Monthly Archives: February 2014

Hi Mom, and a big “HELLO!” to all of our faithful followers out there. I know you’ve all been clamoring for a new blog post, but we just finished a three-week car and campervan adventure in New Zealand which has kept us fairly busy, and with limited internet service we’ve been out of touch. Sorry about that! But now we’re leaving, and we’ll have a post about the campervan trip soon…in the meantime…

One thing I can tell you about New Zealand: we’ve met so many nice folks on this global trip, but this may be the nicest place we’ve been. Take this exchange, that happened a few nights ago:

(Sunday night, 11pm)
[KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK]
Me: “Sorry to wake you, but do you have a spare key for Cabin #6? We locked ourselves out…”
Campground owner, standing in doorway, in his underwear: “Oh…well, no worries, mate.”
(sounds Australian, I know, but they say it in New Zealand, too)
“We went out to look at the stars, and then I realized I forgot our key, and the door was locked behind us…beautiful stars out tonight…we don’t get these kind of stars in New York, you see…”
“No worries, mate.”
“I’m terribly embarrassed about this – I hate to be a bother – but the stars, you know; and the doors automatically lock when you step outside, so…”
“No worries, mate…”
“My wife is actually trying to stay warm in the toilets right now, she’s in there in her nightgown; so she’s not very happy with me, as you can imagine…”
(ed. note: “toilets” = “bathrooms.” Public camp bathrooms in this case.)
“No worries, mate, here you go.”
[hands me key]
“Thanks so much! Hate to be a bother…sorry again, I appreciate your help!”
“No worries, mate.”

More New Zealand facts: there are a lot of sheep here. A lot. So much so that during television coverage for the opening day of rugby season (opening day, people), there was a commercial for sheep mouthwash. You read that correctly: a commercial for sheep mouthwash. I can barely floss my own teeth, let alone force some ewe to gargle a belt of Listerine. But I guess you have to keep on top of your sheep’s dental care here, it’s a matter of national interest.

Something else interesting: some people here walk barefoot, even in cities. And why not? There’s no garbage or litter anywhere, and abundant recycling opportunities. Hell, they even had a primetime show about recycling. And the public restrooms are spotless, stocked, and without a trace of graffiti. So yes, you can go barefoot just about anywhere.

Other things of note:
“Shopping Carts” are “Trundlers.”

Dogs kill penguins.

Bananas are scarce.

One other thing, and with this I’m being totally serious: New Zealand may be the most beautiful, scenic place we’ve ever been. Ever. Every time to you turn a corner, your eyes expand and you say, “WOW…” The scenery is really like that. It’s amazing.

And speaking of amazing, there’s this lengthy tale: A few weeks ago, Amy and I went to the New Zealand Rugby Sevens tournament in Wellington. It’s a two-day tournament in which sixteen nations compete in fourteen-minute matches of rugby, with seven players per side. Hence, “The Rugby Sevens.” But it’s more than just a sporting event. It’s like Halloween, Mardi Gras, and a dance-off all rolled into a big two-day party.

First of all, EVERYONE wears costumes. As one Kiwi told us, “we don’t really celebrate Halloween, so this is a big costume party for us.” Secondly, EVERYONE is drinking from mid-morning until late at night, like Mardi Gras. And like Mardi Gras, EVERYONE in Wellington embraces the event, which takes over the whole town. In fact, these posters were up all over the city, a friendly reminder from a tolerant community:

Things kicked off early on a Friday morning. Around 9am, as we walked down to the bus stop near our rental room, we saw people in various costumes drinking in pubs which had been open long before we walked by. This seemed normal, and didn’t phase anyone. Then we boarded a bus bound for the city center, where we joined groups of lumberjacks, construction workers, football players, and a biker gang for the ride downtown. It was as if we’d stumbled upon The Village People ride at Disneyland.

(Note: here’s another example about how nice everyone is in New Zealand – at every bus stop, nearly every person who got off the bus paused briefly and shouted to the front, “Thank you, Bus Driver!!” And the bus driver would smile and nod, or tip his cap like he was Fred Astaire. As a New Yorker, it was unnerving.)

As the day went on, we concluded that the most popular costumes, it seemed, were as follows:

#1 – Caveman/Flintstones (with varying degrees of animal skin, from the real to the cartoony).

#2 – Ron Burgundy and the “Anchorman” crew.

#3 – Superheroes (a catch-all, but again, very popular).

And finally, #4 – Mexicans.

Yes, that’s right – Mexicans! Everywhere there were people dressed as your stereotypical Mexican.

