Read, Swim, Nap

If my pedometer were waterproof, perhaps I would get credit for swimming. This is mainly what we did in Penonomé at the hotel. Our first full day, we did take a taxi to the center of town. It cost a whole dollar for the ride. Downtown is sweet. There is one long string of stores that runs about the length of 7 city blocks, but there are few intersections to really gauge the distance. Although it is Sunday, the stores are teeming with shoppers as if they were doing last minute Christmas shopping. Outside a few stores, there are woman stationed at gift wrapping tables still using the Christmas wrap with snow people, Santa, and Christmas trees, like they have never witnessed here in reality. They truly can only dream of a white Christmas.

At the edge of town, if you follow the business district, a quaint little Catholic Church sits opposite a park. The church has been whitewashed a brilliant white that is so striking, sunglasses are needed to ward off the sun’s reflections. Inside, people are busy being holy. The doors are wide open, so standing room only is extending out the doors. A bishop celebrated the mass; Ron got to shake his hand.

Walking through the park, one cannot help but notice that commercialization has taken over Christmas here as well. A large cone shaped object, representing a Christmas tree consists of enough ornaments with Movil, one of the phone companies to bring home the message. Without Movil, this space would be cheerless. Less than a block away, another tree is decorated with messages from the competing company.

After 2 ½ hours, we covered the territory with the thoroughness of investigative detectives. I wanted an espresso coffee so badly and I mentioned to Ron. This man selling incense on the street, over heard me and offered a suggestion as to where to find it. We looked and walked past the place he was referring to, but he tapped me on the shoulder and personally showed us. It was a coffee kiosk in a computer store. The espresso was Nescafé from a machine. Not exactly what I had in mind, but the helpfulness of the local was wonderful.

We are continually overwhelmed with the friendliness and helpfulness of the locals. They continually go out of their way if they notice we need some assistance with something.

At the end of our meandering, we returned to the hotel to swim, hang out by the pool reading, and just being lazy. It was a feeling that I adapted to rather quickly, which was astounding. What was just as astounding was what we did for dinner.

Because the hotel is set off behind the Iguana Mall, there are few dinner options other than fast food. Last night, we crossed the Pan-American Highway, but I was not willing to venture that again. We agreed on KFC, but once inside, the line predetermined a two hour wait from the looks of things; they were moving slowly. Trying Al Capone was no better, huge line. Finally, Dominos won our business. I am so ashamed.

Panama City 32.71 miles
Boquete and David 26.61 miles
Penonomé  6.3 miles and 4 miles swimming

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All I Want For Christmas

It is that time of year again, another semester at the university has ended and it is time to take off. This year, we will be researching the options of ex-pat living in Panama and Nicaragua, so our out-of-country experience will be longer than usual. We want to see how the other half of the world lives. 

I will blog as much as I can while we are gone. Tomorrow, we will take the train from Budapest to Munich, a six hour ride. We will stay overnight in Munich to fly out on Sunday morning. Our first stop is Newark, NJ and then on directly to Panama City, Panama. That is unless the pilot has too much eggnog and we end up in Panama City, Florida by mistake. 

For those who believe and/or celebrate Christmas, I hope Santa Claus, baby Jesus, Kris Kringle, Chris Kringle, Father Christmas, Sinterklaas, or the Easter Bunny, whatever you call him, brings you all your heart deserves.

Don't drink and drive! Love thy neighbor! Okay, I am still working on this one, but you try too.

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For Whom the Bell Tours

There is a US American woman here who has made Antigua her business; her name is Elizabeth Bell. She runs a tourism agency, but primarily she sells walking tours and promotes her books on the city. Ron found out about her in our guidebook so we booked a 9:30am tour, giving us time to have breakfast beforehand.

We were to meet at the fountain in the central park, the place where Clara patrols. Of course, she spotted us immediately, but even if she hadn’t, all of her compatriots did shouting out a chorus of Clara, like tribal drums through the jungle. This is their own type of alarm system alerting them when a potential customer is returning. When you first suggest you may potentially buy at some time, though not the present, they tell you their name for future reference. What they need to include is “I will be your stalker for the rest of your time here.”

Elizabeth Bell showed up and assembled the group. She immediately corrected one person who stated she was an American. Elizabeth said that Guatemalans are also Americans, so those who need to should identify themselves as from the U.S. Although I agree with the comment, from the way it was delivered, I soon realized that this 3 hour tour was going to be really long. These tours really make me chuckle sometimes. Usually it is US Americans who start out by introducing themselves to everyone else around. Once they share their name, they want to know your name, country of origin, state if it is the US, what your occupation is, how many siblings you have, if you have any piercings, have your bowel movements been regular since being here. Based on their questioning, you would think we were doing 5 minute dating or deciding who gets the last life raft on the Titanic. Hey people, after this 3 hour tour, I am never going to see you again and no, I don’t want to friend you on Facebook.

