After years of visiting a place that I cherished for so long, I recently returned from Tulum, Mexico with extremely unfortunate news to share...
The first day my friend & I arrived to Mar Caribe cabanas, ( set south of Tulum ruins), someone stole all of my money from the cabana. When we notified the management, they shrugged it off w/ no concern. We also discovered that another traveller had all of his money and his passport stolen on the same property. Just a few months prior to this incident, I was attacked by a man one evening in front of Mar Caribe. The management was not concerned and when I contacted the local police, they did not take the incident seriously. The management is also allowing backpackers to stay in a vacant building that will soon be the new Don Cafeto restaurant. They are charging 50 pesos per person and pocketing the money.. The backpackers were mostly men selling and doing drugs on the premises. We also had a problem at Don Cafeto Restaurant, which is next door to Mar Caribe. It appears that when a tourist pays for their meal with pesos or dollars, (since Don Cafeto does not accept credit cards), the cashier will tear a corner of the largest bill and exclaim they do not accept ripped money. Next, instead of returning the altered bill, they will keep the money and expect the customer to pay with another "acceptable" bill. This scam is quite clever, but needs to be stopped. Please be aware!!!

Posted By Jennifer Bohdonnah on April 16, 2007, 9:57 AM

My family has traveled much of Europe and for us our favorite destination is Mallorca, Spain. If you are looking for a beautiful beach-front hotel stay with restaurants and shopping all around this is the place. The local foods are wonderful and inexpensive. A must is the wonderful sangria! There are various fun destinations from the hotels with transfers available. We attended a Spanish dance night with dinner provided. If you like history and going to cathedrals they have those side trips available too. There's lots of clubs and party spots with open patios. We are not much on the night life but found that many of the hotels had bands and other events to enjoy throughout the day. It is a resort area with spas and message studios in the area. Our 3* hotel was ever bit as good as a 4* and was very reasonably priced. I would highly recommend Mallorca. If you have any questions please feel free to ask.

Posted By Best Trip Mallorca, Spain on April 16, 2007, 9:58 AM

This blog post on Feb 25, 2007, was written by me; others on our site were written by Tash. This is my blog:

Well everyone, I wrote a fabulously witty update for all of you, but alas, it somehow was lost to the Internet gods, so here we go again.....

Saturday - After our day seeing Corcovado and Pao de Azucar (Christo and Sugar Loaf), we spent the whole next day lying on the beach. We decided to go to Ipanema instead of Copacabana because the waves were so big at copa that we could not swim and 38 degree days get a bit sweltering without splashing around for a bit in between toasting. Ipanema is actually split up into numbered beaches. They all run into one another and you can sit anywhere, but some beaches are known to be for the old, young, gay, or straight. Tash of course wanted to go to the gay beach, but we resisted and watched the many speedo clad straight men prance around instead. Our official goal for the trip is to look Hispanic when we return....

Sunday - We took a ferry across the way to Niteroi, where the Modern Museum of Art is located. We passed many blocos (street parties) on the way, but our strong sense of intellect drove us on to the museum. When we got there, it was in fact closed, perhaps due to the fact that during Carnaval, no one goes to the museum. However, the scenery there was beautiful, and instead of art, we indulged in a few salads and a bottle of wine, so it was not a wasted trip. For dinner we went to a place advertising a Rotary menu for only R$10,00. We discovered that this is a sampling of the 29 pesticos (appetizers) on the menu, and they bring the different platters in rotation. Thinking it was a great deal, we examined the pestico menu, and seeing that we were unimpressed, but everyone else seemed to be ordering it, we of course got it anyway. When in Rome.... We received a bit of everything, from ham and cheese, to fried cheese, baked cheese, shrimps with heads and feet still clinging on, fried fish, beef stroganoff, fried manioc (a potato-y substance), quail eggs... everything. It was most definitely an experience and we laughed the entire time trying to figure out what we were eating, but we decided that a rotation of all foods you don't want, really is a bad idea in the end. We met some people at our hostel later that night and went salsa dancing in the streets and night swimming in the Atlantic.

Monday - Wednesday - We spent most of the remainder of our time in Rio lying in the sun and sipping some beers. We went to Ipanema again on Monday and ate some casquinha (ice cream cone) and suco (delicious juice in every tropical flavor possible). We had a filet mignon sandwich and a chicken and cream cheese crepe for dinner. Filet mignon here is a couple centimeter thick piece of meat more like a burger, but it's actually quite tender and delicious. Tuesday, we spent the entire day drinking. We went to a bloco in the afternoon in Ipanema and ate some street meat for the first time. It was quite wonderful and it's no wonder that for R$2 it is Brazil's famed food. At night we went to a beach rave and partied till the wee hours in the morning. Wednesday we laid on the beach all day, recovered, and got some more sun.

Thursday & Friday - We finally left beautiful Rio, even though we were both tempted to stay, and moved onto a town called Saquarema. It was a very ritzy and gorgeous place. The beaches are much less crowded than Rio and the vendors a lot more scarce. We drank some beers and listened to a live Brazilian POP cover band watching the sunset. We stayed at an amazingly expensive pousada, and thus decided to go to the mercado and buy some cheap food to subsist on. We intended to live on bananas, ChocoLoaf, and beer for the next two days, but for those of you who know either us of really well, we didn't make it long. We ended up going out for pizza and not only ordered a delicious savory pizza, but saw a banana with cinnamon and sugar pizza, and ordered that as well as a bucket o' beer. We spent the next day just lying on the beach. We had intended to surf, but the water was actually quite a bit colder than in Rio and we settled on just baking in the sand, Tash working on her new tan lines in her teeny weeny little Brazilian bikini.

Saturday & Sunday - We left Saquarema for Parati. Parati is a cute little old town. The historic center used to be a fort so it is walled in like Quebec city and the interior is all cobbled streets and ornate old buildings. We are staying in a room that is much like a tree house. We need to climb up stairs through a hole in the ceiling to get to our beds, but we have the whole loft to ourselves and we are right on the river. We spent Sunday going for a boat tour around some of the islands nearby. We went to many different beaches and snorkeled for a while. We saw some huge starfish, crabs, a stingray, and many many fish and coral. It was a great way to spend the day. We're not quite sure what we're doing tomorrow, but it promises to be another day in paradise....

Posted By Stefanie Dutile on April 16, 2007, 10:09 AM

A couple of years ago my husband and I went on a wonderful trip to VietNam, Thailand and Cambodia. We traveled with a company that specializes in small groups. Our Vietnamese guide was a wonderfully enthusiastic young man named Quynh who was so proud of his country that he could not do enough to show us how exciting everything was. My husband's birthday came along while we were in Halong Bay, and Quynh moved heaven and earth to procure a birthday cake for him. This was harder than it sounds as cakes were not part of the Vietnamese cuisine or tradition. My husband was also showered with beautiful bouquets of flowers, which is part of the tradition. We were moving on the next day, and, not wanting to leave all the beautiful flowers in the hotel room, we took them with us in the van. Our next stop was a tiny village where we could walk and observe the local life. Since there were only 14 of us this was not as intrusive as it sounds. We came across a wedding being held in a courtyard. As we stood nodding and smiling at the gate, the bride's father came over and invited us all in. We were seated at one of the tables and offered the best of refreshments; candy, tea and cigarettes. I began taking pictures of the event with my digital camera, which was a novelty to most of the villagers. Soon the mother of the bride took me by the hand and brought me to where the bride was sequestered so that I could take pictures of her. She was dressed in a typical white Western-style bridal gown, but one thing was missing. My husband and I looked at each other and said "the flowers!!" He ran to the bus to get them and we presented the bride with an armful of roses and other beautiful blooms, as mama and papa and all the relatives beamed upon us as hard as they could. We were then handed a microphone and asked to sing. The group conferred and then all 14 of us serenaded the bride with a couple of choruses of "You Are My Sunshine". This was met with much approval, and, though we were invited to stay on and party, alas, we had to go. But we left knowing that the birthday flowers were given another happy occasion to be a part of!

Posted By Marilyn Schlansky on April 16, 2007, 10:20 AM

All's well that ends well!

The graduation was very nice and I wouldn't have missed it, but I almost did!

We flew into Savannah, GA(less expensive) and I had paperwork from the Budget Car rental website with a confirmed low price. I went to the airport counter to get my car and was told "I have seen this before this is NOT a reservation". I was getting hysterical by this time, as the lady explained they had no cars that were not already reserved. I think she saw the panic in my eyes and managed to (FIND) a car at twice the price I had intended to pay. I went to all the other car rental counters and was forced to go back to the Budget counter and beg to pay twice my intended price. We drove to Mt. Pleasant, SC, where our hotel was reserved.

In the meantime Billy was chasing around all over town trying to get his truck towing lights repaired. He had to be out of his room immediately. We finally saw him around 8 PM Thursday night and the truck was still not fixed. We did manage to go out for dinner with his buddy Nick and his mother.

Friday AM-Billy got ready and headed out to the graduation. I had visited once before and thought I knew where to go-WRONG! We drove to Goose Creek, missed our turn and ended up way out past the base, stopped for directions. Drove all over the SC countryside-me on the verge of tears- we arrived about 15 minutes late.

The only thing I missed was the opening speeches and although I am sure they were wonderful- I did get to see all the graduates cross the stage

It was very cold and windy, we were freezing out there, so missing the beginning wasn't so bad after all

Billy and his older brother Jack got the truck fixed. We went to Hyman's Seafood place downtown and ate an outrageous amount of fish, mussels, crab legs, shrimp and a few veggies.

Saturday we went to Patriot's Point very close to our hotel. We took a boat over to Fort Sumter and did the tour there. We went to the Battery and saw all the lovely homes and ended the day on Market Street at a sports bar watching the Final 4.

Sunday we all drove home to Tennessee

Posted By C Summers on April 16, 2007, 10:24 AM

Regarding Jennifer's comment about her bad experience at Cabanas Mar Caribe near the Mayan ruins of Tulum, Mexico, we invite others to comment, as Budget Travel is not familiar with this property.

Posted By Sean on April 16, 2007, 10:39 AM

The smell hits you first. It is unlike anything I have ever smelled before. It smells of urine and trash and fire and heat and cows and people. People. One billion people in a country one-third the size of the United States. India, in a word, was intense.

India was the first place where I truly felt like a foreigner. No tourists, no waterfront shopping area, no comfort. I honestly felt claustrophobic for the first time ever.