For example, look at this classic movie cast, from right to left – the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, the Tin-Man, and the Mexican.

And no one seemed to take offense to this. In fact, we saw a few guys dressed as Hasidic Jews, with big-nose Groucho glasses. And we also saw a bunch of people dressed in blackface – yes, blackface. But WAIT, it gets better – including a black guy in blackface!! I did find it fascinating that this is acceptable in New Zealand. This seemed normal, and didn’t phase anyone.

Maybe it’s just culturally accepted, like they have some very advanced sense of humor, or very thick skins. I can’t really explain it, honestly. But as another example, first we saw a black guy dressed in blackface, and then – and I wish we had a better picture of this – there was this little person – dressed as a leprechaun! (Note Fred Flintstone behind him.)

Also of interest – two guys were dressed as the Blues Brothers, and some other guy came up and pointed at the bigger guy and said (earnestly) – “Hey! Jim Belushi!” Then there were the “sexy” girls. You know, sexy policewoman, sexy kitten, sexy viking…all the iterations of sexy whatever. Now you can add the following to the list of “sexy” costumes: Sexy Rubik’s Cube. Sexy Michael Jordan. And Sexy Pasta.

There were grown men dressed in adult diapers.

Please tell me if you’ve heard of this song: it’s called “Double-Bubble Bubble Butt.” Yes, that’s the song. And apparently, at the Sevens, it’s a thing to be on the Jumbotron shaking your butt – your “double bubble bubble butt” – to this song. This happened half a dozen times at least.

People chugged beer, people puked.

People STOOD in puke.

People in costumes played double-dutch, in a stadium hallway.

The fleet was in town.

Fully-grown babies terrorized the venue.

..and Bill Clinton French-kissed Arnold Schwarznegger.

This seemed normal, and didn’t phase anyone.

All-day drinking combined with the anonymity of costumes equals trouble. They did something at the stadium in Wellington that they would NEVER do in the USA – sell beer in bottles. Sure, they were plastic bottles, but as the days got longer, you were prepared to be hit in the head with an empty beer bottle missle. Bottles were flying everywhere, and with total impunity.

And something totally funny: there was an actual sporting event going on during all of this mayhem. I can tell you some of the results now, if you haven’t already checked on how your fantasy Rugby Sevens team did…

The USA actually won something. They were the “Shield Winner,” and it was the Rugby Sevens equivalent of getting a participation trophy for being on the intramural squash team. We were the best of the crappy teams, beating notable rugby powerhouses like Spain and Portugal. USA!!!!

Kenya also won something. They were the “Bowl” winners, meaning they are not that bad, but frankly not that good either. And here’s the interesting part – during their award presentation, the stadium loudspeakers played “Buffalo Solider.” Seems an awkward choice to me, but then again, I was not dressed as a pants-free nun, so who am I to judge these proceedings?

And of course, New Zealand’s own All-Blacks sevens squad won it all, taking home the first place trophy. The crowd went nuts, and once the award was presented, we high-tailed it out of the stadium to avoid the crowds, the flying bottles, and the vomit. In doing so, we missed the All-Blacks doing an impromptu “Haka,” the Maori battle dance that’s become a symbol of national pride.

So this national pride came to a crescendo at the Sevens. And it should have. When you live in a country where everyone’s nice, where the streets are clean, where every vista is more amazing than the next, and where your national team dominates the world in your favorite sport, there’s much to be happy about. So much so that you thank the bus driver on your way home to wash out your sheep’s mouth with a fluoride rinse. This is normal, and doesn’t phase anyone.

Hello Mom! How ya going?! Sorry for the radio silence! Life on the road is demanding…not a lot of time for blogging. But we’ve been having an AMAZING time in New Zealand. Here’s a peek inside our rolling digs… With a cameo appearance by special guest stars. Enjoy!

*Please note: I inadvertently called our wagon by the wrong name. His name is Chuck. Chuck Wagon. Sorry for the error. I blame the Pinot!

We’ve had a blast the last two weeks on the South Island. Tomorrow, we head up to the North Island. More to come soon…promise!

The internet in Bali was iffy but it rocks in New Zealand! Here is our lovely Bali hotel room, just 30 minutes north of Ubud. A full report on the Sevens in Wellington to come in short order.

