I have been

I had an entire vacation with no blog last year. I know....I am terrible. Here are some photos with diverting captions to make up for it!

The first stop was Munich. In the schneider weisse bierhaus, I stumbled upon this light fixture. After a red-eye flight and a litre of beer....I had to take a second look. My people are wierdos.

This bathroom at a bus stop in Bosnia gave rise to a whole new classification system. This is a stage two adventure toilet.

Rooftops of Dubrovnik

Swimming in the Mediterranean. There is a tiny door in the Dubrovnik wall that leads to this paradise.

Split, Croatia

Bosnian Moonshine: savored throughout Bosnia and Croatia. I tend to recommend staying away from the local hooch. Do as I say, not as I do

Panorama Pyramid

Stuffed Pigeon. Take one pigeon, kill it, pluck and decapitate it, stuff it with mashi, roast and enjoy with raisins

Egyptian museum.

If someone tells you it is fun to take a ferry to Honduras, she is lying.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided it would be best to take the ferry from Belize to Honduras instead of going overland by bus.  Who doesn't love a boat ride? 

Sara and I caught the ferry from Placiencia at 9:30 am.  The Gods of travel must have been bored that day, and decided to play with we mere mortals. It began simply enough: the travel office didn't tell any of the operators we had bought online tickets. It took some convincing and an iPad, but eventually we worked it out easily.  We were on our way for a fun filled boat adventure! Or so I thought.  

After just a few minutes we stopped at Mango Creek for immigration (Belize has notably honest border guards) and to pick up a few passengers.  All of the tourists left from Placiencia and all the Belizians/Hondurans left from Mango Creek. You would think this stop would only take 45 minutes.  You would be wrong.  You would assume the tourists would have more luggage.  You would be wrong again. I watched them load a mountain of luggage that morning into places I didn't realize existed on a boat.  It included a bicycle, and my personal favorite, a 32" television in a very large plastic Disney bag that featured Eore in a magenta color palette. 

As piles of luggage kept coming into the boat, I met the celebrity of this trip. Sara and I would refer to her as Honduran Grandma.  She was very concerned that her assorted boxes and bobbles would not be loaded into the boat, and stood in the middle of the aisle to get her things in through the window.  This bothered the porter/ second mate, who asked her very nicely to sit down and let him handle the luggage.  Honduran grandma gave zero fucks. They exchanged words, and eventually the porter gave up.  

Around noon, we finally left the port.  I thought at this point, I paid the travel gods all the tribute they would require that day.  I should have known better when the second mate went around dispensing Dramamine. I was told the rest of the journey takes just under two hours. Not today, friends.  

The sea was very, very rough.  The boat tossed and turned.  The Captain had to drive at half speed. Honduran Grandma clearly thought the boat was going down and took the necessary measures: 

She was the only one in a life jacket.  

In this photo you can also see a mother, her daughter to the right of her and a baby.  Honduran grandma's daughter is in the middle and already suffering at this point.    Shortly after this photo was taken, the boat ride gets much worse.  The little girl furthest right in the photo starts puking.  She pukes in the loudest, most violent manner you could possibly imagine. At the same time, she seemed to be surprised that vomit was issuing forth from her mouth, and paused briefly to look about with the expression of a confused puppy (head tilt and all).  The second mate rushed to get her a bag, but the damage was done. 

A chorus of pukes followed.  Ever hear puking in hi-fi stereo? Sara and I have.  

The mom in the photo tried to clean up her little girl and hold her baby simultaneously, the woman to her left (Honduran grandma's daughter) took the baby, but was in a bad way herself. Soon the baby was passed down the line to Honduran grandma.  Since Honduran grandma gave zero fucks, she was also unaffected by rough seas.   But soon, her daughter was barely staying conscious.  As next in line, I took the baby.  That is how I came to hold a Belizian baby for a few hours in international waters.     

