Terrorism on the Bus – Protests in the Cities

I love this picture. We were waiting for the Quito bus when I happened to see these two. It is not clear whether the little girl is related to the shoeshine man or if she wanted to be supportive by giving over her allowance. It is a cross-generational piece that Norman Rockwell would have painted.

Our bus was super luxury with wide plush seats, darkened windows, and air conditioning. We did not need cooling off; the weather was taking care of that naturally. Once we were out of the station, the driver’s helper reached up and lowered a movie screen like the type on old airlines. Within minutes, we captives were blasted with a B movie of guns, violence, and extremely loud sound effects.

After the first movie ended and the second one began, a young man boarded the bus. Ron and I were in the second row from the front, absorbing more sound waves than humanly needed. This particular young man stops right next to my seat, but remains standing in the aisle. He has a backpack, which he sets on the floor. He reaches down, takes a large dark rectangular box from the backpack, and sets this on the floor in the middle of the aisle. The box is undistinguishable. My heart races. Is this a terrorist attack?

There is a large and clear sign on the bus door. No vendors allowed. This guy is young, rather grungy, and he starts yelling in Spanish to be heard at the back of the bus, but also to overpower the movie, which is still a loud competitor. Being at the front of the bus, I cannot gauge the reactions of others without an overt movement. If this is a terrorist, I do not want to draw attention. 

Finally, this guy reached into the backpack once more. He pulls out a stack of DVDs. Suddenly, this ominous box comes to life. It is a DVD player and it is spewing out Romantic Hits of the 80s in Spanish. The tunes I recognize, the words I do not. He hawks his wares for another 30 minutes, before he decides to leave the bus in peace once again.

Once in Quito, we try finding a taxi to the apartment we rented, which is supposedly right near Old Town. Three taxis refuse us outright. A fourth agrees after a lengthy discussion with his colleagues. This makes me nervous about the area. We negotiate a price ahead of time - $10. We drive for quite some time and the apartment owner did warn us that the ride could be upwards of $15. As we get close to the center of the city, there are roads closed with police barriers. The driver starts to curse.

We finally make it to the area. Ron and I recognize landmarks from two years prior. The driver goes round and round stopping every few blocks to ask strangers for

directions. He is getting more and more agitated. He is on his phone asking for directions. I show him the phone number of the person meeting us, suggesting he call them for guidance. I do this in Spanish; he makes a call. I think this is resolved. He called someone else. 

Finally, we were on one of the streets given in the directions. We stop again to ask another stranger for help. The man looks at me and asks in English if I speak the language. I explain I have the number for the person meeting us and have been trying to get the driver to call it. Without hesitation, the man takes the driver’s phone and calls himself. He gets directions and Wilson, our contact comes to meet us. We were on the corner of the building. The driver raises his rate to $15. It turns out, the address the owner provided was incorrect. She gave the cross street as the street the apartment was on, rather than the reverse. 

The apartment sits on the street that leads directly into Parque de Independencia, the main square of Old Town. Unfortunately, it is also close to the top of the hill on this street that has a slope of about 75 degrees. From the corner, we have to climb stairs to get up the street. When we leave the apartment, we can walk down the street, but getting back will definitely require the aid of a taxi or an ambulance later if we hoof it.

Settled in, we walk to the square for dinner. Police are everywhere in herds. They are all standing around talking, so we are unaware. Every corner we pass, there are 25-50 police. It is wonderful to see the ratio of women officers. The Parque de Independencia is plastered with police. People are taking down temporary tents. We still are clueless.

On the square is a restaurant we have enjoyed in the past. It sets back in a little courtyard with other restaurants and gift shops. Tonight it is dead. The waiter looks thrilled for the diversion. The television has the news showing. After ordering, Ron looks up to the TV and tells me to do the same. There was a massive protest in Quito earlier today involving an estimated 30,000 people. They were protesting the current president passing a bill changing the constitution to allow an end to term limitations. The current president is up for reelection in 2017. This bill would allow him to continue running for life. 

As the news continued, there were protests in Riobamba, Cuenca, and many other towns and cities we had left. Not all were about the changing of the law, but for oil drilling, indigenous rights, and workers fair wages. 

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Kiss Me Guido, I Mean Quito

It seems we are the new wake up service for roosters, being up before they have a chance to clear their throats with the first crow of the day. To add to my exhaustion, when the sandman was trying to knock me out, there was the nightmare man forcing his way into my mind. I had fears that the itinerary would not be valid once they looked us up in the computer. Nightmares continued that we would be stuck in Miami indefinitely.

At Miami International, the ticket counters open three hours before flights. We were first in line and my nerves were soothed when the ticketing woman manipulated the computer to spit out our boarding passes and luggage tags. She was warm and friendly for such an early hour. With much gratitude, we said out good-byes.

I have already shared the decision to rule out Diner’s Club lounge this time around. We went directly to the gate where there was a restaurant for coffees. Ron stopped at a newsstand to buy a bottle of water and a newspaper for a total of $8.59. Welcome to America.

This flight from Miami to Quito was on American Airlines, but a code share with LanEcuador. This was initially disappointing, but it turned out to be great service. Sure, you had to buy earphones if you wanted to watch the movie, one we had seen, but the breakfast was plentiful and more than edible. This flight is three hours and 50 minutes.

