The Laid-Off Peripatetic (LOP)

How excited was I when my lovely friend Barb called and said she was coming to LA? Well, I was so giddy it was a good thing I was wearing a diaper.

My going away bash: Barb with our good friend Brown Kevin

Anyway, she is staying with her sister in Encino, California. The name of the town was vaguely familiar because I was permanently scarred after subjecting myself to Encino Man, one of Pauly Shore’s many horrid movies. But with the help of Mapquest and Barb’s verbal directions I scrawled on a cocktail napkin (don’t ask), I had a definitive plan of action—I would drive to pick her up for our girl date. Wahoo!

And so I went forth onto Highway 101, a road mired in cars, exhaust and road rage hoping that no “incidents” would occur and that the Happy Couple’s car would remain unscathed. (For those of you who don’t know, I’m carless. This fact seems to bother those whom I tell much more than it does me, but such is life in LA.) I pined to see my friend badly enough though that had a car not been available, I would have hijacked a skateboard from a hoodlum lurking in the alley, all the while screaming, “This is for Barb-a-Reeba!!!” Flailing, pouncing, oh, yes, that skateboard would have been mine. I can be terrifying when on a mission for wheels…or booze or food. But never you mind that.

What I noticed first about Encino was that it bears a striking resemblance to the giant strip-mall that is Dallas, Texas. (I lived in Dallas for seven painfully long years. And though I made some great friends, there is no amount of money that would make me return, ever. I refer to it as the “armpit of the world.”) But no matter. I wasn’t in Encino to research housing or to sight-see, though Barb mentioned that Michael Jackson’s compound was only five blocks from her sister’s house.

I escorted my date to a lovely Italian restaurant called Oliva Trattoria, 4449 Van Nuys Blvd. I ordered steak and Barb, the spinach and ricotta ravioli. The cow was fine, but I wouldn’t recommend it over the pasta, which was handmade and delicious. The salads were huge and could easily feed two people if ordering one for a starter course. The service was mediocre, but the manager complimented my hooker heels, so I’ll cut him a little slack.

My most favorite shoes...

The bar scene was nonexistent for the most part, but we actually found one that was open and featured a tragic lounge singer equipped with a velour vixen dress. The badness of it all was the perfect backdrop for great conversation…

I’ve never been a suburban kind of gal; I break out into hives if submerged in Stepford too long. So, Encino didn’t wow me, but it was still nice to explore. My next stops as a local tourist will be oceanside cities. I’ve toyed with the idea of taking surfing lessons, but given the fact that I require floaties, I’m not sure that’s such a great idea. I won’t be able to enjoy life much if I’m tits up…or face down, as it were.

Ben Huh is the CEO of Pet Holdings, Inc., the company behind such blogs as I Can Haz Cheezburger?, FAIL and others. You can follow his personal blog at www.benhuh.com.

What is your most memorable vacation?

Our 2-week honeymoon in Hawaii was absolutely amazing. I thought it’d be a cliche and all, but there’s a reason why they call Hawaii a paradise on earth.

What is your worst travel experience?

I had a delayed flight from O’Hare that connected in Denver on United Airlines. As I got off the plane, the departing gate for my connection was the one next to my arrival gate and I could see the flight pull out of the gate just as I stepped off my connection. United refused to pay for lodging and as a poor college kid, I had no money. I ended up spending the night in Denver International Airport. Needless to say, 10-years later, I don’t fly United very much.

Have you ever experienced a body cavity search? If so, there’s no need to go into detail, I was just curious.

No. No. And I hope NEVER.

What do you pack when visiting a tropical locale?

Not much. I try to travel light and roll with the punches. In fact, no matter where I am going, I try to pack very light. But it’s always a struggle to leave those pesky gadgets at home.

Is wearing a Speedo a right or a privilege?

It’s a crime.

What is the most obscure place you’ve ever visited?

I once got lost inside a Federal penitentiary in Southern Illinois.

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?

Center of the known universe: Manhattan.

If offered the opportunity to become The Queen of England’s lackey in exchange for blogging rights, room, board and a Lipizzan, would you take it?

Heck no.

What is your favorite weekend getaway?

We enjoy getting away to Vancouver, BC for some good Cantonese food this side of China.

What is your favorite travel guidebook series: Frommer’s, Rick Steves, Lonely Planet or Penny Saver?

I’m generally a fan of Lonely Planet, but I much prefer asking-those-who-went-there-recently.

