Revolutionary Road - Day 2 - Revolutionary Rhode Island

9/27/15, “Revolutionary Rhode Island”

En route, Metro North, Harlem Line

When I last closed, I was about to eat my Chinese food.  That seems like a lifetime ago, not 24 hours ago, though I suppose 24 hours often seems like a lifetime when I travel.  Far removed from the Revolutionary War sites we visited today, we are now heading back to New York.  It is close to 10:30 PM, my entry will be finished around 11 PM, yet my night will only just be beginning, and I doubt I will get to sleep before 2 AM.  After I finished my Chinese food last night, I lit up a Santana as I tried to plan today and publish my entry.  I almost fell asleep with the cigar in my mouth, and I put it on the window ledge to save for morning.

We got a late start, but I figured we had plenty of time.  I figured wrong.  First off, there were too many NHLs to see in Newport and Providence, and I knew we couldn’t see them all, despite them being as densely packed as Boston.  I would have to come back and do another weekend in just Rhode Island to hit all the NHLs in Rhode Island.  I just chose my favorites and the most convenient for today.  Everything took longer than expected.  We went to breakfast at a place called the Hungry Monkey, the other place, which had better reviews, being too crowded.  I also got a paper and some snacks at 7-11.  I ordered the corned beef hash.  It was 10 AM by the time we were done with breakfast.

My friends wanted to see an abandoned structure in a State Park, so we headed to the south tip of the island.  I was so confused.  Did this site get a cigar, did I need my water bottle?  It wasn’t a WHS, an NPS, or even an NHL.  It was not something that was on any of my lists, so there was nothing Official about it, like no different than museum or something.  I chose to have the cigar, lighting up a My Father cigar.  We had fun exploring the abandoned structure before we headed back to downtown Newport.

Along the way, we stopped at Newport’s first mansion, the Marble House.  It was closed for an event, but we were able to take some pictures at the gate.  We continued to downtown, and I had everything planned out perfectly, the exact order for efficiency, what we would see by foot, what we’d drive to instead.

We parked in front of the old church.  Trinity Church was modeled after the Old North Church in Boston, and it was easy to see the similarity.

From there we walked to the Wanton-Lyman-Hazard House, which was the home a Stamp Tax collector.  It was damaged by riots during the Revolution, but there were no signs of the damage to be found.

From there, we headed to the Brick Market Place, which was now a museum.  Along the way, I saw the Old State House, but I had my order planned out, so we kept going.  The gift shop at the museum was disappointing, but I found a keychain.

We then headed to the Touro Synagogue, which is the oldest synagogue in the country.  It’s still active.  We took some ceremonial pictures, but we didn’t go inside.

After that, we went back to the Old State House, which was no more interesting than the one in Boston.  We turned around and walked back towards the car, stopping at what was the most important site in Newport for me.

The Vernon House was where Comte de Rochambeau had his headquarters.  The whole point of this trip was to follow the Washington-Rochambeau Revolutionary Route.  This house was where it began.

We went to the car and drove to the Hunter House, which housed the Loyalist Deputy Governor, who was forced to flee his mansion.  I lit up an Aroma de Cuba there.

From there, it was to Bristol, to find the Joseph Reynolds House.  We didn’t have the exact address, but we knew the coordinates and that it was a three-story blue house.  We had a lot trouble finding it, in no small part due to the fact that had been repainted red.

At this point we were hungry, and Rhode Island’s candidate for “most iconic” restaurant, the Haven Brothers Diner in Providence, would not be open by the time we left Providence.  We stopped at McDonald’s.  We got back on the road, heading straight to Providence.

I am short on time, and there is not much to say about our time in Providence, so I will condense, along with condensing my photos.  If my reader wants more details, Google knows a lot about these sites.  There were four sites within a block of each other in Providence.  The first one was the Nightingale-Brown House, the second one the Corliss-Carrington House, the third one the Thomas P. Ives House, the last one the John Brown House, yes, that, John Brown.  I lit up a Camacho, and we breezed through each of the sites, half of them now private residences.

We continued to the main campus of Brown, where I found University Hall, the oldest building on campus.  It looked like a nice campus, and I texted my sister a couple of pictures, as it is her alma mater (my aunt’s too?).  She recognized it instantly.

