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5 Things: Why I Love to Travel, Really

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1. I’m not working.

That’s a given for number one, right?

by icadrews on Flickr

Attention, I’ve left the office and am focusing on me right now. I’ve done my best to make sure everything is covered while I’m gone, but if something unexpected comes up and you have a problem, you are going to have to figure out a way to deal with it on your own. There are many capable people back there that can help you out. Give them some credit and give them a call.

No matter how many times you email me, I’m probably not going to respond and this is the one time you can’t hold me accountable. Yeah, sure, unless I’m way out in the wilderness somewhere (and if you really knew me, you’d know that that is highly unlikely), I’m still sneaking looks at email and Twitter and Face Book, but you won’t know that. Are you really going to challenge me when I come back and tell you, “Ah, yeah, sorry, I tried but had no way of checking in every day. You wouldn’t believe how crappy the Internet connections are in ____. (Add any foreign country or small town in America here).”

By the way, if you guys really struggled so much without me, I think it is time you thought about giving me a raise. I’m obviously much more valuable than you or I previously thought.

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2. I get to take even more naps.

Phew, sightseeing is hard work!

by Dreams Beds and Mattresses on Flickr

I love napping, it’s one of my favorite things to do and I do them just about every day. I usually take naps at work. It’s a daily ritual.

I quickly eat my lunch while catching up on current news, and then close my office door and sprawl out on my couch. (It’s a very tiny office, so if you are imagining Don Draper’s space with a big desk, a credenza with a full bar, and a couple of chairs and a couch, you are wrong. It’s more like Peggy’s office when she first started copywriting and had to squeeze into an old Xerox closet). There aren’t any windows that look out onto the general office space, so it is completely private. I’m in my little cocoon, and can nap in private for a good 10-15 minutes each day.

My naps tend to be a little longer when I am on vacation. When you’ve been out all day looking at ruins or visiting museums and churches you can feel completely drained by late afternoon. It’s easy to justify going back to your room for a little rest before dinner, and I usually do.

Recently I’ve taken to setting my alarm to limit the nap to an hour though. On more than one occasion my quick nap turned into a four to five hour snooze. I woke up more than a little disoriented (huh, it’s dark, where am I? Venice? Cleveland?), too exhausted to leave the room to get dinner, yet starving. I scrounged around for anything in my room that resembled food – a flattened and stale Cliff bar in my backpack, a packet of sugar from the coffee station, and the piece of chocolate left by the maid on my pillow – wolfed them down and crawled back into bed.

I find beach vacations to be the best! They’re basically just one big nap on the sand.

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3. There’s always bacon at the breakfast buffet.

Do I need to say more?

by Orin on Flickr

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4.     I don’t have to clean the bathroom.

Or do the dishes, or take out the garbage, or…

by anadelmann on Flickr

Okay, I’m not a fan of housework. I’ll do it, but very reluctantly. I think it’s a deeply ingrained protest to my upbringing.  An upbringing centered on three ideas:

  • Cleaning
  • Cleaning
  • You missed a spot

We had the cleanest house of any of my friends, really. Ask my best friend from high school who walked in for the first time and gasped, “Oh my gosh, it’s so clean in here. Where’s all of your family’s stuff?” (And by stuff I think he meant all of the things that you’d find scattered throughout any “normal” person’s home: a stack of mail on the kitchen counter, someone’s gym shoes left by the front door, a piece of floss or a tissue in the wastebasket next to the toilet, or a copy of yesterday’s newspaper piled on the floor next to the Lazy Boy).

There was no stuff. It was neat and orderly. It’s what my family did. We were Polish. We cleaned.

Vacation time growing up was taken for really exciting adventures like, taking all of the good china and crystal out of the curio cabinet and washing them with a special mixture of water and vinegar to prevent streaking. Or maybe we’d spend a couple of days washing walls and baseboards. As a special day trip you might find us dusting off the cans of Cling Peaches or Campbell’s soup stored in the cellar.  A real vacation adventure would be sweeping out the garage…or I should say vacuuming out the carpeted garage…but that’s a whole separate story that I really can’t get into right now.

