Possessed by a Demon and Loving It

Remember the old scapegoat phrase "The devil made me do it"? Well, it wasn't really the devil that gave me the nudge to turn into a man possessed or a man obsessed. All it took was the reality that I am going to the US. The last time I was there was January 2003, so there was shopping to be done.

Ron generally returns annually with the exception of last year when we went to his niece's wedding in Florence. Try as I might to get all of my ordering in when Ron is stateside, it is never really fulfilling. He has this aversion to carrying things. Around Budapest, it is an argument getting him to take his smartphone with him when he goes out. "It is extra weight" that I hear him moan. Hence getting him to cart a large suitcase to and from the USA has been out of the question.

Well, my year has come and I am making up for lost time. After getting the A-Ok from friends in Des Moines to have packages sent to their house, I hit the Internet highway and drove from store to store shopping until my fingertips were calloused over. I ordered so much merchandise, I needed an Excel worksheet to keep track of it all. I also need an accountant to monitor the bills, but damn it was fun.

I keep monitoring our friends' threshold of tolerance with onslaught of packages arriving. They have admitted that they meet the delivery in person. They assured me that they are enjoying these opportunities for getting to know the UPS driver and the mail-person on such an intimate level. By the time our packages stop arriving they will all be exchanging holiday gifts and getting invited to each others' birthday bashes.

The last time we had to dig out our large suitcases from storage downstairs, um, well never. They have been stored away since 2001. We will be flying KLM and then Delta. In keeping with Delta's stricter regulations, one suitcase is 3 cm more than they allow. Normally, we would chance it, but empty it weighs 15.1 pounds. Our luggage limit is 50 pounds each, so we cannot risk a 15 lb. suitcase limiting us to 34.9 lbs to stuff it with. I ordered 6 pairs of jeans (Lee jeans for $29 I couldn't beat it), but not before I took an old pair and weighed them. One old pair is 2 lbs. exactly. There are still 2 sweaters, 2 pairs of slacks, 5 shirts, business cards, sandals, photos of our mural, and yes about 22 books, but all paperbacks. 

We will have to borrow someone's lighter, but large suitcase. This will probably be the only time we need two large suitcases, so why buy one? We spent 7 weeks in Central America with only 2 carry-on bags and a backpack.

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For the Birds Had Double Meaning

Our first full day in Panama City and it is raining. No skip that comment, because raining doesn’t even come close to doing it justice. If you have ever seen photos of Niagara, Isuzu, or Victoria Falls, you will have an idea of how hard it was coming down. Our accommodation is on the 6th floor of an apartment building with an oversized covered balcony and metal guardrails to prevent anyone from taking a flying leap. There is a tall metal table on the balcony with high chairs where I perch to write. We will be here until the 22nd. Watching people walk by on the street below as the rain pounds on them is sadistically humorous. Those silly enough to risk walking, get pounded into the cement after five steps. David, the apartment owner said this happens daily. At one point, there was thunder so loud, I thought someone broke the sound barrier immediately next to me. 

Still on the balcony, to the left, there are two hummingbird feeders hanging, while on the far right is a tray of birdseed for the parrots set on the ledge. As I am writing this, there are about seven hummingbirds vying for the four spouts attached to the one feeder that has sugar water. They range in color from dull brown, most likely females, to bright blue and striking green. Even the brown ones have the most glorious burst of yellow on the underside of their tail feathers. Busy, busy, they try to push one another off the feeder, like greedy children wanting a turn at a toy. 

As I am engrossed in my task at hand, I hear cacophonous outburst that are too loud for the hummingbirds. Looking up, I witnessed a pandemonium of small green parrots all surrounding the bowl presumably with the seeds. Some are pacing around the bowl, many others are perched all over the railing, yet all of them are pitching a fit. Later, I learned the bowl was empty with only hulls left. As I moved, they all took off in unison, so with a quick audit as they flew as a group, I counted about 40. What a sight to see.

This is an interesting place. We thought our bathroom was en suite, but it is right outside our bedroom door into the bathroom. There are other guest bedrooms, so we have to wear something to sneak out and back in during the night. When we looked in the bathroom, there were no towels and no toilet paper, which we thought strange. Next to the toilet was a hose connected to hot and cold water valves. Since this is standard in Malaysia and other parts of Asia, we were not unaccustomed to this, but even in other places, there was a paper first rule. We found towels on a shelf in the laundry area and took some without asking.

When I ran into David, I asked if it was okay to put paper into the toilet. Rather than say yes or no, he said “Well, I do it.” I took that as permission, but there was nothing forthcoming about providing any. Add that to the shopping list along with a bar of soap. I brought liquid soap, but Ron prefers a bar. When I asked about using the coffee maker, he showed me where the filters were, but then said “This is our coffee here.” Coffee goes on the shopping list. Last night he told us we should ask all of our questions at that time, since he cannot be available for us every time we need him. That's for the birds. I cannot imagine telling one of our B and B guests something like that.

Between rainstorms, we did do some wandering to explore the neighborhood and the city. Panama City is one of skyscrapers. Some are very boxy, but the majority has stimulating and eye catching designs. However, the downtown area is filled with them and they extend beyond the city. There is a comfort level here in that many things are in both Spanish and English, though we are trying to retrieve our Spanish from the recesses of our minds where they it has been in cold storage since last year when in Ecuador.

After having read that Panama is so inexpensive, I was a bit taken aback by the prices in restaurants. We stopped for lunch is a smallish restaurant where there were many locals eating. Our entrées were over $10 each, so we dropped close to $35 for a lunch. Knowing this was impossible to do on a daily basis, we hunted down a grocery store. There are plenty of small convenience stores, which incidentally seem to be run by or serviced by Asians. Assuming the prices at these stores would be exorbitant, we went to the major supermarket. 

Heaven, I’m in heaven! There were more ‘US American’ products on the shelves in this store then I could sample in a month of Sundays. What stopped me in my tracks and it was a long fall from heaven, were the prices. It was not just for the imported goods, but everything. Eggs, bread, milk it was all outrageous. A head of iceberg lettuce was $3.99. Small packages of lunch meat ham were $5.89. We bought a bottle of salad dressing for $5.99 and I was going to get some sugar free cookies, but a small box was $6.98. We left with cans of Campbell’s soup, some cheaper lettuce and a package of cherry tomatoes at $4.29. The full sized tomatoes were over $6. I am not sure how people can afford to shop here, but the store was doing a booming business. Now that I think about it, there were more register lanes with signs pointing out they were for 15 items or less. Maybe most cannot afford more than that many items at once. 