Elizabeth moved here when she was fourteen years old and her father’s job took the family here. She has been here since and she is currently fifty-seven years old.

Elizabeth started this jolly holly tour by telling us that anyone caught cutting a tree, Christmas or otherwise from any forest would immediately be put in jail. Deforestation has ruined parts of the country so the laws have gone from fines to imprisonment. She continued with her monologue stating Christmas trees are not a Guatemalan tradition, nativity sets are. Christmas trees are tacky, especially the plastic ones. You won’t find many Christmas trees in the country, but you will see plenty of nativities. As I am staring at her while she speaks, I cannot help but notice the plastic Christmas tree decorated in the park about twenty yards behind her left side. All the stores and businesses with the exception of some restaurants will close early tomorrow, Christmas Eve.

In Guatemala, the major celebration is on the eve, not on the day.  As we hear from Bell, the churches will be jamming tonight, because many people who don’t set foot in church all year will attend Christmas mass. However, there is no midnight mass; 9pm is the latest. After mass, at midnight, the family has its Christmas dinner. After dinner they open presents and fireworks are ubiquitous. We were warned not to plan on getting much sleep for the noise. Christmas day is a relaxed kick back day. Santa Claus doesn’t come either, but the Santas you see around town will deliver presents for a fee. You hire a Santa to deliver a present and all the money the Santas earn go to charitable organizations. They volunteer their Santa time.
 
Once we were off and walking, the first place was the mayor’s chambers on the main square. There was an election and new people will take office in February. The president is only allowed to run for one term. As each person leaves their post, they take everything with them. The last major shredded all of the documents that accumulated during his administration. Leave no paper trail, seems to be business as usual.

We went to the new and old cathedrals, places where we had been on our own, but was now getting some input that we had not had. The new cathedral is earthquake proof, which the old one was not. This also referred to all of the buildings in the city. None of them are over 2 floors high and this is an earthquake measure. Their walls are extra thick and being so low, they cannot fall over. While in the church someone in the group asked why there was no baby in the crèche. Elizabeth explained that he does not get put in until Christmas mass which is on the eve, not the day. 

Another observation I had made was that there are no signs sticking out from buildings. The only identification of a business is on the front usually over the entrance. Until you get that close, you have no idea where the business happens to be. They have a sign ordinance here forbidding signage. The lack of flashing signs is surprisingly pleasant and attractive. Most of the stores do not have display windows either. Those that do, they are covered by bars with a shelf inside the bars, so they fill it with plants, not merchandise.

One woman on the tour was taking copious notes of everything Elizabeth said. I asked her if she were researching a novel, but she is a journalist with a small town newspaper. She kept stopping Elizabeth asking her to repeat things so they could be notated. From the pages of notes she had, she could have filled the NY Times travel section. Another woman had hurt her foot, so was hobbling around. Ron became her crutch going up and down stairs.
    
Elizabeth has been involved in a number of civic matters, both in reconstruction of historic buildings and social rights for women, education, and assorted other services. School is free, but books are not. They have to be bought from the beginning, so many children drop out of school after the fourth grade, luckier ones last until sixth grade. Her goal is to support the purchase of books so that more students can graduate high school. University is not free, but low cost, but again all expenses are a burden of the student.

The tour ended at one of the jade museums, where we heard about jade and learned there is a translucent and blue jade. The blue jade is quite lovely.

After the tour, we went to meet Clara in the park to buy the placemats and napkins we had promised to buy. I was not thrilled with the quality, but they were cheap enough not to squabble. After we told Clara our wallets were now closed for repairs, we just chatted. She was telling us that she sells things so her daughter can finish high school and then go on to college. She said once her daughter finishes college, she will quit. I had finished the The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, so we brought it back to her for her daughter who also speaks English. She was thrilled. She may sell or she may keep it, but it is her business that she needs to do what she needs to do.

We had a late lunch so came back to the hotel to gather our things for part 2 of going to the bank for cash. Everything will be closed Christmas day and we leave then for our next port o’ call, which Ron has warned is even lower key than here. Can I handle all of this rest and relaxation without running off to a museum or some other cultural event? With cash in pocket, we went back to the hotel to rest. Later this evening we were on our way out the front door when another guest stopped us to tell us to be careful. She was just robbed a few doors down from the hotel. She is a petit woman, young and alone; her name is Chen. As she was calling her bank, she shared that she was just returning to the hotel when a guy with a gun robbed her of her purse. She tried to just giving him the wallet, but he wanted it all. He had an accomplice on a motor scooter that whisked him away. With that paranoia, we only ventured to the church where little old ladies sell tostadas and tamales in the evenings. We had tamales, went for a beer, and returned to the hotel. We made a point to run into Chen to see if she needed money, but she has wisely left the bulk of her money here. There was no rendition of O Holy Night as the police said she will never recover her things. Merry Christmas, ho, ho, ho!