The airport oddities were so interesting. Men and women were separated into different security lines, with women being the ones patted down. We also had to remove our batteries from cameras, alarm clocks, etc. But, they never checked our IDs and then gave us real knives during the in-flight meal. (Which, by the way, was the best meal I had there!)

We saw everything, from the Taj in Agra to the Sikh temples in Delhi to the rickshaw drivers in Chennai. The poverty I witnessed there was much different than previous travels. Small children were running in between traffic, barefoot, trying to sell morning papers or beg for food. People without limbs scooted around the sidewalks. It was all so overwhelming, maybe because I only slept about 10 hours the entire trip, or maybe because it was so foreign that I was just unprepared. It was almost hard to believe everything I was seeing. There were such contrasts. On the train I was reading an Indian fashion magazine, looking at the latest sarees and jewelry, and the next I was looking at a man going to the bathroom on the side of the road, next to his home--a potato sack. Or, a beautiful estate garden would be across from a fire burning piles of cow dung.

I know I am lucky to have traveled there.

Posted By Tracy on April 16, 2007, 10:45 AM

I Showered in Rain Water Next to a Brilliant Blue Butterfly and Other Amazonian Adventures.

(Mar.3, 2007)

So there really are no words to adequately describe the Amazon jungle, a place unlike any other I have ever seen or experienced, but it was definitely the highlight of my trip so far. I'm not sure I can even remember all of the awesome things I did...every day in the jungle seemed like such an epic.

For the majority of the time, we stayed in a beautiful cabin lodge that was similar in many ways to our Cloud Forest accomodations, but with the added bonus of actual toilets and a limited amount of electric light. There were lots of really cool lookouts on top of trees to climb up on, too, and really yummy food...fresh fish, fruits and vegetables mostly. I had the chance to do so many activities that I could never have even dreamed about. On one nature hike, I saw the largest trees I've ever seen in my life, called Kapok trees, which were totally majestic and totally had real life Tarzan vines hanging from them. I had a chance to swing on one, and even had a Jane moment when my friend John was taking his turn and grabbed me up off the ground and onto the vine with him! So fun.

I navigated the Napo River a few times in a motor canoe, visited a protected animal reserve, spent some time in an indigenous village community where I got a chance to teach some 4th and 5th graders multiplication, met an indigenous medicine woman, listened to a shaman storyteller, and got to make a mythical clay head with ceramic pottery. I definitely faced a lot of fears during the trip, from tasting lemon ants to coming to peace with being wholly entrenched in sweat, bug lotion, dirt and mud for five days. One morning, I woke up early to shower and realized I was accompanied by an azure butterfly friend the entire time. Meanwhile, I was showering in the exact same rain water in the exact same temperature that was pouring outside simultaneously. It was quite funny, really. At the indigenous village, our lunch was interesting, to say the least...a plate filled with all sorts of vegetables I had never seen before, an entire fish, and a crunchy cooked larvae, an Amazonian delicacy. I wish I could say I tried the grub, but alas, I couldn't bring myself to do it...though from what I hear, it tasted a lot like bacon. On the whole, without trying to overly wax philosophic, I really feel like I gained a new perspective on a lot of things. It was pretty cool.

Lamentably, if the week in the jungle was the highpoint of my time here, the last 24 hours have most definitely been my nadir. Without going into too much detail, suffice it to say that all of the luck I've had thus far with digestion suddenly took a turn for the worst throughout the entire 8 hour bus ride back to Quito and all of last night. However, I am feeling a lot better now after returning to the higher altitudes of the Sierra and having passed (hopefully) most of the worst out of my system.

Anywho, today I'm back in Quito preparing to meet my new host family later on this afternoon... which reminds me, I should really be on my way to buy flowers and pack my things! Until later, all my love.--MelodyQ

Posted By Melody Quintana on April 16, 2007, 12:42 PM

How's a guy supposed to eat with swimsuit models all over the place?

It started when Jess and I went exploring for a new restaurant in Costa Rica. That meant we turn right instead of left on the dirt road in front of our lodge.

Apparently all the action took place on the other end of the dirt road, because after walking for a half hour we didn't come across a spot where we could eat.

Normally this wouldn't be a huge deal, but the main issue is that Jess's blood sugar plummets when she doesn't eat for long periods of time. She gets really loopy, lethargic and acts drunk. It's not pretty.

By the time we arrived to the middle of nowhere, Jess's hunger symptoms started acting up. Typically, this is when she freaks out. I know she is doing this because she says, "I'm freaking out, I'M FREAKING OUT!" while waving her arms around.

Keep in mind it's also in the 80s or 90s, astonishingly humid and extremely dusty. It only gets worse when a vehicle drives by and whips up some more dust while we walk on the shoulder.

I get the idea to pick Jess up and carry her, figuring a passing driver would feel obligated to give us a lift.

This works perfectly. A driver in a nice new truck -- a rarety for this area -- stops and asks if we were all right.

In unison, we say we're OK.

As our ride left, we wondered what the hell we just did.

Maybe it was our instinct to turn down rides from strangers in foreign countries. Maybe it was just the heat. Maybe it was stupidity.

There was nothing to do but wait for the next vehicle, which would come who knows when.

A few minutes later I spotted a beat-up old pick-up driving toward us. I immediately scooped up Jess and waited. This time we wouldn't be so stupid.

This was not quite the nice new truck we had just seen. The occupants spoke broken English and had no open seats. But they did stop and offer help.

I immediately threw Jess in the back of the pick-up and hopped in behind her.

In a few minutes we found ourselves at Mar Azul, the restaurant we'd been to many times.

But this time something was different. There were amazingly hot swimsuit models all over the place.

"Remember," I told Jess. "You were the one that wanted to go here."

Every time a bikini-clad model walked right next to our open-air table, it was no less surreal than if a Tyrannosaurus Rex had just passed by.

Apparently, there was some kind of photo shoot going on at the beach. It looked pretty high tech, with photo assistants, lackeys spraying down the models with mist, and even a helicopter that inexplicably made a visit.

The only clue as to what the hell was going on was the words "Bodog Fight" written across the women's bikini bottoms. Honestly, solving this mystery was the only reason I was looking there.

I Googled this information when I got home to find out that Bodog Fight is a kind of ultimate fighting league, complete with supporting "Bodog Girls." I also found a blog that talked about their shoot in our area of Costa Rica.

At one point I decided I needed to document this surreal turn of event with photographic proof. Trying not to look like too much of a pervert I managed to snap a few subpar shots that certainly didn't do the situation justice. That's when someone in charge caught me and told me no pictures.

For her part, Jess was at first annoyed yet amused. She progressively became more annoyed and less amused. At least she wasn't strung out on hunger anymore.

I actually don't remember many details about this whole experience. It was pretty much a blur. Remember those sitcom dream sequences? Yeah, like that.

I plead guilty to being a bit distracted during the meal. But aside from extracting my Y chromosome and flinging across the beach, I don't know what else I could have done. I actually think I was doing decent for a guy. I tried to initiate conversation several times.

"Yeah, I know you were trying," Jess later said sarcastically. "Every five minutes or so you'd say 'How's it going' to me."

At least I managed to regain use of my senses before Jess filed divorce papers on the spot. I asked her to take a picture with me on the beach as the sun set.

With the bikini models lounging under a canopy, a production assistant snapped our picture as the sun ducked below the horizon behind us. The whole time, I kept my gaze on the camera and my arm around Jess.

Posted By Tim Cigelske on April 16, 2007, 12:47 PM

Stef's travel blogs are keeping all of us entertained, wishing we were young again and able to do what she and Tash are doing. I look forward to the next one!

Posted By Neil Lucier on April 16, 2007, 1:09 PM

What a wonderful way to spend your hard-earned money. It is an experience you will remember the rest of your lives. Six months in South America, amazaing! Can't wait for your next blog.

Posted By Maggie Lucier on April 16, 2007, 1:22 PM

I am so jealous that you are going rafting on the Futaleufu! Here I am a kayaker and I can't afford to make that trip. Have fun for me, will ya?

Posted By Tom Lucier on April 16, 2007, 1:48 PM

Getting the best deal can be a full time job, but how many of us have the time available to spend countless hours working to get the best deal. The solution is to let others do most of the work for you, to tap into friends who have had positive travel experiences and to then ultimately undertake your own due diligence.

Internet subscriptions to airline carriers, car rental companies and hotel chains that offer discounts and subscriptions to sites like BudgetTravelOnline.com handle much of the legwork allowing you more time to enjoy life and pursue other interests. Add to that formula engaging business and personal friends in travel conversations, and a whole new world of insight into what to do and what not to do is open to you. However, in the end, there is no substitute for doing your own due diligence by surfing the net for the best information and the best prices available. Also, a little imagination never hurts.

A case in point involved a recent trip to Hawaii. Frequent flyer seats were booked eleven months in advance, inter island flights involved super saver rates, accommodations were through vrbo.com (vacation rentals by owner) at a fraction of hotel prices. Imagination came into play by letting different condo owners compete for my business and by finding a conference that was in town that had a discount car rental number posted on their web site and then using that number to book our car rentals. Travel resource web sites provided amble suggestions for things to do as did friends and acquaintances who have previously visited the Hawaiian Islands. Similarly, discounts on dining were achieved by using the Entertainment Book, getting recommendations from friends and internet sources and scouting out restaurants that have a BYOB policy which is more common than one might imagine. Needless to say, we had the trip of a lifetime on a budget that will allow us to return again and again.

Posted By David Kochel on April 16, 2007, 1:55 PM

Random Trip to Japan

We decided to see where we could go for free using mileage and hotel points and believe it or not, it was Tokyo. So for weeks we planned an itinerary, contacted friends in Tokyo and Guam, got some phrase books, and prepared for the longest flight we've ever been on.

We didn't sleep the night before our flight, and our cab driver apparently didn't either, as evidenced by his swerving off the road as other cars honked at him. We arrived at the airport in just 45 minutes, so we were plenty early for the flight. We attempted to purchase an upgrade for the 13-hour flight, but were told since we had gotten free tickets we weren't eligible. Despite the fact there were empty seats, they didn't want extra money. OK. We sat at the gate and dozed off here and there. Every time we woke up we were surrounded by less people. Eventually I decided to check the monitor and it turned out they changed our gate. We had to run to another terminal and go through security again. Always pays to be early...riight?

The flight was very smooth (great for me who hates being in the sky) and we were constantly offered drinks. We were fed 2 meals, and one included sushi. This would be the only sushi we ate on our whole Japanese adventure.

