Wandering the World

What kind of person likes traveling on cruise ships?  People for whom “Unpack just once!” is an effective sales pitch. A person who wants:

• unlimited access to Denny’s-quality food
• a comfortable travel experience, as much like staying at home as possible
• no risk, and no exposure to cultural challenge
• little chance of personal growth or education
• packaged experience; plastic-wrapped adventure

In short, they don’t really want travel – they prefer comfortable sight-seeing and the illusion of travel. The Disney-fantasy version.  This way, they can delude themselves into thinking they’ve seen the world, without going to the trouble of actually being in it.

It’s universally true that the world views American tourists as warm and kind, open and friendly, fat and naive, rich, and shockingly ignorant. They’re largely right.

Based on my (admittedly limited) experience, the average American on a large cruise ship is a friendly dry-cleaner from Des Moines, who thinks a wedge of iceberg is a salad. A very friendly, loud, fat ignoramus and his wife.

These are comments I actually heard from my fellow Americans on my one cruise-ship experience, from Vancouver through Alaska’s Inside Passage for a week.

“Do I have to change my dollars into Alaska money?”

“What elevation are we, here?”

“Did Canada become a state before Alaska?”

“Does Canada have its own flag?”

“What language do they speak in Alaska?”

“What if those grizzly bears get on the ship?”

It’s hard to see Alaska’s Inside Passage any other way, though, unless you have your own boat.

You can get off the ship at the various stops and go hiking, kayaking or boating, and have close encounters with charismatic wildlife – grizzly bears, moose, eagles, orcas… and, if you’re like me, give your shipmates a break from your snotty judgements. Gotta be back on board by dinner bell, though.

In Juneau I met a man who had been attacked by a mountain lion.

“I live across the bay, on that island yonder. I commute into town every day for work – ride my bike to the ferry. It was a couple of years ago, on my way home from work, when it happened.”

Where?

“I was nearly home, just pedaling along the dirt road, around dusk, when it jumped on my back and knocked me off my bike. No warning. Big sucker. It was a surprise because there are lights and people and a few scattered houses along that road. Some dogs.”

What happened?

“Luckily, I was wearing my day pack, as usual. I guess the pack probably smelled like my lunch. The cat was pinning me down, tearing at the pack. The nearest neighbor was a couple hundred yards away, but luckily he heard me yelling, and came running. When he saw a big cat was on me, he grabbed a broken tree branch and started whaling on its back. It was brave – the cat could’ve gone for him. The branch didn’t faze the cat at all, but it got distracted enough that I could unbuckle the straps. He ran off with the pack.”

Were you badly hurt?

“Just a few bruises and a couple of pretty deep scratches that needed some stitches. Made me kind of paranoid, though.”

A nice August day near Glacier Bay. The Alaska mountains go on and on, range after range. Endless forests, lakes, glaciers, rivers…. wonderful wildlife. In seven days in August, we saw the sun exactly zero times.

While hiking near Skagway we stumbled across a grizzly catching and chomping on salmon. I wanted to get closer for a better picture, but the guide (and the other hikers) vetoed that, with extreme prejudice. We backed away slowly. And quietly.

Bottom line: cruise ships are probably a good choice if you are elderly, in poor health, or lazy, complacent and incurious. I’m just sayin’.

One of the things I liked about India was the odd conversational style. Complete strangers were comfortable asking the most probing personal or esoteric questions.

Waiting to cross a street in New Delhi, an Indian man approached me.

“Excuse me, sir. Are you an American?”

Yes, I am.

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Not at all.

“Tell me, please, do you think that widespread availability of contraceptives has contributed to an increase in promiscuity in your country?”

Um…

…yes, I suppose it has.

Then I crossed the street and never saw him again. This kind of thing happens a lot in India.

One of my favorites happened in Egypt.

There’s a spot near here where you can see graffiti carved into the stones by Julius Caesar’s troops in 40BC. The pyramid was already 2000 years old when they arrived.

An older Egyptian man approached us and said “I don’t want to bother you or sell you anything, I would just like to practice my English for a moment. Would that be alright?”

Okay.