Needless to say, I love coming back to a hotel room that has been tidied up by someone else. Mmm, a bed that has already been made (hospital corners are especially appreciated) and all my scattered bits of receipts, museum entry ticket stubs, tourist maps, and bits of small change neatly piled on the desk for me. So thrilling. Thanks!

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5. I don’t have to go to the gym.

No, those aren’t love handles; I’m wearing a money belt!

by imheadingout on Flickr

I’m not a gym guy. Never have been and know that I never will be. I’ve had good intentions and tried in the past, but it’s just not in the cards for me. Sure I’ll go every once in a while to work off some nervous energy on the cross-trainer, or to try fool myself into thinking I am doing my body good after eating an entire frozen pizza the night before, but I can’t seem to get there regularly.

I’m never gong to have that body that all the young kids and gay men are sporting these days, and I’m over it. I don’t even understand where those V’s that start at your hips and point suggestively down to your crotch come from. Is it sit-ups? Is it leg lifts? If I can’t get them from reaching in the kitchen cabinet for a bottle of Vodka or from bending over to pick up my underwear from the bathroom floor, then so be it. I’m not going to stress out over it anymore.

On vacation…why even bother? I certainly get more exercise climbing ruins or hiking around the city all day than I would back home. Why even bother going down to the hotel gym or try to do laps in the pool? None of the people around me are ever going to see me again. I can let my gut hang out and who cares? Sure, there was a time when I hated the idea of taking my shirt off at the beach, but in my old age comes indifference. And anyway, if you are sitting there amused by the scrawny old guy with the gut, it’s not going to bother me, you’re not even in my radar, I’m too busy napping!

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• I actually do identify a little with Peggy from Mad Men but unlike her, I haven’t been knocked up by my boss…screwed maybe.

•Just to clarify, that is really me in the last photo, but I’m not wearing a money belt…or am I?

• Here’s a bonus image. I found this when I was looking for a decent shot of bacon on Flickr.

by iampeas on Flickr

The caption read: Rub Nipple. Get Bacon.

Brilliant!

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The Naked Man of Barcelona

Have you seen him?

No, this isn't the naked man I was referring to, it's a photo taken in the garden of the Miro Foundation

We had planned to spend some time in the afternoon wandering around Monjuic, southwest of the center of Barcelona. David and I had wanted to see the Miro Foundation and the 1992 Olympic Stadium, both of which are located on the hill. What we didn’t plan on seeing were two completely naked men walking casually through the street.

We had been walking around for a few hours in the July heat and had stopped to watch some divers practicing at the municipal pool; the site of the aquatic competitions of the 1992 Olympics. It’s a modest facility built on the side of the hill, with a great view of the city below.

The Municipal Pool, A Venue at the 1982 Olympic Games

After taking a few pictures I turned away from the divers and noticed another tourist, about ten feet away from me, looking wide-eyed over my left shoulder. His eyes met mine and he gave me a sort of, what-the-hell kind of a look. He grabbed his wife and pulled her closer and said something in German, then he nodded at me as if to say, “Okay, look now!” I slowly turned, trying to do that nonchalant thing we all are never successful with, and was shocked to see two completely naked men walking our way.

Now, I am by no means a prude. In fact, a day later you would have found me frolicking naked on the beach at Sitges. But c’mon, this was the middle of the city, and there were old ladies waiting at the bus stop just up the corner. It was just startling to see…for a couple of reasons, really.

Aside from the fact that they were naked, they were a very odd looking pair. There was a younger guy, maybe about 30ish, with dark hair, wearing sandles and carrying a man-bag. (He obviously needed a place for his gum and change). I think of him as the acolyte or apprentice because the other guy was truly the leader, the star of the show.

Much older, the Naked Man of Barcelona was maybe mid to late sixties with grey hair and a beard. His torso and thighs were covered in tattoos: little flying birds, suns, stars, and faces. After he passed me I realized that his entire ass was tattooed to look as if he was wearing a speedo.