We arrived at Narita airport in Japan, exhausted. We exchanged money, rented a cell phonen, and booked a train ticket to Yokohama, just past Tokyo. As we waited for the train, men in uniform conducted the trains and bowed each time one left. We found our seats on the Narita Express train and woke up just in time to exit at Yokohama Station. We arrived in the middle of rush hour, and darted between commuters until we made it out of the gigantic station and across the street to our hotel. We offered to provide a credit card for the one night we had to pay and any expenses, but the hotel insisted the whole stay was free.

We took a "nap" and woke up around 3am in search of dinner. We wandered around Yokohama and discovered the only place open with food was the 24-hour McDonald's. Our first Japanese meal. As we waited for our food, the cashier came over to us and started talking to us in Japanese. It seemed quite long, but when we looked confused, he just said "Wait please." I thought we had forgotten toothpaste, so we found a store that was open. I instantly fell in love with this store. They sold EVERYTHING from stuffed bananas to make-up to keychains. EVERYTHING. And there was music playing in every direction. Our last day in Japan, we would return to this store and become engaged on the way out!

Tomorrow...meeting a friend from Guam in the garden, Sumida River Cruise, Asakusa and sukiyaki, Ginza, our favorite souvenir of clear plastic umbrellas, pub food and salsa dancing with a classmate in Roppongi.

Later...Electric Town, Meiji Shrine, Harajuku, Asian tapas, panarmoic views, Lost in Translation bar, Kabuki-cho, Italian dinner, Kamakura and the giant Buddha, Kyoto and the new 7 wonders of the world, dinner with friends, international brunch, and the engagement.

Posted By Lisa Kelly on April 16, 2007, 2:01 PM

SMILE. You're on Candid Camera!

With all the truck troubles coming through Virginia, we were a day and a half behind schedule, so even though we got off to a late start(we didn't leave the dealership in Salem, VA. til 10:00) we did a big push. 11 hours and 650 miles later, we arrived in Memphis, TN.

After checking in to the hotel, we decided to eat in Trumpet's, the hotel's small dining room, as the surrounding area looked a little sketchy. Walking in, we were told to seat ourselves and "self-serve" turned out to be the theme of the night. Although there were only 2 other tables of people seated, it was 15 minutes before our waitress approached us for the first time, only to be told "I'll be right with you". Although it appeared the other parties had been in the restaurant for quite some time, no one had food as of yet.

I noticed another couple going to the bar (located outside of the dining room) for their own drinks, so Bob went over and asked them if you had to get your own alcohol. "Well", the wife laughed, "you do if you want a drink anytime this millenium and you better like beer 'cos they have no wine or liquor". So off Bob went, 2 Bud Lights coming right up. While he was gone, the waitress brought a party of three their salads, but forgot their dressing. "I'll have that in a jiffy". 5 minutes later, dressing arrived and she finally made here way back to us. At this point we had been in the restaurant for half an hour. She took our order, informing us that they were out of baked potatoes as the shipment had not come in, and walked away talking to herself. "I've got to slow down" she decided "this pace is too much for one person". Bob and I looked at each other and burst out laughing. "Where is the Candid Camera?" I wondered. At this point, the only people with food on the table was the party of three, although only two of them had received their meals. They ordered another round of beers and the waitress asked the girl "Honey, would you mind running down for them? I am just flat out" Hearing that, we started laughing so hard we couldn't stop. I started looking hard for those cameras!

Ten minutes passed and our waitress was back with the bad news - Bob had ordered the Prime Rib special and they were all out. After taking his new order, she walked away to put it in. At this point, we started to wonder if we should have ordered breakfast instead of dinner because it seemed like this meal might turn into an all-nighter.

The party of three got up to leave, even though their third member had never got his food, and walked to the cash register to pay. The waitress came running after them. "Honey, you can't go yet, you haven't had your dinner" "I'll eat a sandwich in my room" he replied. "Oooooh, this looks so good, better than any ole sandwich." she coaxed "Why don't I wrap it for you?" He relented and as she left Bob called over to him "Don't you feel like you're on Candid Camera?" The group looked a little startled and looked at each other, unsure if perhaps we were commenting on the diversity of the group and the lifestyle choices of one member. After hearing the the explaination, they opened up and started telling their story. Hailing from Oregon, the group was down to give support for one member for his divorce proceedings in Memphis. "Frank, here" said the manly woman referring to the man in the wheelchair, "was in the courthouse this morning for his divorce case. The trial had been called and was about to start when his hotshot lawyer dropped dead of a heart attack. Three years and umpteen dollars later and now he's back to square one" We passed a few words with them, had a few laughs and they were off.

We finally got our dinners and Bob's burger was about on par with Micky D's. My dinner was so unpalatable I had to send it back. Even the salad was warm and inedible. So, after a hilarious 90 minute dining experience (and, no, we never did find the Candid Camera), I ended up eating dinner from the vending machine.

Posted By Elizabeth Higginbottom on April 16, 2007, 2:35 PM

Today we are in Taormina, Sicily on a warm and sunny day. Despite the lovely weather, we are at this time unable to see Mt. Etna because of the clouds surrounding it. We are at first disappointed that we did not have time on this trip to go up Mt. Etna but later we find out that in spite of all that heat and smoke, nothing delicious is actually being baked there. Somewhere around the 4th century BC, Taormina was built on a cliff, overlooking the Ionian Sea. Looming in the background(when you can see it) is Mount Etna, still an active volcano. Taormina is a charming medieval town filled with lovely piazzas, cafes, restaurants, and countless shops. The views through every archway and up every winding street and alley are the real-life version of the tacky but charming paintings I adore.
Taormina is very beautiful. We are not surprised that Goethe referred to Taormina as a patch of paradise. and that D.H. Lawrence supposedly was inspired to write Lady Chatterly's Lover here.

We wander through the town, window-shop, and marvel until our biological clocks start demanding pasta. Luckily, we find the restaurant with the most beautiful view of all. We have lunch with friends on an outdoor terrace filled with flowers overlooking the sea. The four of us consider this a great improvement over our countless dinners spent meeting halfway at the Bertucci's in a local mall. After lunch we continue walking and shopping -- buying necessities of life such as necklaces made of lava from Mt. Etna. Eventually we make our way to the Greek Amphitheater, Taormina's most famous monument. The Greeks carved this amphitheater out of the mountains somewhere around the 3rd century BC and the Romans expanded it about 5 centuries later. The conquering Arabs damaged it greatly in the 10th century. However, nothing could destroy the breathtaking view of Mount Etna and the sea beyond the theater. We also eventually visit the Roman Odeon, a small theater partly covered by a church located next door. This theater, built by the Romans in the 1st century AD, is much smaller and much,much less spectacular. Today has been one of those perfect travel days: lovely weather, incredible scenery, wonderful food, and a sense of real connection to the past.

Posted By Elaine Miller on April 16, 2007, 3:18 PM

COZUMEL, MEXICO
"Thank God for the Queen of Spain!?" exalted the taxi driver as he sped us down the modern autoroute leading to the south of Cozumel Island. It was a clear, dry day and the temperature was climbing into the high 80s. On either side of the highway the mangrove forests soaked up the life-giving energy of the sun, striving to regenerate themselves months after the devastating assault by Hurricane Wilma had denuded the trees of their leaves, leaving a barren tableau reminiscent of the devastation visited upon the Vietnamese jungle after an Agent Orange deforestation campaign.

Above us the hawks glided on currents of hot, rising air, their job of locating prey on the ground made infinitely easier by the total absence of vegetation.

The driver continued his litany of thanksgiving. The Queen of Spain called the state governor, and when she heard the magnitude of our suffering, she immediately dispatched three military cargo aircraft filled with water and food. Otherwise we surely would have perished because all our water was contaminated.

"The hurricane lasted two days," he continued. By the second day our houses were flooded and the water was up to our chest. We had to go on the roof in the wind and rain with our children, who were all crying. We thought we were all going to die, and we prayed to Jesus for our salvation.

Finally, by the grace of God, the storm moved away. If it had lasted two hours more all the people in my barrio would have been swept away and killed.

There was a great wailing of relief and thanks to God that we had survived. We sat on our roofs and waited for help, because we had no water or food. When at last we saw the Spanish Air Force planes circling above us, those of us who could ran to the airfield to await their landing, and when they landed we went inside the airplanes and emptied them by hand, passing the cartons out in a chain until all the supplies were stacked on the tarmac.

And so, because of the benevolence of the Queen of Spain all the people survived.

After came the Canadians and the Americans. Then the Mexican Navy ships docked in the harbor. They brought soldiers with trucks and helicopters, and the soldiers and police patrolled the streets to keep order.

By the grace of God, all the people survived. Not one person died. Unfortunately nobody was able to save the poor animals and they all perished. All the dogs and cats, the horses and donkeys, the chickens and roosters. All dead! The only animals that survived were those birds that knew how to survive in the water, and when the water receded from the town the streets were filled with the corpses of the dead animals.

This highway we're driving on now, when the water receded, was strewn with thousands of dead fish all the way to the southern end of the island, as far as the eye could see.

For two months we had no work and we only lived on what we received from the government. They gave us water, food and ice every day, but no alcohol or beer. Let me tell you, that was the worst of it! I can live without seeing a woman for two months, but two months without beer in this heat, and nothing to do -- that was the worst. A black market developed where you could buy a bottle of tequila for five hundred pesos, but nobody had any money, and if the police caught you they sent you to jail.

He reiterated, "I don't care if I don't see a woman for two months, but no beer? That's the worst!?"

My girlfriend Magpie and I had taken an efficiency apartment in the center of San Miguel, on the malecon, or oceanfront boulevard, just a couple of blocks from the ferry terminal. For whatever reason, the downtown business district and central plaza, with its lush tropical foliage, appeared untouched by the devastation, but that might be because the authorities determined that it be beautifully appointed for the needs of the tourist business, which is the island's only source of income. This central plaza was a far cry from what it was the first time I visited Cozumel twenty years ago. Then, it was a devastatingly ugly patch of dirt right out of a Sergio Leone spaghetti western, a lazy, filthy unshaded mound of barren soil surrounding a concrete bandshell, fit only for borrachos and the North American dropouts that inhabited the surrounding flea bag hotels.

At that time Cozumel was only visited by a few hard-core divers and by small groups of day travelers from the mainland attracted for snorkeling excursions into its wonderfully rich coral reefs. The town had one rickety dock, a t-shirt store and a store selling silver jewelry. The rest of the place was a real dive, with pigs and chickens free-ranging down the middle of its shabby side streets.

