babble and blank stares, after the departing trains of thought had left the station. When asked if he was religious, The Dude grinned and spouted, "I believe in sunsets." I met The Dude while he was in mid-story. "... The guy told me to eat only half. But I didn't feel anything, so I ate it all, and things got very bad. So then, I took a train -- very long trip. I think I left Amsterdam. It was starting to rain and I was feeling so anguished." Then The Dude smiled. We devoured a couple dozen Heinekens while talking of travel-related horror tales. The Dude, with his broken English, provided the most laughter, although he never really understood why. And after a couple rounds of Puff the Magic Fatty , we were back in the dank alleys of Gotham, social misfits in search of food -- the whole lot of us drooling madly. food, glorious foodAmsterdam is the city that never sleeps, but always eats. Only one thing outnumbers the coffeeshops -- the restaurants. All of the fast food joints showcased their fine assortment of grub in fancy glass fixtures, each food item looking hand-crafted with loving care.The amounts and variety were dizzying. The pyramids of sandwiches, pizza and puff pastries seemed self-replenishing, creating an endless supply. But that was only a quick fix. What we needed then was inside seating and of course, more Heines. At every corner, a new scintillating odor led our watered mouths in many directions. Although a rotting deer carcass, at that point in time, would have been perceived as a temptuous aroma. Indecision. We agreed to park our wobbly bodies at the next restaurant that crossed our path. And so it was -- Mexican. We floated in, rudely examining others' entrées while being led to our seats. The dinner conversation left much to the imagination. It was a regular Tower of Babel experience; each of us speaking in tongues. Amsterdam produces many fine mood-enhancing toxins, which in turn produces intellectually-impaired ramblers. The food was inhaled, the beer slammed and out the door we strolled. The girls had a plan... an X-rated one at that. women and their pornAn Amsterdam sex show is a unique experience, but not one for the easily offended. The Dude bailed, making it just myself, three girls and a plethora of eroticism. Becky, Monica and Kelly, I later learned, were attracted to porn like moths to a flame.We arrived early and snagged some seats up front. The room looked like a mini movie theatre -- uncomfortable red cushion chairs on a gradual decline for better viewing and sticky floors which obviously disgusted me more so than had it been a normal cinema house. The show began without the usual dimming of the lights. The embarrassment-masked bemusement and gaping grins of those in the audience provided a show unto itself. Stage-fright is a concern for any actor, however, the problem for one aspiring porn star revealed itself in a small way. To the girls' dismay, no farm animals were used in the show -- they were from Texas. The six different adventures in smut lasted about an hour and cost around $20 -- the equivalent of eight Heines , I figured. the dizzying effects of sexWe left the theatre red-faced and thirsty. Locating the infamous Amsterdam coffee houseboat was the next item on our hedonism scavenger-hunt. Although it was the only one of its kind, nobody was able to point us in the right direction. Milling around aimlessly in the dark had its moments."Ding ding, ding ding!" yelled a fair-haired maiden as she zoomed past on a haggard old Schwinn. The barrage of pedal pushers ringing their bells is common place. But with hands full of packages and unable to reach the bell, what else is a girl to do? We dug her and laughed like idiots while pressing on to find the boat. The coffee houseboat hid in the blackness; unassuming and still. Once inside, the atmosphere quickly turned. Christmas lights and tinsel were flung about. An aromatic buzz cloud rose to the ceiling and hung there in layers. This bohemian's sanctuary vaguely resembled a boat or anything else I had seen. Unusual suspects puffed and drank in the dim light, watching cartoons and listening to loud techno music. it's all about joeyWe sat down and looked about the place. The allure eventually wore off and we settled in nicely. Coffeehouse conversations tend to walk the line between deep and silly and ours were no exception. After returning from the bar with another round, I overheard Becky. "Joey's eyes... water... when he pees," she said in a drawn-out series of hysterical outbursts. We laughed so hard, two of us got the hiccups. I assumed Joey was someone they all knew.The bathrooms on the boat were unisex and resembled a sort of converted broom closet. The light flickered like a spastic strobe giving the impression of slow motion, as I stood in front of the cracked mirror. The illusion created an alternate dimension in the recesses of my mind. I felt like a child with a new toy. It was then that I got the nomadic urge. last stop: wonderlandI said my goodbyes to the girls and arranged to meet them the next day, then hopped the nearest train. The outer areas of Amsterdam are filled with wonderful neighborhoods, full of folksy cafés, bars and coffeehouses. I got off the train at Rembrandtsplein and wandered around.I stumbled upon two men playing chess. The board was painted on the ground, about 30 feet by 30 feet in dimension. The pieces were three feet tall and appeared cumbersome -- providing a workout for both body and mind. I shook off the Alice in Wonderland feeling and parked myself on a barstool in the nearest pub. I chatted up the cute Dutch girl pouring my Heine. But her shift soon ended and so did my stay. The area was socially subdued and short on misfits, so I jumped a train back to inner Gotham, or so I thought. The numbability factor had exponentially increased over the past few hours rendering me both unintelligible and incapacitated. Translation: I was pretty fried. With eyes half open and head bobbing around, I fought the midnight hour with all my strength. I lost. red lights everywhere"Hey, excuse me. Hey!" That's when I woke up. "Where are you going," asked the woman standing above me. "Central Station," I replied while forcing myself back to reality. She told me to board the train next to us, and that would take me back to Amsterdam. "Back to Amsterdam?" I yelled.I stood up noticing the train had emptied and walked into the pitch-black night. The conductor of my new train looked upon my bewilderment with amusement. I sat there by myself while the two drivers talked outside. Not a city light could be seen anywhere in the distance. Once again, I faded into deep sleep. When I awoke this time, the train was again bustling with passengers. To my amazement, the next stop was Central Station. I wandered around the red light district a while, trying to lure my brain out of its doldrums. Many girls were dancing in the windows of soft blue light, enticing the men for a late-night rendezvous. Coupons are actually printed and distributed for such activity. foggy night, foggy mindThe district attracts an interesting ensemble of shady characters. Each turn of a corner amazes slightly more than the last. And then there was nothing... no one. I had taken a wrong turn; I had entered nirvana. The street was completely void of people. The fog, which I thought was only mental, had surfaced everywhere and inspired the street lamps to give off a delicate glow, producing a dream-like state. No lights flickered from the row of houses on either side of the canal.I climbed down to a dock and sat with my dangling feet just above the canal's water line. I contemplated the situation, laughed, then focused my eyes. Maybe I had slipped into a wormhole to another time or had lost my mind completely , I thought. room full of red eyeThe quiet was exhilarating. I felt at peace, unable to move from my seclusion. For an hour, I sat there without seeing another soul. I had viewed Amsterdam as a tourist; now I was seeing it as a late-night resident. Oddly, I liked the latter more. My wrong turn provided the greatest memory of the entire trip.I eventually forced myself up and on my way. Within minutes, vagabonds of all shapes and sizes once again surrounded me. I staggered back to The Pig to hang with the tragically hip smokesters lounging in the bar -- the dreadlocked zombies and pierced amebas. Their 4a.m. eyeballs were barely visible beyond their blood red apertures. Everybody had a way-cool dazed look painted on their face, myself included. The Pig has an adult-size playpen with endless cushions and miniature tables. The lair of globetrotters was always full of card players, smokers and dreamers. up close & personalI wedged myself into a group of girls passing around the sweet stuff. The dank scent lingered in the air 24 hours a day. I met and forgot many people during the early morning hours, all except for Wande.Wande was a 21-year-old student from London. We hit it off immediately, but her train was leaving at 10a.m. -- in five hours. We spent that time talking and wandering about The Pig, laughing at all the overindulgers. We hung together right up to her boarding the train. She gave me her phone number and e-mail address, which I have long since lost. Twenty-plus hours of partying produced mad fatigue in my body and mind. As I slowly lurched back to my bunk, I thought of all the wonderful people I had met on my trip thus far. That's when it occurred to me that The Dude lived in all of us -- that lonesome traveler stumbling in and out of strangers' lives. I have memories that I will never forget, although barely remember. I chuckled as I shed my clothes and climbed over my bunkmate. Sleep began to take hold, while I listened to others get ready for the day. I slipped into the unconscious with one recurring thought buzzing about in my head -- I, too, am The Dude. Mediterranean Of A Different Kind
This article is provided by http://www.cultureconnect.com/.