Once we returned back to the apartment, the rain started once again. Guess we are in for the night. 

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From Lively to Manic

This seductive, slow paced city, turns into a manic monster on Saturdays. Famous for its Saturday markets that have become so popular they are now held daily in abbreviated form; however, on Saturday it explodes like confetti being shot from a cannon. Like a manic depressive, the rest of the week seems repressed, depressed, and withdrawn as compared to the manic, nothing is held back, city on amphetamines nature that is its transformation. 

 We could not believe what we were seeing as we left the hotel for the park. There was barely a footpath between booths, stands, and individual sellers walking the narrow transit areas hawking their wares with pushcarts. It was exciting, it was a sensory overload, it was energizing. There were fruits we have not seen before or some that we have not seen in years.

Burdened down with cash, I felt a strong need to unburden myself by shopping. There were little gifts for some friend’s children, some things to embellish the walls of the B and B bedroom walls, and other presents for me alone. Five avocados sell for $1 or a bag of ten mangoes for the same price where 75 cents will buy you a grilled banana or plantain. Some woman sell roasted bugs and in another bowl cooked beans. I was not taking the risk of getting the wrong one so by-passed both.

Basically, this is how we spent our day, being tussled, shoved, stepped on, and pushed out of the way while browsing and shopping. What a fabulous day it was. There were stops at The Daily Grind for a coffee and Buena Vista for lunch. Christmas shows are still being performed in the main square creating a liveliness I have not felt for years.

This being our last night, we decided on Hosteria Country Inn Puerto Lago restaurant out of the town. It sits on a lake overlooking the mountains. We went about 6 pm to be sure to make it before the sun set. Being seated at a table right near the window, the view was incredible watching the clouds dance around the mountains turning color from milky white to orange sherbet.

Quinoa empanadas stuffed with cheese is nothing I would ever have thought of, but they were unbelievably delicious. Ron had a trout in a sauce neither of us was familiar with, while I had curried chicken. My potato was baked, but halved, scooped out and filled with a cheesy cream. Both dishes made impressionable presentations.

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Flea Market Shopping

A couple of times a year, each district has a grand trash day allowing resident to toss all of their large items out on the curb for a special trash pick-up.

For many, this is an opportunity to engage in extreme sports. One year, I barely made it out of our front door, before being pounced on by men and women alike who ravaged my arms of the burden I carried. It was only fortunate that I was kicking trash to the curb and not heading off with goodies for some friend; I would have had to enter battle mode. Although these vultures cleaned my carcass within seconds, not one relived me of any of my emotional baggage that I have been carting around for decades. Each of the carrion seemed to have a surplus of their own. 

Yesterday was the semi-annual 'kick it to the curb' day, so the piles were tremendous. The whooping and hollering outside the window would have made one thing there was a festival occurring on the street. In a sense there was.

I like to dub these days "Flea Market Shopping". I have actually seen people bring their own folding chair to sit near and protect their own pile of junk until the their recovery team arrives to haul it away. You can see fights break out when territories are not observed properly.  It is live theater and street performances combined.

In some areas, the sidewalk has been obliterated with the rummaging of the crowds. This makes it particularly dangerous for pedestrians who not only have to weave through the detritus, but also have their hands up in the air in a surrender motion, signally that you are only trying to make your way through and not trying to stake a claim.

Least anyone thinks this is for the rough and rugged only, I ask you "Do you know where your grandma was yesterday?" If you see what she has her eye on, it just may give you some ideas of what she REALLY wants for Christmas this year.

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From the Flea Market to Kika

Ron and I went to the Flea Market for the very first time today. In reality, we went once before, but it was closed. Typically, the sign shows the days and dates it is open, but that particular Saturday that we went, the date was covered up. Today, we hit the jackpot. Good grief is that an overstatement for flea market?

I have never had to pay an entrance fee for a flea market in my life, until now. Check that off of my Bucket List. Done, did it. Entrance is 150 Huf and all I received in return was a ticket, not a single flea. Rather than try to describe it, I took three pictures with my phone. There is more under this slideshow, so keep reading.

Why anyone would need or want to go to a flea market to buy their Gillette razor refills is still I question I have not answered to my mind's satisfaction. There was no discount over the store prices. One table had children's toys along with hunting knives and assorted weapons. Was this to cater to the anarchist families? Something for everyone? We did find one little treasure; who would have thought it could happen! The seller dropped the price by 1,000 Huf, most likely figuring he would be stuck with it forever if he hadn't. He probably got it by accident considering his other wares. How could we resist, I ask you?

The rest of our outdoor shopping adventure was thwarted by the rain sprinkles which were becoming increasingly aggressive and resembling thunderstorm wetness. 

We ventured on to Kika, the housewares store. One of the fans in the guest room died today. Funeral arrangements will be announced later, but our quest was to replace it immediately. Nature abhors a vacuum, guests abhor the heat. 

I had a secondary agenda. I have been wanting new dishes for ten years. We have been using those left by the previous owner, which were serviceable for the time. As they break, we are getting continually confined in our social meal options. I had spotted some dishes I liked, but wanted Ron to like them also.  

After asking if they deliver, we picked out service for 8: dinner plates, salad dishes, coffee mugs (no need for saucers), and soup bowls. Knowing this was way too heavy to cart home on public transport, I asked again at the register before proceeding through using my phone to translate "Do you have a delivery service?" Both times I was directed to the same desk where I spotted the same word that Google translated for me, so I was confident. 

We checked out our 8 dinner dishes, 8 salad dishes, 8 soup bowls, 8 coffee mugs, 6 forks and 2 butter knives to replace those that have gone MIA, and a floor fan. I was so excited wondering how soon they could deliver, so I could get it all washed and looking pretty in the cupboard. While I finished up paying, Ron started the delivery process. No, he didn't. They don't deliver dishes. 