If you were a feral cat, would you be an ocelot, cougar or cheetah? Or would you trade freedom for the novelty of becoming a six-toed Hemmingway cat?

Polydactal cats are tempting because I can draw hand-turkeys well (http://icanhascheezburger.com/2007/11/22/happee-fangsgivings/).

Thanks Ben!

I subscribe to a variety of travel sites including those that provide info on travel bargains. I just received an update today that I thought was worth passing along in the event anyone is searching for fabulous deals to the Caribbean. CheapCaribbean.com is offering discounted packages to destinations such as Puerto Rico, Aruba and Jamaica. Included is the SPF 100 Sunshine Protection deal, which means you get $100 off the cost of your trip if it rains during your vacation.

There is an upside to a down economy—great travel deals.

Every year in January, I give myself the gift of a tropical vacation for my birthday. Last year, it was a trip to Maui for 10 glorious days of diving, eating and playing. I hadn’t planned on sight-seeing much, only because when I take tropical vacations my druthers is to remain supine when I’m not swimming with the fishes. As it turned out, the only beach time I spent was when I hauled my diving equipment in and out of the water during my shore-diving adventures with Shaka Doug.

Instead, I was drawn to the rainforests, the Road to Hana, the black sand beaches and most of all, the sacred places on Maui, Hawaii (the proper pronunciation of Hawaii is Ha-vy-ee…just so ya know). Some of these spots are where sacred temples used for sacrifices now stand—they are called “heiaus” and are sacred to the Hawaiian people. (I’m not referring to the “howlies” as the mainlanders are called by some Hawaiians, but those of actual Hawaiian descent.) Sacred places are located all over the island, but I was wrong in assuming they would all be easy to find so I settled for the two with the biggest road signs:

Haleakala Crater: Legend has it, that Pele, the goddess of fire, created the black sand beaches dotting Maui’s shores and also Haleakala, the volcanic crater. Visitors are warned by Hawaiians to never disturb or steal any stones from either place unless permission is given by Pele via a Hawaiian priest(ess) or all kinds of crazy bad luck will befall that person until Pele’s property is returned. Personally, I would rather not tempt a fire-based entity, but take your chances if you are so inclined. Regardless, both Haleakala and the beaches are worth visiting. However, be warned that you will freeze parts off if you take only your beach wear—the summit tops out at 10,023 feet. Not even a Snuggy will save your arse if all you’re wearing are short shorts.

Haleakala Crater

Black Sand beach just off the Road to Hana

The ‘Iao Valley (pronounced EE-ow):

The Iao Needle

The energy coursing through this area, which is known to visitors as a state park, will transfix you on the spot if you are attuned to it. There is a small, paved path that weaves around a fresh-water stream and you can see the Iao Needle from the tourist-designated look-out. But the most interesting aspects of this sacred place lie in a walking path that is, well, technically off limits—but that’s only if you get busted. Ironically, it begins just after the sign the says “Stay on the path.” It was during this hike that I found an ancient petroglyph etched into a boulder.

The Ancient Hawaiians practiced Huna, which is based on the principle that each person has three selves. It's demonstrated in this hieroglyphic in the shape of the legs, rectangular middle and the two lines above the head. Otherwise known as the unihipili, uhane and the amakua.

Prayer rocks wrapped in a kind of leaf are left on the boulder by Hawaiians offering prayers to the gods.

In 1790, the Battle of Kepaniwai took place in the Iao Valley. In an effort to unify the Hawaiian islands, Kamehameha the Great waged war on Kalanikuple and the Maui army. As it turns out, he won, but not without a cost. History recounts a battle so bloody that the bodies blocked the Iao Stream. Kepaniwai means “damming of the waters” in Hawaiian.

These are the other sacred spots, that I know of, but didn’t have a chance to experience…yet, anyway:

• Halekii-Pihana hieaus, which are ancient temples previously used for sacrifices. Not now, of course, it was more like circa 1240.
• The Bellstone, which is a large rock that sounds like a bell when hit by a pebble.
• The Seven Sacred Pools are actually a series of pools and waterfalls near the O’heo Gulch at the southernmost portion of the island.

About a week ago, I posted a brief synopsis of my friends’ traumatic experience in Puerto Vallarta—they were abducted by the Federalis and imprisoned for several hours. I spoke to them after they arrived back in Chicago and Bob stated that he believed at one point, they were both going to be killed. I think it was about the time the pickup to which they were handcuffed headed down a dark, deserted road and stopped for several minutes. Their captors were either drinking more beer or deciding the fate of my two friends—they never took the time to share. Anyway, Bob’s story is below. Pass it along to anyone considering a trip to Mexico because they should be aware of the danger to tourists.