We were sitting there, welcoming the fact that we are really getting to Ecuador, when a thought creeps into my mind. We were never given stubs to identify our luggage. After checking our boarding passes, passports, and other stubs of information clogging pockets and backpack nooks, there was nothing to help us identify our luggage if needed, but more importantly, to file a claim if it were lost. These thoughts haunted me through the flight, only sabotaged occasionally with reading briefly from the novel I had at hand.

After landing, my first instinct was to kiss the ground. Flying in, the scenery is breathtakingly beautiful. My motivation was that we made it and not hostages in Miami. The time in Miami did get us in mental shape again for South America. No one in the airport spoke English to us until we asked.
Once deplaned, you of course go through Passport Control first thing. The striking difference was that the line moved quickly and each control agent was smiling. Waiting for the luggage took on new meaning for the word forever. Finally and thankfully, our two small pieces of luggage emerged on the conveyor belt. These had to pass through Customs, which is a sporadic event. A control office presses a button as each person approaches and a light determines whether you proceed to the X-ray machine or get a free pass. Ron had his things X-rayed.

We lost out on our hotel from last night; the cost was not retrievable. While I had luggage sitting duty, Ron went to the information booth to get hotel information. We discovered, our original ‘airport hotel’ was 45 minutes away and would have cost about $30 for a taxi going and then returning tomorrow morning. The information had other options, but the first one they suggested was full. Another of their suggestions not only had a room, but also had free shuttle service.

 A taxi arrived to get us and proceeded to drive us for 35 minutes before we parked at a hotel on a busy highway in a section of a Quito suburb that resembled a strip mall. The place was immaculately clean and the room had double beds with contemporary comforter covers. Wi-Fi was available, though more reliable in the upper lobby than in the room. The bathroom had the old-fashioned electric hot water heater. It was more than adequate and considering the taxi returning to the airport was also included, it was really a bargain.

Traipsing in and out of dusty roads that made up this little town, once we crossed the busy highway, we were pleasantly surprised. It rated the level of “adorable” considering we were only there for one night. Everyone around was friendly toward us. Schoolchildren stared; this must have been their first Gringo sightings.

Of course, there was a church in the center of the town; of course, the doors were open; of course, we went in. Inundated with gold on the altar, it was in sharp contrast to the plain planks of wood that made up the floor throughout. Almost obliterating the altar were vases of flowers. The primary choice was roses, but other species did get their due as well. In a side chapel, there were enough flower arrangements to mistake the room for a funeral parlor or florist supplier. No dead person was in attendance, so the spectacle had to be for the Jesus statue behind the gilded gold altar. Well, on second thought there was a dead person in attendance.

We had dinner at a small restaurant a couple of blocks away from the church. We split a half-chicken dinner, but the woman started each of us with a bowl of chicken soup. It was not totally unexpected when a spoonful produced a chicken foot. This was not our first time on an Ecuadorian chicken soup rodeo, not that I found it more pleasant this time. Chicken portions were massive. I would have hated to be the one to wrestle that chicken to his death. Additionally, there was a plate of rice and French fries that could have fed two villages in Africa. Left behind after we paid the bill for $8 was still too much food. The bill included two large bottles of beer.

Returning to the hotel, we were both ready to collapse. We had not had a decent night’s sleep in three days having to get up in the middle of the night to go to an airport. Only naps on planes do not constitute sleep. However, sleep for me was evasive once again as the nightmare man managed to get through our locked room. Visions of LAN Ecuador Airlines rejecting my suitcase as too large promoted my primary fear. Not to be outdone, there had to be a secondary fear, which was that they would also reject my backpack filled with technological items.

Readied for 4am, the alarm and a wakeup call were promises for another night of unrest.

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Taxi Drivers Love Tourists

If I had kept track over the years, I could write a book about the things guests do that are bordering on funny. Well here is another one. The same guest who called in a panic for a room, was going out today, but wanted to be back at 5:00 to catch his train to Stuttgart. He reserved a sleeper. When he went out he told me where he was going and asked for directions. Three tram stops, just three tram stops, no more. Fine, he got it. At 5:15, I was wondering where he was, but his luggage was still here, so he did not disappear. At 5:40, he comes in furious. When he returned on the tram, he accidentally got off at Blaha Lujza ter, one stop too soon. He said he knew he was close, but could not find way from there. He jumped into a taxi. For the unknowing, we are 1 1/2 blocks from Blaha Lujza ter. The only reason we do not recommend it is because you have to go under the street where the metro is to cross the street and it is confusing. His taxi ride cost him 4,500 Huf ($22.58). He said he kept yelling at the driver that he knew they were going in the wrong direction and that he was being cheated, but the driver did not speak English. I had all I could do not to laugh. The moral of the story is read our website. I advise against taking taxis from the street.

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A Month Later, the Adventure Ends

It is just past midnight, but we are up, brushed our teeth yet again, dressed and ready to meet the taxi. As soon as the elevator doors open on the ground floor, the third desk clerk we have seen today announces our taxi is here and waiting. Once again we confirm that it is a set rate for 90 Ringgits for the ride and are assured it is settled. The driver’s command of English is as impressive as ours is of Malay, so the ride is quiet.

Being an international flight, we need to arrive two hours early to check in. The driver pulls up to the airport departure curb within forty-five minutes, giving me pause to think of the fifteen minutes I could have spent sleeping or writing or anything but sitting in an airport. The fare, we are told, is 130 Ringgits. When we dare to suggest the rate was 90 Ringgits guaranteed, the driver’s command of the English language was well enough to say there is a nighttime surcharge. We paid it and moved on, grateful for the fact we still had enough Ringgits for a coffee inside.