Crap! We are not proud owners of 32 pieces of dinnerware from Denmark and we have to take a taxi home? For what we spent, they did not even provide a bag. Ron had to buy a box. They do have a table with wrapping paper to protect the dishes. Once it was all boxed, we weighed our options. One bus stops right outside the store. I could carry the box to the bus stop and this would get us almost home. There is no way I could carry the box the rest of the way. The question was who would give out first, the box or me? Once we reached Oktogon, we called a taxi. It was less than $5 to get to our door. Well worth it and it would have been more had the store delivered. Dishes are washed and put away. If you want to see them, come on over for dinner.

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Culture Shopping Christmas Combo

Christmas is in the air, but so are viruses and bacteria. Darn, we should have gotten our flu shot already. Aside from the quick digression, we did go to the annual one weekend only Christmas Craft Fair at the Museum of Applied Arts.


They charge regular museum rates to get in regardless of whether you are there to shop or view the exhibits. Whipping out my Press card garnered me free entry, saving a whopping 800 forints, but we had to pay for Ron. Sorry, no senior discount here. 


I love this museum inside and out. I tell people this is what I think being able to walk into a wedding cake would be like. We don't have people to buy for, but I did try to track down potential speakers for next year's Creativity Group. Gosh, the mind never stops working. The few I would love to have invited, do not speak English. There is no way I will fool with have interpreters. It is difficult enough trying to get the speakers. 

FYI, these photos were only taken with my phone. 

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Loaded

Our shuttle, the Paddy Wagon was coming for us at 5:10 am, but we were in the lobby by 5. The guy at reception wanted us to wait upstairs, but the chairs were much more comfortable downstairs by the front door. At 5:10 on the button, the doorbell rang, the reception guy ran down to unlock the door, but it was bread delivery for the restaurant. 

By 5:20, I was getting nervous when the reception guy tells me sometimes the shuttle just does not show up. He added that they quit services over the Christmas holidays, never informing the hotel. Great! Just great! They did show and we did get to the airport on time, but they only go as far as the parking lot. You are on your own from there to walk the rest of the way.

Strangely, we did not have our passports stamped leaving Ireland, but we did going in. They did stamp us coming into Hungary. There were no munchkins returning with us. They must have found their pot of gold.

I made a good book haul with the 3 for 2 offers and special sales with some books that I had not known existed, some by authors I had never heard of before, but they sounded interesting. 

Authors I have read and enjoyed, I have added these books:

Deliver Us From Evil by David Baldacci

Almost Moon by Alice Sebold

206 Bones by Kathy Reichs

The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver

The Chosen One by Sam Bourne

New authors and titles include:

Tender Morsels: A Work of Genius by Marco Lanacan

Room by Emma Donoghue

The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas

The Electric Michelangelo by Sarah Hall

A Gate to the Stairs by Lorrie Moore

The Secret by Rhonda Byrne

Darkhouse by Alex Barclay

This will keep me in reading material at least until the end of October.  

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Kinsale by the Sea

Allowing ourselves to sleep in until 8:30 was a rare treat. Breakfast was included in this hotel stay; we could fortify our bodies for an endurance test in shopping with some sightseeing added in. In addition to a standard buffet including choices of cereals, pastries, and juices, another option was for a full ‘traditional’ Irish breakfast.

It is a wonder the Irish don’t have a short life expectancy. The full deal is an egg, bacon, and a slice of ham, sausage links, black and white pudding, sautéed mushrooms, and a half a fried tomato. Sounded good to me for a once a vacation meal, but I could not do it every day. Before accepting the black and white pudding, being of a suspicious nature, I questioned the ingredients. From the waitresses description it sounded like they used the results of a pig’s D & C (Dilation and Curettage) for the main ingredients. I love the cryptic names these types of foods are labeled with: black and white pudding, head cheese, chitterlings, Rocky Mountain oysters, haggis, scrapple (Bet this one really makes board game companies angry).

Of course, being with Mr. Map (A.K.A. If I don’t have a map in my hand, I am not a happy camper), a stop at the tourism office is a mandate. At the hotel we picked up a copy of “What to do in Kinsale”. Second on the list of our things to do right after book shopping were the ferret races that is espoused in the booklet. It has been a full lifetime since I have been to a ferret race, so this was a ‘must see’. Wouldn’t you know it? “They discontinued them a year ago and never updated the booklet. They said something about having problems finding suitable jockeys.

I had forgotten how much fun it was to browse whole bookstores where ninety-nine percent of the books were in English and new at the same time. There are no used bookstores in this little town. I had also forgotten how expensive new books were. My trick was to write down the name and author of all books that looked interesting, which were not on any list I previously created. When we return to Dublin, I can check the other bookstores for second hand copies or sales.

At one point along a road through a residential section, Ron wanted to climb a lengthy flight of stairs between two homes, leading to an upper road. He took the high road and l took the low road, but hey, that is Scottish, not Irish. Anyway, the homes I passed has some themes like the Mermaids Haven and the Red Apple Place. Imagine the way the exterior was decorated based on their names and then imagine being their neighbors.
Eventually, Mr. Map and I found each other and went to an exhibition of craftspeople from around the county. Porcelain, glass, fiber, wood, crafts of all materials were used to create glamorous and stunning pieces of art: both functional and non-functional. Across the street, we visited an old church and graveyard dating back to the 14th century. I should look so good.

Two coffee stops were needed to warm up from the damp cold air from the sea when the sunshine was not doing its best at warming, but also for a save the back rest. Lunch was at Cucina (motto “Eat, Drink and Sleepover”), a delicious lunch at bargain prices, highly recommended for the next time you are in Kinsale. Our IrishRail person picked us up at 5 pm to drive us the fifty minutes to Cork to catch the 6:55 pm train back to Dublin.

Ryan’s pub shouted out our names when we returned; it is so very close to the train station, but the ride was close to 3 hours and we were encumbered with carry-on suitcases. Another time Ryan, I will remember your name. Did I happen to mention that President Clinton made a stop here? He drank, but never swallowed.

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Showering in Angry Tears

Any reader knows, we have needed to reconstruct our large bathroom for some time now. We have had a leaking problem into the 3rd floor apartment's bathroom for over 2 years now. You can see the dozen related posts if you are interested.