"The Naked Man of Barcelona" doing a bit of shopping.

Both men were extremely tan, which of course happens when you are wandering around naked all day, and both of them were very well endowed. Sorry to be so blunt. I was definitely a little rattled when my eyes wandered down to their mid-sections. It was disturbing actually. Could that also happen because they were hanging out naked all day? Is that possible?

I looked over at David, who was completely oblivious to the scene, and gave him one of those jerky head with eyes darting to the left moves and said between gritted teeth, “Look over there, look over there.”

He caught sight of the two guys as they were passing by and looked just as shocked as the German man. He only caught the back end of them, so later I had to explain what they looked like from the front, “Okay, imagine a beer bottle…”.

This is the Acolyte, you can tell by his bag.

I pulled out my camera to take a picture. Again, I was going to be very nonchalant about it. “Hey David, let me take your picture,” I said. Smooth, right? How were they going to know I was really going to take a picture of them over David’s shoulder? And they were already walking away with their backs to us.

He looked at me with really serious eyes and whispered, “Put that away. You are NOT going to take a picture!”  Okay, maybe he was right, it was a bit rude, but how were friends back home going to believe me without visual proof?

Later that evening David and I were back in our hotel room.  I was showering before we headed back out to dinner and David was on my laptop, I assumed checking his email. “Oh my God,” he yelled to me. “The naked guy is pretty famous. There’re all sorts of photos and YouTube videos of him. I just Googled, ‘naked-man-of-Barcelona’ and all of this stuff showed up!”

I looked over his shoulder and we watched a few of the videos that other tourists had posted on YouTube. The reactions of people varied. Some of them were not phased, others looked horrified, and more than one young girl ran screaming from the sight of him.

I might not have gotten my own photo, but now I at least had proof to show people back home!

Have you seen the Naked Man of Barcelona on your travels? What was your reaction? Did you get a picture?

For those of you that are curious about how he looks from the front, Google him, or click here …at your own risk.

The photos of the Naked Man are from the Flickr collection of FaceMePls.

The photo of the Acolyte is from the Flickr collection of maubrowncow.

Muhn-key! Muhn-key!

My Trip to see the Nazca lines of Peru…finally

Muhn-key! Muhn-key!

When David and I were planning our summer vacations last year, I realized that the best time for me to take a two week break from my work schedule would be during the period in which he would be working his way through Peru on his two month South American journey. Machu Picchu was a given, of course we would to do that together, it was on both of our Must Do lists, but I was even more excited about getting the opportunity to finally see the Nazca lines. A site that wasn’t on David’s radar and initial plan, but something I had to see!

As a child of the 70’s I was swept away by the mystery of the lines carved into the rock and sand of the Peruvian desert. I remember watching, back then, the American documentary Chariots of the Gods, based on the book of the same name by Erich von Däniken. I was persuaded, as any daydreaming boy would be, by his thesis about the origins of the Nazca lines. Of course they were runways for space travelers, duh! It made perfect sense. Just like Devil’s Tower in Wyoming was the perfect landing pad for extra terrestrials, and Amelia Earhart and everyone else that went missing near the Bermuda Triangle was actually captured by UFOs. (Only to be returned to our planet years later when 5 notes were played by a giant synthesizer at that same Devil’s Tower, thanks to the scientists in Close Encounters of the Third Kind).

"Perro! Perro!...the Doggy!"

David was accommodating to my interest, he always is, and within a few minutes he figured out a schedule for our trip that would allow us to spend an entire day in Nazca. We’d have the opportunity to see the lines on either the day that we arrived or the morning before we had to depart for Lima. In return I would have to sacrifice seeing Lake Titicaca which David would do before I met up with him in Cusco. My two-week vacations never leave me enough time to see everything on my wish list. There’s never enough time to see everything, so I was willing to skip the lake for the mystery of the Nazca lines.