“Well, how is life so far? Fabulous?”

We laughed for hours.

Then there was the out-going young hustler on the beach at Danang, Vietnam. Over a beer, I complimented him on his English. He said,

“Oh, I love American movies. I learn English from them. Especially action like Rambo, Terminator, cop movies… I have question about American English. When I see American tourist on street, is it proper if I yell to them: ‘Hey, how the fuck are you?'”

My beer sprayed out my nose. Good times.

This was enough for ten months.  Travel light, if you can. You’ll be glad you did.

Joy and I took a ten-month trip around the world, from August 2007 – June 2008. A rolling carry-on suitcase and a day pack was more than enough luggage for each of us. A lot depends on toiletries – lotions and potions can really bulk up your load.

If you ever consider taking one of these long trips, this list may come in handy. If you’re a man. Joy’s bag was a mystery to me.

It comes to about 60 items, including the suitcase and daypack.

Clothing:

1. Two pair convertible long pants (zip-off legs)
2. Two pairs of cargo shorts (one would been enough)
3. Swim trunks
4. Four quick-drying underpants (designed for quick and frequent hand-wash in hotel basins)
5. Two tee shirts
6. Two short sleeved collared shirts
7. Two light-weight long-sleeved shirts
8. One sweater
9. One light-weight water-proof wind breaker
10. One belt
11. One baseball cap
12. One pair flip-flops
13. One pair sneakers
14. Four pair socks
15. Reading glasses (2)
16. Sunglasses (1)

Toiletries

1. One kitbag with small detachable 2″ mirror
2. Toothbrush
3. Toothpaste
4. Floss
5. Razor
6. Razor blades pack
7. Comb
8. Shampoo
9. Soap
10. Skin lotion
11. Sunblock
12. Chapstick
13. Band aids
14. Purell (very handy in India)
15. Neosporin
16. Tums (never needed)
17. Advil
18. Imodium (never needed)
19. Q-tips
20. Tweezers (used once)
21. Earplugs

Daypack

1. Camera (small)
2. Binoculars (small)
3. 1-quart water bottle (a big mouth is more flexible)
4. Headband flashlight (hands free for reading or cooking)
5. Cell phone & charging cord (expensive international phone plan – rarely used)
6. Guide book
7. City map
8. Puzzle book (sudoku, crosswords)
9. Book to read
10. Notepad
11. 3-4 pens
12. Needle and thread kit (small)
13. Wallet
14. Passport
15. Deck of cards
16. Folding cribbage board
17. Dice
18. Ipod, earbuds & charger
19. Ipod speakers & charger (small)
20. Power converter
21. Corkscrew (small)

It’s really nice to come home to a hotel room at the end of the day and be able to listen to your own music and play a game together. The speakers were our biggest splurge item.

We didn’t bring a computer, choosing instead to use internet cafes.

I would have brought a small pocket knife, but airport security varies.

What the well-attired tourist is wearing this year.

A sarong is optional, but it’s good manners to don one at Balinese funeral, and a good light-weight, multi-use souvenir.

I recommend flip flops with toe guards. It looks kind of dorky, but sneakers are too hot for the tropics, and these have prevented some nasty toe-stubbings.

I’ve hitchhiked just once in the last 28 years, when my car broke down in Big Sur. Well, actually, my car was fine but I lost my keys in the sand. I had to hitch to Nepenthe and wait for help.

Somewhere on this beach the key to my 4-Runner is buried, still.

Between 1973 and 1984 I did a lot of hitchhiking. I called it “reality surfing,” – your reality shifts unpredictably every time you get into a car. High highs, terrible lows.

I figured owning a car was too expensive, so I didn’t bother to get my license until I was almost 24. I rode a bike everywhere. It was good for saving travel money – not so good for dating.

I finally bought my first car when I was 26, a baby-shit-green Ford Maverick, for $50. The ugliest car I ever saw. Melon-sized rust holes on every surface. Other cars on the road hung way back, figuring I had no insurance and nothing to lose. It gave me 5000 miles over three months, took me over Tioga Pass, then died. A bargain.