When we returned from vacation, Ron went to the local bathroom showroom to find a definitive person to diagnose our woes. After cutting a portion out of our glass brick wall and then the tub, they found the leak. Prognosis: the tub has to go and so do the pipes under it. Up to this point, I was having visions of sugarplums dancing in my head. Opps! Wrong metaphor. I was having visions of Martha Stewart sweeping through to glamorize the new remodel. When my feet touched the ground again, I did major Internet searching for bathroom designs and remedies. 

I still have not settled on a theme or color scheme when the emergency sirens, bells, whistles, and alarms sounded sending us to a bathroom showroom far, far away from the one around the corner. There we choose a new shower with glass door. Our glass block wall will be replaced on one wall. Okay, I have resigned myself to no longer having a tub. I am going to miss that once-a-year, long, leisurely bubble bath that I indulge in, but in reality, I am too hyper for baths. I can spend a half-hour in the shower, but not sitting in the tub. Too many movies that portrayed the tub as some romantic bastion of refuge alone or sharing, so those delusions linger in my memory.

Here is the difficult part...ordering tile. Yes, agreed, I am a spoiled American when it comes to wanting choices. When I had my bathrooms remodeled in California, it took me weeks to make decisions about tiles because the choices of tiles was so vast. Materials, colors, textures, coating and so on kept me awake at nights visualizing, planning, and scheming. Here there are no such problems. There is boring, less boring, least boring. When you finally find something that could actually seem livable, it turns out that it was a sample glued to the display board for the showroom in Kazakhstan and was never removed when put on display here.

Under duress, I picked out tiles, mosaics, for the shower walls. They were shade of dark blue, royal and navy. This would not have been my first pick, but I had perused the web sites of a half a dozen tile stores and found nothing more interesting. Ron put his foot down on ordering from Italy or Spain. I could live with this tile. It would not have been my first choice had I had choices, but I could live with it. There was something unnerving when the lady wrote up the order. I just had "that feeling", but without the language, I could not say anything other than point to the tile sample we wanted repeatedly. She kept responding with "Igen!" meaning "Yes". That was over four weeks ago, because no one keeps stock on hand. It has to be ordered. If a store needs to run from the tax office, they don't need to worry about liquidating stock. Now you see them, now you don't. 

Four weeks later, our tile, shower, shower head and the pipes arrive. I know immediately the tile is not the tile we ordered. It was on the same display board, but not the same tile. This tile is shades of azure blue with mottled salmon mixed in. The surface is flat, not the textured type that I ordered. The real dilemma is that the bathroom is totally ripped bare. All of the old tile is removed, the toilet, sink, bidet, and bathtub are all missing in action. What was once a water closet is now a vacant shell that resembles a bomb shelter after it was bombed. There is no option for returning the tile and ordering anew unless we want to be without a functional bathroom for the next four weeks while a new order comes in. My sense is that the tile we wanted was no longer available, so the woman gave us the second best option. Hey, after four weeks, who will remember what they ordered. Um, duh! We weren't drugged or drunk at the time. There was no blackout to distort the memory.

Now to add insult to injury, I thought I would have time to shop for the balance of the tile for the rest of the walls. Hell no! It all has to be done at the same time for humidity leaking reasons or some such nonsense. I think it is because the workers want to get it done and move on. Having been home sick for the last two weeks, I cannot go running around tile shopping. The doctor has me home bound until Friday. Friday, I am out of here like being shot from a cannon into the stores to find the rest of the tile where it is ready for delivery. I will have my bottle of aspirin in one hand and my sobbing towel in another.

For the whole hairy mess, click on the photo below to see the album of current events.

Bathroom remodel

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Not Boring, but Boringo

At some point in the wee hours of the morning, it sounded like ping pong balls were falling on the roof of our hut, box, whatever it is classified as, signaling the rain had started. By the end of an hour, the noise changed from ping pong balls to golf balls. If it were not so hot, I would have sworn it was hail coming down, but in reality just heavy drops of rain. Joseph our first guide from Kuja Safaris was coming to pick us up at 9am, so we were showered, had breakfast, and paid our bill ready to go. Then Ron came out to tell me the minor bad news. This place did not have our reservation for when we were to return. Gosh darn, no more Jerk-in-a-Box experiences? There are two hotels right next to the hostel, so he went to check on availability there. They both had a place, but the less expensive one included breakfast, a deal for sure. Both look more than adequate.

Once Joseph had us loaded in the van, we were off on a five hour drive to Lake Boringo where we are staying at Robert's Camp. Our accommodation here is, well what can I say, pleasant, but... We have a little hut to ourselves with a double bed. It is very tribal looking in construction, but modern inside. The problem is that the bathroom is in a different building behind us. Though the bathroom is modern, with a real toilet, this camp is known for two things: bird species, over 450 varieties in this area and then there are the hippos. More on these later.

As soon as we were checked-in, they wanted us to order our lunch. The cafe is called The Thirsty Goat and looks very Out of Africa gone a bit modern. I ordered a steak dinner and vanilla milkshake; Ron chose Moroccan meatballs with rice. We had no sooner finished lunch and they asked us to place our dinner order. We were too full to think of dinner, so we asked to do it later. Birdwatchers would be in heaven here. Just while eating lunch, we were entertained by about fifteen different bird species among them the African Hornbill. Others are in glorious shades of blues, yellows, and even beautiful grays.  The rest of the day was on our own.

As a conservation area, the animals have the right of way. About one block in distance from our hut is the Lake Boringo, the home of a family of hippos numbering about twenty-five according to local estimates. When we walked down to the lake to view them, they were out of the water grazing. Hippos kill more people than any other wild animal. On land, they can out-run a man. Basically, there is nothing else to do here except relax, so we read, wrote, relaxed, drank tea, ate dinner, and waited for the morning. The lights went off at 9pm, but they did come back on again shortly thereafter. If I had to go to bed at 9, it would be a really long night. I would be up at 2am, not being able to sleep again.

All of our meals are supplied by The Thirsty Goat Cafe, so dinner was shell pasta with cream sauce and beef lasagna. How wonderfully African!