Hello Mom! Greetings from Brisbane, Australia! We’re only here for a few hours on a stop-over from Bali on our way to Wellington, New Zealand. We left Bali last night at 9pm local time…landed here at 5:15 local time…then board another flight shortly to finally arrive in Wellington at 3:15pm local time (next day). Here’s how I feel right now:

I know, I know…poor us! And poor you! I feel for all of our friends who are suffering through one of the coldest winters on record. (I guess this was a good year for us to get away!) And because of that, I won’t torture you too much with tales of Paradise. Bali was beautiful though. The ancient rice paddies and terraces were truly amazing.

We also visited a temple in Ubud which has turned into quite a tourist attraction because of the local inhabitants…crazy monkeys!

We also went to a coffee farm. But this wasn’t just any coffee farm. They make poop coffee! That’s right! There’s an animal on Bali called the Luwak. The Luwak loves to eat the berries off the coffee plant. But their stomachs can’t digest the beans, so they pass right through. Now, I don’t know who first had this idea, but someone digs through the Luwak poop to retrieve the coffee beans, then they clean ’em off, roast ’em and make them into coffee!

It wasn’t that bad…really!

OK…they’re calling us to board now. More to come from New Zealand! But I’ll leave you with this great shot of John in a skirt.

I should have known better when I saw our boarding passes were written in magic marker: this was going to be an interesting flight.

A little over a week ago, Amy and I left Myanmar for Malaysia, Singapore, and Indonesia, where we are now, in Bali. The first leg of the journey required a flight from Bagan, in upper Myanmar, to Yangon, where we connected to Kuala Lumpur.

By our count, we’ve flown about 20 times so far on this tour, from intercontinental jumbo jets to regional turbo-prop planes, and we’ve taken some carriers that give you a little pause for thought. Like Vietnam Airlines – sounds scary right? But they’re part of the Skyteam alliance, and an excellent carrier. Hainan Air or DragonAir? Never heard of them before. But both worked out fine getting us to and from Taiwan.

Then there was Air KBZ Flight 263, from Bagan to Yangon. First off, Air KBZ is run by Kanbawza, a government-backed bank in Myanmar. I like my banks to hand out toasters and invest in risky credit default swap schemes, thank you very much, not take the helm of shoddy, out-dated aircraft. If a bank wants to crash something, crash the housing market, not my flight. Air KBZ has been in business about three years and they have just six older planes in their fleet. In that time, one plane has overshot a runway, and just last week, they evacuated another plane in Yangon, right on the tarmac. With that ratio of planes-to-incidents, we had pretty good odds, right? Just the kind of odds Amy and I were willing to take…

We got to the airport in Bagan early, reservations in hand, and checked in. Check in was easy enough – we walked up to a “counter” that was basically a folding card table, where a dude in a black track jacket wrote out the aforementioned boarding passes in his blue magic marker. Then we handed our bags to another guy, and away they went…

Yep, that’s him, literally carrying our bags through a wooden door to the plane. Then there was the security screening. We went through metal detectors, and our bags got x-rayed, and that was it. No shoe removal, no laptops out, no liquids issues. I actually think my belt buckle set off the light, but they waved me through anyway – what’s the bigger danger, my belt, or the plane itself? So we went through the metal detectors, sat in some old plastic waiting room chairs that looked like they were shipped via time machine from 1975, and waited patiently for the plane to arrive. The Myanmar version of “The Today Show” was on a fuzzy flatscreen TV. They were interviewing a monk. He looked bored, too.

When the plane finally flew in, we were aroused from our slumbers, and it was basically “ALRIGHT – EVERYBODY ON!!” I was fairly excited because there were only about 10 to 15 people waiting for the flight, and when the plane pulled up to the doorway – er,…gate – it was clear this was a decent sized aircraft, so plenty of seats. Amy and I were schlepping a few extra carry-ons because we’d bought a bunch of souvenirs in Thailand and Myanmar. I was happy to have room in the overhead for the bags, and to be able to stretch out my legs some. Little did I know the surprise Air KBZ had in store for us.

We were loaded on to a small bus – for safety reasons I guess – which drove us about twenty feet to the aircraft. No joke, twenty feet, if that. The driver had barely put the bus into gear when he jammed on the brakes and opened the door and motioned for us to get out. With all the loading and unloading, we could have walked there in a fraction of the time. I could have thrown our bags that distance, if it came to it. I guess everyone needs a job in Myanmar, and this was his assignment, so no getting around it.

Here’s what should have been the next indication about the flight: the plane’s engines were still hot, and started up as we all boarded. It was like the pilot had pulled in the driveway, and honked the horn – “Okay, let’s go! I have to drop you off at the movies in Yangon, and then I have to pick up your brother from hockey practice in Mandalay – let’s hustle!!”