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Is It The Thought That Counts?

Each day as I walk to school, a bit more than half way there, I come across a homeless man sleeping on a shelf like protrusion from a building currently under reconstruction.  The area he sleeps on is barely the size of a child's cot, but at his head, he has his 2 liter bottle of gut rotting wine, what looks like stale bread, what must be his change of clothes. I wonder where he does change them. Seeing homeless here is like seeing fish in the ocean, nothing unusual. 

One day last week, I went into school later than I generally do. When I passed by my mentally adopted guy's "home" he was up, making his bed, and just as I passing him, he took out a comb to make his hair presentable moving down to his beard. This really touched me. He may have been homeless, but he had some sense of pride in his appearance. 

I looked for a Christmas stocking, but they are not as ubiquitous as one would expect at this time of year. I did find a red velour Christmas bag with ties that end in pom-poms and Santa on the side. Very festive. I filled it with those cheese balls covered in wax to protect them and a chocolate snowman. The plan was to tuck it under his blanket when I walked by this morning. Generally, I pass his place by 7:30am, but he is generally still sleeping in. When you don't have much on your agenda, why bother getting up early?

 

As I approached his block, I could feel something was different, not quite in place; things were contorted. With each step closer, I knew I had missed my chance. By the time I reached his protruding slab, there was no sign of him. He was gone. He had left. No sign of him; no forwarding address. Nada, nothing, nincs. I am literally left holding the bag. In my next life, there is no way I will be trusted to be Santa Claus.

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Google Giggles

The Google design of the day was curiously Christmasy.When I scrolled over it, it showed this "Ted ki Te is este a csizmadia az ablakba". Inquisitive is my middle name, which prompted me to type it into Google translator. The response was "We are sorry, we cannot translate Maori yet." The irony is that we are going to New Zealand in a couple more weeks, but something told me that with a Hungarian IP address, this was not Maori.

I sent it out to my students for translation. Basically, it is what I thought it was, time to get ready for Szent Mikulás. Of course all of the darlings had to point out the grammatical mistakes in the Hungarian. Take it up with Google. 


Szent Mikulás was an old bishop, the European Santa replacement who delivers chocolates and fruit to good girls and boys. As usual with all goodies, there is a catch. You need to have your shoes or boots polished sitting on the window sill or out the front door, to be filled with these treats. Seems like a lot of effort for a few candies and fruit. 


This tradition obviously dates way back before they had any concept of cross infections between smelly sweat soaked boots and food. Give me that stocking hung by the chimney with care in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there.


I tried the window sill thing one year. All I received was a shoe full of pigeon poop. I must have been a really bad boy. Usually, you get golden twigs or a wooden spoon. 

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Mrs. Claus's Cookbook

Through my special connections, I have been given privy to 

Mrs. Claus' Cookbook. If you want a preview of what is happening up at the North Pole, check this out or click on any picture below to bring you to a whole list of Mrs. Claus' recipes. With the Christmas Faire starting historically early here in Budapest, on November 19th, I thought we probably should start getting in the spirit around here too.

                 

         

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What a Load of Crocs

Immediately after school on Thursdays, I run off to teach my one and only private lesson. It takes two metro rides to reach my student, but after 3 years, I still enjoy him. 

Today, as I was waiting for the metro for the first leg of my return home, a gang of young punk type teens entered and gathered on the platform. They looked so cute in their little leather jackets with Mohawk haircuts, I had to smile inwardly. As it was a small gang of seven who barely witnessed their fifteenth  birthday, I made the decision not to avoid their company by moving up the platform. When the metro arrived, we all boarded the same car and found seats both next to each other, but with some across the aisle. I, never without a book, it had already been whipped it out before leaving the platform. There have been times when I have lost consciousness in whatever volume is in hand, missing conversation, metro stops, and flirtations. Okay, so maybe not flirtations, allow me my flights of fancy. I was engrossed in this book, as these youngsters clamored like bullfrogs at a prom at the pond, it only registered on a theta level.

However, intruding on my peripheral vision on my right side was a young man bending over his knees in order to get up and under the cover of the tome in my hands. Unfettered and in high density ignore mode, he did not succeed in garnering any of my attention, but this caused my instincts to sharpen immediately. 

The next infringement on my space, time, and attention soon followed the book interloper when those accomplices across the aisle started pointing at my Crocs in simulated wood design. Perhaps it was the fact that I was not wearing socks, a habit I maintain until the temperature drops to freezing, but a balmy 48F. 

All this time they were making sounds that would have confounded an oscilloscope, had we had one handy. The pointing fingers that invaded my space did indeed make me cognizant of my surroundings, but still I felt the less attention the better. 