Nowadays, many Americans are fortunate enough to travel to the Mediterranean. As Mediterranean meccas like Athens, the Greek Islands and Istanbul become overrun by American cruise ships, there is still a place near the Aegean Coast where you can experience the sights, sounds and aromas of a different world -- without running into a lot of Americans. This place is called Bergama, Turkey. the road to bergamaTwenty kilometers southeast of the Turkish Port is the city of Ayvalik. The best way to get to Bergama is to take a bus from Ayvalik. The bus ride takes about an hour and a half, and you ride through miles of villages and olive fields.Our particular bus ride was highlighted by a police stop that tests bus drivers for intoxication. Accidents caused by drunken bus drivers are all too common in Turkey, so police are taking the necessary precautions. After a few minutes, our driver waddled back into the bus after passing the test, or coming up with the right amount of money to pass... let the bidding beginUpon arrival into the Bergama bus station, you are greeted by a cast of pension owners and workers hawking the benefits of their particular dwellings. As we scarfed down a particularly tasty lamb stew served over rice, a persistent pension owner, armed with a three-ring notebook full of reviews from sources like the Lonely Planet, made his case.We decided to take a chance and spend the night in Bergama. Little did we know a short stopover would turn into the two-day highlight of the entire two-week trip. The pension owner drove us to the 300-year-old restored Ottoman style Pension Athena. A sign leading in read, "We are not the best but trying to get there." Our room overlooked the ancient ruins of Pergamon, a Hellenistic ruin dating back over 2,200 years. Although the late September weather was a clear and comfortable 80 degrees, we decided to wear jeans and cover our skin out of respect to the Muslim culture. While Turkey is not an extreme Muslim country, the religion does underline life in the nation. Throughout the day one can hear the chants and prayers emanating from the mosques. While its not a public offense to wear shorts, many tourists will get treated with intentional indifference, or the evil eye... we soon settledOnce settled in, we ventured out past the ruins Aesiepion in the Western section of town. When the Roman Empire dominated this area, the complex became one of the first medical clinics and spas in recorded history. Past the Aesiepion, you arrive at a row of carpet merchants. We visited a few of the shops and partook in the custom of drinking freshly brewed apple tea as merchants flipped through hundreds of colorful, intricately sewn rugs.Since we werent quite in the buying spirit, we decided to take the 1 1/2 mile hike up to the ancient city of Pergamon. Weaving uphill through neighborhoods of adobe dwellings swashed in pastel blues, pinks and yellows, we encountered groups of cheerful and curious grade school children. The children playfully asked for everything -- money, pictures, ball point pens. Each wanted their picture taken and wrote out their address in hopes of becoming pen pals. temple of catsAfter the one-mile hike up a dusty sagebrush hill, we arrived at the Pergamum ruins. We toured the remains of the acropolis, temple of Zeus, and amphitheater. What sets Pergamum apart from these other sites is the fact that it is located on a hill isolated from the town below. Hence, schlocky souvenir stands are kept to a minimum. One can sit in relative peace and quiet and imagine what it was really like to live 2,200 years ago.Wandering through the ruins, you run into the only living residents of Pergamum -- lots and lots of kitty cats. While the cats give the area a mysterious and wild flair, their overwhelming numbers serve as a sad testament to the problem of feral dogs and cats. Throughout the region, funding is not allocated to pet shelters or neutering programs. Therefore, wild cats and dogs fill the streets throughout the region. We found ourselves feeding leftovers to the cats throughout the trip. Since these cats are really wild animals, its best to keep your distance. bathe with a new friendAfter the long walk down from ancient Pergamum to Bergama, we stopped by a local cafe for the essential beer and lamb specialty of the house. Everything was fresh and delicious. The breads and lamb were laced with special seasonings unfamiliar to an American tongue.As we capped off the feast, a cigarette smoking Turkish man in his 30's asked if he could join us to practice his English. Despite our suspicious Northeast