Each time I came back, the island had incrementally improved, and when the cruise lines finally glommed onto its exotic tropical beauty, a gold rush soon followed, with government and private investment pouring in, followed by an exodus of migrants from all over Mexico, seeking opportunity, as well as rich Mexicans and Spaniards who established oceanfront residences. A new ferry terminal, the muelle fiscal, was constructed directly in front of the town square. A gigantic port built to process cruise ship passengers was built a few kilometers to the south. Shopping centers housing boutiques for Cartier jewelry and Rolex watches sprang up in formerly desolate lots overgrown with weeds. Luxury resorts sprung up like jalapeno peppers. Restaurants and bars charging New York prices spread into the side streets like kudzu vines overtaking an abandoned jungle shack. Now the town, with its miniature malec- or oceanfront boulevard, resembles nothing so much as a tiny Havana or San Juan, much more charming than Cancun with a distinctly Mexican and Mayan personality.

And now that Cozumelenos, as they refer to themselves, are racing along the information superhighway with the rest of us, with 100 television stations and internet cafes on every block (not to mention the ubiquitous cell phones that they have seized upon with the voracious fury of a ravenous octopus), the people on this once-isolated backwater are every bit as sophisticated as the most jaded denizen of Mexico City or New York. Since Magpie and I had neglected to bring along a radio, we more or less left the TV on in our room full-time for background noise.

Mexican television is pretty good. There are a lot of music video stations featuring the whole gamut of popular music ranging from norteno music, which is updated mariachi played by hard guys dressed in vaquero suits and sombreros, to latin hip-hop. There are plenty of movie channels, most featuring dubbed-over American films, but also with plenty of vintage black-and-white Mexican westerns and romantic comedies. You have the choice of watching CNN en espanol, which is broadcast live from Atlanta, but with really cool, elegant latin announcers sporting sharp haircuts and modern suits. There are always soccer matches featuring the best teams of Europe and Latin America. And for hard-core political junkies, there is a public access station that shows parliamentary debates from the Chamber of Deputies in Mexico City, which was a real eye-opener!

The hands-down star of Mexican political commentary for our week in Mexico was undeniably Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez, who is not passing up any opportunity to project himself throughout Latin America. He was on CNN two or three times every hour all week, and he had a lot to say about Mexico's ruling party, the PAN, calling them lap dogs of George Bush and the Americans. Since this is an election year for Mexico, the PAN deputies in congress are highly exercised about what they consider Chavez's interference in the country's internal politics in favor of the left-wing candidate, Obrador, who is the mayor of Mexico City.

Magpie and I watched a legislative session where the deputies were debating a PAN motion to investigate Chavez and statements by the Venezuelan ambassador to Mexico to determine whether they constituted Venezuelan interference in Mexican domestic politics. It was a raucous debate, the Mexican sense of political decorum not extending to restrained behavior by elected officials. The speakers all started their speeches softly and politely, with reasoned dignity, and then built up to a crescendo of denunciations and accusations, sort of like Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, to the accompaniment of shouts, jeers, whistles and points of order by the assembled dignitaries. Everybody was playing to the home audience, and they knew what their constituents expected of them -- something spicy!

The motion to investigate Chavez passed, but later that day, when the Venezuelan strongman appeared on the screen, as though in response, he sang a song by the fantastically popular Spanish singer Rocio Durcal, a kind of singing Simone Signoret, who had died earlier that day. Later on, the Venezuelan government announced that it was increasing housing subsidies for all its low-income citizens.

What effect all this is having on Mexican voters I cannot say. But the other big story of the week, the massive demonstrations taking place in the States by undocumented Mexican workers protesting the imminent immigration legislation by the U.S. Congress, aroused plenty of emotions and indignation. Every Mexican knows somebody working in the U.S., so the issue has an emotional aspect as least as strong in Mexico as it does in the U.S.

This issue has many conflicting aspects to it. Nobody wants to raise the point that those regions of the U.S. that have been most impacted by Mexican immigration are areas that were historically Mexican territory for many centuries before they were annexed to the U.S. as a result of the Mexican War of 1845, a war that was described by many commentators of the day, including no less an authority than Ulysses S. Grant, who participated in it, as an abomination and a blatant land grab. This area, stretching from Texas to Northern California, was the richest part of Mexico, so on one level you could say that the Mexican people still retain the residual sentiment that they have some indefinable rights in that region.

Another aspect of the situation is that NAFTA, unlike the European Union, made no provision for movement of people across borders to compensate for the inevitable dislocations and contradictions that would result as a consequence of free trade. This glaring omission has unfortunate racial overtones to it, the Americans and Canadians wanting access to the not inconsequential Mexican market and cheap labor pool without having to accept the possibility that Mexico might come to them.

Anyone who takes the trouble to read the classified section of Mexican newspapers, where jobs are advertised as paying one hundred fifty dollars a MONTH, knows that trans-border migration is inevitable. The problem is that this influx of cheap labor is depressing wages in the U.S., where American employers are happy to pay these substandard wages and no benefits for work for which they would otherwise have to competitively bid.

It should be noted that Mexico takes the integrity of its own borders very seriously, maintaining a large standing army, navy and air force, and has long pursued a policy of forcibly repatriating illegal immigrants back to their poorer neighboring countries to the south.

Magpie and I enjoyed a week of near-perfect weather during our Cozumel vacation, and every day we visited a different beach or snorkeling area. The big nature park at Chankannab had been devastated and was closed for repair, but a few kilometers to the south a beach called Playa Sancho was open for business, and we rented a couple of deck chairs under a newly refurbished palapa.

I swam out a couple of hundred meters to where the water was sparkling clear. The coral, which had been covered in sand kicked up from the hurricane, was arranged in little bouquets separated at intervals of a few meters and extending in all directions. Despite the bland, almost lunar aspect of the sand-covered landscape, it was clearly rich in nourishment, as schools of large blue, purple and black angel fish darted between the formations to leisurely nibble at each for a while before zooming to the next. I would hover at the surface above them, studying each feeding group for a while, when some other point of interest at the periphery of my vision caught my attention, and then I would swim in that direction. Sometimes it would be a particularly large and colorful parrot fish or an intricately sculpted coral formation that drew me. I found a sunken ridge of coral fragments and, knowing these depressions to be particularly attractive to the fish, followed it for several hundred meters.

All at once, I found myself in a murky, brownish patch that, I discovered to my horror, to be infested by a very large school of thimble-sized jellyfish. This was a particularly wild stretch of beach, Magpie and I being the only bathers as far as the eye could see in any direction that day, and jellyfish, even tiny ones can do a lot of damage to humans with their toxic discharge, so finding myself hundreds of meters from the beach, in the midst of a swarm of them, filled me with inquietude. I had once seen a television show about an Australian diver who had just narrowly escaped death after being stung by a jellyfish no larger than a fingernail. Were these ones toxic? Would the exertion of swimming cause the poison to circulate faster through my bloodstream? These were some of the questions that went through my mind.

I finally managed to get clear of the swarm of jellyfish, apparently no worse for wear, to find myself comforted by a large heterogeneous group of brightly colored tropical fish feeding on a coral formation. Large blue angelfish;, lovely grey fish with blue markings; grey ones with just one large white dot at the posterior end of their torso; fluttery blue and yellow fish resembling delicate, charming feather dusters; robust black-and-white checked fish with lurid, red bottoms all swam about their business, taking no notice of me.

Suddenly there emerged from this idyllic scenario, as if to remind me once more that I was in the midst of wild nature with absolutely no device of human civilization to shield me, an enormous golden barracuda, more than a meter in length and headed unswervingly in my direction. The face he presented to me had a serious, not to say grave, aspect to it, quite unlike the cute little denizens of the deep served up in the Walt Disney "Nemo" movies, and the fact that he was following a direct trajectory toward me was not in the least reassuring, particularly since I was about a half-kilometer from shore.

Magpie is fond of reminding me that barracuda do not attack humans. They also say that about sharks. But these are wild animals we are describing here, and they do not follow any literary rules of etiquette, as guys who have lost arms and legs, not to mention even less fortunate witnesses, would be happy to attest if they could still be around to discuss it.

I took a page from the Octopus School of Wisdom, and started thrashing my arms and legs wildly to let the creature know that I was alert and robust, and he swam away.

Deciding that I had had enough Wild Kingdom for one day, I made a dash for shore, stopping every few meters to turn around and make sure I wasn't being tracked. I was plenty alarmed. Next thing, I came face-to-face with another barracuda (or maybe it was the same one? How would I know? It?s not like they wear license plates!) I performed the same thrashing manoeuvre, and this one swam away as well.

At length, I reached the shore and made it back to the palapa where Magpie was relaxing with an iced rum cocktail. She had immediately returned to shore after experiencing the jellyfish. When I told her about the barracuda, she casually remarked, ?Maybe they were attracted by your gold chain. In their mind, the sunlight reflecting off the gold reminds of the glittering scales of a fish.?

I immediately removed the chain from my neck.

The Palenkar reef, which stretches between the Fiesta Americana Dive Resort and the El Presidente Hotel is our favorite snorkeling site. There is a small beach at Dzul-Ha where, for the price of a drink, you can inhabit a shaded table on a seaside terrace all day and walk into one of the world?s greatest coral reefs at your leisure. Magpie and I put on our snorkels and swam southward in the direction of the Fiesta Americana, about a kilometer down the beach, in search of a beautiful undersea forest of purple fan coral where we had spent many hours exploring the previous year.

Every modern artist works by the rule that colors and shapes possess the latent energy to release emotions in the beholder, so it is a mystery to this writer why more artists have not taken to the undersea world for inspiration in the same way that Georgia O?Keefe brought the mysteries of the orchid or the American Southwest desert landscapes into the salons of the art world. Why have not dress designers gone in search of striking color combinations and patterns so readily available as to be literally at their fingertips just by donning a mask and wading into the therapeutic, warm coastal waters of the Mexican Caribbean?

Alas, the marvelous coral forest was gone, decimated by the furious devastation of the hurricane. Shattered fragments of fan coral lay on the ocean floor, covered in grey sand, the myriad of exotic sea life that formerly sustained itself on them in such harmonic tranquility also gone. But as we swam, a closer inspection of the terrain made apparent to us that the miraculous restorative evolution of nature was already at work in this hidden garden. Tiny purple fans the size of maple leaves were already springing from the ocean floor, and vibrant, green patches of brain coral had affixed themselves like skin grafts to the surface of dead formations. Magpie returned to our beach transfixed at having been privileged to witness the rebirth of nature at such close proximity, and we wondered aloud how this powerful, eternal cycle of destruction and restoration may have transformed the psyche of the indigenous Mayan civilization. The Mayans, who had a highly evolved culture of architecture and astronomy, also had great mathematical expertise, having discovered the concept of the number zero. They also had a written language, which implies literature. Tragically, the conquering Spanish destroyed all the written records of this great civilization. What marvels of philosophy and poetry, inspired by the terrestrial paradise they shared with the animals of both land and sea were lost to the drunken conquistadores and sociopathic agents of the Inquisition? Who has the insight to imagine what psychic imprint of wisdom is left on the souls of the surviving Mayans, secrets locked forever in the genetic chemistry? That is the role of the artist.