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Add Spice to Your Life

Image via Wikipedia

The only gratification I get from mountain climbing up to breakfast is that once there, I can witness those younger than I huff and puff up the last flight of stairs. The view of the seashore is a pleasurable event, though the clouds always look ominous. A quick turn brings the towers of mosques, the steeples of churches, and the dome of the Hindu temple. Any more turns and all there is on offer is are the tin roofs of buildings and homes, with some weather worn block housing in the distance.

By 9am, we were waiting patiently for our Spice Tour guide to pick us up. The 3 Swedish people joined us by fifteen after the hour, but the guide did not show for yet another fifteen minutes. There were so many for the tour, they had 2 vans full, both with air conditioning, so no riots broke out. At $15. per person, it is a popular tour. After filling our van, we drove for about twenty minutes to a spice plantation where we were turned over to another guide with very good English.

I started taking pictures of the different things, but soon realized that when I went back to look at the pictures, I would not remember one from the other, realized it was pointless and quit. What was of interest was that many of the spices are not indigenous to the island or the country. Some came from then Persia, others from Mexico, and Thailand. Which can from where? I cannot tell you now. I told you I would forget.

What was interesting was that vanilla is grown on a vine and has to be grown under trees to protect it from the sun. Vines we saw were strung from tree to tree like a clothesline. The long pods were not ripe yet; green they do not smell vanillay yet. The flowers have to be hand pollinated, resulting in the high cost of vanilla beans. We were treated to some jackfruit right off of the tree. We have eaten this is in Thailand and Malaysia, but it was fun to try again. What we did not know were oversized seeds are edible if boiled first, though we did not get to try them that way. There was also the duran, which has a smell like rotting flesh with the saying "Smells like hell, tastes like heaven". Some parts of countries ban the growing or even the sale of it due to the odor it emits. Other fruits we tried were fresh litchi and rambutan. The guide explained that some people think they are the same fruit, but actually they are two different fruits. One has a spiky out layer, the other is smoother.

Fewer spices were displayed due to the season, but we did get to see nutmeg. Once the pod is opened, the red outer layer is called mace. When the mace is removed, the nutmeg is the inner spice. Cloves grow like just like they look in the bottle, but green and need to be dried once picked. Cardamon was another. Cinnamon is the bark of the tree, when cut in a proper fashion, the tree will heal itself; the bark is renewed and the tree is unhurt. The curled sticks of cinnamon are from smaller branches of the tree. Cinnamon that is ground comes from the larger trunks of the tree.

Walking in the brush, underbrush, and between trees, I walked into a large root sticking up out of the ground and hit my left foot sending me to the heavens to view the stars, even when the sun was blazing. After I recovered, it did not seem too bad, but later my two smallest toes turned lovely shades of purple and swelled like the little piggies where one went to the market and the one who stayed home.

Lunch was included, so we were transported to a village where people were building their home of tree branches and roof of reeds. We were directed to a large open room, a roof, but no walls, where mats were placed on the floor and asked to find a place on the mats. Removing our shoes before the mats, we complied by grouping in fives. Lunch was a yellow lentil dish very Indian looking, spiced rice with cinnamon, and spinach (OH, NO!). Although it was never mentioned, I suspected the meal was prepared with a number of spices we had seen. I found the flavors delectably outstanding.

After lunch, we visited the obligatory stand where we could buy some spices. I had thought they said the vanilla beans were 2,000 shillings a bag, so picked up 7 bags. When the guy started counting, he counted individual beans, so I took back 5 bags and put them back. As he gave me the running total, I added a bag, not wanting to spend more than 15,000. In the end, I had 7 bags of vanilla beans, one bag of cardamon tea and one of Marsala tea. He must have been so confused by the end of the whole transaction, he did not know what had happened. Actually, neither did I until I got back on the van and counted what I had received, more than I had anticipated to start.

The rest of the tour was a trip to the beach. How this relates to spices, is beyond me, but they were going to spend 2 hours there before returning to town. A whole group of us said we did not want to be crispy critters on the beach causing them to fill one van to return us to downtown again.

For dinner, we went to the park to find our friend from last night. He recognized us immediately and worked his charms. When so many things look different or you have not had it spiced in just such a way, eyes take over where the stomach should have control. On our plates were chicken kebabs, falafel, sweet potato, plantain, coconut bread, and salad. Everywhere we have had chicken either here or in Kenya, the way they cut it up is so foreign to us, plus, no chicken dish is served boned. Even the kebabs had bones, so when you are eating on the cement wall in a park on a paper plate, it does get to be challenging. Managing as best we could, we put away a good portion of the meal, but we did order too much. If we do it again, we need to order one thing at a time. As good as the sweet potato was, it would have been delicious with butter. Plain, it is too dry to swallow after the first bite without something to drink and our friend did not sell drinks.

Now that we have the territory down pat, it is nothing to walk around in the dark at night. Dozens of Islamic women in their religious dress are out on the streets as well. I have often wondered if those who keep their faces covered are ever able to eat out. It would make it difficult when only your eyes are showing through.

Back at the hotel, we stoppeed for a cup of tea at the cafe. We were speaking to one of the young waiters there about his job. He convinced us he loved it. He works six days a week and earns 100,000 shillings a month (140,000 is $100). From this, he is saving to go to college to...are you ready for this? to become a waiter. At first, we thought we had misunderstood him, but he said it again. They teach how to properly set a table, how to offer excellent customer service, how to present the meals and so on. What they do after those 2 hours is beyond my imagination. As I was ready to probe further the owner walked in, started talking to us, so I never was able to ask anymore.

Only 40% of the population of the island works in salaried positions. This explains why so many are selling cashews, DVDs, and scarves on the streets. But then again, when you have to pay for an education starting with primary school, only the lucky get to get ahead.

On a different note, we found that Zanzibar is semi-autonomous from Tanzania. Zanzibar has its own parliament and president, but Tanzania is still the overseer as a national government. They do send members to the Tanzania parliament and vote in the Tanzanian presidential elections.