I have had many good experiences in Mexico; however, I will never go back until the country gets its crime under control. I’m not referring to the petty crime that takes place everywhere—I mean the real crime instigated by the Mexican police that includes robbing and abducting tourists. They are as corrupt as they come. My partner and I just returned from what was supposed to be a nice, weeklong vacation. Our trip to Puerto Vallarta, a place we have visited numerous times and have often recommended to friends and family, was abruptly cut short.

We were stopped and arrested by the Mexican police as we were walking down a sidewalk doing absolutely nothing disruptive. The street was dark with no one else around. The police pickup did not have “Police” written anywhere on the vehicle. Two men got out of the white pickup and approached us. (We were aware that crime has been on the rise in Mexico because we have friends who have been victimized.) We walked faster trying to reach a well-lit corner. I began whistling loudly, buzzed the doorbell of a hotel in an attempt to get someone’s attention and also started yelling for the police. After a few local people came out to see what was happening, they tried to resolve the problem with the police. The police did not want to let them help translate. The “police” frisked us, handcuffed us together and put us in the back of their beer can-littered truck bed. Then they handcuffed us to the bed of the truck, drove us down a deserted road, stopped the truck for several minutes with no explanation as to what was happening. Eventually, they took us to the police station about 30 minutes away.

After an hour cuffed to an outside bench, they interrogated us, gave us a breathalyzer test, smelled our fingers for drugs and put us in a jail cell for more than eight hours. Never once did they tell us why they approached us to begin with or how long we would have to stay. We asked to contact the U.S. Consulate and/or make a phone call. They told us that we would be able to do so later and that they would contact the U.S. Consulate, but they did neither.

When we asked again, they said in a mocking tone that they would contact the U.S. Consulate for us. Finally, we were told that we would have to stay for 12 hours and that we were arrested for aggressive behavior. A Mexican immigration official came shortly afterward. When we explained what had transpired, he told us that immigration had no issue with us and that we could stay or leave the country without a problem. We asked him if he could contact the U.S. Consulate and he said that he would get in trouble with the police.

It was quite obvious that he knew we were jailed wrongly. He then said he would see what he could do to free us. Eventually, someone told us that we could use a lawyer who happened to be there and each pay his $500 peso fee to get out of jail. If we did not use him, we would have to stay eight more hours, which was four hours more than what we were told originally. But, if we waited the extra time, we would “probably” be released without a fee. We paid the fee, which amounted to about $40 dollars each. We were not allowed to have copies of any of the paperwork and had to sign without reading it.

This ordeal should never have happened. A few other notes you should know: The jail cell smelled of urine, there was a broken toilet that leaked all over the floor, there was no bench or anything to sit on other than the floor, there were bugs and flies everywhere. Also, the handcuffs cut our wrists. I have bruises on my arms. My wrist is swollen and sore to the touch as well as an area of my back. When the officer put me in the open bed truck he told me that he would have me deported the next day. The other officers were talking among themselves and made insulting remarks in Spanish, not knowing or caring that we could understand what they were saying. They also said to us, “We don’t need people like you here.”

We were released in an area of town where no cabs dared come. Each time I saw the police when we were heading back to the hotel, I felt sick to my stomach. I also feared being put back in jail, because we looked out of place in the area of town where the jail was located. Needless to say, we left on the first flight we could get back to Chicago.

After speaking with several people, we found out that this is a common event in Puerto Vallarta and all of Mexico. Please be careful if you have plans to travel there and possibly reconsider visiting a place more worthy of your travel dollars.

The Caribbean was one of the first places I visited abroad. (The first was Toronto, Canada, but I don’t count that trip because I’ve been given honorary Canadian citizenship by the Happy Couple, eh.) But I loved it so much that I gave myself honorary Caribbean Island citizenship. It is all-encompassing and applies to every island regardless of the country to which each respective one belongs. I didn’t go so far as to create fictitious passports—that would be something a crazy person would do—but I have started wearing a conch-shell bra and a Rasta hat. The bra chafes, but the hat works well enough except when the temperature peaks above 75 F.

Guana Island, Tortola

Researching Caribbean islands both obscure and those inundated by the masses has become one of my travel-related past times. I’ve found many islands that are completely uninhabited and touched by man’s littering, territory-marking ways. I’ve read about several, but have visited only a few of these precious gems—one in the Dominican Republic and the other in Turks & Caicos. Visitors can get lost literally and figuratively, in the beauty, which is why head counts are of great importance for tour guides…but that’s another topic for another time.