On our last full day of snorkeling in Cozumel, Magpie and I went to Playa Paraiso, just north of the cruise ship terminal, which we know from previous trips to be a real hotbed of sea life.

The cruise ship pier being under repair from the ravages of Wilma, the ships, huge, immaculate floating hotels with names like ?Pearl of the Caribbean,? were moored at sea right in front of us. At the side of each ship?s hull, near the waterline, was a solitary little door were the shuttle launches would pull up to disembark cruise passengers and bring them to shore for a day of sightseeing. You expect passengers of huge ships like these to disembark down a big gangplank at a dock, so seeing ferries pull up to this little side door was a bit incongruous.

Anyway, what interested Magpie and me was what was teeming beneath the surface, not what was going on above it. We adjusted our masks and snorkels and jumped in.

You're immediately transported to another planet. Floating above this world in the clear, warm water you soon forget that you're in water at all, and it is like flying through the air at the top of an atmosphere whose inhabitants are also flying few feet beneath you, as though you were flying in the air above the birds. That is part of what makes exploring sea life so fascinating, an extra vertical dimension that you don?t get on dry land.

One wonders what our culture would be today if the ancient inhabitants had had access to those mundane objects that we so take for granted today, the sealed diving mask. Of course, the engineering expertise it takes to fit a glass lens to a rubber mask that forms a vacuum around your eyes and nose has only been perfected in the last century. Prior to that, people could only gaze over the water's surface and speculate on what took place beneath. If previous civilizations, with their great sculptors and painters had had access to this simple instrument, the mask, might not our world today more reflect that which takes place over 90% of its surface? Would not our architecture reflect the inspiration of coral formations, our clothing and interiors mimic the shimmering, gaudy reflections of the deep? Would not the epic poetry of the ancient Greeks and Romans have recounted mythic adventures that took place beneath the ocean's surface, our religious deities portrayed as gods residing in magnificent undersea palaces? Unfortunately, now that we have the tools to study these heretofore forbidden regions, the masks, scuba tanks and undersea vessels, we have not the artistic inspiration or curiosity to bring them into our cultural realm.

Magpie and I found what we were looking for: what had once been a huge school of silver fish that resided in these waters. On previous visits, we had been astounded by the size of the school ? millions of fish, a carpet of them, stretching hundreds of meters. This immense megalopolis was an astonishing sight, and we wanted to see it again before returning to New York.

Unfortunately, this swim brought home to us a more graphic understanding of what damage Wilma had effected on the marine environment than had any of our previous excursions. The huge school of fish had been completely decimated. Where once existed millions upon millions of fish was now reduced to a small group of perhaps several thousands. All those millions of fish gone! It would take years for the school to return to its former size. People see the surface effects of the hurricane, Magpie had kept insisting, without giving any thought to the damage done to the marine life by the seismic churning of the sea.

The stupendous magnitude of the damage was incontrovertible, yet what was left of the school behaved eerily like nothing had gone amiss. What that school of fish does there, I couldn?t possibly imagine. It had been there for years that we knew of, and never broke ranks, even to hunt for food. Was it in the path of a current of microscopic algae and could just sit there as its food was brought to it? The shimmering reflection of the sunlight on the fish?s scales reminded me of what Magpie had told me about barracuda confusing my sparkling gold chain for a fish, and now I came to really conceptualize the logic of that.

What marvel of intelligence or communication causes fish to gather in the millions, to instantly separate and regroup as though by instantaneous thought transference, swimming back on themselves and forming a complex and intricate geometric ballet, forming kaleidoscopic patterns of visual enchantment?

Might it not be indicative of a collective wisdom formed by billions of years of evolution? Who says that fish are stupid? People have never given any thought to submarine intelligence except in dolphins who are, after all, mammals, and therefore more comprehensible to us, but who knows what thoughts or wisdom are locked in the mind of a fish.

People are generally conditioned to think of fish as dumb corpses packed on ice in a Chinatown stall, but I have had occasion to look into the eyes of many a live fish in his own natural environment and have discerned from those experiences a lively intelligence and curiosity. They have not hands to construct, or a spoken language, but who can imagine the thoughts, memories and emotions that might be trapped inside them, that might obsess them?

We came across a huge eagle ray, a monstrous spotted creature at least ten feet across, with a barbed tail at least twelve feet long. His face, impassive and pensive, was eerily humanoid. He stared as us for a moment without curiosity and then fluttered his batlike wings at us, as though to bid us adieu, before swimming out to sea.
--Dean Borok

Posted By Dean Borok on April 16, 2007, 3:19 PM

Exploring the Lost City of the Incas

As a self-proclaimed travel addict, I'm always looking to embark on the next crazy adventure. But with an irrational fear of commitment, a very short attention span, and
extremely limited free time, I can never research or plan anything in advance. That's why when I spontaneously signed up to hike the Inca Trail in Peru two weeks
beforehand, I wasn't sure what to expect. All I knew about the country was that it boasted the world's longest mountain range, and that a Uruguayan rugby team crashed
there in the '70s and had to eat each other for survival (as depicted in the film "Alive").

But whatever skewed expectations I may have had, they were far exceeded. As I watched our plane skim over the snowcapped Andes Mountains, I knew this trip would
be like nothing I've experienced before.

The countryside of Peru is absolutely astounding. The views are breathtaking literally.
At an altitude of up to 14,000 feet above sea level, we often found ourselves short of breath. To combat altitude sickness, we had to chew cocoa leaves and hash--
unfortunately, not as fun as it sounds! At such a high elevation, the weather can also get pretty cold any time of year, especially at night. Luckily, there are vendors selling fuzzy warm alpaca gear everywhere (and at a fraction of the prices you'd find in the States).

In order to acclimate to the altitude (read: party) we spent four nights in Cusco, the Southern Peruvian city that served as the capital of the Inca Empire five centuries ago.
For a place I had never heard of, Cusco had it all. Amidst ancient stone temples and natives tending llamas and sporting traditional Andean dress, we found a ton of trendy cool restaurants and an awesome nightlife scene that doesn't die down 'til 6 AM on any given night of the week.

But the real fun started when we hit the trail. It?s hard to imagine that four days of climbing mountains from dawn to dusk, in hot and cold weather, through sunshine and
rain, could be enjoyable, but it was both physically and emotionally rewarding. Of course, there were times I couldn't believe I was voluntarily putting myself through such agony, but (at the risk of sounding like a cheeseball) being in a completely novel territory and able to spend time with friends, uninterrupted by cell phones and television and other daily distractions, made for some real bonding. (Plus, there's nothing quite like laughing your ass off when your prissy friend falls into a muddy ditch at 4 in the morning.)

In fact, the Incas regarded the trail as a spiritual journey. They would usually walk it barefoot throughout the night for two days straight. And although my thoughts focused
more on the number of minutes left until lunch than the delicate balance in nature, being in such an ancient peaceful setting really offered me some new perspective.

As a Westerner (and as a New Yorker in particular) it?s strange to be in a place where no one hurries, where instead, people live in mountainside shacks, tend to their livestock, and sell Gatorade for a living. I felt lots of mixed emotions, but above all, I felt privileged to have had the opportunity to leave my chaotic life behind for a short while and experience such a different world.
And just when we were sure we would die of exhaustion in this third-world country and that no one back home would ever find us, we arrived to the fascinating Machu Picchu, one of the greatest marvels of South America, and the most visited tourist attraction in
Peru.

Because the Incas did not possess a written language, not much factual information is known about Machu Picchu. It is believed to have served as, among other things, a
university, a country retreat town for Inca nobility, and a preparation place for women who were about to be married. (According to our tour guide, there is also speculation that it was the site of sexual escapades between the Inca people--and that's right--
llamas). When the Spanish conquered Peru and the Inca Empire in the 1500?s, they never found Machu Picchu. It was discovered in 1911 by American professor Hiram Bingham (who is also notorious for robbing the place) and was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1983.
We explored the ruins in awe for hours and absorbed all we could of the Pre-Columbian culture before finally heading home. What had started out as a haphazard last-minute trip ended up being a phenomenal experience and one of the best decisions I?ve ever made.
So grab some Powerbars (and personal hygiene products please) and hit the trail for an experience you-ll never forget.--Valerie Paolucci

Posted By Valerie Paolucci on April 16, 2007, 3:21 PM

We always wanted to go to a SPA but just couldn't afford it. Its always the high end ones you read about. Then we read about the great health resorts of Hungary. The one that caught our eye was the Thermal Hotel Margitsziget on Margaret Island right on the Danube, with Buda on the left and Pest on the right. Lets clear up one thing right now, Budapest is really two towns, Buda and Pest, did you know that? Well I didn't. But back to the SPA. The deal was called the Margitsziget Thermal SPA Special, 3 weeks for the price of 2 weeks. It sounded good all ready. Included in the package was roundtrip from New York, transportation to and from the airport and the hotel, 21 nights accommodations with half board (buffet breakfast, lunch or dinner) and 15 SPA treatments per week. Full use of the indoor and outdoor pools, the thermal pool, fitness center, sauna and steam room. The price to go in July was around $2700 per person. A deal, unbelievable. So we gave it a shot. The flight was on Air France, the pick up at the airport went smooth. Now the hotel - as we drove onto Margaret Island, you immediately noticed how well the grounds were taken care of the flower beds were in bloom and the colors were radiant. There is a water park on the island, a couple of other hotels, a church and a place where many of the locals and tourist come to enjoy a day in the park. The hotel I should say the hotels, there are two owned by Danubius are at one end of the island. Both are in great shape, with the Thermal Margitsziget being the newer one.They are only about 10 yards apart, and connected by a tunnel. The lobby area, which includes a desk area, a lobby bar and a small store was immaculate. The room included a refrig, plenty of closet room,bed, bathroom and a balcony. And a huge white bathrobe, which I found out, you spent a lot of time in, going from treatment to treatment. Clean, it was clean and really looked good especially after that long trip. Dinner that night was something we were looking forward to, with a total price tag of $2700 I didn't really expect much. But, much to my surprise, the buffet was overwelming there had to be at least 4/5 entrees, there were potatoes, veggies and a huge salad bar, dessert table, including ice cream . We found out later that the restaurant serves international, dietetic and Hungararian menus. I couldn't wait for breakfast, and we were not dissapointed. Another fantastic buffet. If you could not find something you liked at both the breakfast and dinner buffet, you got problems. The next morning we had an appointment with a Doctor. If you have something wrong, he will set you up with an treatment that may help, otherwise, nothing wrong, he list the treatments that you will be having throughout your 3 week stay. The next stop is the scheduler, everything was on a 20 minute appointment: massage, mud treatment, traction, individual physiotherapy and others. You don't like the treatment or the person who is doing it, you can change no problem. We spent a lot of time in the thermal pool and the regular pools. We asked that we receive no treatment on Wednesday and Saturday, those were our tour days. The bus stopped about 10 yards from the hotel. We bought a bus/train/tram/trolley pass and would go into Buda or Pest every chance we got. It was only about a 15 minute ride by bus into an area which had a big mall and access to all the othe transportation. Buda is the older part and Pest is the newer part. Both have lots to offer. It was an incredible trip and we will be going again in July 2007 for 3 weeks. You cannot beat the price, the facilities, the food and the SPA. The staff was excellent and we cannot wait to return.