We then headed to the Governor Stephen Hopkins House, another signer of the Declaration of Independence.  By this point, we were in a total rush.  It was at the take a picture and move on point of the trip.  

We got the car and drove up to the First Baptist Meetinghouse, which was established by Roger Williams and was the first Baptist church in America.  Tight on time now, we skipped the other site I had in Providence, the Arcade, and headed straight to Coventry.  I asked my friend to provide me with driving times, so I could calculate everything.  We looked good on time to see all the sites and make a train at a reasonable hour.  Something seemed off, though, that one of the times was too low.

We headed to the General Nathaniel Greene Homestead in Coventry, our last stop in Rhode Island.  That was when I learned there was a Coventry in Connecticut, and the times I had been provided were based on that Coventry.  We frantically recalculated, but it was too little, too late.  We were not going to make all the sites by dark, and we were going to be on a late train.  I lit up a Tattoo, and we took the ceremonial pictures at the homestead and headed straight to Lebanon, Connecticut, which would serve as our last stops.

There were two sites there, the William Williams House, and the John Trumbull House.  We easily found the John Trumbull House, but we couldn’t find the William Williams House, and we had no cell service.  Worse, we were almost out of gas.

Well, long story short.  I found both houses, the William Williams House actually having a plaque out in front, and I finished my cigar on its last puff right there.  We then we had to call it quits, get gas, and head straight to North White Plains.  I lit up an Avo and listened to Les Mis as we drove home, and it finished as we were getting our stuff out of the car.

My mom met us there, and she took us back to Scarsdale, where Candlelight wings were waiting.  We scarfed down our wings, and she took us to the train station.  We got on the 10:15 PM train, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as we were now pulling into Grand Central, along with closing out the trip.  Next stop: day trip to Philadelphia with my parents to visit my grandfather, whom I haven’t seen in over a year, unless he cancels on us again.

Revolutionary Road - Day 1 - Coastal Connecticut

“Revolutionary Road: The Experience”

9/26/15, “Coastal Connecticut”

Mystic, Connecticut

There are trips that are designed around seeing a specific site (e.g., Burj Khalifa, the Salt Lake City Winter Olympic Stadium), while other trips are designed around going somewhere and seeing what there is to see along the way.  This trip is the latter.  After having such an enjoyable time travelling to Nearby New Jersey and Exciting Delaware last month, we decided to make this trip to Coastal Connecticut and Revolutionary Rhode Island.  The leaves are changing, and there were iconic restauarants and famous historic sites to see, along with the Washington-Rochambeau Revolutionary Route, which we will be driving tomorrow from Newport to New York.

We all got a late start this morning, so we didn’t meet at the car rental place until almost 10 AM.  After a bit of delay getting breakfast, it was 10:30 AM before we were on the road.  The distance to our hotel was only three hours, and it was ten hours before dark, so time was hardly a factor.  It was just an issue of how we wanted to spend the balance of those seven (or more, actually, since we merely had to stop sightseeing at dark, not be at the hotel) hours.

I had come up with a list of National Historic Landmarks along the way, the coastal route today, the revolutionary route tomorrow.  Most of them were in New Haven, along with Connecticut’s winner for “most iconic restaurant.”  I lit up the Davidoff Escurio and put on Red.  We were soon at the famous, historic home of Stephen Tyng Mather, the first Director of the National Park Service.  For all the National Parks I have seen, it was quite impressive to be at his boyhood home.  We then headed straight to New Haven.

I coyly told my friends that we were going to an iconic restaurant, where a famous sandwich was invented.  Before long, we parked outside of Louis’s Lunch.  We walked in, and it was cramped and crowded.  My friend was confused, not seeing a proper menu.  I pointed to the sign that said hamburgers were served with or without cheese, optional toppings of onions and tomatoes.  She said that she thought I said a famous sandwich was invented there.  I offered that a hamburger is a type of sandwich.  It was at that moment that she realized I had brought her to the place the hamburger was invented.

I got a bag of chips and a diet birch beer to go with my burger, on which I chose to have only onions.  The burger were not particular good, and they were very small, but that didn’t matter.  What mattered was that this was the original.  That, a hundred years ago, someone decided to put some chopped meat between two slices of toast.  Now, you can go to a supermarket and buy bread specifically designed to hold the chopped meat.