One stop before mine they were preparing to exit giving me a sense of relief until the metro doors opened and in one fell swoop, they relieved me of my Crocs and were out the door faster than Santa Claus when he hears encroaching footsteps. There I sat barefooted or barefeeted or just wishing for socks at last. As my mind projected a call to Ron to come meet me with spare footwear, again I was left in the cold to bear the cold when Ron did not answer his mobile.

When the elderly, but pleasingly plump lady flopped down on the seat next to me, I snapped out of my reverie only to realize the youth were gone, but my Crocs were still comfortably places on my feet. One of these days, these day dreams are going to get me in trouble.

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Today being Sunday gave us the perfect excuse to be slugs; most things are closed anyway. You would never know it was Sunday by the traffic passing by the hotel.

Ron needed his church fix and with the Holy Ghost Cathedral just a long block away, we went to mass. There are six masses each Sunday. Our good intentions to make it to the 9am mass did not pan out, but we were there at 10:30 for the start of the next mass. When we arrived, the crowds were tremendous. You would have thought they were giving away free televisions the way the people were gathered. Perhaps the Pope was coming and we didn't hear the news. If he was, we still had time to get away from there. Droves of people left the earlier mass and we sat in the back of the church for the next service. Remembering this is a cathedral, it is larger than a parish church. It was filled almost immediately, but then groups of people were catapulted in at different times like they were thrown in by a wave at high tide. The mass was in Swahili, really adding to the interest for me. We were the only white people amongst hundreds of darker faces. I could not help but notice how every person I eyed had their Sunday best on and the women had their hair done perfectly. The last times I had even been near a church in the States, I still have memories of people's casual and lack of concern about their appearance. Hmm, kind of like we were dressed today.

What set this service apart was the African spirit shown with music provided by drummers. People were really getting into the singing of upbeat songs, not the maudlin ones I remember. Hand waving and clapping was happening with such joviality, I kept forgetting I was in a Catholic Church and not an Evangelical. We were sitting on the aisle with me at the aisle. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a projectile coming through the air from the other side. When it landed on the aisle floor, I could see it was a white biscuit. My first thought was that someone was making a racist commentary on our being there, but then the question of "white cracker" seemed like a culturally based racial slur that would not have migrated over here. With slow motion movement I turned my head in the direction of the near assault keeping a poker face so I did not show emotion. When I had a full sighting of the potential offender, I was sure it was he due to his mile wide smile and the other white biscuit in his other hand. For a 2 year old, the kid has quite a pitching arm.

The rest of the day was spent around the room. Something has given us the "I need to be really close to the bathroom" bug. My guess is it is the flax seed oil we take for Malaria, but up until now it has not caused this drama. 

For dinner, we went to a local restaurant down the street from the hotel. It was typical Swahili food and the first time I had boneless chicken in any dish. Chicken stew with roasted potatoes on the side, was excellent, but the stew barely covered the bottom of the bowl. The roasted potatoes were plentiful. I don't know what they did to them, but they were like eggs with a hard shell on the outside, but the inside was white, moist, and so delicious I did not miss any butter or ketchup with it. This was also one of the few places where the food was steaming hot.

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Skipping Christmas

Pardon for skipping on Christmas greetings, but the wilderness does not decorate, so I have lost track. Hotel decor has been from laughable to please stop trying. Our last hotel in Kenya was playing non-stop Christmas carols all day yesterday. There is something unnerving hearing Elvis sing about a blue Christmas when in Africa, or I am dreaming of a white Christmas. Well if I were, I would have stayed home.

So this Indian run, Chinese constructed, Tanzanian hotel gets poor marks also for sound quality. We are on the ground floor. In the bathroom, above the sink is a permanently open window with screening. Everyone walking by laughing, talking, yelling, comes filtering in. Keeping the bathroom door closed does not help since the room door is flimsy at best and not flush, so sounds vibrate it. For once and this may be a historic event to put on the calendar, I slept soundly and Ron was disturbed by the noise. Three cheers.

Anwar was ready for us by 8:30 and so were the animals. It was a fantabulous day of viewing. We found a lake of hippos, counting forty before we lost count of the rest and those coming downstream to join them. There was another leopard spotting in tree with its fresh kill in storage in the tree trunks waiting for chow time. A little leopard turtle crossed the street in front of us. Lions were everywhere. We found some in the kopjes (pronounced copies) rocks nursing young or just relaxing in shade. Kopjes are technically called inselbergs, ancient granite rocks that have cracked with erosion from sun, wind, and rain. They provide water and shelter for plant and animal life, especially important during the dry season on the plain. Other lions were on the ground under bushes.

According to Anwar, hundreds of thousands of zebras and wildebeests were spread across the plains up to the roadside. During migration time, 1.5 million of them cross the river in search of feeding grounds. This is the largest animal migration in the world. The best times for viewing is June to December. Their return migration is May and June. Needless to say, the migration causes a high percentage of deaths from trampling, drowning, or getting ravaged by crocodiles as they cross the waters. Watching hundreds of wildebeests line up to cross the plain was a sight I will not soon forget. Still thousands were spread across the plain as far as the eye could see.