One summer, two buddies and I hitched clear across the USA and Canada (and back), 12,000 miles. Three adult guys with three huge backpacks, together… poor planning. We had some long damned waits. Three days, once, in Moosomin, Saskatchewan. Failure meant an expensive bus ride.

Later I hitched the length of Europe, from Sweden to Gibraltar on my own. I have a clear memory of the anxiety I felt, sticking my thumb out in France for the first time, without knowing any French.

I had a few pretty terrible moments along the way. One 400-lb psycho-killer in Vermont, one bank robber that nearly got me shot in Yosemite, several dangerous drunks in Canada, and one sleepy hippy nodding off and weaving on the German autobahn as BMWs passed us at 160 mph.

Most of the rides were fine, though. Most people are kind and helpful. I got several rides of 1000 miles or more. Lots of people offered a meal, a bed, and a shower in their homes.

I still pick up hitchhikers, though I try to be sensible. I have some hazy ideas of karma. Young couples and solo women are okay. I’ll pick up a solo man if he looks safe, and not too big. A traveler’s backpack is a good sign. I won’t pick up two men, or anyone who looks like I did when I was hitching – scruffy and shifty.

You get a good mix of hitchers here on the island. Young Christians studying for missionary work at the local YWAM campus. A beautiful young Brazilian couple, traveling around the world. A hardy young couple heading from Costco to the harbor, restocking to continue their long sailboat voyage.

And several woofers. “WOOF” stands for “work on organic farms.” Farm labor in exchange for room and board, and a lot of free time. There are a lot of organic farms on the island, and the woofers never have cars. It’s a cheap way to visit Hawaii, but you have to hitch to the beach on your off-days.

And the occasional dud, like one woman who turned out to be a pinched-looking meth addict, smelling strongly of piss, complaining about being stuck on a rock in the middle of the ocean.

Once in a while, a miracle, like the gorgeous redhead in a big Caddy who pulled over in Pennsylvania. We opened the rear door to get in, only to find that the back seat was on fire. She was smoking, the windows were open, and she hadn’t realized the situation. She cursed and poured her open beer onto the flames, then made us sit on the wet exposed springs all the way to Philly. We didn’t care – it was a free ride.

Reality surfing.

I’m getting excited about the upcoming Kauai trip. Only nine days away. A one-month experiment, to see if I might want to move there. 

A land called Hanalei. For me, it’s the most beautiful place on earth. 

Before I moved to Kona, I originally planned to move to Kauai. The problem was, I wanted a place on the water, and I couldn’t afford it on Kauai. So I moved to the Big Island, where I could. The Big Island is twice the size of all the other Hawaiian islands put together, the weather and the water are the best, and there are a lot of adventures to be had, but Kauai keeps popping up in my dreams at night. 

The Napali coast. Sixteen miles of cliffs and valleys. No roads. The red-dirt trail is very slippery when wet. It’s pretty much always wet, and it’s a long way down. 

But it’s so beautiful. If you see an ad for Hawaii on TV, most of it was probably shot on Kauai. 

Last time I snorkeled here, at Ke’e beach, where the north shore road ends, there were two large sharks watching me with calculating eyes. Spooky cool.

Hanalei Bay, from the Princeville St. Regis. A great place to watch the sunset.

They say there’s a stone marker 600 feet up there that marks the high water mark of an ancient tsunami. At one point, a large chunk of the island fell into the sea. Scientists estimate the resulting tsunami was 1000 feet high…

No biggie. I’m living on the most active volcano in the world right now.

Lumahai beach is my favorite. You have to be careful, though. In the winter the surf is huge and the rip tides will carry you to Japan. The locals call it Luma-Die Beach. This is about two miles from where I’ll be staying. 

Tunnels Beach – some of the better snorkeling on Kauai. 

I may find Kauai is too small, or too rainy. We’ll see. Wish me luck. 

My first night in China there was a dinner party, in Beijing. Eleven people, eleven big dishes, plenty of beer and wine. The food was excellent. The total came to $21 – less than $2 per person. My god, I thought, I’m going to love this country.