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Window Shopping

Isn't English fun? Window shopping can mean:

1. Browsing shop windows with lust in your eyes drooling over all of the goodies we cannot afford.

2. Looking for windows to replace the windows that are not as energy efficient and need replacing

3. In the age of technology, software.

Today, I was looking behind door number 3. After spending part of Sunday going to two different malls, one with a Saturn store and the other with an Electro World, I was on the prowl for Windows 7 Professional in English. The best I could do was get a Home Premium version. If you read this blog regularly, you may recall that a couple of our guests gave me the Windows 7 Home Premium as a gift. I was and still am most appreciative and in awe over their generosity. However, we have five computers total, so one copy of the software is not enough to go around, at least not legally.  

What I decided to do was to put Windows 7 Professional on the main computer and the Home Premium upgrade on the kitchen computer. I am still reading reviews on what to do with the netbook, one laptop we only use for watching videos powered through the TV, and I just may need another copy for my school laptop. It seems that the Pro version will work better with my Windows Home Server, which feeds into the other computers, thus making a Home Group an even better option, thus sharing everything on the network that I want to share.

I have asked my students to check repeatedly, but they did not come up with anything. Well, necessity is the mother of digging deeper. I had a student who needed his thesis papers signed. I told him which malls I would be checking today if he wanted to find me. Today was the deadline for this paperwork. Amazingly, within an hour, he had a store's link where I could get any version of Windows I wanted. After signing his paper in good faith, I headed off of the beaten path to find this store in one of the outer districts. Eureka! It was true, but they do not stock anything. After placing the order today, it will be available for pick-up by Wednesday. No money was transacted until delivery. The kicker is that it is $100.00 cheaper here than what I could find on the Internet for online stores in the States. I did ask more than once is this was the full package, not just an upgrade. Their English was superlative, but I will examine the box carefully before handing over the money.

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Kim Writes in...

Kim has left a new comment on your post "LIghts, Action, Ah, Where is the Camera?":

I would say NOPE... this is Hungary after all. And I am Hungarian. :-S I would go and get the camera from somewhere else where they physically give it to you. Hope you like your stay here though, I have had enough, moving straight back to the UK. 

Thanks Kim. Normally, I would follow that advice, but my US contacts have warned me that the camera is not available in stores in there either. It is only available online in most places, so this seems to be standard operating procedure. The other options for purchasing here, are also online stores only, but without the extra lens for the same cost. The extra lens is another 72,000 Huf, making the wait a real bargain. I have not put any money down on it and will not until the camera arrives, so I have nothing to lose except maybe exceptional photography for our upcoming trip.

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Don't Let Holiday Shopping Frequent Flyer Miles Slip Through Your Fingers | Frommers.com

Don't Let Holiday Shopping Frequent Flyer Miles Slip Through Your Fingers | Frommers.com

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Kim Files 6

Ron took Kim on a tour of Kerepesi Cemetery, which some may think is strange, but really it is a glorious park where history meets art. I have included a larger section on it in my new book. While they were gone, I caught up on my writing for the book, completing a couple of chapters, which really felt accomplished. After they returned, Kim rested, we discussed our shopping day. When I told her of the itinerary, she rebuked the idea of so much territory, but I knew better. We started on Kiraly, where she tried on eyeglass frames from the Seattle/Hungarian Tipton. His frames are handmade from old vinyl records and the newer models are from old celluloid film. After trying on a dozen pairs, she finally settled on one to purchase. We wandered down to the tram to arrive at the great market for a quick once over for souvenirs, but they were declared unworthy, so we moved on to Vaci street. Once I got her into one of my favorite stores, Intuita, she received that shopper's rush of energy. Store to store we went, shopping bags accumulating with each block, and finally making it to the other end of Vaci, my original suggestion earlier that morning. All in all, it was quite an exciting day having a shopper with me for a change who made purchases. Dinner was at Marquis de Salade. This was a memorable restaurant that Ron and I went to when we first, first came to Budapest on vacation in 1998. The service was fine, but there was something off about the food. We did start with the six salads, a great choice, but the entrees were not as spectacular as in the past. For one thing, the menu has shrunk. There were quite a number of choices from Russia, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, and other countries, but many seemed to be absent from this new menu. What we ordered was good, but not exceptional, so it was disappointing for me who wanted to show off a great restaurant.

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The Kim Files

As I have mentioned, our friend Kim has come to visit after not seeing each other for about 12 years. We are still not certain exactly how many years it has been, but her daughter who is now 26 years old, was only a pre-teen when we last saw her. Kim is what friendship is all about. When I was living in CA we spent a lot of time together doing things both fun and supportive of each other. When I had a partner dying, Kim was there for me every day without fail. She was my rock and support. I never needed to worry about being alone or even explaining my feelings; she intuitively knew what I was feeling and how to best support me. When it was time to plan the memorial, Kim was there helping me along. We cried together and laughed together. When somehow our lives diverged, I felt the loss and mourned it, but never understood why it happened. There was never a moment in those twelve years that I did not wish it were different. As I have mentioned, we picked up where we left off without skipping a beat. Magically, that gap in time has dissipated, bringing us back the old times. Neither of us can drink bottles of wine and laugh hysterically like we did in years gone by, but we have found that we never did need that wine to laugh and enjoy each other to the fullest. Our agenda has been full. Having Kim to take around has been a great help for my researching my next book. Monday, after her arrival, she decided to by-pass a nap to get in sync with the 9-hour time difference. We went to the Kossuth Museum Boat restaurant for dinner, sat on the outside deck overlooking the well-lit Castle Hill across the Danube. The stars peeked through enriching a perfect view. Tuesday, we ventured to the Museum of Applied Arts to show her an example of Hungarian Secessionist architecture from the outside, but the museum was not open until 2 pm, so we missed the Ottoman style interior. We went instead to the Central Ervin Szabo Library, one of the most beautiful I have seen. From there we ventured down Raday utca stopping to shop and get a quick bite at Pink Cadillac restaurant. Later that evening, we went to Paprika, where we were given dinner on the house. Szentendre was our Wednesday excursion. After taking the HEV there, we wandered around the town. I reviewed the museums, restaurants, and shops once again, but we had plenty of time to browse new shops and galleries. It saddened me to find my favorite store, a unique puppet shop had closed, but was replaced by the Old Goat Gallery, which is wonderful. I am adding it to the book. Of course, we had to stop for a langos at my favorite stand there, and I brought her to the Blue Folk shop so the woman there could enchant her with her stories. Kim being a shopper, I found some great little stores that I had not discovered before. Normally, I am with those who have an aversion to shopping, so getting off of the beaten path to look for fun things is not on the agenda. Now I will have to return alone to make some purchases. We took the ferry back to Budapest, something Ron and I have never done before. It was lovely and peaceful. I imagine in the autumn, it would be spectacular. For dinner, we went to Wasabi, the Running Wok and Sushi restaurant. All food is delivered on two conveyor belts with hot items on top and cold on the bottom. They removed the doors on the top, so the food was only tepid, but still it was fun and a new experience for Kim.