The airport boasts signs that it was rated the WORLD’S BEST AIRPORT FOR 2005 AND 2006. Makes you wonder what happened to them last year. It was like entering a ghost town in the Wild West, the lights were on, but no one was at home being the first impression. When we looked at the monitor, there was not check-in gate listed for our flight. However, I saw a very long line and went to investigate it and then joined the queue only then asking what the line was for. Ron had a smart mouth remark about my finding a line and having to join it needlessly. Well, it turned out that this line reaching three blocks in length was the line to check in for our flight. Good grief, we were here slightly more than two hours early. What did these people do, camp out here as if they were starting the sale of concert tickets?

I had concerns about this many people fitting on a plane regardless of the size, but then realized that every man in Arabic dress with a turban had his whole tribe here to see him off. They took so many pictures of each other, you would think it was a wedding or they were witnessing the second coming.

We stood immobile for twenty minutes. Not having binoculars, we could not see what was happening at the beginning of the line. Word finally reached us via carrier pigeon that the computer system was down and they could not process anyone, hence the wait. The computer system is down in the WORLD’S BEST AIRPORT FOR 2005 AND 2006? Now we know why they were skipped over for 2007. Now I wondered whether I should have concerns about the airport or Qatar Airlines. Placing the blame on the airport was less fearful than thinking an airline could not keep its computer system functional. Please let the control towers computer be working that is all I ask at this unreasonable hour. It took another fifteen minutes before the line started to creep along like a caterpillar on tranquillizers.

By the time we checked in, we had reached the time of boarding for our flight. The only satisfaction was that there was still a whole village of people behind us waiting to check in also, giving a one last chance for a cigarette. When we left for the gate, there was still a lengthy snake of luggage carts nose to tail with anxious travelers hoping the plane would wait for them. At the gate, we boarded the plane immediately. Having a 2-4-2 configuration, we were lucky to have the two seats on the right side of the plane. Again, each seat has its own monitor featuring over 50 international movies in English or sub-titled, 150 TV episodes, games, and so on. Miracles do happen, in spite of lines, we left the gate only five minutes late. The first leg of the journey would be seven hours and forty minutes to Doha, Qatar. The first meal was breakfast with a menu of choices. Observing the flight attendants was interesting. They rarely spoke to each other even when serving food together. Likewise, they rarely spoke to the passengers unless absolutely necessary. When they came around with the hot towels, for instance, they never asked if you would like one, they just handed it to you with their little tongs. Either you took it or you didn’t. When they collected them, they did not utter a sound, but put the container in front of you to dispose of the towel wordlessly. Is this an efficiency scheme, I wonder? Avoid unnecessary speech to get the job done?

After one movie, The Nanny Diaries, a cute flick, I was out for the count. Another interesting observation for me was that people stayed in their seats the entire flight. There was no roaming, stretching, or other activity. Perhaps it was the hour, but it was an anomaly from any other flight I have been on.

When we landed in Doha, although we were still in a secured area, we had to go through security again having ourselves as well as carry-on luggage x-rayed. Our next flight was already boarding, regardless of the fact that it was not due to leave for another forty-five minutes. When we reached the gate, we had the show our boarding tickets and passports yet again, before going through yet another security check point. Then once again, we had to show our passports and boarding tickets. Talk about compulsive behaviors. This plane had a 3-4-3 configuration, but was half empty. Still, there were three of us in our section, which sent Ron hunting for a better territory as soon as the seatbelt sign was off. This time around the flight was four hours and thirty-five minutes and shared monitors with no choice of movies. I watched the first movie, but missed the title. I will have to search for a movie with Jimmy Smits and Lyn Redgrave to see what it is. Found it, The Jane Austen Book Club. I thought I had slept after this, but when I opened my eyes again, Ratatouille was playing, so I watched this yet again. All in all, we would without hesitation fly Qatar Airlines again. Their being frequent flyer partners with United increases the appeal too. The flight landed in Vienna on time without incident.

Austrian Passport Control and Customs has to be the most relaxed in the European Union. The Passport Control officer barely looked at my passport before stamping it and telling me to have a good day. There was no one at Customs just as in the past, so we sailed through quickly and efficiently.

We bought tickets on the CAT train to the city center for nine Euros each, a hefty amount, but were in the center in sixteen minutes. From here we had to take the U3 subway seven stops to the Western train station to board our train to Budapest. We had bought round trip Budapest>Vienna>Budapest tickets, but we were uncertain about needing a seat reservation. Ron went to inquire and was assured we did not for an EC train, though an IC, we would have. After getting some snacks we boarded the train for the last leg of our journey; all was well….for the first twenty minutes and then the conductor arrived.

After taking an extraordinary long time looking over our tickets, he finally started ranting in German. When he realized he could have had a German shepherd understand more of what he was saying than we could, he switched to English. It seems our tickets expired in 2007. After having full faith in the ticket seller at Keleti train station that she understood we were returning in 2008, we never did do a double take at the tickets. Tickets to Vienna include three days of public transport in Vienna, so we erroneously believed that the three day span written on our tickets was the public transport piece, not the train ticket itself. We were faced with two options: pay for the seats or get off at the next station, still paying the full price, but having to wait four hours for the next train. With some sense of impending doom, I had held back Euros for our trip home, perhaps some intuitive thoughts prevailed. Our tickets cost us 30.80 Euros ($49.13), an outrageous amount considering a round trip ticket is only 29 Euros. Normally, I would have been irate at this unnecessary expenditure, but my philosophy this whole trip has been that we deserve it and we have the money for the first time in our advanced years, so what the hell.