Posted By John Rybczyk on April 16, 2007, 3:35 PM

See London First Class on a shoestring.

My wife and I have visited London for research at least twenty times and always go "first class." First, throughout the year, we buy everything with our AAdvantage card. This gives us the needed miles for an upgrade to Business class.

Second, we select a flat rental agent from "Europe Lets Go" for a studio or one bedroom apartment (flat in the UK). This costs about half the price of a nice hotel room plus we shop for food and prepare our own meals. Consequently, we save on both rooms and food.

Third, we buy week-long passes from London Transport which allows us to go anywhere in the city for seven days.

DO NOT EVEN THINK OF RENTING AN AUTO. AVERAGE BRITS DO NOT DRIVE IN LONDON.

If you want to take a trip out of the city, go by train or bus. The UK has a wonderful mass transit system that will take you to any part of the country.

Fourth, buy tickets to first run plays at the half-price window in Lecester Square on the day of the performance. We have seen all the best plays for half price.

Fifth, do not carry cash or travelers checks that must be traded at high exchange rates for British pounds. Leave your money in your checking account at home and sign up for a pin number. At thousands of London ATMs, you can get as much money as you will need for 2-3 days at bank exchange rate. Do not check out money each day because the fee is costly; do not take out enough for a week because pick-pockets are everywhere.

Sixth, buy all souvenirs at shops or pushcarts on main streets instead of waiting until you are at the airport to return home.

Finally, prepare sandwiches in your kitchen before leaving your flat for home. Airport food and souvenir vendors, know they have a captive audience so prices are extremely high.

Posted By Dr. E. R. Milner on April 16, 2007, 4:00 PM

Six months in South America; this blog is dated
March 29, 2007 and posted by Tash

Our past week in Argentina has been a flurry of activity and an immense kick off from our flip flop days of Brazil. Our longer than expected week in Ushuaia, aka. the End of the World brought us in contact with Sea lions, birds and penguins, oh my! We spent a luxurious afternoon on a cruise through the picturesque Beagle Canal, where we sipped wine and took in the plethora of wildlife native to this chilly area. As an extremely tourist town we were pleasantly surprised to be on a huge catamaran with a glassed in double decker cabin, a far cry from the dilapidated fishing boats of our rustic Brazilian cruises of the past. Delightful!

Being in the Patagonia of Argentina we headed off to check out the National Park, Terra del Fuego the following day. In true form we rolled out of bed at 10, scarffed our free breakfast and managed to make it to the park around noon. The 7 km trail we opted for stretched the coast line of the canal, very Disney-esque with bunnies hopping down the trail. It was hard not to break out my Snow White dress and wander singing through the trees. That was until the following day on our trek up to the ice caves when I had an intense Julie Andrews moment at the peak of the Andean mountains, and couldn't resist singing "The Hills are alive with the Sound of Music". The ice cave was located at the base of a glacial shelf and surrounded by these amazing rock faces that were intense reds, oranges and yellows. We rounded the peak to see the ice shelf and a small intensely aqua coloured lake at the base. Inside the ice glowed teal blue from the sunlight, it was totally surreal to stand under this thick layer of ancient frozen time and to look up and see rows off bubbles and debris.

From the ice caves we booked it to the airport to catch a flight north to the town of El Calafate, Argentina. What brought us here as does everyone else was the Perito Moreno Glacier in the National Park. We booked into a day tour leaving at 8am that day which to our surprise included an informational guide and local tour of the wildlife of Calafate. By 9:30am we were all crowded around road kill with our cameras out as it was devoured by the native gigantic condors. The glacier was amazing, we hiked it, boated it and pictured it to death, even caught a couple chunks fall off into the lake.

A couple hours North of Calafate is the small town of El Chalten, our next pit stop and kick off point for our first trek. We camped two nights amongst the soaring peaks of the Andean Mountain range and opted for a loop trek through the park. In keeping with our early mornings we managed to drag our butts out of bed to catch the sunrise over the infamous Fitz Roy peak. Very picturesque. An hour later and an additional 600m upwards we were at the base of the peak. It's hard to take in the diversity of the Patagonia as you walk through sandy valleys one moment and rich forests the next all along surrounded by soaring mountains carved with glaciers. It was amazing and a great sample of our impending 5 day trek in Chile...

All in all I have to say that in addition to being a wildly beautiful area of South America, I can honestly say that I have also put to good use my quality educational knowledge to date. I've traveled the renaissance European explorer route of Magellan whom I had written my grade 5 history report on. Experienced the geographic phenomenon of Glaciers as studied in GEO 325 at McGill. Wandered the anthropology room of the ethnic communities of Ushuaia and finally we are able to put to good use all those hours of quality Spanish class. Es Bueno, no?!

Posted By Natasha Popek-Koniesczko on April 16, 2007, 4:32 PM

Saturday
Venice, Italy
January 6, 2007
Venice is such a foreign place. Unlike Tuscany or other regions and cities of Europe that have the familiar sights and sounds that connect me to home, everything about Venice, from the moment you come out of the train station and see an impressive church across a shimmering canal, is other-worldly. It even defies the rest of Italy, sometimes using words like calle instead of via for street, campo instead of piazza and ca rather than palazzo. It's also all pedestrian, all the time. The stepped bridges even make biking an impossibility. There is a unique push cart with two sets of two front wheels for moving goods from boat to shop. The vendor rolls the cart to the step positioning the top set of wheels on the first step. Then by rocking forwards and backwards, is able to alternate sets of wheels in such a way to actually roll the heavy-laden cart up and down stairs.

Our schedule (from the time that we left the house in Padua, to the choice of train to Venice, to the speed of the slowest Vaporetto up the Grand Canal, to our decision to see piazza San Marco -- which we usually avoid -- this time) had us colliding head on with the beginning of a solemn reenactment of the adoration of the three kings coming slowly across the little bridge leading into the grand square and into the Basilica for a Day of Epiphany (also Kings' Day) church service. A banner carrier in 18th century frilly collar, gold vest and long baby blue coat ceremoniously led two slowly beating drummers. About 30 royal Venetians in medieval dress preceded a regal Turkish envoy of about 30 replete with oversized multi-colored turbans, veiled princesses and umbrella carriers. The detailed costumes -- and Venetians know costumes -- included men in red and orange tights and brightly colored pointy slippers, courtly ladies in long dresses and jackets, and groups of young girls in bright dresses, vests, and white lace. All faces were immaculately made up. Then came the Eastern royalty. Three Turkish gift-bearing kings in long velvet robes and pouffy turbans were accompanied by armed guards and attendants of all imaginable sorts. Each was followed by his veiled Arab queen and her entourage, some were keeping a Persian carpet between queen and sun using four long poles. The procession passed under the huge portal facing piazza San Marco and disappeared into the basilica.

Whew! They were walking slowly, but it all seemed to be over so fast. As Anne said, we're usually in the back row craning our necks to see a parade but today, they could have stepped on our toes! And there was no pressing crowd. None of the Venice event websites mentioned this and there were no posters in town promoting it. Anne asked a police woman what was going on and she didn't know. You just had to be there at the right time. How we appreciate these serendipitous moments!

We had heard about, and came to see, the Witch Regatta on the Grand Canal. In addition to being Kings Day, it's also Befana (witch) Day when witches riding old brooms bring gifts and candy (or coal) to children while they sleep. To celebrate, ugly Venetian men dress as hags and race one-man, one-oar boats from the Academia bridge to the finish line at the Rialto bridge where a large old sock was hangs from the balustrade. We'd seen several befanas warming up their rowing muscles in the canal on our vaporetto ride to San Marco from the train station. Squeezed on to a little stone landing beside the packed Rialto Bridge, a campy musical combo with a real good tenor entertained the huge crowd while an emcee on a loudspeaker announced the beginning of the 29th annual Regatta of Befana and called the boat race in the horserace style. The first three finishers were awarded ribbons, then the crowd dispersed in search of lunch.

By 11:30 AM we'd seen much more than we came to Venice for. We could have gone home happy already! One important thing is that this time of year, with fewer tourists, you can see real Venetians doing the things they like to do. In the summer, they must lay low and wait until most of the strangers leave, but in the winter, they come out to play.
A development since we were here last are big black and white signs painted on the corners of buildings marking not only the street or campo name but the sestiere (area). We still get lost -- it's a given in Venice -- because when wandering we stop paying attention to the map, and not all the little lanes and vicolos are on the map. Also the ubiquitous directional signs showing which way to the Rialto Bridge or the piazza San Marco, or the stazione still point opposite directions at many intersections.
We took the recommendation of Marcella Hazan in City Secrets and ate at La Colonna in a quiet off the tourist-beaten path near the Fondamenta Nuova on Calle de Fumo. From noon to 12:30, we're the only ones here so we get the waiter's full attention.