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Down and Dirty

My last 'free' day yesterday, I spent cleaning the apartment in preparation for guests coming. Since I was at it, I did it the hard way, I really, really cleaned with furniture polish and everything. Yea, yea, yea, I have been dusting all along, but it is amazing what a little polish will pick up that a dry rag does not. I went through three big rags, folding them to expose a new clean area until I wound up with Origami type creations. I really hated to put them in the wash, they were kind of attractive in a grungy sort of way. Then I did the biggie, washing all of the wood floors with wood soap. If anyone (subliminal message-guess who) ever tells me that vacuuming is good enough, I am going to make soup out of the dirty water from floor mopping. The floors look lovely. Our bedroom floor is actually parquet. I had forgotten that. I made the beds for guests, the rooms were ready, all I had to do was iron the pillow covers. After six hours of cleaning, I had dishpan hands, mop hands, cleaning elbow, wood grain knees, and enough polish on me to make me rainproof. Today, I had the last of the State Exams. This time for the BA students, our first group ever to go through the misery. We had eight in our group, were told to spend thirty minutes with each person, so I was planning on escaping by 1:00 pm. Each student had to defend their thesis, take a comprehensive oral exam in their specialty area, and then another in an area of their choice. The grading system required an abacus to figure out. Needless to say, we ran behind all day, so I finally said "Chow" to my colleagues at 3:45 when I rushed off to teach my private English lesson. On my way home at 5:30, I stopped at the grocery store to get breakfast supplies for the guests coming tomorrow. Then I whipped out the iron and board, did up the pillow cases, put them on, and vacuumed the tiled floors. If I play my cards right, I can mop them in the morning and have them dried before any arrivals. Six more episodes of 24 Season 7 to go. Will I make it tonight? I am not sure, I am really pooped.

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WAMP About

I was just putting the dates for the WAMP fairs on our online calendar and thought they should be included here also. If you are in the city on one of these dates, you would do yourself a favor to visit if only to browse. What does WAMP mean? Beats me. What I do know is that each month this organization, which started in 2006, holds a monthly fair of Hungarian designers and their products. The range is from clothing to lighting fixtures with lots of the in-between categories included. In order to join WAMP, potential members have their work judged by their peers, before being accepted into the organization. WAMP was started by three Hungarian women with backgrounds in fashion design, teaching visual culture in a university, and international relations. Some fairs will include a table or two of "Made in China" products, but they are few and as noticeable as a giant zit on your grandmother's forehead. Peek at their goods if you like, or just pass them by for the really good stuff. Have fun! Erzsébet square outdoor dates - The old bus station April 19th May 24th June 14th July 12th August 16th September 13th In October, they move indoors. While at Erzsébet square, you will notice stairs going down to the Gödör Club. Normally, this a cafe, but it transforms for the fair. October 11th November 15th December 6th December 13th December 20th