The Chinese eat everything. They are as obsessed with food as the French – they talk about it constantly. Each region has its own cuisine – there’s huge variation. They are fanatical about freshness.

One guy told me: “All those years under Mao, you never knew who was an informer. It was unsafe to talk about anything. The only safe subjects were the weather, and food. So we are a nation of foodies.”

I tried a lot of weird stuff. I was consistently wrong: the stuff I thought would be disgusting was usually good, and I was grossed out when I least expected it.

For example, I thought grubs (large beetle larvae) would be pretty nasty, but they were delicious. Like garlic popcorn with a chewy center. I ate a huge bowl of these dark ones, on the street.

You’ve heard those stories of Chinese restaurants that substitute dog meat for beef? It’s a myth. Dog is more expensive than beef in China. You generally have to go to specialty restaurants for it, and it’s  considered a special treat. On the other hand, I really couldn’t distinguish the flavor of dog stew from beef stew, so next time I’ll choose based on price.

What’s that, Lassie? You say little Ricky has fallen into a mine, and needs insulin?

When the roasted pig’s head was placed on the table, everyone’s chopsticks went for the gooey, fatty cheeks. I had a bite, but couldn’t really handle it. The dishes that consisted mainly of gelatinous, liquid-y fat grossed me out. Interestingly, that was usually my Chinese friends’ favorite stuff. Too many years when no one could afford fatty protein, they said.

This part of the Great Wall is only about an hour from Beijing, if you drive like a Chinese taxi. I had to beg the driver to slow down, twice. He got kind of pissed.

During the Cold War, the US foreign service noticed that people they sent to Russia generally came back with a strong hatred of Soviet communism, often describing it as pure evil. On the other hand, the people they sent to China often came back with a deep love for the people, history and culture there.

I can see that. Sure, it’s crowded, ridiculously polluted, authoritarian and corrupt, but let’s face it: the Chinese culture is amazing. I’m looking forward to seeing it again.

These kids thought I was hilarious – so fat, and with such a big nose!

Up close, caucasians smell terrible to the Chinese. It’s the dairy in our diets. They think milk and cheese are disgusting – why would anyone want to drink cow-breast milk? That’s for baby cows. Well,  I’ve pretty much eliminated dairy from my diet now, so maybe I’ll gross them out less, next time.

Two key moments of inspiration. The first one was a flash that said “Holy cow. This is actually possible. Normal people can do this. I had no idea.” The second flash said “Here’s how.”

I had a great teacher in high school named Ron Lanza. He taught a travel-focused social studies class I took as a junior. Every week he’d bring in outside speakers to discuss their travels and show slides.  One attractive young couple made a big impact on me.

They said “We both work, so we decided we would live on one salary for a year, save the other, and go travel. We spent a whole year exploring Morocco in a camper van. It was a blast. Hash is really cheap there.”

They showed one slide like this:

I was enthralled. Ten years later I spent six weeks in Morocco looking for these inspiring tree goats. They were easy to find – they kind of stick out.

The couple had used this book “Vagabonding in Europe and North Africa” by Ed Buryn.

It was great read, and told me exactly how to start. The book’s basic point: it doesn’t take much money to do this. Do it now. Do it cheap. Don’t be afraid.  Adventures, places to camp, hitch hiking tips. A hip style. I read all his books – they changed my life. Thanks, Ed.

Ordering a coke with ice in a Nairobi cafe had been a costly mistake. Several days of intestinal distress left me weak and dizzy when my plane landed in Mumbai. On the trip, a fellow passenger told me “India will either make you spiritual, or make you incredibly angry.” I was ready to get spiritual.

In the terminal, I was instantly mobbed by beggars. Some had leprosy, others had cleanly amputated limbs. I later learned that some Indian doctors will amputate healthy limbs in exchange for a percentage of the beggar’s take. Especially heart-wrenching to see mothers holding babies with multiple amputations.

Outside, I threw my backpack into bicycle rickshaw and climbed in. The sinewy driver pedaled hard for an hour in the hot sun to get me across the city to my hotel. He told me he was 24, but hard labor had aged him – he looked 40. When we arrived, he carried my bag inside, then asked me for 100 rupies (6¢) for his hour’s hard labor.