American inclinations, we welcomed him over and preceded to talk up a storm. This man was a shopkeeper who lived in a village two hours away in the mountains. He traveled weekly to town for business. He was very inquisitive about popular culture like John Wayne, The Beatles, and Bill Clintons extramarital affairs. He shared his hopes of one day visiting the United States. the torture chamberAs the beers went down and conversation flowed, our friend said he was a former masseuse who used to work at a 500-year-old Turkish bathhouse just around the corner from the restaurant. He offered to take us there for a free bath. Adventurous and beer happy, we took him up on the offer, settled the bill, and followed him through windy backstreets.We entered a white stucco building. An immense, raised white marble slab filled a large room. Surrounding this main room were many dressing areas, steam rooms and bathing rooms. Our friend blurted something guttural to the burly proprietor who resembled Saddam Hussein. Begrudgingly, he let us in. After changing into towels and securing our items as best we could, our friend brought us into the soap room. Since he seemed to show more vigorous interest in what was beneath my wifes towel than the task at hand, I volunteered to get the royal treatment from this former masseuse, as my wife scurried to the side protecting her camera lens from the steam. Our friend started the process with a pressure rub of the major arm neck and muscle groups. What I expected to be a light motherly rubdown felt more like a fish being skinned by a hungry grizzly bear. he wasn't that goodThen comes the hard bar of soap rubbed vigorously on the torso and scalp. This is designed to open the pores; I thought it was going to open the blood vessels. Then, the splashing of cool bowls of water thrown everywhere, but mostly in the eyes and up the nose. This is followed by the shampoo which feels more like a phrenology exam gone terribly wrong. Fortunately, my love for calcium rich ice cream paid off, preventing my skull from being crushed.The former masseuse began walking on my back, which actually felt pretty good. As his heels dug between my shoulder blades, the session was suddenly interrupted by the loud burly proprietor who yelled something at our friend. Our friend yelled something back. After a slight pause, our friend cleared his throat and informed us that weve been asked to leave. The only word I could make out from the irate proprietor was "amateur." It seems our friend had taken advantage of his alumni status one too many times. With my spine still intact, we graciously declined his invitation to take a 2-hour bus ride and meet his wife and children. After this not-so relaxing introduction to Turkish massage, we took his card, split ways and called it a night. market dayBergama is a city of 56,000. On Mondays it seems to double in size for the big regional market day. From end to end it takes an hour just to walk a straight line past the booths, through the throngs of buyers and sellers. Locals, gypsies and residents from the region buy and sell goods like sheep, fruits, vegetables, crafts, and exotic spices. Modern westernized Turkish women rub elbows with brightly colored robes of traditionally dressed women from the village. Boys with Nike shirts run circles around fez-topped men.Color bursts everywhere: green olives, long firehose-like purple eggplants, fat stumpy orange carrots. Aromas from strange spices, incense, huka pipes, fresh breads, roasted nuts, and musty black market clothing mix and hover at nose level. Besides the women covered in traditional garb, most locals are very photogenic and almost amused by having their picture taken. One particular group of men gazed heartily at the camera as they played cards, sipped strong Turkish coffee and smoked from pipes. What we thought would be a two-hour stopover in Bergama became a two-day adventure, and the highlight of a two-week backpacking honeymoon of Greece and Turkey. Bergama is an offbeat alternative to Istanbul, and a slice of Turkey that should not be missed. Resources: Turkey Travel Guide Not Quite The Beach
Sitting in the beach hut at our hostel on the Zanzibar coast, you can see two desert islands shimmering on the horizon. On one of the last afternoons of our Christmas trip, a group of us decide to take a boat trip out to the nearest one, Bowe. We can snorkel there, apparently, and there's a café for food and beers. All we have to do is go down the port in the island's capital, Stone Town, early in the morning and sort out a boat. Simple -- we'll be there by twelve.