Something was different on this train trip. When we had left, the Austrian and Hungarian Passport Control had made their way through and stamped our passports. Now, the Hungarian patrolled through the car, but never stopped. I had read that Hungary was joining the Schengren Treaty where the borders were coming down for EU members who qualified, but I seem to recall it was not going into effect until much later in 2008. What will these former controllers have to control in the future; will they become jobless?

As is usual, the Hungarian train conductor makes his rounds after leaving the first Hungarian stop. For some reason, they came as a gang of three. Did they get advance notice of our defunct ticket? With flourish and a quick twist of the wrist, I produced the ticket almost freshly printed by the Austrian conductor. His Hungarian counterpart looks at it and hands it to his band of not so merry men and they start squawking like chickens that sense danger in the henhouse. Then he informs us that our ticket is only to the Austrian border. What the hell, we spent 30.80 Euros just to get to the Hungarian border? Trying to explain our situation was an exercise in futility, even after showing our original ticket with only one punch mark showing we went to Vienna, but had not used it to return. A half of unused ticket was wasted because of that three day writing on it. Again, we had the same two options as before. However, this time, I did not have Hungarian forints in reserve, not thinking we would need them until arriving home again. Tickets to get us back to Budapest would be another 9,896 forints ($56.90). By some miracle, Ron happened to have a 10,000 forint bill in his wallet and we handed it over to the three musketeers. Our return trip home cost us $106.03 more than it should have when a normal round trip fare is only $42.47. Is this karmic retribution for not tipping the cab driver at the Kuala Lumpur airport?

When we arrived at the Keleti station, I wanted to kiss the ground and would have except for fear of diseases. Now I had someone buy me an annual transportation pass, but little good it was doing me now sitting at home waiting for me. I had to hunt down a transport ticket for the bus.

We were home a half an hour finally getting here at 5:30 pm local time, but five hours earlier in Kuala Lumpur and dead tired even if getting long naps during twelve hours and fifteen minutes of flying. Downloading e-mails and Microsoft updates that were missed over the last month, all of a sudden the electricity in the whole apartment goes out. Let me think, who else did we skip a tip on for this to happen. With a candle in hand, Ron climbed the ladder to check the circuit breaker. He flipped a switch, but nothing happened. I do remember paying the electric bill the day we left, so what gives. Aha, there is yet another switch next to the electric meter. I flipped it before flipping out completely and viola we were illuminated once again.

Pushing myself to stay up, I made it to 10:30 pm. Ron crashed at 8:30. Now the adventure is just a collection of memories stored for future reflections.

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Mysterious Knocker

This will be a brief post. It was basically an uneventful day. But, it did start out interesting when someone came knocking on our door at 6:00 am to say they were waking up Mr. Tam. We both popped up and Ron said through the door, there is no one here by that name. They repeated the message and Ron did likewise. We tried getting back to sleep, but then about fifteen minutes went by and the knock came again. The messenger said the taxi was here for Mr. Tam. Ron again shouted through the door, but refused to open it to speak to the guy. Speaking through a door to a non-native speaker who barely understands English is like expecting your pet dog to literally understand everything you say to them; it just does not work that way. The shouting match went back and forth for a good five minutes, before we realized it was not Mr. Tam, but Mr. Jam or James. They were under the impression we were leaving for the airport today and had a taxi waiting. The first knock was our wake-up call and the second go around was the taxi’s meter is running even if you are not. Opps! Right hour, wrong day, try again tomorrow.

Neither of us could get back to sleep after this. After a shower, we went down to breakfast where each male employee looked sheepish, so we could not tell which one was the morning messenger, but we smiled at all of them to show no hard feelings. Now we wondered if we were getting one to two nights free for the botched guideless boat trip, but either way, we were prepared.

Blue dragons seem to be a rarity, but I wanted one. The Hmong people make stuffed animals with their ethnic weaving and cloths that they create. I wanted a small blue dragon, but had only seen the large ones, while the small ones were lemon yellow, hibiscus pink, and tangerine orange combinations. We finally agreed on getting the large one since it was the correct color, but we could not remember where the store was where we saw it. After hunting for over an hour, I suggested we give up the search and Ron wanted to find the Catholic Church anyway.

When we found the church, it was overflowing with people at the 10:00 am mass. The next one was in French at noon, and then in Vietnamese at 4:00. Whiling the time until we could return, we found a café. The French mass was not nearly as well attended as the morning one, yet it was surprising to see how many people there were. Just having a French mass shows there is a need, which makes me wonder why. The interior of the church is something we have never seen. The entire altar and side altars were done in red and gold, very ornate designs, but really red and tons of gold. I felt like Dorothy in the Land of Oz after a Beijing makeover. It was unusual too that they still had their Christmas trees up and lit at this late date. Hopefully, they are artificial or are a real fire hazard.

Basically the rest of the day took us on the search for blue dragons. What we discovered was another restaurant run by former homeless children as a training program in self-survival and hospitality skills for future employment. We had refreshments here to show our support and bought a t-shirt from them. Next door is a shop that sells fair trade items produced in cottage industry workshops by village women, where we found a little gift for a friend.