Yale was not too far away, so we left the car.  There were five National Historic Landmarks within a one-mile walk, so we went to each one in turn, almost a repeat of our tour of Princeton’s National Historic Landmarks last month.  We started with the oldest building on campus, Connecticut Hall, which took a bit of an effort to find.

I lit up a Churchill, and we were on our way, cutting across the New Haven Green, another National Historic Landmark, the main town square.  It was then obvious we were in town and no longer on campus.  The next three sites to see were homes of former Yale notables.

We headed down Trumbull Street, which housed two of the homes.  The first home belonged to Lafayette Mendel, who discovered Vitamins A and B, nothing to sneeze at, now a law office.  We headed to the other end of Trumbull Street.

As we walked, we noticed with shock that almost every building on the street was now type of professional office, mostly law offices.  We got to the home of Russell Henry Chittenden, who was considered the “Father of American Biochemistry.”  It was a law office.  Now it’s abandoned.

I looked up the remaining sites and realized that another site was nearby, the former home of James Dwight Dana, an eminent geology professor.  There were two sites left in New Haven, but we needed to get the car.  Besides, my cigar was almost done.  It was less than a mile back to the car, so we made our way.

My friends needed water, and, when they stopped, I saw a cigar lounge, so I stopped there to get some cigars and a whiskey.  They had a special edition Connecticut cigar, one of my favorite brands.  That doesn’t mean the cigar was only sold in Connecticut.  It means that it used Connecticut tobacco for the wrapper.  Reader, you know me well enough to know that I was incapable of not buying that.  I lit that up, the brand was My Father, and waited in the lounge for my friends.

We headed back to the car and put the cemetery in the GPS.  Grove Street Cemetery housed such luminaries as Eli Whitney, Noah Webster, and Roger Sherman.  We got there just as it was closing and raced to find Roger Sherman’s grave, finding it with some difficulty.

The last NHL in New Haven was the Connecticut Agriculture Experiment Station, where Vitamin A was first created.  We got there in due time, but there was nothing to see, so we just took a few ceremonial pictures.  That left the oldest house in Connecticut, the Henry Whitfield House, as our next destination, but it was about 20 minutes away, and my cigar would not last that long.

I had misremembered the itinerary I put together and forgotten that the last NHL of the day was west of Mystic, which meant we had two sites before Mystic, instead of one.  If I had remembered, I would have lit up a cigar at the first site and been done with it before we got to Mystic.  Instead, I lit up my smallest cigar, a Jericho Hill, thinking I’d finish it before we got to Mystic.  The stone house formerly belonging to Reverend Whitfield was clearly old.  It looked like it was 350 years old, no doubt.  As we were preparing to leave, all starving at that point, I realized my mistake. 

Worse, the cigar would not last until the next site, since I had chosen such a small cigar.  I got a snack and lit up my second smallest cigar, a Camacho, as we drove to New London, where Eugene O’Neil’s Summer House was.  It was a nice house, but we were all starving, the hamburgers having been nowhere near satisfying.  Dinner was to be at Mystic Pizza, and we joked if we’d each eat a whole pie.  I took some ceremonial pictures and got back in the car.

We headed straight to Mystic.  Like Louis’s Lunch the quality of the food was not why we were going.  It’s famous and iconic status was the reason.  I love that movie.  We couldn’t not go.  I ordered a large house special and a Diet Coke for myself.  My friends got a large cheese to share.

The pizza was very disappointing.  There are so many places within a short walk of my apartment in New York that have better pizza.  The crust couldn’t even hold all the toppings of the house special.  I was so disappointed.  In the end, I wound up forgoing the crust and just eating the toppings with a knife and fork.  That was really good.  I also got a t-shirt, of course.  We went back to the car to get supplies and then headed to the waterfront, where we found a bench and I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that we can make our way to Newport.  Mystic is such a lovely town, and I would have been happy spending a whole weekend here, but, alas, we are only spending two hours here.

Newport, Rhode Island

Well, I don’t really have much more to write, but I picked this hotel, instead of getting a cheaper hotel in Warwick or Jamestown or Bristol, so that I could write an entry with a Newark dateline, so, by golly, I’m writing something, and I’m going to keep writing until my Chinese food comes, or until I have a respectable entry.  Oh right, that Chinese food.  It’s here.  I need to pause.