Wildebeests share the same grazing area as the zebras. Wildebeests bite off the tougher grasses and swallow. They have stomachs like a cow, so they are able to ruminate the food later to chew and digest it. Zebras eat the tender grasses and chew before swallowing. Like the wildebeests, there were thousands of zebras interspersed. There were a group of six zebras all lined up with their backs to us. My first thoughts were they were having a best butt beauty pagent or they were asking "Do stripes make my ass look bigger?" Zebras are so funny. They seem to like to play this game of "Get me if you can". They will stay so close to the road or even cross it until you are very near them and then they take off like a lion is after them. Some of the less intelligent wait for us to pass them and then get spooked. "Oh, I should have run. Okay, let me do it now." Wildebeests have the sense to run as soon as you close in on them. Then they stop and turn around to look at you. "Are you chasing me yet?"

Stopping at the Serengeti Tour Center, we followed the metal wildebeest signs and footprints in cement to various levels, each offering education information about the park. It was entertaining, educational, and well put together. As we left, the sky became dark suddenly and it poured rain, the first time during our trip. Temperatures dropped from the mid-80s to about the 60s. All of the ruts in the road flooded immediately, causing our jeep to slip, slide and at some points spin like the pointer on a wheel of fortune. Anwar had it all under control, but we were concerned we would get stuck in mud that we would not be able to escape from. By the time we reached our lunch spot, our white jeep was totally muddy brown.

Tonight's stop over is the Ngorongoro Wildlife Lodge, run by the same Indian group as last night's hotel. It sits on the rim of a crater created by volcanic eruption. Tomorrow, we will venture down to view the wildlife as well as see the soda lake, which I don't know yet, what it is. Supposedly, only one day is allowed in the crater itself to keep it from being overwhelmed with tourism. The only lodges are up on the rim, none in the crater itself. Regardless, the vistas from the hotel were breathtaking, until the cloud coverage came in. Then it rained again obliterating everything.

Ron has been handing out Hungarian Christmas candies to staff member, who seem to really appreciate it. They do have some trees with lights, but only balls of cotton for decoration. At dinner, the dessert was a Royal Plum cake and Christmas pudding, but the Brits in line ahead of us disparaged both attempts. We tried both without complaints. African music and dance were tonight's entertainment. Same, same, but different than before.

Have to get to bed so Santa Claus will find me. I do hope he found that note I pinned to the door with my forwarding address.

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Out of Africa, But Still Here

Image via Wikipedia

Before leaving home, Ron forced me to watch Out of Africa. I was only resistant because I really am not a Meryl Streep fan, but we did watch it together. I have to say, I was floored with Streep's ability to do the accent. The movie had me enthralled, but as it is Hollywood, they make changes for the movie version. Ron read the book, but I have not yet. One of the things he had on his "To do" list was to visit her house, which is now a museum.

His back is still bothering him, so we decided to do this today. It is located in one of the outer parts of Nairobi, a good taxi ride away. Since we were doing the taxi thing, we decided to combine trips. Our first stop was an African consortium of handicrafts with about 20 different vendors all in one place. Proceeds from sales either go to the support of the tribe that made the product or for wildlife preservation. We told the driver we wanted about thirty minutes here, but once inside, we could have spent more than an hour and thirty minutes.  Unlike some establishments of this nature, once you have really looked over the merchandise from one shop, you have seen it all. It was an unexpected surprise to find that this was not the case here. Each room, a different vendor, had unique merchandise not available in other rooms by other vendors. Knowing we would be back in Nairobi for three days before we return, we looked, made lists, but did not buy anything now. There was no sense in hauling it around for the next 4 weeks. Fortunately or unfortunately, they do take credit cards. I have quite the list and Ron found a number of things that grabbed his fancy too.

From here, we went to Karen Blixen's Museum, the Danish woman who wrote Out of Africa based on her life here, before returning destitute to Copenhagen. The movie really came to life as soon as we were on the property. They filmed the outside scenes using this house. The interior scenes were filmed in a different house, because this one did not yet have electricity. We were treated to have James as our tour guide. He was extremely knowledgeable, loved her books (Blixen wrote 9 total, but not all of Africa), and the movie. Though he could not have been but a mere baby at the time of the movie, he made sure he knew ever detail there was to tell. We learned which pieces of furniture were authentic, which were reproductions and which were left from the movie. We also were treated to seeing the pants Robert Redford wore during the filming. Throughout the house were paintings Blixen painted of using some of her native staff as models; she was an accomplished artist.

In the back lot, we saw the remains of her coffee works, the roaster and all. It was moved to this location for the movie, but was originally down by the river.  Everything was fascinating, but James added an infectious appeal to the tour that we would never have experienced with anyone less enthusiastic. He was charming.