Our dinner choice was a restaurant recommended by a friend who had lived in Vietnam for nine months, bless his tolerant heart. The desk clerk told us it is the most famous restaurant in Hanoi serving recipes from the entire country’s gastronomic offerings. Outside the hotel was a cyclo, so we climbed in after negotiating a $5.00 ride. This poor man really earned his money. It turned out to be quite a distance from our hotel, so his poor legs must have been tired. When we arrived, I gave him extra dollars, so he said he would wait for us to take us back.

Neither of us was thrilled with our choices for dinner. The starter was delectable, but the entrées were ho-hum not even coming close to the descriptions on the menu. Dessert was an interesting addition. I had mung beans in coconut milk with peanuts and jelly. Interestingly, many desserts are sweet soups. When we left the restaurant, our cyclo driver was no where to be found, but we waited ten minutes to see if we were overlooking him. We decided on a taxi back, which took thirty minutes due to the driver being young, not aggressive in his skills, plus never getting higher than second gear.

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Chon, Chon

Thinking it better to get breakfast before Chon picks us up, we went to the Dead Fish Guesthouse and Restaurant. There is such an obvious glaring reality between those businesses that have embraced commercialism and those who have not had the funding to do it yet, but they are side by side. Dead Fish is tremendously large with different levels seemingly floating in the air making it look like a 3 dimensional chessboard. One level juts out to the right, but there are stairs to the left going to the next level where everyone on any level is visible to the whole establishment. It is definitely designed for the younger crowd, which grabs your attention when you see all of the very youthful employees organized like bees in a hive completing their morning tasks without any authority figure giving them directions. One twenty-something was carrying loads of 10 large bricks up three levels to construct something, while another young man carried an armload of pipes.

We met Chon in front of our hotel; he was not as chipper today as yesterday. His mood further deteriorated when he told us his idea for the day, but Ron interceded and told him which temples we wanted to see (rather Ron wanted to see, I was just along for the ride). The places on Ron’s agenda were farther out than what Chon had anticipated, so they renegotiated for $40.00 for today. There was a definite lack of conversation and explanation while riding around in the car.

Without a tour guide license, Chon could not go into the temples with us. He said that guides within the temples cost an additional $25.00 a day. Quite a number of people had them making it interesting to hear these different guides speaking English, Japanese, Korean, French, Italian, and Spanish. Personally, I think a guide would have been sensory overload.

At the end of the day that ended at 2:00, Chon tried yet again to get us to go to the dinner show, but we refused once again. He asked about us using him again tomorrow, but we said we had made other plans and he did not push it. He seemed to know he milked the cow try.

With the holiday fast approaching, we decided it wisest to stay here two additional nights, so cleared it with the desk. We will leave here on January 1^st and go to Phnom Penh then. There is a double-decker bus with snacks and a bathroom for $10.00 for the five hour journey. The idea does not send me doing cartwheels, but is should be fine. We have to come back to book it.

At last we had to try the ATM machine again with Ron’s card. The moment I had been dreading fearing they cut off his card also. It worked and it spit out American dollars, not Cambodian Rieals. We went to get a snack, but it turned out to be so hearty, we just skipped dinner altogether.

We found the Blue Pumpkin a café with fantastic looking desserts has free WiFi, so we will check it out tomorrow.

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Temples and More Temples

Chon charmed us into using his taxi services today, but for $25.00 for a day, it is a deal. The temples would be difficult to get to without a car or Tuk-tuk. Tuk-tuks are motorcycles with a carriage to seat four attached. There are hundreds of them around and each driver will beg to give you a ride. They are very inexpensive and show the devastation of the economy here. They are desperate for work, so we felt compelled to use Chon for our day’s travels to the temples to give something to the local community.

Chon is supposedly a trained tour guide, but has not taken the license exam yet. It is only offered every 2-3 years, depending on need and presumably costs $3,000, which he has not been able to afford. One portion of the exam is a language exam and I suspect his English is not up to par for that particular exam. Although we could communicate, it was difficult at times. When he was giving us information about the various temples, he was at a loss for words to fully explain what he wanted to say.

First order of business was finding a place to eat breakfast. Chon drove us to a restaurant on the temple grounds, where we could get the much needed coffee and some eggs. Coffee in most places is Nescafé, not brewed coffee. There is no Starbucks around. Chon looked a bit irritated that we needed to make this unscheduled stop, but once we were on our way, he returned to his happy self.

As you enter the temple grounds, you have to pass a check point where you show you entry pass. At each temple, there is again a control checking passes to make sure no one passed through the first check point. Fines for not having a pass while on a temple grounds is $350.00. We drove through lovely forested areas before coming to a wide and lovely lake. Chon explained this was the moat for Angkor Wat, but first a primer.

The Angkor area is the heart and spiritually center of the kingdom of Cambodia. Yes, they still have a king. Angkor was where temples were built from the 9^th to the 13^th centuries when the god-kings built temples to honor themselves or their parents. Angkor Wat is the largest and also has the distinction of being the world’s largest religious building. It was built by Suryavarman II in 1112. The temples switched from Hindu to Buddhist, back to Hindu and then Buddhist again depending on which religion held dominance at the time. Now it seems, most of them are rededicated to Buddha.