So we got off the bus, scurried through the prop-wash and loud whir of the engines, and boarded the plane in the rear of the aircraft. And when we got in, all was revealed. This flight had just come from Mandalay, and was already three-quarters full. The pilot had already been to pick up your brother, and the whole damn hockey team was crammed in as well! All the gear was stowed in the overheads, all the seats were taken…this flight was already packed to the gills, and now they were going to shoehorn us in somehow.

Amy grabbed the first seat she could, and I saw an open seat a few rows back from her. I opened the overhead to store the souvenir bag, and had to play Tetris with the other bags to make ours fit. I took my seat next to a clearly miserable fellow who first acknowledged me by starting up the old “elbow game” with the shared armrest. I’m relentless with that game, by the way, so it ended up being his elbow front-half, mine back-half. We were both working up a sweat, it was pretty hot and humid on the aircraft by this point, no wonder he was miserable. Then I saw what was going on in the seats directly behind me…

They were packed with luggage! Just piled up on the seats. But there were still people who needed to sit down. Where were they going to go? I looked up to see if there was any additional overhead space, and I saw this:

Yup, that sucker is broken and TAPED SHUT with cheap packing tape. I assume they used clear tape in the hope that no one would notice – very tricky, Air KBZ. Nothing was going in that overhead. So get this – they took the bags from behind me and put them a) in the aisle (to trip over, clearly), and b) in the crew’s service area, where they prepare the meals, etc. I think the crew just sat on them, probably, while they drew straws to see who would get the last parachute. Eventually we were all in our seats, and the flight took off.

Here’s an example of the kind of loose program being run on Air KBZ: do you see this guy? He’s got an ANTENNA on his head, a radio antenna. He’s listening to Burma’s Top 40, or having a short-wave conversation with someone in Bangladesh. During takeoff!

Clearly this is okay, or at least it’s not frowned-upon. I like to think he was sitting over the wing and letting the cockpit know if the flaps were actually working.

I’m normally not afraid of flying, but I thought about it. This plane was overloaded. It was an older plane (taped together, mind you), and we were flying in remote upper Myanmar. When you hear about plane crashes on the news, where “two Americans are among the missing”…this is that situation. I began to recite the old Sioux battle cry: “Today is a good day to die.”

And sure enough, about halfway through the flight, terror struck — but in non-lethal form. A sudden disturbance erupted about ten rows ahead of me. A very concerned Asian gentlemen popped up immediately and motioned wildly for a crew member. What could be happening?! And we found out all too soon: a young white girl was barfing violently, like a drunk cheerleader on prom night. It could have been the heat on that flight, or it could have been the turbulence – it could have been the fear of death! – but this poor girl’s insides were on the outside now. I’m glad I didn’t see the results, but I know this much – when she was escorted to the back of the plane to freshen up (slaloming the excess luggage, of course), her face looked as pale and sickly as the Crypt Keeper’s. And the clean up! Oh man…

The poor male flight attendant – he had nothing to use but old newspapers to sop up the mess, and he must have gone through the equivalent of the Sunday New York Times, including the Magazine, the real estate inserts, and the Sunday Styles section, “Vows” and all. This poor guy single-handedly cleaned up the likes of the Exxon Valdez spill up there in Row 12. He deserved some kind of medal. Or at least the last parachute…

With that excitement soon behind us, and a few sprays of Burmese Lysol around the cabin, we all looked forward to landing in Yangon. And what a better way to land in Yangon than to have massive crosswinds pushing the plane off the runway.

Yes, that’s right. We were basically coming in sideways as we landed – I think the pilot watched a little too much “Dukes of Hazzard” growing up. There was the first initial “squelch” of the tires, followed by a little bit of a fishtail, and then another “squelch,” and then a quick straightening out in the other direction. My stomach turned – I thought we were going to need more newspaper, pronto. There were a few gasps, and then…sighs of relief. We’d actually made it. The guy next to me looked over at me, wide-eyed and giggly. It was the sort of look someone gives you when they just got away with something, like getting out of a speeding ticket in Georgia, or returning the golf cart they drove into the water hazard. Or in this case, cheating death.

And then it was all over, as quick as it began. We all unloaded, and got put on to another bus for the twelve second drive to baggage claim. “Baggage Claim” is basically a garage door where you wait for some guys in uniforms to transfer your bags off an old pickup truck and on to a big pile of other luggage, as if they planned on burning them all, and then you pay another guy (not in a uniform) a dollar because he found your bag in the pile, and put it on a luggage cart for you.

That’s just how it works in Myanmar, all of it. It wouldn’t make sense any other way, really.