not exactly as planned I've just had my hair braided and hands and feet hennaed, in preparation for the Iddi-al-Fitr celebration and fancy myself as another Bo Derek wading statuesquely along the perfect white beach in '10' . We duly arrive at the little jetty and watch boatloads of tourists depart in smart, efficient vessels for Changu, the larger of the two islands just past the mouth of the port. We smirk pityingly -- Bawe is off the beaten track, deserted (apart from the café, that is), wild and a much more original choice of destination as one would expect from far out, hardcore travellers like ourselves. We wait expectantly for the boat we have arranged, chatting and laughing in our streetwise, no-flies-on-us way. Finally, we hear an asthmatic wheeze, and the oldest boat in the world, powered by the oldest outboard engine in the world, staggers around the head of the jetty. the stoner skipperThe skipper is red-eyed, catatonic, and wearing nothing except for a pair of worn, yellowing World Cup 1992 y-fronts. We wait while he half-heartedly attempts to bail out the two feet of water currently sloshing around in the bottom of his boat with what appears to be the lid of a mineral water bottle.We set sail and spend an hour and a half convinced that death is imminent, as our dubious craft jumps and lurches in the rough sea, the port of Stone Town dwindling away and the island not appearing to come any closer as we rear up and slam down over the waves just like a speedboat (except in slow motion). We finally make it to the island and stagger up the half ruined steps and causeway, to find the remains of what once might have been a café, now derelict and deserted. Queasiness turns to shock as a large, topless Italian lady in a g-string appears out of the palm trees and wobbles towards us, shouting insanely about water and salt being hotter than water on its own. We beat a hasty retreat towards the beach, but not before she has turned her back to us and bent right over, feet away from the crew of the boat and their assorted hangers-on. Stunned silence prevails. As we are recovering our composure, sixty more large Italians arrive, leaping and splashing through the water. This is not the deserted film set from The Beach I had imagined. We flee to a shade-free but secluded cove and I go in for a swim, fondly imagining I look entirely Bo Derek-esque, striding out of the water and flicking my braids. Unfortunately, the bottom is covered in stones and I stand on a particularly sharp and pointy one while coming up the beach, staggering inelegantly about, swearing and forgetting to hold my stomach in. I'm sure Bo never had these problems to contend with. She probably had a whole team of people running in front of her just out of shot and sweeping the beach for hazards. starved and strickenWe are now ravenously hungry, and smell things grilling. Going to investigate, we discover the large Italians have now all stripped down to micro-thongs (Gucci, no doubt) and are guzzling vast quantities of lobster, crab, pasta salad, and Safari lager under the shade of the trees.We gaze on with the look of hunting lionesses and plan our tactics from the shelter of the ruined café. First plan of attack -- deception. We select the two most dark-skinned of our party and try simply strolling nonchalantly up to the barbecue, hoping to be handed a loaded plate. "Can I help you?" enquires a tall golden beauty in a Prada bikini who we now realise is some sort of tour leader. Our carefully chosen imposters back off, still trying to look Latin. that didn't workPlan B -- bribery. We wait until Linda Evangelista has wandered off and then sidle up to the barbecue cooks, bung them a few used notes and retire in triumph with assorted crustacea to our outhouse. Replete, we catch a couple of hours sunbathing and playing Which Italian Would You Drown First?, then climb aboard our dubious vessel for the long, slow and nauseating journey back to the harbor.i thought it was the endThe cigarette butt, still glowing, arches through the dim air of twilight and falls, with unerring accuracy, straight into the mouth of the plastic petrol container. I have a brief glimpse of the boatman's vacant, red-rimmed eyes and unconcerned expression before I close my eyes and wait for the explosion.After a few seconds, I open them and realize incredulously that I am still alive. The reason for this seeming miracle quickly becomes apparent -- the cigarette had landed just as the outboard engine sputtered and died, and the last drop of fuel on board evaporated. So we're not dead, just becalmed about a kilometre away from the port of Stone Town, bobbing up and down queasily on less than gentle waves and gazing longingly at the electrically illuminated minarets and the glow of fires from the seafood stalls in the gardens down by the quay. Glancing down at the bottom of our vessel, one can't help noticing slightly more water than before sloshing around down there. As one of my flip-flops begins to float gently away I have, quite literally, a sinking feeling. If today is going to be a real-life movie, it appears more likely to be Titanic than The Beach ... Resources: Africa Travel Guide Quesqueya Island, Dominican Republic
Within one year, I had an opportunity to visit this tropical Carribean island four times. What an experience! I have traveled to many parts of the world, and to quite a few other Carribean islands, but Quesqueya is definitely different.