Now I have to admit that as magnificently superb as these temples are or were depending on their current state, I have never been one to pursue Asia studies with any great interest. I am more interested in the modern people then their ancient culture. After being to Thailand where the temples are bright and colorful with gold dripping down every precipice, these are colorless grey or blackened stones. What one needs to appreciate and I do are the intricate carvings on these stones. Gods, goddesses, demons, dancing girls, servants, and pictures of daily living are all memorialized in the stones. Depending on the religion of the time, determined which gods and demons were displayed. Just as the pyramids in Egypt, it boggles the mind how they constructed these temples without modern equipment. Then the intricacy of the carvings that go on for the length of a city block with such exactitude is awe-inspiring. To this day, no building can be built in Siem Reap that is taller than Angkor Wat, much to the dismay of the chain hotels. This was the same in Philadelphia at one time, when no building could be taller than William Penn’s hat on city hall, but when that law was changed, it ruined the skyline.

Chon took us to three of the major temples, each different and significant in their own way. By 2:30 we had had enough and returned to the hotel. He wanted to pick us up for a dinner buffet with Cambodian dancing, but we declined.

Fortunately, we were wearing our Crocs; the temple grounds are sandy and our shoes and feet were covered in red sand. Crocs go right in the shower with us to clean off. The air conditioning in the room kept us in for a few hours before heading out again. We went back to the Austrian restaurant for a beer and to use their WiFi, but it was not keeping a signal. After they rebooted their router twice, we gave up and left.

Dinner was at the Red Piano, a charming two level restaurant painted in a tomato red with dark wood beams and oversized pictures of the Wats on the walls. When we left, we were barraged by tuk-tuk drivers and finally accepted one’s offer to drive us the three blocks back to the hotel for $1.00. When we arrived, our driver Somat, wanted to be our driver for the next day, but we had arranged to meet Chon again, so we told Somat we would hire him for the day after.

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Our Picks - Melaka, Malaysia

In Melaka or Melacca, it is spelled both ways, we were fortunate to come across an excellent taxi driver who did not rip us off. He drove us from the central station to the hotel and then from Melaka to the Air Asia airport in Kuala Lumpur. His English is excellent. Omar Sulkaflee 017-279-6739 or night reservations 606-335-2353

A great place to hang out, have a coffee or snack is the Dutch Harbor Cafe. They also have FREE WiFi, the only place we found that had WiFi. Dutch Harbor Café 39 Jalan Laksamana Melaka www.dutchharbourcafe.com

For a hotel, we stayed at the Aldy China Town. They had just opened this location 6 days before we arrived. They do have another location, but we found this one to be great. The rooms are large, ultra clean and the service was excellent. http://www.malacca.ws/aldy/

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Boxing Day

It was 2:30 am when the alarm went off. The taxi was going to be here for us at 3:30 am. We were up like a shot, least we fall back to sleep once again and miss our flight. When the phone rang at 3:00 am, we were duly impressed that it was a wake-up call since we never arranged for one, but they knew we were leaving at an unholy hour. We were downstairs by 3:15 and our driver pulled up at 3:20 as he said he would. The drive would take close to two hours, and I am not a chatty person before coffee, so I was hoping for silence. I feigned sleep so if there was a conversation to maintain, Ron would be responsible.

We were at the airport in due time and was able to check-in immediately. All of my nightmares about the luggage weight were unfounded. They took our bags without a second glance. It could have been the six books we left behind, the three pairs of pants we gave away, the umbrellas we trashed, the shoes donated to charity, or the fact that I finally came to terms with facial products not being the holy grail of youthful appearances. Hence our gross weight of the luggage was less than a new born infant born premature.

Air Asia used boarding tickets that look like receipts for the grocery store; cheap paper with print on them, no frills, no souvenir quality. When we were to board they had Express boarding for those who paid for the option and anyone over 65 years old, so I pushed Ron to the forefront and told him to save me a good seat. I may have a birthday coming up, but it is still not nearly close to 65 to try to worm my way in that line. Once they let you through, they don’t waste money or fuel bussing you six feet to the airplane, but make you hoof it. We found the plane on the Malaysia coastline, which really shortened the flight time. Good thing too, since there were mechanical problems with the plane, which delayed our departure. The pilots door was open and we saw him kicking the instrument panel, but minutes later announced there was nothing to worry about, so we all relaxed.

All of the seats are black leather with red seat belts, looking like and S&M parlor, but comfortable with lots of legroom. All of the leather gave it a new car smell until the flight attendants started selling their snacks. It is amazing to see how my white people will eat Top Ramen soup that they are paying a premium for just because they are on a plane. There was a perfectly good McDonalds in the airport, not to mention the Asian Kitchen restaurant. The smell took me back to my poverty days in Philadelphia where I lived on Top Ramen for weeks on end.

Landing in Siem Reap, (which means something like the Thais did not defeat us), was extraordinary. The airport is small, but quite lovely. We had to first line up and apply for our Visas after filling out the third form; the first two were given to us on the plane. If you had a photo, which we did, it was $20.00; otherwise, it was $22.00. They kept the passports and processed them down an assembly line, where at the end, one officer tried calling out the names and showed everyone waiting the picture. His pronunciation of names was not stellar. From here we went to Passport Control, a lengthy time consuming process where they took our picture yet again with computer cameras. Finally, it was through the line for Customs and we were free to be bombarded by taxi drivers trying to sell their services.