Our last stop was the Ya-Ya Center, an upscale ex-pat hang-out according to Lonely Planet. It would better be described as a mall. It was a bit of culture shock, but totally appropriate that the women who served at the information desk were dressed as Santa's elves. Normally, this would not cause a second look at this time of year, except they were all black. Directly behind the elves, Santa was sitting on his throne, ringing a bell trying to get some kiddie to sit on his lap, but to no avail. He too was black. It reminded me of the movie The Perfect  Holiday with Morris Chestnut. It is a Christmas movie with an all black cast.

The worst thing about paranoia with potential crime is that I don't travel around with lots of money or my credit cards. We brought enough cash to last us for the first week or so I thought. Little did I realize that Kenya was not going to be the bargain I had anticipated, but it is the taxi costs that are eating into the budget. Before we left the hotel, I had changed 50 euros. When we said good-bye to our three trip taxi driver, I only had 1,800 Kenyan shillings left. Knowing we would need 500 to 800 to taxi back, we had little left for any drinks or snacks. If only I had brought my ATM card with me. We managed to get 2 coffees and a pastry each, so we were not about to starve. The ride back was 500 shillings, so I am almost on empty once again.

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Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve and it is feels like Fourth of July outside, with temperatures around 85 degrees and 85% humidity, but it is better than the 30 degrees in Budapest. We went to Italy for breakfast or at least the bakery called Italy. We cannot get enough of the Portuguese custard pies. When they will appear again on our radar is anyone’s guess; best to fill up on them now.

Walking to the historic city center, we stopped at the Dutch Harbor Café to check their hours. This is the one place we have seen that offers WiFi. We shall return, but onward to the tourism office. I am surprised Ron waited this long before sniffing it out; it is usually the first thing on his agenda. His motto is “Leave no tourism office undiscovered and then rape and pillage their knowledge”. When the tour office is especially convenient, he has been know to make frequent trips in to the office during a stay in one city. Workers have learned that if they are not on Ativan before he arrives, they will be by the time he leaves. He prepares his list of questions, before entering, but this list never seems to diminish as they are answered, but rather grow exponentially. I witnessed one young worker who actually was able to able for retirement by the time we left the chairs facing him. Sad really to see someone so young, age so quickly.

Armed with all of the information he thought we would need for our two days stay, we left. Directly across the street is the Museum of History, next to where the Christ Church is located, not a gathering ground for tourist schlock and bicycle taxis. They are not so efficient, but they are memorable for those who have not seen them before. Each competes with the others in a gaudiest bike from Mr. Black’s worst decorated bike list. As if the lime, hot pink and canary yellow flowers are not enough, some have attached generators to their tri-wheeled taxi in order to have miniature Christmas lights blink on and off while you are serenaded by East Indian love songs in that high pitched shrill nails of the chalkboard sort of undulating vocal noise. Needless to say, we passed up this cultural opportunity.

The entrance fee for the Museum on History was five Ringgits, but also included the Museum of Ethnography, Museum of Education, Museum of Literature, St. Paul’s Church, the Governor’s Museum, and still another governmental museum. With the exception of the last two, we did them all. It was an engaging hour. Well, I exaggerate, but it was not too much longer than this. The Museum of Literature was especially disappointing. The first room was a diorama of Folktales, which I had high hopes, but then after that was just a propagation of Islam and Arabic with famous letters written by one of the Sultans to the King of England. It was not until the last room, that Malay cultural literature was continued, but none of the descriptions were in English.

For an educational museum, there was not much to see, but a diorama with a teacher holding a stick over a child’s head while they copied from the board onto their individual slates. Other exhibits were old report cards and school memorabilia. One of the other guests was a man who had gone to school here and recounting his memories for his son. Listening to this was worth the price of admission to the whole complex. From the son’s accent, they have been living in North America.

Based on Ron’s investigations, we knew there where two hop-on hop-off buses that stopped on this circle. He had wanted to see the Portuguese section of the city and this was the best way to get there. One bus is a double-decker while the other is single and they have different routes. According to the ‘tour’ bus map, the red double-decker should have taken us to this Eurasian part of the city, so we hopped on and paid our five Ringgits for a full days travel. Unlike in most cities, where a hop-on and off bus offers a commentary about what you are seeing, this one was silent with the exception of the jabbering of the locals who use this as local transport. After two blocks, we made a stop, and then we went for over thirty minutes before the next stop. Just like a local bus, you have to tell the driver when you want to get off, but this was not clear to us. We rode the whole circuit. With the hypermarket Tesco and a mall being the highlights of the ride, we realized we were not getting any closer to anything Portuguese then when we left Budapest.