As the ride continued, there were maybe only 5% who didn't puke.  The second mate did an admirable job dispensing bags and paper towels to folks.  He was also attentive to the two women who lost consciousness.  

We arrived in Puerto Cortes at 4:30.  The plan had been to take a bus to San Pedro de La Sula, and hop a second bus to la Cieba that day.   No possible way we would make our bus from San Pedro Sula to La Cieba.  Since San Pedro Sula has the highest per capita murder rate of any city in the world, I had no interest in overnighting there and wasting a day of travel.  So I negotiated a direct cab to la cieba. Smartest travel decision I have made on this trip.  

A few hours later, the driver was stopped by police just outside of la cieba.  He got a ticket rather than paying the police off.  It bothered him deeply.  We arrived in la cieba at 9:30.  Our driver had no idea where anything was located, and had to stop two other cabbies for directions.   We crashed in the city just because we couldn't imagine going any further that day.  

 

San ignacio

We left Caye Caulker and traveled to San Ignacio to get a taste of inland life.  Transportation is entirely by repainted old school busses, and they are about as comfortable as you would imagine. 

We stayed in a Bella's hostel, and continued to make colorful friends.  Amidore was a local Maya who hung around the hostel and close friends with the manager.  He fell madly in love with Sara, and would stare at her for uncomfortable periods of time.  I decided to use this opportunity to learn a bit about local libations. His drink of choice was tropical brandy and milk.  Tropical brandy is actually a rum according to him, but grapes are used to make it.  He referred to it as the "grape that scrapes".

Amidore overserved himself that evening, but I had to admit that the "grape that scrapes" was delicious with milk.  

The next morning we did a tour of Actun Tunichil Muknal.  The cave was a sacred sight of the Mayan.  We swam through the entrance and various sections and scrambled up boulders. If there are any international caving rules on safety, I am quite sure we broke them. But it was absolutely beautiful.  Unfortunately cameras are not allowed in the cave because a tourist dropped his camera through an ancient skull in 2012.  

The folowing morning we spent some time at a local swimming hole.  It happened to have all the waterfalls. 

Cancun and Caye Caulker: a long, strange few

I flew into Cancun on Saturday and was strolling about Caye Caulker less than 24 hours later.  Even those first 24 hours presented adventures, the first of which was a food adventure that began as I wandered through downtown Cancun and saw this store front: 

How could I pass up a resturant whose "secret is in the cheese"?   I couldn't.  But, I realized I needed to make some wise choices  since I was about to embark on a 10 hour overnight Mexican bus ride. In this situation there are certain dietary rules that should be observed for the health and saftey of everyone on the bus:

1. Don't drink anything refilled from a used plastic bottle that is organized according to a magic marker letter on the lid. 

2. Avoid fried food. 

3. Don't eat any cheese that has been sitting out in the oppressive Mexican heat.

4. Under no circumstances should your lunch include mystery seafood empanadas. 

It is probably clear to you, gentle reader, that I broke all of the rules.  While #4 may not be immediately apparent, I assure you it was broken.  For a moment I was a little concerned that I was going to spill all the secrets of this resturant on the Mexican night bus.  Happily I did not.  

Adventure number 2:  There was a strung out elderly man who was unable to remove himself from the bathroom on the bus.  I had to come to his rescue.  That is all I have to say about that.  

By 8am I had arrived in Belice and hopped on the water taxi to Caye Caulker.  This sailboat greeted me as I stepped off the taxi.

Found the hostel a few blocks away, and Sara informed me that we were going on a boat ride...in ten minutes. A member of our group had negotiated a snorkling, spear fishing and line fishing adventure for $20 usd with a local named Benedict, who asked me to be his twelveteenth concurrent girlfriend.  I responded in the only way I knew how: I sang Nelly Furtado's "I'm like a Bird" and walked away.  I took this photo of him a bit later. 