We didn’t make reservations for a tour of the lines before we left Chicago since we read that fog could be an issue and planned to wait until we got into town to see which day would be the best for our tour. We did however make reservations to stay at a decent hotel, the Casa Andina Classic – Nazca. We would be arriving in Nazca early in the morning after an overnight bus ride from Arequipa.

Here are a few things you should know about Nazca, the overnight bus from Arequipa and the lines in the desert:

  • You are not going to get decent nights sleep on the overnight bus ride from Arequipa to Nazca if you are over 6 feet tall. Even the 1st class seats are meant for shorter people. You can’t really fully recline and rest and the entire night is spent readjusting.
  • The bus gets cold at night. You are driving at some high elevations. (I’m glad I sat on the aisle and didn’t have a chance to look out the window. I imagine it was a scary view through the mountains).
  • The gelatinous dessert cup given to you, as part of your meal on the bus ride looks fruity and fun…it’s not. It’s kind of nasty actually.
  • The effeminate man with his hair in a topknot (held in place by a banana clip) that greets you at the bus depot does not really work for the hotel where you’ve reserved your room. He talks a good game and makes you think, in your groggy, sleepless state that he has been sent to meet you, but he really hasn’t. He’s an independent guide. His family runs an airplane tour site.
  • There are numerous outfits at the airport that can fly you over the lines. It seems like most people just head out to the airport in the morning and wander around, checking each of them out before deciding to book.
  • All of the tours of the lines are on small planes. If you aren’t used to flying in them, chances are you are going to get sick. I’ve read that a huge number of people get sick. Do yourself a favor and skip breakfast. Wait until the tour is over and you are safely on the ground again before you fill your belly.
  • Bring your passport to the airport when you go for the tour. It is required that you show your passport to get on any of the planes. It is quite a hassle if you don’t have it…we found that out after David left his in the room safe.
  • Other than the tourist sites, there’s not a lot to do in Nazca. Don’t plan on spending too much time there.
  • If there are a bunch of Chinese businessmen at your hotel, they will probably keep you up at night as they sit in the courtyard drinking beer, and talking really loudly.

And finally…

  • The lines ARE an amazing thing to experience! They are everything I imagined them to be.

"Colibri...Colibri"

After the long bus ride, we arrived very early in the morning. Groggy and a bit disoriented, we were met at the bus depot by that said guy with the topknot, Christian. He began walking us to our hotel since it was located a short distance up the street.  He worked us well and talked us into a tour on a small 4-passenger plane that could take us at 8AM that morning. I really thought he was sent by the hotel to meet us, but it wasn’t until we were checked in and went back down to the lobby to finish our tour arrangements that we realized he had no affiliation with Casa Andina.

David and I looked at each other and said, what the hell, let’s just go for it. The morning was sunny, he told us he would get us on the first flight before there was a chance of fog rolling in, and his brochures looked professional enough. We agreed to the price of a tour on a 4-passenger plane and jumped into a cab with Christian and were off on an adventure.

After first stopping at the office of his tour company to fill out paperwork and watch a bad copy of an introduction to the Nazca lines video, we headed to the airport. It is a small facility with numerous tour operators and many tourists milling around trying to make arrangements for a flight. The outfit that we signed up with looked as good as any of the others and after a few minutes of final preparation, including haggling with the airport official to let us do the flight even though David didn’t have his passport with him, we were shuffled off to our plane.

It was a small plane operated by a pilot and co-pilot (probably both brothers of Christian). Two young girls from Sweden sat behind David and me. We all had headphones to listen to the co-pilot as he pointed out the different configurations and after a few minutes we were off the ground and flying over the desert.

"Hands!...Hands!"

There are thousands of lines cris -crossing the desert floor, with many of them going completely straight for hundreds of yards. Then, scattered throughout the straight lines are strange and sometimes comic stick figure drawings of animals and plants and bugs and people. It’s amazing to see them and to realize that they have been there for hundreds of years and that it is just about impossible to see them from ground level. In fact, it wasn’t until planes started to fly over the desert in the 1930’s that they were “discovered”.