Actually, the real highlight was waiting for the bus. By the bus stop is a gentleman with three snakes of varying size and variety along with a huge iguana. The iguana, a café latte brown with some black stripes on his tail, was quite dashing and with his three inch nails, making it certain he could cut a rug both figuratively and literally. His head had a mass of horns coming out of it like a deformed unicorn, but such a pleasant docile personality to spend hours being on display. We never actually saw him move, I hope he was not stuffed. Unquestionably, the snakes were real. For ten Ringgits, the man would drape his 15 foot yellow snake around your neck, take your picture and then use his portable photo printer to print it. If yellow was not your color, he had other choices in patterns of browns and blacks. Quite clever, but since I have posed with snakes before, both the reptile and mammal versions, I declined the offer to model for him. It occurred to me that he must have to give the snakes a rest once a week or so for feeding. Who would want a snake wrapped around their neck with a big bulge half the way down its body?

Being Christmas Eve, Ron had to do the Catholic thing. We stopped at St. Francis Xavier’s Church to find out masses were at 7:30 pm in Tamil and10:30 pm in English. Back to the hotel to read and rest, we left again at 6:30 to ensconce me at the Dutch Harbor Café across the street from the church, where I would check e-mail and hope my battery did not run out before Ron reappeared. The owner is American, born in England and lived most of his life in Minnesota. He was a commercial pilot and after retiring was offered a teaching position by Air Asia. He opened this restaurant because his friends told him if he was going to whine about not finding a good pizza or other Euro or American food menus, he should open his own restaurant. It sits on the Dutch Harbor, hence the name.

When Ron returned, he stated that being a Tamil language mass, he was the only lily white person there. The church was overflowing into the courtyard and beyond to the edge of the street. He was not in awe of the music, partially due to the language, but also the instruments were too different for his ears.

We went looking for a recommended restaurant that serves a particular version of Indian food indigenous to Malaysia, but when we found it, it was closed. I did not bring my wallet thinking that carrying the backpack with the computer was enough; we were relegated to finding a restaurant that accepted cards. By chance we found one and it must be the gayest restaurant in Malaysia. The ‘hostess’ was so butch she makes my father look like Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Each of the waiters was more flaming than the next and we half expected a pyrotechnic display before we left. We verified they took credit cards and agreed that MasterCard was acceptable.

Being a balmy evening, we sat outside with diners at five other tables. We ordered a full meal, being Christmas Eve and all. As the evening progressed, additional tables and chairs were set out on the street to fulfill the growing demand for food and drinks. When we were ready to go, the count was up to twelve tables all filled with customers waiting. Asking for the bill, Ron handed over his charge card. It seemed like an impossibly long time before the waiter retuned and said “I am sorry sir, there is a problem with your card. We have a chip card reader and your credit card does not have the chip.” I had read about this issue in Europe, but would not have imagined it would have appeared here already. Apparently, all of the credit card issuers in Europe are changing their cards to have a computer chip in them. The retailer inserts the card into a reader, negating the need for swiping it; supposedly this is to reduce fraud and problems with the magnetic strips. However, since North American cards do not have this chip, travelers have encountered this problem when traveling. The solution is to tell the retailer to swipe the card the ‘old fashioned’ way as their chip readers are dually capable. They supposedly tried this, but it did not work. I told them to punch in the numbers manually, but they said that did not work either. Between us, we only had 50 Ringgits and the bill was 69. After discussing the matter with the waiter, then the hostess, we finally worked our way to the manager. I kept insisting that if they did it right, it would work fine. Proof was that it worked in KL just days ago. They insisted they were not trying again. We gave them our 50 Ringgits and signed an IOU for 19 more. How humiliating is that? Merry Christmas! Where is Santa Claus when you need him?

When we returned to the hotel at 11:30, the lobby was black and the front door was barred shut. The way things were going it would not have surprised me if we found the only hotel with a curfew and we were locked out of it. As we peered into the window, we saw a security guard who opened the side door for us and had our key ready. Not quite Santa Claus, but he did do in a pinch.

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Jet Lagged Still

My internal alarm went off long before the mechanical one. By 3:00 am, I was awake and could not fall asleep again. I refused to sit in the bathroom to read; my only other option was relaxing and trying to coax sleep back for a few more hours. My last peek at the clock was at 5:00 am, then the next thing I knew there was an annoying noise grating on my nerves. It was the alarm clock. Ron woke long enough to ask for another hour, so I shut off the alarm not to wake again until 10:00 am.

Out the door in search of breakfast, the hotel does not provide it and doesn’t have a restaurant, we combed the streets. There are no ‘breakfast’ restaurants and all that were open were offering the same menu that services the lunch and dinner crowds. Noodles with chili are not our idea of breakfast food. Ready for the hissing session? We went to Starbucks. Yes, Malaysia has what Hungary does not, Starbucks. To top it off, they have free WiFi too in all of their locations. This will be a favorite resting place for checking e-mails and uploading the blog. We have not seen any signs for WiFi anywhere, though there are numerous Internet places. A medium latté is only $2.00 as opposed to double that in the States or even in Vienna. What a bargain.