At last, seafood! We enjoy the insalata di mare, cigale di mare (sea crickets!) and a real good whole grilled orata.
It's a perfect day for a long after lunch to wander-- sunny and crisp. Anne saw a poster announcing a free 4:00 choral concert at I Frari or officially, Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. Remembering last night in Padua, we got there plenty early and got good seats. The Titian Assumption (of Mary) is the centerpiece and grabs your attention from the front door 320 feet away. The Bellinis and Donatello's John the Baptist are harder to find but just as impressive. A young peoples' choir from Vicenza enters singing, carrying luminarias. They sang an assortment of familiar Christmas songs in Italian, English, and German. The church is very cold; both the audience and the performers are in their warmest winter coats, scarves, and hats, but the youngsters polished voices warmed us all and everybody really loved it.

We decided to stay in Venice for dinner but so many of the recommended places are closed for a couple of weeks so we settled for a tourist trattoria not far from the train station, and were pleasantly surprised! More seafood: huge grilled shrimp and Anne had a white polenta (we call this grits in Georgia) with her fritto misto.

Reluctantly, we took the half hour train ride home and thought: This is so convenient to Padua, we'll have to return one night this week for dinner!

Posted By Anne Woodyard on April 16, 2007, 4:51 PM

What do you get when you cross the morning after a great night out, a hot and humid desert, and a bowling alley? My worst hang over ever!

The Way Outback tour came highly recommended to us by a couple of friends that had been on it just recently. We decided that during our 6 months studying abroad in Sydney we too should visit Alice Springs and Uluru National Park in the center of Australia. We chose the five day tour over the three day because we heard it was better and we had the time.

It was a little awkward the first day as we all piled into the back of a very serious looking safari type truck. We sat four people very close together on each side of the enclosed truck facing each other. Our guide drove and our guide-in-training rode shotgun. This was not a luxury tour, this was a camping tour that filled your day from before sun up to just after sun down with hiking and riding in the back of a very bumpy, hot vehicle. It was the best tour we did in Australia and very possibly ever! All ten of us got along famously, we were fast friends. Sleeping out under the stars every night was actually quite comfortable, but anything would have been after hiking in near 100 degree F weather. Water was our friend!

After such a fabulous five day tour we all came back to Alice Springs on the last day at around 3 or 4 P.M. None of us wanted to say good-bye so we made plans for all ten of us to meet for dinner. Alice Springs is a very small town so there wasn't a big selection of restaurants to choose from. However, even if there had been we would have still gone to Bo Jangles. This restaurant is crazy! If you are in A.S. you know it right away with its swinging saloon doors, peanut shell floor, crazy, eclectic decoration and resident snakes. The food is quite good and gives you the option to try Kangaroo (which we ate a lot of living in Oz), Camel, Emu, Crocodile and one more that is escaping my memory. And of course the drinks aren�t too bad either.

The next few hours we will skip by. I�ll only tell you that they involved good food, good drinks, good friends, a strip tease to the music of Madonna, two other clubs and a go go dancing cage--good times!

The hostel we were staying at cuts off the air conditioning at 9 A.M. to save energy and money. At 9:16 A.M. the morning after the night that began at Bo Jangels we were in pain and sweating like pigs. We attempted a cold shower but the moment I stepped out of the bathroom the heat surrounded me and the thumping in my head made me sweat all over again. We needed liquids and some kind of food. Our hostel was a few blocks outside of the tiny town center. In this heat and in our condition we weren't going to make five steps let alone 5 blocks. The only place closer than the five plus block walk that had any food besides snacks was a bowling alley. Yes, the ideal place for a hangover (sense the sarcasm) and it was filled with a dozen kids on a field trip. At least it had air conditioning. My husband (then boyfriend) and I spent most of the time in our respective bath rooms enjoying the cool air and attempting to escape the noise.

Over all, it was a fantastic and memorable trip. Note to all: don't drink so much when in hot weather.

Posted By Jodie Y. on April 16, 2007, 6:10 PM

Dear First Time Vietnam Traveler,

The first thing you have to realize is that nothing is what it seems.

No one has sex outside of marriage here apparently. Yet the teenage abortion rate is horrifically high. Everyone seemingly has a mobile phone and a motorbike but the average wage is a dollar a day.

Befriend a local and they will spend their last few cents on a meal for you. They will refuse to take anything towards the cost (and you probably shouldn't offer) and they will be genuinely honored to eat with you. You can make a friend for life in seconds. At the same time, if someone collapses in the street, people will walk by. Or worse, stop to stare but do nothing.

As a foreigner the police will leave you alone. They know you bring money into this country. But that works both ways too. They may not help you when you need them either.

Everywhere is manic with activity yet strangely serene. Eventually your ears will filter out the noise and you�ll fall in step with the traffic. You�ll wonder why it seemed so scary when you first arrived.

I understand that when you think of Vietnam the chances are your first thought is of the American War (that's what it's called in these parts -- and what else would they call it, if you think about it for a second). By all means go to the museums, the tunnels and the rest if that is your thing. But Vietnam is much much more than that.

Seventy percent of the population were born after the war. And the American war was a blip in amongst centuries of other wars. In my experience Vietnamese tend to look forward rather than back: understand the horrors of that war. Put it in context and move on. Vietnam has.

Don't get too tied down with that communism thing. Vietnam is communist in name only. In terms of the likes of education and health care the capitalist country you left is likely to provide more for its people. As for freedom, well don't expect criticism of the government in the newspapers, but you don't suffer a nanny state here either.

And yes.. the opening up to commerce has helped Vietnam prosper. But don't forget this is on the back of a rare 30 years of peace. I would guess that this is the most significant factor in the upswing.

Don't worry about your personal safety. Or at least don't panic about it. Vietnam is probably the safest place you will visit. But don't be stupid. Hanoi isn't too bad but by all account bag snatching is on the rise in Saigon. Just keep things close to you. Honestly money belts are not needed. Stick you wallet in your pocket, like you do at home.

People will rip you off sometimes. They need the money. But that doesn�t mean that people will ALWAYS rip you off. Sometimes the price they say is THE price. There is no need for haggling. Other times you can haggle and haggle to get a couple of cents knocked off. Why bother?

Find out what things cost. Don�t accept the rip off price but accept the reasonable price. And while we�re at it, westerners don�t always pay more than locals (transport aside). That�s a myth.

And yes people are poor here. Ignore the TV shops, the motorbikes, the cars etc. It�s for a (growing) select few. Most people still live in a one room home and sleep on the floor. Remember that.

Learn a couple of words of Vietnamese. Hello and thank-you will do it. It'll make people smile at the very least. Smiling is important here. Smile when you�re haggling, smile when you're arguing, smile when you�re asking for your money back. People will appreciate it and actually it's a nicer way to live. If you�re being over charged make an "oh my god" face, but do it half smiling. They'll realize they've been sussed but they�ll smile back in an "I've been caught?" way and most likely offer you the real price.

Relax...they can smell nervous tourists and it's like a red rag to a bull. At least pretend you know what you're doing without being arrogant.

Learn to enjoy it even when things go wrong. They will go wrong. Vietnam is slapstick and bizarre and that is why so many of us love it. Vietnamese people know their country is bizarre. Get stuck in a traffic jam in a taxi and the driver will turn to you laughing, shrug and say: "Vietnam." As if that is the reason for the madness.

Remember, each cock-up is another experience and another good traveler's tale. Learn to laugh at the problems and live with it.

Oh and they will call you fat. They will ask how much you weigh, how old you are, how much you earn, how much your camera cost. Compared to them you probably are fat -- and answer the questions truthfully -- who cares?

As Michael Caine says in The Quiet American: "They say, whatever you are looking for, you can find here."

It's true. On every level from beautiful beaches to amazing cities. From boiled dog to bangers and mash. From street food to the Sheraton. How much you submerge yourself in Vietnam is up to you. Eat at street stalls if you enjoy the experience but you don't have to. Don't feel guilty if you only eat in top restaurants. Your dollars will still pay for a wage here. Likewise don't think you understand Vietnam and its people just because you've sat on plastic stools and eaten noodle soup.

And there is a seedy underside, and there are drugs, and there is corruption and prostitution. But where doesn't have these?

There is no where else like Vietnam. People who have been here longer than me, have told me that only five years ago it was all bicycles on the road. Now it's mostly motorbikes but more and more cars are starting to appear. Vietnam is changing. And although I wish I had seen it then, now is also fascinating. The change is here but McDonalds and Starbucks haven't arrived yet. Nothing is ruined. Not yet.

You should realize that people either love or hate Vietnam. It is that type of place. But if you at least try to love it then it is more likely to work for you. Come here already smiling and with an open mind and it will be ok. Start to lose your temper over the traffic, the service, the roads or the food and it will only get worse. Nothing works here if you stop smiling.

My final piece of advice is: play the idiot.

Play the big western lump. Catch their eye when they're laughing at you (you are funny) and laugh with them. Pull a face at the kids.

Leave your ego and impatience behind and it'll work out just fine.

Posted By ourman on April 16, 2007, 7:23 PM

A friend and I were spending only one day in Casablanca, a stop on a trans-Atlantic cruise two years ago. We had been cautioned not to walk in the old town, unaccompanied by cruise personnel, since we would be endangered by pick-pockets. (This seemed to be a customary warning everywhere we stopped, as only in American cities is one safe from such violations. HA!) And, even worse, we had to remember we were in an Islamic country and may be endangered simply by being Americans. Yes, I realized we were not particularly popular at this stage in our history, but felt quite comfortable entering the maze of bazaars that seemed to be the essence of this beautiful white city. So, though my friend was not nearly as confident as I, we approached the old city.

As we neared, a young Moroccan fellow offered to be our guide. This seemed like a wonderful idea to me, but my friend, who had taken the "being American" warning to heart, said, when asked where she was from, "Canada." I looked at her with astonishment. Then, almost instantly, I sensed his next question. "Oh, where in Canada?" Without a pause, she responded, "Quebec." "Merde," I thought, my eyes rolling, desperately wanting to be back on the ship. I knew she spoke not a word of French and that he, more than likely DID -- and fluently. Naturally, he began questioning her in French. She was completely "at sea," and not on a cruise ship, and I was red-faced with embarrassment. "Ou est la toilette?" I asked, knowing that we would probably be directed to a nearby hotel to make our escape. My ruse worked. We -- maybe -- saved face, but at what sad expense?