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Adelaide, Oh Sweet Adelaide

Not even twenty-four hours in Adelaide and I am ready for medication again. Part of it most likely due to not having the air conditioning on last night. We did not ask for it, because it would cool the three other rooms around us too, so we were being considerate. Having the window open for air did not work either. We are on the ground floor and the party people who are not allowed to cause a ruckus inside, stand outside to drink and carry on. It was a trade-off between heat or noise. I woke with a sinus headache, not feeling rested, and as dreary looking as before Hobart. Where did that Hobart healing go so quickly? Up in the kitchen, we made our scrambled eggs and raisin bread toast. There were young and old scrambling around cooking, cleaning up their dishes, or using the computers in the lounge. As I watch all of these twenty somethings, it makes me sad that I missed out on these opportunities in my youth. When I grew up, hostels certainly existed, people my age backpacked primarily through Europe, and experienced life. I on the other had was raised with fear. Fear of being alone, fear of asking my family if I could go, fear that I knew the answers already, fear of not knowing what, where, when, and especially how to navigate from one place to another. There certainly wasn't Internet back then to help plan the details out or to keep in touch to let those left behind know I was still living and breathing. For God's sake, my family had a fit when I went to Europe the first time and I was then thirty years old. They had no sophistication about travel, museums, culture, or life experiences in that fashion. Since then, I have truly made up for these deficits by traveling extensively. This is the forty-eight country Ron and I have have visited together in the last fifteen years. I have been to Mexico before I met him, so I am one up on him. With all of the flurry of youthful activity, I also regret that my own nephews have been raised with the same types of restrictions I lived through. Our parents were so much more liberal with my brother, it would seem he would be more liberal with his sons, but apparently not. When we lived in California, I repeatedly asked for them to come visit, even offering to pay the airfare. Since, we have made the same offer for their visiting Budapest, all to deaf ears. Even appealing directly to the offspring has not dented their armor. The response is always, I will have to ask my father, but then there is never another response. The eldest no longer needs his father's permission. Soon he will be graduating college and is over twenty-one years old. One would think that if you had college buddies who knew you had an uncle in Europe, they would prompt you to visit just so they could join along. Free lodging for all, what a deal. Apparently, American youth have a lot to learn from European and Asian youth who seem too jump on any opportunities they can. Back to the moment, Ron tried booking the tour he was interested in, the wine tour. Unfortunately, they were not planning on running it tomorrow due to lack of interest. He is considering other tours with different companies. The major agenda item today was shopping. We have not bought a single souvenir or gift yet. Each time I have seen something, the response I get is “That will be everywhere we go, do you really want to lug it around? Wait until we return to Adelaide.” Refusing to do anything until we went shopping seemed to work, now we had to remember where the shops were. The first one we went to had some of the things that caught my eye in Melbourne, but at twice the cost and not as good quality. Keep looking. Another shop, but more disappointment. They did not have what I wanted. They did have some adorable plastic bag storage bags with kangaroos and koalas on it. I bought five of them for gifts. With today being Saturday, nothing will be open tomorrow, so the pressure was on. There was a small department store that is a chain and I had a feeling, which turned out to be correct. They had some stuffed animals that were just right and at a better price than anywhere I had looked. Put a bunch of these in the shopping cart. As we were sitting at a coffee stop, Ron had mentioned Iowa with the idea of going there this summer. Normally, that would be fine with me, but we may have to return to New Jersey to clean out my father's house, in addition to deciding on what to do with our things in his back room. This led to my re-entry thinking, which I really hate dealing with. Re-entry thinking usually starts toward the last two to three days of a vacation if I am lucky enough to hold it off that long. The phenomenon creeps on on me with thoughts of things I need to do as soon as I get home that have to be dealt with. As soon as I get home, I have fourteen thesis students to advice and kick in their butts to get their thesis written and completed by March. Never have I had this many in one semester before, so the reading is going to be insurmountable, but each was warned with a strict time line expected of them for my return. This led to thoughts of my father and his predicaments, leading to the B and B if we were both gone at the same time, but how could one of us make decisions on what was worth keeping or not alone? However, this led to the negative thoughts that neither of us have a valid driver's license any longer, so there is the hassle of getting from the airport, but more importantly, the stress of being held captive at my father's house since he does not drive any longer. He doesn't have Internet access, so I am cut off from the world; the city he lives in is not all that sophisticated to have Internet cafés within walking distance. It may be lesser of a strain and expense to have the whole lot of it shipped to Hungary and we sort it out there. Oh, how I hate re-entry thinking. A diversion is what I need, to ban it from my mind. The Tandanya Aboriginal Museum did the trick; we went to look in their gift shop. Everything there is guaranteed work done by Aboriginal people. We found a small wall hanging called “Men's Ceremony” that was also on sale for 20% off. That and a boomerang will fill our souvenir needs for ourselves. The next stop was the Central Market, after taking a two stop ride on the free inner city loop bus. The market is a humongous place filled with produce stands, butchers, cheese shops, and pre-cooked foods for sale. Aside from the Budapest Central Market being more attractive, next to this one, it looks like a small convenience store. It was mobbed with people shopping for the weekend. The market is closed on Sunday and Mondays. One would think it was a Christmas rush at a give-away sale. Avocados out for sample were creamy, rich in flavor, and ready for eating. We bought a couple of them, a few sweet potatoes, and some sausage with chicken, spinach, cheese, and onion. Ron likes a snack before dinner with a glass of wine, so we found some sharp cheese we sampled, so we bought a piece along with plain crackers. At another stand, we found beautiful bacon to supplement our breakfast. We walked out with our arms full and spent less for two days dinners than we would have for one night in a restaurant.. There is some sort of bicycle race starting here on Monday, but tomorrow is the pre-event, though I have no clue what that means, there are a number of cyclists riding around the city. We returned to the hostel to put our food away in the wall filled refrigerators in our marked bag. Now I am sipping tea and writing while sitting on the balcony of the second floor, shaded and enjoying the breeze. When Ron mentioned he wanted to go on a wine tour, I briefly stated he should go alone since I don't like most wines. He went and booked it for tomorrow for himself without asking me again. I sent him back to book me too. Being Sunday, there will not be much for me to do here alone, so I might as well get to see some of the countryside. They also have an offer that if you spend $100. on travel you get a free hour of Internet that they otherwise charge $4.00 an hour for, but it turned out that one person has to spend $100. on themselves, not combined. Well, I wanted the day out anyway, so the tour should be fun, but in the meanwhile, I am paying $5.00 an hour for WiFi or Internet in any fashion. Our plan is to do laundry on Monday evening. The worst thing when you get home is to have lots of wash to do. The charge is $3.00 for a load of wash and the same for the dryer. We only travel with a small amount of clothes, so one load should do the trick if we combine colors with whites. The dryer can be increased with 20 cent coins. When we get home, the only dirty clothes to worry about will be the ones we are wearing. This is another advantage of traveling with only a carry-on suitcase for five weeks. I left behind three shirts as we went, shirts I had intended to toss or donate anyway. When they used up their usefulness, I left them behind, lighting the suitcase. Conversely, we bought about five t-shirts with slogans on them, so we do have alternative clothes to wear. When we get home though, the clean clothes can be put away and we can recuperate the flights with “no worries” as everyone says here. No worries, mate. No worries, no worries, no worries. No wonder the Australians can afford to be nice and kind. None of them have worries. Must be nice. The other thing that I noticed is that they spell thank you as a closed compound: thankyou or Thankyou. Oh, and gyro or giro is yiro. There are tons of slang words we have had to ask as people used them, but none that I will commit to memory for longer than our flight home. We did not do much after returning earlier. Ron bought at bottle of sparkling shartz wine, so we had a couple of glasses before dinner with the cheese and crackers we bought. The wine went down really well, but the kitchen started turning into a frenzy, so we hightailed it in to start our dinner too. We fried the sausages in a cast iron skillet while microwaving the sweet potatoes. After the sausages were cooked, I cut the sweet potatoes into large chunks and fried them in the balance of the butter from the sausages; the sausage did not have any fat to coat the pan. It was delicious, but we continued drinking the 750 ml bottle of wine with dinner as we sat on the balcony enjoying the breeze. If you don't know how much 750 ml of wine is, let me tell you, I can get shitfaced on 200 ml. This particular wine is sweet, so after a more than a few glasses, I was ready to collapse face first into my dinner dish, reminding me of Ruth Gordon in Where's Papa, an old movie with George Segal. Ron, bless his heart continued drinking, finally finishing off the bottle to save me from myself. His Irish background comes in handy for things like that. Give it to Ron, he will drink anything, reminiscent of the LIFE cereal commercial, “Give it to Mikey, he'll eat anything.” After crawling to the sink to get the dinner dishes done, somehow I miraculously made it back to our room, though I don't remember it spinning before dinner. After resting for an hour, Ron insisted we walk around the block to get our gastric juices the motivation to perform. That was the longest block I walked in five weeks.

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