Nicolas Cage likes the Caribbean so much, he bought one of these uninhabited islands, which is one of many reasons why he’s financially screwed. (According to a Huffington Post article, he also owns a couple mansions in New Orleans, a couple castles in Europe, multiple homes across the U.S. including in Las Vegas, Malibu, Rhode Island…the list goes on; paid half-a-million smackers for a Lamborghini owned by the Shah of Iran, etc. and blah di blah, blah.) No worries, Nick—knock out a couple more bad movies and you’ll be back in the game. (I digress, but only because I was in awe of the number of ostentatious purchases that came from one pocketbook.)

When my millions land in the bank, I probably won’t buy an island, but will strongly consider purchasing a significant chunk of one upon which I will perch a thatch hut—houses in the Caribbean don’t have a long life expectancy. My furnishings will include a hammock, one of those twitchy “Don’t worry, be happy” singing fish and a garden hose rigged for a shower. Until then, I am applying to become Johnny Depp’s groundskeeper for Little Halls Pond Cay, a 45-acre Bahamian island he purchased in 2004 for $3.6 million. I would comb his beach any day.

Little Halls Pond Cay—Johnny Depp's sizable sandbar

Bill Gates and Eddy Murphy also own islands because, well, because they can. At the rate the rich and famous are gobbling up islands, I’m surprised any are left for the native inhabitants and the bourgeois visitors.

But there are islands left—ones that beg to be explored and appreciated. I hear that call and will do my damnedest to comply. Oh, sweet Caribbean, I’m coming for you.

I wasn’t sure what to expect given that every day in Hollywood is like Halloween. I imagined a scene akin to the Gay Pride Parade combined with costumes from all of the annoying reality television shows that are all the rage. I imagined drunken revelry, public indecency and angry Jehovah’s witnesses trying to save us all with Sharpy-scrawled messages on placards. I imagined conflagrations aplenty. I was correct on many counts (save for the fire), but oh, there was so much more at the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival 2009 and beyond…

Father Pervy and The Naked Cowboy. Giddyup

(The real Naked Cowboy looks more like a blonde Billy Ray Cyrus…oh, and he sells t-shirts, CDs and hand-painted guitars…of course he does.)

Our group consisted of M the jailbird, Deutsch as Father Pervy (and yes, those are fishnets) and Christine and Joey as Yoko and John. With road pops in hand, we made our way to the Halloween Carnival on the portion of Santa Monica blocked off for the party. It’s best that I not describe what I saw, but rather share with you visual aids. Only then can you fully appreciate the bevy of costumes and the creativity of the crazy Halloween-goers in LA LA.

Scrabble innuendo

The male Latino version of Amy Winehouse

Yoko and John -WAR IS OVER!

One pair of about 2 million gay-shas at the carnival

Sassy jailbird M guilty of? Breakin' hearts...

Trained killer extraordinaire (i.e., me) wielding foam nun chucks

I also had a plastic sword that I kept dropping every 20 steps and overall, misplaced my weaponry on a regular basis. My inability to keep these items close was one of the reasons why I was deemed The Worst Ninja Ever. One of the other reasons was because I ran from a perverted priest (yes, there were others on the loose besides Father Pervy) who chased me down the sidewalk with his vestments pulled to his waist. All I could hear was the Jailbird’s voice, “Run, Ninja, run!” And so I did.

However, I did have a few moments of sword play with other ninjas and a few samarai whether they wanted to or not, I climbed and trimmed trees and I had all of my accoutrement in hand when I came home on Saturday night..or rather early Sunday morning. Kudos to The Best Ninja Ever.

Non sequitur

As we were driving down Santa Monica, M asked me if Halloween in Chicago is anything like the spectacle in LA. The answer? Nope, not even close. The droves of people combing the streets and bars were nothing like Chicago where people dress up, but aren’t quite as religious about it. That, and it was 70 degrees, which tends to make people more apt to play than the gray, 40-degree weather in Chicago. Ah, it’s good to finally be free of my Vitamin D deficiency compliments of a glorious sun and the Swiss cheese-esque ozone.

So my first Halloween in LA was festive, fun and I was able to wear the ninja costume that I love so much. In fact, if there wasn’t a risk of being institutionalized and subjected to electroshock therapy, I’d dress like a ninja every day—even Christmas.