He introduced the group to Captian Phillip. He lead the expedition.  At 65, he had a rippling six pack, leather skin, a half dozen teeth and a creole-Spanish accent so thick that I couldn't understand a word he was saying.  He didn't bother much with words anyhow.  

His wife came along.  She was a bit of a drunk who took more than a few swigs of Belizian rum through our journey.  At one point she waved a fish in the air trying to feed a sea bird that was uninterested at best.  The thing was that the two of the were madly, beautifully in love after many years of marriage.  It was the beginning of many contrasts to come throughout Beliez. 

We did see some very cool things that morning, and Sara caught enough fish for dinner that night.  

 

11 countries 8 weeks.

Well, I supposed something was bound to be put aside traveling to 11 countries in 8 weeks. It was, of course, this blog. My time in the UK was damp and lovely. I was lucky beyond belief that Rachel was there to show me how to do everything exactly right.

I spent my birthday camping in the desert of Bahrain, Christmas in Dubai, and New Years in Rome.   That is one way to do it.  

Dodgy Al: the story of Liz and her Manchester United Game

I still owe for an Edinburgh and London post, but I wanted to be sure to get this down before I forgot all the details.

Within an hour of meeting Saul in Manchester, I asked him if he would be interested going to a United game the next day. I had seen some tickets available online for 25 pounds----not great seats, but seats. Within seconds Saul whips out his cell phone, makes a brief call and confirms that we can get tickets through his “connection”. His connection is Al. Al is a professional gambler who also supports himself selling tickets on the side. It becomes obvious that the next day we will acquire entrance to the game in a way that may not be 100% legal. This is underscored when Saul tells me we need to be at the game around 7:20 to pick up our tickets from the “meeting point” at the rear of the stadium. At this point, I ask the obvious question.

Me: “Should I bring a knife?”
Saul: “Nah”
Me: “We are picking up tickets at the “meeting spot” from a professional gambler named Al. I am picturing a back alley and a dude with a knife scar down his face who looks like he has killed a few men “
Saul: “Yes, Dodgy Al… and we are meeting by the stadium, not in an alley”
Saul: “I just made up that name. I wouldn’t call him that”

At this point, the idea of going to a soccer game got way more intense. I absolutely spend the hours leading up to the game commenting as much as possible on Dodgy Al and the “meeting point”. Saul’s roommate is also going to the game. On the bus over, Saul practices his French with her—in a great moment of cultural exchange I taught her and her friend the term, “balls to the wall.” Bringing a bit of ‘Merica wherever I go.

We arrive at the stadium and head towards the meeting point. Saul thinks we should get pretty good tickets. We wait in a crowd of people. “There’s Al,” he nods towards a man who looks like an investment banker. Surely this isn’t Dodgy Al—he just shook my hand and made small talk about soccer. No mention of breaking knee caps, no obvious knife wounds—he looks more likely to talk about hedge funds.

My disappointment that “Dodgy Al” seemed more like “Analyst Al” quickly subsided when I saw the seats. We sat two seats from the pitch---perfect view of the corner. I could see individual blades of grass. The only draw back is that you can't have a beer at your seat. I have never been to a sporting event in the West where you couldn't have a beer at your seat. Saul tells me that while they trust folks in America to keep their good sense after a beer in the US that trust does not extend to football matches in the UK. Looking around; you don't see many families or women... probably for the best.

I learned three cheers that day (all involve cursing) and we got some great photos. Enjoy.

Midwesterners of the North

Turns out that Scots are Midwesterners. With their self-deprecating humor, working class pragmatism, and a love of watery lager I felt comfortable immediately in Scotland. Rachel met me in Glasgow for a few nights of fun. Saw lots of great Mackintosh design work and made some friends at Tennent’s Pub. Glasgow was fun and interesting. I hope the photos below explain why Rachel and I did Scotland right.



Glasgow
A jaunty statue looks at the University

Rachel makes friends

This is a church turned to bar...enjoyed a few pints there

Mackintosh Detail