Posted By Macy Creek on April 16, 2007, 8:02 PM

White, Black, Red

white:

i've watched it all tumble over; this stretch from lake vic to lake al known as the white nile. and i know why. at murchison falls the entire river rolls snake eyes and takes a hard dive, hitting the floor like a drunk fresh off the tilt-a-whirl. so much water, so much force, so much falls. at the base, the crocodiles wait patiently for whatever flows past. they're big, the crocs. we see one with it's mouth agape that must be four meters.

it's later, in jinja, that i take my hard dive. in a raft over level five rapids, one level below "deadly." they call them bujagali falls and they give me a permanent souvenir. a scar, below my chin, from where the oar connected with my face and split my skin.

jane, our guide, asks me if i want stitches. this is the last chance to get out of the boat before the end of the day and we hit the next six sets of rapids, many of them also level five.

there's no mirror. maybe it's bad? jane shrugs. the big german looks grimly at my face, the blood. i feel woozy. i tell her to tape me up and put me back in. what the hell. chicks dig scars.

the raft only flips twice.

black:

the sedan car is not made for these roads. our driver does not mind, or slow down. he floors it down rocky dirt tracks as the stones beat a loud percussion against our undercarriage. it is hard to stop wincing, especially when he splits the break line, tapes it up with hair ribbon, and decides not to slow down.

i yell out to stop just past the entrance and he slaloms to a halt fifty feet later, begrudgingly backing up to drop us off. as if if he drove fast enough we'd forget we paid him to take us here into the forest. and let us walk a while.

we get a guide, an older guy with a quick pace, and he leads us down an overgrown path telling us we probably won't be lucky, probably won't see anything. but we are. he stops and listens and we hear it, a screamed "hah hah hah" that he describes as "chimpanzee's making telephone calls."

we struggle through the jungle until we find them, a family of about twenty chimps in the trees, on the ground, staring back at us from big black eyes in big black faces. they're bigger than i expected, stronger. they walk up trees using their hands and feet. they perch in forked branches and eye us warily. they are, we're told, dangerous. they are, i see, our closest relations. practically human. black furred, opposable toed, staring back at me practically human.

red:

it's after seeing the largest falls at sipi and on our way to the second set that dennis tells us about it. dennis is local, an orphan, and twenty-three. he karate-chops banana palms as he passes and runs up the steep rocky hills to show he can.

when he was twenty, in front of his community, he was circumcised. it was a public ceremony. to prove his manliness, he could not cry out, tear up, move, swallow hard or show that he felt anything at all as they cut away his foreskin. it hurt like hell, but he didn't flinch. when it was over and he was wrapped in the ceremonial robes, he drank an entire case of soda.

after the hike, he takes us to the local (and only) hangout in sipi. it's a dingy room with dusty couches, a "panasonaeoic" television, and old promotional posters hung crookedly on the walls. it is there that we begin discussing AIDS. a surprisingly erudite farmer says he heard the disease was created as bio warfare by the americans and got out of hand. we say we've heard that rumour too, but don't believe it. another man says he's heard that syphilis can turn into AIDS and that condoms give you cancer. i let my wife, the scientist, dispel these myths. we sit around, watch local music videos and eat matoke -- mashed, fried green banana paste. we feel oddly at home.

and now we're in nairobi and tonight we'll be in addis ababa, where email will be difficult to say the least. we're not sure what we're in for. we only found a guidebook to ethiopia from this decade yesterday. we're reading it quick.

Posted By Zack Kushner on April 16, 2007, 9:01 PM

Walking Through Fea
My husband died in February of 2005. We had been married for 47 years and even though I was an independent soul, you don't live with someone that long without feeling lost and fearful that maybe it was all too much to handle. I was faced with tasks that seemed daunting at a time when I was most vulnerable. Not big things, really, but all the quotidian details he had always handled: balancing the checkbook, filling out the tax forms, making sure the water softener was full and replacing the furnace. At times like these, you either go forward or stop in your tracks. I went forward, albeit with some misgivings, anxiety and trepidation.
Later in the year, when my middle daughter, Connie, expressed her yearning to see London and Paris, I thought, why not? I'd come this far, I guess I could jump into another challenge. So, in October of 2005, we journeyed to Europe for eight whirlwind days in London and Paris. We had only eight days available because of her work and home responsibilities. I found a trip that covered the places we wanted to visit, including a trip on the Eurostar, which would whisk us under the English Channel from London to Paris.
My previous trip abroad was to Italy in 2001, and I was in Florence when 9/11 burst on our lives. I got home safely and on schedule, but for a few years the thought of foreign travel was less appealing to me. Fears abounded about terrorists and security issues, not to mention the widespread dislike of Americans. All that kept me from planning another trip.
In a way, because that fear had subsided, this trip became another journey -- through other fears.
Connie had experienced some bad flights with turbulence and it left her with great anxiety about flying. But she wanted so much to see our target cities that she courageously refused to give in.
After we landed in Gatwick, her natural gregariousness and practicality took us unerringly around London on foot, on the Underground and occasionally by cab. She even convinced me to go on the London Eye, which was, we were told, an experience we must not miss.
The Eye is a giant ferris-wheel-like contraption erected by British Airways to celebrate the Millennium. In large glassed-in cylinders, it takes passengers high, high above London for a 360 degree view. Not for me, I said, because I am paralyzed by heights. You go -- I'll watch. How I ever let her talk me into boarding this invention I'll never know. I just remember hurrying toward the structure by Westminster Bridge as she pulled me through security and into one of the open, glassed in capsules. If Connie could face her fear of flying, I thought, I can do this! I went through with it, which is the important part. The Eye moves almost imperceptibly upward, slowly rising high above London as it makes its circular course. I glanced down once and almost panicked -- we were out there in space with only a narrow strip of wood and a bench in the middle of the capsule. That, I claimed as my own. I thought I'd never get off that apparatus, but of course, before I knew it we had reached the summit and were on our way down.
"It's almost over, Mom," Connie said, "they're taking pictures of the descent! Do you want one of us?" It was the most rhetorical question I'd ever heard in my life. We disembarked and I was still alive and breathing and thankful for the earth under my feet. As my niece said later, "you faced your fear and walked right through it."

Posted By Maria Murad on April 16, 2007, 9:57 PM

So I'm in Switzerland now with your STORY OF THEY DAY! This is pretty classic, one thing I will never ever forget on my travels. I went walking along the lake today just checking it out and enjoying the first day of nice weather ive seen for a few days when I hear a bike riding slowly next to me. I step to the side thinking maybe they need more space. So I see its a man and he says something to me in French and gets off his bike. I say I don't speak french and he proceeds to speak to me in english. Nice guy for the most part but I have no clue why he stopped to talk to me. He said he knew I was a tourist and loves to talk to people and see where they are from. Ok fair enough, im from Chicago and I work in hospitality. No my city doesnt have a lot of crime, no all chefs arent fat, yes im 23 and not 15 on and on and on. So I ask him which direction old town is in to try and sort of move on and he says he will show me, that he has no plans for the afternoon. Ahem. So I was like alright fine. So we walk over there and he leads me to a church, I go in and when I come out he has locked up his bike and is sitting on a bench waving me over. For a brief moment I thought he was gone but alas, he had saved a bench for us. So I sit and he is telling me that he is taking a year off from work and that he is happy inside and we should always be happy and we all work too hard yada yada. I keep nodding and nodding. He then tells me that women keep him happy and that he loves women. I nod once again. He then tells me that its like the hunter and the prey, its just the "natural game of life" he says. So I ask what his wife thinks about that since he had a ring on and he says she knows, and that he wouldnt ever "really" cheat on her. Silence. Then he says im beautiful, and he says "look at you, im eating up your beauty like a sandwich." LIKE A SANDWICH FOLKS! I nod and smile and say thanks and he nods back and then pokes my love handle and says "well maybe you are a chef" and I sort of retort and say, you just poked my side while I was slouching and did you just call me fat? He says "no no, im sorry I shouldnt have done that." to which I reply "I know you shouldnt have done that, please dont touch me." He says ok and keeps rambling on about this and that. Finally im like "ok you know, I want to see the Russian church please point me in that direction and ill go ok?" He says he will take me, and I say you can take me but then im leaving. He does, says his name is Anthony and that im beautiful and leaves on his bike. Seriously, what is wrong with men sometimes and where do they get lines like that?

Posted By Kelly on April 16, 2007, 11:47 PM

Hey BT folks, this contest is a nice idea and all, but this sentence really turned me off from participating:

>>And once you send it in to us, it becomes our property--intellectual and otherwise.

Sorry, I write for a living and find this a wee bit piggish.

I enjoyed many of the entries and hope the winner enjoys their stint as a guest blogger.

Posted By Sheila at Family Travel on April 17, 2007, 10:49 AM

The trail was so steep that I could not touch my heels to the ground without falling backwards down the mountain. Loose dirt covered some sections. I had to focus on each step as my legs fatigued, my breathing accelerated, sweat leaked from my forehead and soaked my shirt. I was elated.

I followed my guide Tophil, a sub-20-year-old local I had just met while walking through southwestern Uganda. He was soft spoken and desperate, but too proud and strong to be a beggar. Occasionally as I walked behind him I caught a breath of a strange and perilous odor, like bubble gum but sweeter, and turned like milk turns. I kept a friendly distance and tried to lead the way up his mountain.

My friend Tom once told me about a conversation with an old boss of ours, a silly wise Jewish woman. After listening to him tell about his journeys and aspirations she looked at him with obvious sentimentality and said, "You've got the wanderlust kid." This weekend I had the wanderlust.

Just the day before I had shown up at the bus park in Kampala, Uganda's capital city, not knowing which direction I wanted to go. Could be east or west to find mountains according to a guidebook I had just skimmed in a local bookstore. I chose west on a whim and settled in for the "six" (read: eight) hour ride to Kabale, which some call the Switzerland of Uganda.

Kabale is nestled in the folded landscape just north of Uganda's border with Rwanda. Its local wonder is Lake Bunyoni, undisputedly the most beautiful lake in Uganda, which is host to a number of lodges catering to travelers of all types and budgets. There is canoeing, kayaking, hiking, and plenty of relaxing.

The bus traveled faster than was wise. The tires screamed at the road and pedestrians stared in disbelief, their heads making quick pivots to watch us pass. The equator was a short blur as I found my way, for the first time, into the southern hemisphere.

Then we stopped in the middle of nowhere. Just stopped by the side of the road and waited. Everyone else seemed to know what was going on, or not to care a bit. I asked the man who sat placidly next to me what was happening. "I don't know," he stated in a tone that held neither anxiety or curiosity.

Soon the bus completed a long three point turn, headed a hundred yards back up the road and turned onto a dirt path that was just wide enough to hold us, though not without our windows stripping leaves from the roadside trees. We went far too fast on this road as well, the dust from the white soil thrown in chalky jetwash behind us. The villagers whose homes we roared past pointed and laughed and gawked as if a bus had never passed this way. Suddenly we were stopped again.

Some words p