bumbling columbusColumbus was supposed to have landed there a long time ago. In the zona colonial part of the capital, it still has all the remnants of that plunder. And that's where most tourists wind up if they come by boat. If Columbus had come now, he would be in a deep state of shock. Maybe he would learn something about the future of the brave new world.In 500 years, this Hispaniola island has gone through many changes. The Dominican Republic is two-thirds of the big island. The rest is Haiti. The Spanish way has its seal in every part of the country. The warm to hot days, the cool sea breeze evenings and all-night activities feel like one is somewhere in the Mediterranean. A friend I met there said the locals worked only 10% of their time. culturally inclinedThe population is very mixed. A few genes from the native Taino Indians may have somehow survived the Spanish massacres. African slaves were brought in to work on sugar plantations, and the European owners and tradesmen that followed them.Although the country is now very creole looking, the elites are the high class Spanish bloodlines. Yet the Carribean atmosphere is very visible in culture, food, music, houses, and daily life. Many new immigrants from all parts of the world are coming to settle there, so it is cosmopolitan in Santo Domingo at the very least. Or "la capital", as they call it. touring for dollarsThe tourist resorts are all on the coast and look like Club Med's, with little similarity to the island itself. Most tourists are from Europe. My assignment involved a rural development project, so I was able to accompany locals to see many cities, towns, villages, farmlands, and some backroads with beautiful native flora and fauna.This Banana Republic is slowly diversifying in order to rake in the dollars for its new crops. They have begun to grow Asian vegetables and use organic methods with export markets in mind, but have yet to realize how to grow foods to sustain themselves with the rich soils they have. Guess it's the "colony of the US" mentality. Well, the US did invade in the 19th century and it still has significant influence and power in the Dominican Republic (if the abundance of American materialistic goods is any indication). cost deficientAlthough hotels and meals are as expensive as in any western country, the income base for an average worker in the Dominican Republic is very low, at around $150 US a month. The large younger population yearn to learn, but the economy is geared towards export and tourism.Most places have men working because it is traditional for women to stay home. However, one million men and their families emigrated to the US, largely settling in New York and Boston. The women are lured to work in European countries, but most wind up being prostitutes. Those who stay behind try to work in beauty salons or casinos to earn extra money. So what's with this Quesqueya Island? When the Indian refugees from the American continent came to this big island, they named it Quesqueya Island -- the mother of all lands. A refuge for anyone, but when you go there, please don't do what Columbus did! Resources: Dominican Republic Travel Guide Trekking Through Cuba
Spring sprang while I was in Cuba. The cool rainy nights have been replaced by thick heat, replete with the buzzing whine of Mr. Mosquito . The "Indian" peoples here love it; when the days are perfect and crisp by our standards, they complain and catch colds.
The blossoms are out on the sugar cane and the trees that have survived the coconut-cancer here on the Quintana Roo coast are proudly showing the green of their new fruits. And that's quite a melancholy situation, as coconut water had been a staple drink for thousands of years and is now near impossible to find. As I backtrack down through the "Mayan Riviera" (they settled on this name after trying Gold Coast, Turquoise Coast, and a couple of others...) and Chetumal, I wonder how my old VW will respond to the new heat. I found out on the worst stretch of them all, a couple of days later. The Chetumal-to-Palenque run is some 500 kilometers of the 2-lane, hot, scrub-tree lined, most boring piece of highway I've ever seen in Mexico. my car became a lemonThere's almost nowhere to pull off. No siding and very few side roads. So I was lucky when that wire melted, stopping my engine, to find a 12-foot wide driveway to pull into. Barely. I had a good three inches to spare as huge trucks barked and frowned at me as they sped by. Four hours in the tropical sun trying to flag down unresponsive drivers, fiddling with mysterious oily wires, squealing and leaping from the red ant bites left me beat and unhappy.Finally the "Green Angel" (Mexico's answer to broken-down tourist vehicles; these trucks with mechanics driving them roam the highways, though with less and less frequency as budgets dry up) appeared and fiddled with the same wires for a while. He finally admitted defeat and direct-wired my coil to the battery and I limped down another 100 k's and into Palenque. This charming little town (10 k's from the famous ruins of the same name) hasn't changed much in the last twenty years. When I was here back then, the five main streets stretched out for the same twelve blocks. They're still filled with small hotels and curio shops, though tour operaters have joined them now offering daily excursions to the waterfalls of Agua Azules and to the more distant pryamid-sites of Bonampak and Yaxchilan. fish, glorious