We went to the taxi desk to make the choice between a motor bike rickshaw for $1.00 or a taxi for $5.00. Notice the dollar sign? Everything is listed in US dollars. We converted 100 Euros into Cambodian Riels and were asked if we would like a porter to help us cart it off. Our taxi driver was a young man named Chon (pronounced Than). He was chirpy, but I was not. He tried selling us services and Ron caved in since he can be chirpy at times in strange countries with strangers. We did not have a hotel booked since Ron read in the Lonely Planet, you did not need to, but they did not mention Christmas or New Years. The hotel we picked out was fully booked and everywhere they usually refer to has been calling them to see if they had vacancies. Not a good sign. Chon had a recommendation, but Ron was hesitant since the guidebook said to steer clear of taxi drivers’ recommendations. We could have traveled from hotel to hotel, but decided to see what Chon came up with. His first attempt was a great hotel, three minutes from the market area, where there are restaurants and shops galore. The room is huge, very clean and $30.00 a night. We booked for four nights.

After we took a nap, Chon returned for us to take us to the temple on the mountain to see it by sunset. We first had to get our passes for Angkor Wat. We chose a three day pass for $40.00 each, but this gave us free admission this evening. Our first day does not start until tomorrow. Chon took us as far as the parking lot, and then directed us on where to climb the mountain, not one of my better honed skilled even if I was born under the sign of the mountain goat. The climb was not as some we have done, being a gradual incline upward. The temple was over 1,000 years old and still in great shape. People were all over it to watch the sun set from near the top, but I was grateful for making it to the temple. I hate heights and climbing up is easy; getting back down is vertigo valley. There were elephants up there where you could ride them down for $10.00, but I figured we had already done the difficult part of climbing up. I am not giving an elephant my money to do the easy part. They did allow me to play with them though. One put his trunk near my ear and the suction inward would have made the Hoover Company jealous. He could have pulled my hair out of my head just by sucking in.

As it was getting dark, there was a shrill sound in the air. At first, we thought it was a siren of some type notifying people of pending darkness and the dangers of climbing down the mountain, but then we heard a guide say it was cicadas. They could use this for an air raid siren, they are so loud. We meandered down the mountain to find Chon, who drove us back to the hotel. We arranged for him to pick us up at 9:00 am for a day’s tour of the temples for $25.00. He wanted us to do sunrise at another temple, but 5:00 am did turn us on to the idea.

Just a few doors down from us is a European style restaurant that has free WiFi. We mixed dinner with computer business, so I had German pork roast with brown gravy and potatoes. It was great, but Ron had a seafood curry and was disappointed. One of the menu items was Hungarian goulash!! Just cannot get away from it.

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Mile High

Getting through Customs and Passport Control was relatively easy and swift. We were advised to use the ATM machine inside the luggage area. There is only one machine and it was not spitting out any cash for anyone. Once we were through the doors, throngs of taxi drivers bombarded all of the passengers with offers of rides, but we only wanted the ATM machine. My second nightmare was about to come to fruition. I tried my Euro card from our Hungary bank. It would not work with the message “Sorry, we are temporarily unable to complete this request”. Okay, fine, I used my California account ATM card, but the same story. We then tried another bank’s machine with the same results. I started to panic. We were relying on using ATMs while we were away. The third machine was the same issue yet again, but we watched others leave the machines hopelessly as poor as they approached them, so it could not be us. We went to a money exchange and changed enough cash for a taxi.

People bombard you with advice on which taxi to take and it is supposed to be a set rate, but amazingly it is not. We finally agreed on a price of 90 RM for our ride, climbed in and off we drove. They drive on the same side as the British and since this was part of the colony until only fifty years ago, this makes sense. The driver drove, we slept, he drove some more and we slept some more. Two and a half hours later, we arrived a block from our hotel. Still feeling drugged, not fully coherent, he told us that our hotel was a half block away, but cars were not allowed down the street. In our hazed awareness, it seemed like we were in the middle of an evacuation plan for a city, surrounded by unbelievable crowds. The mobs of people surrounding us were overwhelming. The smells, the colors, the sounds were sensory overload at high speed.

We checked into the China Town Hotel 2 and were asked for the full payment. We had to kindly plea for more time explaining the dilemma with the ATM machines at the airport. The problem continued a block away from the hotel. I know I have the correct PIN code for our Euro account, though our bank has been bought out by another bank. When I called them before leaving, they assured me the card would be good until January 1^st. Due to the time needed, I did not bother going to get a replacement card. Our CA account, I have no idea what is happening with that, but it is Bank of America and I have had nothing but problems with them this year. Strangely, Ron tried his card and it worked fine. At least we will not have to get advances from credit cards. The hotels do not take plastic.

First impressions of Kuala Lumpur: overcrowded, dirty, polluted, high tech, bustling to the point of ridiculousness, rainbow of color in the skin of people and the clothes they wear. I keep asking myself where the beautiful sights they had on their television commercials that state “Malaysia, Truly Asia” and have all of the magnificent scenery. It certainly was not this city. Perhaps it is jet lag, it is seven hours ahead of Budapest, or it is possibly just not enough preparation, but I keep asking myself why we are here.

We keep returning to our hotel situated in the heart of the China Town area. We have napped a great deal; it is easy to do since our room has no windows. The only light when everything is turned off is what leaks from under the door from the hallway. We only have this room for two nights. Ron was assured by the Lonely Planet guide swearing that you should only book a couple of nights and then find the rest when you are on the ground.

By 10:30, we are ready to call it quits and actually sleep restfully for the night to get on track with the time change. The alarm is set for 8:30 am.