I received some disturbing news last night—Bob and Dav-eed, two of my Chicago gays, were abducted and held captive by the Puerto Vallarta police. For 500 pesos, they were able to buy their freedom. Obviously, they weren’t interested in staying any longer in the same city as their Federali captors, so they booked the first flight back to Chicago. They are both understandably traumatized; Bob told me at one point, he really believed he and Dave were going to be killed.

They’ve agreed to write a post detailing what happened. But, I wanted to write about it in advance to warn anyone planning a trip to Mexico that the danger of abduction is quite real. You can find travel warnings for foreign countries at the following site: http://travel.state.gov/travel/cis_pa_tw/cis_pa_tw_1168.html.

Stark news aside…I’m on a frantic dash to find a Halloween costume. What does this have to do with travel? Absolutely nothing, unless you count the trip I’m making to the Halloween parade on Santa Monica. Pictures to come. And now, to find a ninja suit somewhere in Hollywood.

When I traveling home to see my parents, it’s no easy feat; nor is it cheap. I’ve often lamented the fact that for the same cost of an airline ticket to Dodge City, I could purchase one to several different cities in Europe, e.g., Amsterdam, Milan, Frankfurt…you get the idea.

This pains me.

But, I love my parents and they derive much joy from filial visits. With that in mind, I grit my teeth, shell out a ridiculous amount of cash (most of it spent on the puddle jumper flight from Denver to Dodge City—go figure) and take one for the team (Teamwork makes the dream work! she says while flaunting jazz hands).

I had come to terms with this expense, accepting it as part of my holiday season…until this year. I heard a news report stating that airline tickets for the 2009 holidays were going to be more expensive than usual, but I had no idea that airlines were going to start charging enough to buy a new plane per passenger. (Besides, I think I heard it on FOX, so I didn’t believe it.)

When I began researching prices, I felt more than a little violated after seeing an increase of $200. Airlines stated that fewer flights and fewer travelers were the cause of the increase. I call bullshit. It’s not enough that many airlines are charging for bag check and that they charge for both headphones and food. No, no, they want more. But where does it stop? Will those traveling soon be required to hand over their scalp, body parts and children? Oy.

I am going home for Christmas, but it won’t be via Dodge City. Instead, I’ve opted for a flight to Wichita and a three-hour ride in my sister’s minivan, which will be big fun—she always brings the beer.

The Web sites where I find the cheapest airfare for the U.S. are Kayak, Expedia, Cheap Tickets and Travelocity.

Venice Sunset

Ah, traveling. When I’m not doing it, I’m thinking about it—where I want to go, how to get there, sometimes even questioning why. In my spare time, I plan trips all over the world to the last detail including reference checks of tour companies specializing in destinations where I prefer not to travel solo. Africa is on that list and is my next adventure. (Travel dates to come, depending on how much money I make between the lemonade stand and plasma sales. Anyone need a surrogate?) I planned my trip with no time or financial constraints in mind because otherwise, what’s the point of an imagination?

My itinerary is roughly this: A flight into Capetown where I spend a few days exploring. Next, imbibing in wine country and a leisurely tour of the Garden Route, which will take maybe a bit longer than one week. From Cape Town, I join a safari tour that includes the sand dunes in the Namib Desert; watching wildlife from the safety of a very well equipped jeep (including a full tank of gas and maybe some raw meat to distract a critter that might be interested in me as a meal); and white-water rafting in Victoria Falls. Those are highlights on my safari, but I’m willing to incorporate other destinations as long as the mosquito spray and netting both hold out.

But wait, there’s more. Next, I fly to Bazaruto, an archipelago off the coast of Mozambique, for a week of exploration and diving in its unspoiled waters and coral reefs.

Bazaruto, Mozambique

In my imagination, the sharks are friendly and speak fluent English, but with a British accent. They take me diving because I grow gills under water. While I’m there, I snag Clive Owen as my husband. Erin Owen…kind of rolls off the tongue with a lilt.

(Sure the photos look as though we are in separate milieus, but I can assure you, he was staring right at me when he popped the question.)

Enroute home to the States, I’ll stop in London to see a few friends I made while I was on walkabout. There, I’ll let the arrows painted on the street guide my gaze so that I don’t get smacked by a car. Going tits up isn’t on the agenda just yet—I still have myriad trips yet to take.

For current travel information about Africa, I like the Go2Africa e-newsletter. The information covers the entire continent including safari tour companies, lodging, hotel, guides, maps, etc. If you are looking for a reputable safari tour operator, Go2Africa.com is a great place to start your research.