fishStaying a few weeks here this time I discovered (after a fruitless search on the "Mayan Riviera") that I could easily get fresh fish for dinner! Funny, to be in the rainforest and be able to do that. On the tourist coast of Quintana Roo, with a million mouths to feed every day, I found only frozen "fillets of something." I eat fresh "Mojarra" here nearly every day... (we're actually only 30 kilometers from the huge river, Usamacinta and the tourists aren't here looking for fish.)I'd guess some 90% of the population are full-blooded "Indian" and their friendly, chubby-faced smiles are a welcome relief from the tourist-exhausted ones of the Yucatecs on the coast. Most everyone I meet tries out a joke or two and eventually gets a chuckle or a guffaw from the effort. If you're into "rainforests," this is where it's at. Gorgeous and lush, we're at the edge of what WAS a huge jungle stretching for hundreds of kilometers in three directions. Of course, like on most of the planet, this resource has been mutated into timber and boards for ticky-tacky houses in California and Rhode Island. The tourist areas are protected though, so this pyramid-rich area is almost the pristine region of old. But I watch through my window as the Indian with the machete and hatchet cuts the 300-ft. high mahogany tree back for his boss. A doll-sized figure amidst the giant, body-sized branches of this two hundred-year-old beauty, he brings down the whole gorgeous monster in five days; he loves his job and the hotel will be able to expand. and then there's the rebelChiapas is a veritable mystery all right; revolution and mysticism rolled into one of the most popular tourist packages in the world.Many have read about the charismatic Commandante Marcos who leads the twelve-year-old rebellion here (he even has a Web site and allegedly carries a sattelite-connected laptop aboard his horse!) This Zorro-Che Gueverra styled figure wears a black mask and seemingly can't be found or caught. Mexican newspapers engage in endless chats over how to end this "conflict." Foreign reporters ruminate endlessly but aren't allowed to spend time in the area. For locals and we lingering tourists, the only evidence of this "movie" is the military. Supposedly, some 60% of the Mexican army is here and minutes never go by without seeing trucks full of special troops pass. Last weekend, we spent the day in fiesta with a local landowner. His friend, the general of all the armies in Chiapas, was there with his attache-colonel and their driver-bodyguard; a huge, dark Indian corporal who drove their "desert-storm" jeep through the small stream right up to our campsite. Later in the evening, I ventured to pry some tidbits from the general about the rebellion. "Do you think Commandante Marcos might be a Cuban?" I ask in my naïve Iowa drawl. the world wide web, dummy"He's just an Internet!" replied the general. "He doesn't even exist, just flotsam and pieces of cyber-propaganda from the media!" There's certainly more to this story than meets the eye and I'll return to it if ever I find out some details. The only other tidbits of this melodrama are the innumerable T-shirts with Commandante Marcos' photo on the front, with a ski mask, being sold on the main street; that's right, ski masks are available in this 100 degree heat...A lingering image from that jungle picnic is of the monster, storm-troop-attired bodyguard holding a long tree branch, trying to retrieve the large purple ball that the don's grandson had kicked into the stream, all to music of '50s Elvis Presley... The mystic aspect is nearly as elusive as is the understanding of the "revolution." In recent years of this "new age," increasing numbers of folks worldwide believe there are certain places focusing special energies into the cosmos. "Power points" are said to exist at the Giza pyramids, Stonehenge, Chaco Canyon, Tikal, and at Palenque. For some, the special feeling here is palpable, a resonance, a hum, a state of being more peaceful than other places. I admit that as insensitive to subtle vibrations as I am, I still find the mood and tranquility here to be captivating. I was going to spend a day here, but now it has been a month. back to my car...The famous ruins of King Pacal sit a few miles away into the forest. He was the guy in the discovered hieroglyph-sculpture who appears to be reclining in a high-tech pilots seat, operating what seem to be very complicated spacecraft controls. Stories abound here of his other accomplishments, among which is one where he journeys to upstate New York. Of course it was more than one thousand years ago, and he's there only to bury a special power-object in a designated place.As picture-writing history revealed, this crystal sphere and tablets were destined to be found much later by Joseph Smith, founder of the church of Jesus Christ of the Latter Day Saints! And, as the Mormons of today regard Palenque as one of the holiest of sites, this all makes me think: "very strange." I didn't visit the ruins in the month I was there since in past years, I'd spent a lot of time there and couldn't bear to see them covered with camera-clicking tourists. My VW is finally almost fixed. I am planning out my next journey into the heart of Chiapas. San Cristobal will be next, but just overnight, I think. Then up the mountain range to the heights. That is, if the Mexican army lets me... Resources: Cuba Travel Guide
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