In order for the passengers on both sides of the plane to get a good look at the drawings, the pilot kept banking the plane left and right as we passed them. The co-pilot would call out what we were seeing as we flew by. “Muhn-key, Muhn-key!” he yelled as we passed over a drawing of a monkey with and enormous tail that wound around and around in a giant spiral. “Colibrí…. the Hummin’bird,” he said pointing to one of the many bird drawings.

At this point, not yet ten minutes off the ground, the plane banking back and forth started to get me feeling a bit nauseous. I took a deep breath and stared out at the horizon, trying to fix my eyes on a stationary point. It’s the thing that I do naturally whenever I start to feel motion sickness coming on and it usually helps. After a bit of concentration I was able to over come the feeling and go on. David unfortunately didn’t have the same luck.

Suddenly after hearing the co-pilot yell out “Astro-knot…Asto-knot!” while pointing to a curious looking man with googley eyes staring up from a hillside, I heard a commotion and look over and saw David coughing into the motion sickness bag. Argh, poor guy, once it started with him, there was no stopping it. My focus turned away from the lines and I tried to comfort him as the dry heaves continued. As I rubbed what I hoped was a comforting hand on his back I turned around and saw that one of the two Swedes was also holding a bag up to her face. I looked at her partner, smiled and shrugged. Like I said, a lot of people get sick on this flight.

"Condor!...Condor!"

After a few more minutes of “Perro! Perro!… The Doggy!” we were flying level again and heading back for a landing. I think the entire flight lasted about a half hour…25 minutes longer than David would have liked. Once on the ground we tipped the pilot and co-pilot, and ran to look for Christian who was holding a taxi for us to take back to the hotel. “Just get me home,” David mumbled as we spotted the car.

The rest of the day was spent with him sleeping off the sickness in bed and me sitting by the hotel pool, sipping beer and thinking about the amazing thing I had just experienced. After thirty plus years I finally had the chance to see what I had daydreamed about as a young boy. Yes, the current understanding is that the lines were made by the Nazca civilization to mark the locations of underground aquifers, but to me they will always be landing strips for the gods.

A few disclaimers:

  • All photos were taken from the Flickr collection of David Telford. My photos weren’t nearly as good since I got a little side tracked.
  • I have nothing against effeminate men, in fact I’ve been told by more than one thug growing up that I am one.
  • I also really don’t have any beef with Chinese men. The group staying at my hotel was loud and drank far into the night. Just facts.
  • The fruity snack cup was not to my liking. I’m sorry if it is something Peruvian’s really like, I don’t mean to offend them. I do like their Pisco Sours though!

Springfield, Illinois – 1970

Jumping into the motel pool. Springfield, Ill - 1970

When I was 6 years old my mother took my sister and me to Springfield, Illinois. A bit of an educational vacation since we would be going to the State Capital and the home of Abraham Lincoln. I don’t remember any of that.

What I do remember is playing in the motel pool. I loved it!

We didn’t have a pool back home. Well, we did, but it was only about a foot deep and you couldn’t do much in it except splash and maybe float if you were very still and tried really hard. This pool was the big time. That’s my sister in the background. Look how excited she is!

After this photo was taken is when my first vacation memory begins.

Some kid must have climbed down that ladder after eating a candy bar or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because there was a big gob of goo on the handrail, much to the enjoyment of a few bees. Bees that I didn’t see until I clamped my hand onto the rail, getting out for another try on the diving board. I still remember the pain vividly. And I remember screaming at the top of my lungs as I ran in circles around the pool. (It probably was a girly scream too since I was only six).

My mother must have freaked out as she saw me running around, not knowing what had happened. Somehow I managed to tell her about the bee sting and she tried to calm me down, but it really did hurt. I remember crying and hopping from foot to foot, not knowing when the pain would end.

The woman that owned the motel came running over and tried to help. She had made some sort of salve from baking soda. It was supposed to draw the stinger out of my hand somehow and she said she used it several times on guests. I remember thinking, “Why don’t you just get rid of the bees? Or at least wash off the goo!”

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Do you remember your earliest vacation memory? I’d like to hear about it.