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Oversleeping

I set two alarms on my phone to get up at 2:45 and 3:00 am. We slept through both of them. We had arranged for a taxi to arrive at 3:10, but missed it when Ron woke at 4:00 am in a panic. We jumped into clothes and ran out and very luckily hailed a taxi on the street. We did not have time to take the bus, so the taxi took us to the airport. He was fast and not as expensive as it would have been had there been traffic. We went from Edinburgh to Amsterdam, then on to Budapest. As soon as we got home, I started editing my chapter. I fell asleep doing it.

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Last Day

As usual, time flies when you are having a relaxing time away. In some ways, I went into re-entry mode itching to get home again. In other ways, I would like to stay longer. However, it is SO expensive here and with the pound = $2.03, it is outrageously expensive.

We were not going to see any more shows, but with a day on our hands, Ron wanted to see "Truth in Translation" about South Africa. 17.50 and 9.50 pounds for the tickets, but hey, we are on vacation. Ron loved it. I thought it was too disjointed with too many interrupted stories going on at one time with too many multi-media things happening to make sense to me. Obviously, others loved it too, they received a standing ovation from half the audience.

By the end of the day, we were getting antsy about leaving, but having an evening with nothing to do. We decided to go to "Stef's Sidesplitting Hypnosis". Actually, we bought tickets for it when we bought the tickets for the Truth show. Stef was walking around in a Speedo swimsuit talking up his show to people standing in line. Everyone else was wearing layers of clothes and he is in a swimsuit.

Well his show was not sidesplitting, but he had a crappy group to work with. Some young guys who volunteered did everything in their power to resist being hypnotized, so they weren't. Part of the show was good.

We got back to the hotel at midnight and have to be up at 3:00 am to get a taxi to the bus to get to the airport for a 6:00 am flight.

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The Start of Our Adventure

Today, we embark on our great adventure to parts unknown. I have been having a lot of anxiety over this trip since the plans have changed so often. It is really costing us much more than we had anticipated since we originally bought airline tickets to Johannesburg and returning from Cape Town. The additional airline tickets were not in the plan. The bright side is that when booked tour was cancelled, we received almost $2,000 in refund from Go2Africa for the second trip we booked to replace it. That was a pleasant surprise.

Gellé our agent at Go2Africa has been great all along, answering innumerable questions as they come up and sometimes a list of ten at a time. She has been so very patient with us while assuring us we will have a splendid time. We are hoping to get together for a coffee when we return to Cape Town.

Caring $1,700 in cash is giving me heart palpitations, but we need to give $350 each to the tour guide as land usage fees for Botswana. The rest is back-up if we don’t find bank machines along the way. The wad of bills is so thick it will barely fit in the money pocket I bought and it is too bulky to keep inside my pants as intended. I would look like I had a tumor. The bills had to be smaller than 100s, but I had misread the note and thought they had to be smaller than 50s. They also have to be issued after 1996 so they have the large heads of the presidents on them. Getting these here in Budapest has been a challenge, but we did it. Why they will not accept Euros is anyone’s guess. Gellé was not sure, but knew they would not.

We received taxi vouchers from Chris and Mark for Christmas, so we don’t have to take the shuttle to the airport. The taxi has been sitting outside waiting for us patiently, though early, we rush to let the driver know we do want to make this trip. Checklist: Passports? Check!, E-Tickets? Check!, Vouchers for the trip? Check! Small, soft sided luggage under 20 kgs restricted by the tour company? Check! Cash? Check! Pills for anxiety for carrying so much cash? Opps! Forgot that.

With more than two hours before the flight, we are now at the airport. It is the usual hurry up and wait syndrome of flying these days. There was no line at check-in; we were the first. It was the same with Passport Control, almost having to wake the officer to check our passport. Security was empty; no questions about liquids in our hand luggage, just waving us through without removing my laptop from the bag. The waiting area is deserted, not a soul around. until finally we found at least one. This is an airport, isn’t it? The plane should be quite empty if this is any indication. We were the only patrons at the airport restaurant. Like a sunrise, slowly appearing on the horizon, the lobby unhurriedly turned into the bustle of a busy day. So much for the thoughts of empty seats on the plane for a good stretch.

The flight on Lufthansa from Budapest to Frankfurt was uneventful, but it was only an hour and 10 minutes. Surprisingly for such a short flight, they had a snack service and two drink services. We bee lined to the Diners Club lounge once in Frankfurt, only a “10” minute walk, but in reality, more like 20 when uncertain about knowing where you are going.

We had to buzz to get in and it took some time for the attendant to work herself to the door to let us in. It is a no smoking lounge so we had to go outside to the smoking area buzzing to get in and out each time. This annoyed the attendant, but we were the only ones there, so she could put forth some effort. We only had about 40 minutes before our next flight.

The plane from Frankfurt to Johannesburg was a 3-4-3 configuration. We had seats at number 46 on the right side of a very full plane. There was only one monitor in each aisle, none overhead or on the seatbacks making it difficult to see. For those further back, it would be impossible to see the screens. The movies were Flicker and You, Me and Dupree, neither worth staying awake for. I slept most of the flight, awakened only by meals and drink services. We had flown Lufthansa in the past and were very impressed with the service, but this did not add to their reputation. It seems to have been greatly reduced since our last experience. This flight is 10 hours plus. I should have taken a sleeping pill, but was concerned about being groggy when we landed.

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