The traffic here is incredibly congested. Walking across the street is hazardous to your survival. They do have that little green man sign that signifies it is your life opportunity to go from one corner to the next, but the vehicle drivers see this as another opportunity to pay “Hit or Miss”, completely ignoring the red light that is supposed to keep them in place. We decided we needed to explore the ‘extensive network of transportation options available. Buses are out. They are prone to the traffic jams that the cars are stuck in and movement is negligible. The doors are kept open and they are so full, passengers are straddling the steps holding on while the bus inches along in the myriad of the motoring nightmare. Motorcycles are the only modes of transport that are not inconvenience by the flow, but they weave in and out. If one attached yarn to them, they would create a most dazzling tapestry within a few blocks.

There are no subways, but they do have a subway like train that for the most part is above ground. With an insufficient number of cars, it is quickly full to capacity and the ‘beware of pickpockets’ announcement is continually repeated. We bought a day ticket for unlimited usage, but it is for this light rail train only. To use the monorail that roams parts of the city, we would have to buy another ticket or full day pass. Our day pass cost us $1.50, so we intended to get our monies worth, but first things first, we need to find a place to stay come Thursday. Ron only booked us for two nights where we are at and he refused to stay longer. The lack of a window is more than he can handle. I rather like the darkness, finding it easier to sleep.

We made our way to the tourism office at the ‘great market’, but it was closed. The sign redirected us to the main office. The great market is a huge building built in the late 1800s. today is houses crafts people and merchants to sell their wares. It is two stories with few food options upstairs. With tons of things on display, there is nothing that catches our eye as a must have item. All of the colors of the fabrics are color combinations or patterns that our Western tastes curl our noses up at.

Ron had his list of questions for the tourism people, so we headed in that direction. The central station is ultra modern, but is not for regular trains, but for the light rail and the monorail. Planning our great escape from the city, Ron asked where to spend a couple of days outside of KL, so we will leave here for two nights. We also have a 7:00 am flight coming up, so we had to find a hotel closer to good transportation. We are taking an Air Asia flight and they do not fly out of the major airport. Getting there is going to be tricky at that hour of the morning, with 2 hours ahead check-in time. He made a suggestion of a hotel across the street, so we will check it out.

On the tourism’s list of 10 top festivals in KL is one called YES Year End Sale. Apparently, this is a big event. After peppering the tourism guy with questions, we went to the KL City Center, located in the twin towers of the city. The twin towers until very recently held the distinction of being the tallest buildings in the world. This was just outdone by Taiwan. The buildings are really beautifully designed and it holds a humungous shopping center with all of the best names. Prada and Louis Viutton are there as well as every other designer name you can mention. Along side of them, there is the mandatory McDonalds, KFC, Chilis, San Francisco Coffee Company, California Pizza Company, Kenny Rogers Roasters, and the likes of every other bit of Americana imaginable. In the center courtyard is a skyscraping tree decorated for Christmas and all of the halls are decked with holly. It is seemingly incongruent to see woman strolling around with burkas or just hajib head scarves. This is not just a browsing mall; everyone is loaded down with bags. This community is affluent.

Outside the back of the mall in the twin towers courtyard, there is a large pond with a fountain reminiscent of Las Vegas. The water sprays, dances, and performs, but not as elaborately as in LV.

We looked at the hotel recommendation. The only thing it has going for it is that it has windows in the rooms. The rooms are small, but at $15.00 a night, you cannot ask for much more. I would have opted for something better, but that would only increase the transport issues for flights.

Searching for some cultural events, we had been informed by the tourism office to go to the Malaysia Cultural Center to find out what was being offered. The grounds are well appointed, but interestingly, they only offer events a few times a week. They suggested we attend the dinner show next door since it was daily there.

For dinner, we ventured back to our hotel territory and thought we were going to the restaurant where the man had been so nice to us the day before. However, we undershot his place by one outdoor restaurant and did not realize it until we had ordered. We shared satay of chicken and beef, fried rice, and vegetables in garlic sauce. The satay was not very peanuty, so this was disappointing. Sitting behind us was a real blow-heart full of himself older man who started carrying on with the Australian couple sitting next to us. I was so relieved when he said he was Canadian and not American.

Across from the restaurant is a shop that is nothing but Christmas décor. It seems so out of place is this city of primarily Muslim people. I cannot say for a fact, but I don’t think they have a Christmas tree and Santa Claus. As I was walking to the curb to walk to the door of the shop, I felt something knock into my ankle, which caused me to jump. When I looked down, I caught the last glimpse of something small and black flit under the cartons of the knock off designer watch street vendor. He looked at me and said what I think was “RAT”. I am hoping he said “CAT”. I did not see a tail, so I am not certain.

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