A housekeeper, maybe 45,  was cleaning my room when I arrived.

Are you from Mumbai? I asked her.

“Oh, yes, my family lives just there.” She pointed out the window. The slum went on for miles. Later I learned it was one of the biggest in the world.

Do you have children?

“Alive, or dead?” she asked.

Um, both, I guess.

“I have six living children. I believe I’ve had fifteen, in all. The others died from diarrhea. It’s so hard to get clean water here.”

What do people do about it?

“We try to boil it, but fuel is so expensive. Many people cannot afford it. Do you see that wall?”

She pointed to a long, brick wall, dotted with pancake-like blobs.

“Most people gather up their own waste, flatten it, and put it on the wall to dry. When dry, it burns well. Each pancake has the owner’s handprint on it. If someone is found taking another’s waste pancake, they will be beaten or killed.”

Killed over a pancake of poo?

“Oh, yes. If you take my fuel, my children will get sick. It is very serious. Ah. Your room is ready, sir. Enjoy your visit.”

1980 – After some time working on a kibbutz, my buddies and I went camping at Nuweiba, a bedouin outpost on the Red Sea, in the Sinai desert. We lived on pita and instant hummus, oranges, dates and chocolate. I had my first real snorkeling experience there – you could rent a mask from the Arabs for 25¢ a day.

There were some reef fish that I called Nixon-fish, with weird noses on furtive, dishonest faces. I was hooked.

It was hot and dry. The other young campers on the shoreline wore little clothing. Across the water we could see the deserts and mountains of Saudi Arabia. We suffered through three terrible sand storms in a week.

Then we headed north to visit the Dead Sea. The lowest place on earth (at −1300 feet), so salty you can’t sink (or really swim), the water slimy and irritating to any open sore, like mercurochrome on a hangnail. A novel experience.

Next to the Dead Sea is Masada, an ancient mountain palace-fortress and important symbol of Israeli nationalism. We climbed up to examine the ruins and the view. I was in crap shape even at 24.

We camped near the base of Masada at the oasis of Ein Gedi, where legend says Eden was located. A lush canyon where wildlife gathers from miles around – we were warned of leopards. You could get a kilo of sweet dates there for 25¢, so we pretty much lived on them for a while.

The bus trip from Nuweiba to the Dead Sea was about eight hours across a burning desert, with no AC. Usually, I’d read on a bus trip, but this bus was oversold, so I had to stand the whole way – it was hellish.  Luckily there were two cute Danish girls sitting nearby, so I started chatting with them to help pass the time. They were headed to the same place, so we invited them to camp near us.

Ultimately, my two buddies (who were best friends) ended up marrying those two Danish girls (also best friends). They moved to Denmark, and stayed. Jobs, families, the whole bit. Here we are, camping at Ein Gedi that first night. Four destinies drastically altered because I couldn’t get a seat.

The two you see in this photo (that’s me in the middle with the permanent-damage tan) have been married 30 years now – the other couple, too. Researchers say Denmark is the happiest, most contented nation on the planet. Like all Americans, I feel like I deserve a happy ending.

Mazda launched the Miata in 1989. Remember the buzz?  I bought a red one in 1991. It was the first and only new car I ever bought, and the only car I’ve ever really loved. I pampered that baby. In those days it was still fresh enough to get admiring comments in the streets. So much fun.

One of the big car magazines did a road test. They judged that the Miata was as much fun to drive as a Ferrari.

So the question became, which would you rather have? For the same price you can have a Ferrari, or, you can get a new Miata…

…plus a house.

Which would you choose? A Ferrari, or a Miata plus a house? I assume most of you would choose door number two.

Here’s a third choice. Which would you rather have: a Ferrari, a Miata plus a house, or…

…eight to ten years of freedom to explore the planet?

I still wrestle with this. Every purchase represents a choice; a potential narrowing of options. A nice meal with a bottle of wine costs one day in Costa Rica, or three days in India. That flat-screen TV I got last Christmas cost me a round-trip ticket to Tahiti.