Okay, so, it’s here, so I’ll just quickly wrap up.  As we were sitting at Mystic Pizza, starving, we joked about our adventures with Chinese food in Dover last time and said that we needed to get Chinese food.  Well, after eating a whole pizza that seemed less likely.  After stopping at two places for ice cream (for comparison purposes, of course), it seemed like it was going to happen.  The cookie I ate in the car pretty much cancelled out any possibility of Chinese food.  However, in the end, I ordered it because I couldn’t not do it.

Okay, so after we closed, we stopped for ice cream, then went to the spice shop, then went to another ice cream place, then back to the car.  We drove the first half of the drive almost entirely in silence, me left to my thoughts, my friends to their electronic devices.  The second half was spent discussing a news item, some police action in Long Island.  Before long, we got to the hotel, checked in, headed to the room, and I ordered my Chinese food.  I then proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can enjoy my Chinese food.

Wildest Dreams: The Experience - Days 3, 4 - Out of Africa (and The Return Journey)

9/14/15, “Out of Africa”

Victoria Falls Airport, Zimbabwe (VFA)

It has been less than 48 hours since I landed at this airport, and now it is time to fly home.  These short 48 hours have been the trip of a lifetime, and the “Wildest Dreams” moniker was well deserved.  In terms of travel destinations, the Seven Natural Wonders of the World very well may be the top of the list.  The Grand Canyon, the Paricutin Volcano, the Northern Lights, Victoria Falls, the Harbour of Rio, the Great Barrier Reef, and Everest.  All remarkable sites.  All worth a trip in and of themselves.  However, how much time can you spend looking at a canyon, a volcano, lights, a waterfall, a harbor, a reef, or a mountain, no matter how wondrous it might be?

An hour is plenty.  Two days is pushing it, though, other than the Paricutin Volcano, spending less than two days at any one of those wonders feels like selling it short.  I am flying out of Africa today, but I will return, in November when I go to Egypt, again whenever I go to Casablanca, and I’m sure there will be other trips to Africa in my future.  I’d love to go on a real safari in Kenya at some point.  I still owe Ghana a trip, maybe charter a boat from Ghana that will take me to the place where my GPS will read (0.000, 0.000).  There is so much I could do in Africa, but, after Egypt, I will probably not return until my 30s.

After I closed last night, I published my entry and uploaded my photos, but I could not fall asleep out there, in no small part due to the bugs.  I slept in a bit, until 9 AM, and I had no idea how to spend the two and a half hours I had before I needed to leave for my flight.  Correction, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.  The order was less clear.  I needed to have breakfast, pack, shower, change into my suit, and go to the falls one last time.  Would I wear casual clothes to the falls, then come back and shower and change?  Would I have breakfast first, then shower and change, then go to the falls?  When would I pack?  Time was a factor, too, and I wanted to have one last birthday cigar.

In the end, I headed down to breakfast, where I got much the same thing as I had yesterday, having time to enjoy it, first, headed back to the room to pack, then I showered and changed into my suit.  I lit up my Montecristo and headed to the falls, but my friend was not there for me.  I politely turned down the vendors.  I had my ticket from Saturday.  Would that work?  Or would I need to pay again?  I don’t think I was allowed to reuse the ticket, but they let me in.  I took some more ceremonial pictures at the falls, did some video, and took a new profile picture, before heading back.

The porter, whose name is Duly, not Duty, had taken care of my luggage.  I then got in the taxi to the airport.  I mentioned the price the driver had quoted yesterday, and he said it was twice that.  The price named was per person, and there is a two-person minimum.  I argued.  He called the hotel.  The hotel said to charge me the lower price.  I had gotten a bunch of small banknotes for tips, which I had handed out.  I just had one left, and a larger one to pay for the cab, which included a tip.  I was greeted at the airport by a porter.  The line for check-in was atrociously long, but there was no line at premium.  I hoped my Star Alliance silver status would get me in that line.  It did.

I had lit up a Nicaraguan Avo in the car, but the driver told me I couldn’t smoke it.  A first for this trip.  The cigar was still lit when I got to the airport, and I could smell it when I brought it into check-in desk with me.  I asked the porter if he could take it back outside.  He gladly did.  After I checked in, I went back and handed him the last of my small banknotes.  I found a nice curb to sit on, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can proceed with security.  Technically, the return journey hasn’t started yet, as I intend to go into town in Jo-berg, so the return journey would not begin until I am done with Jo-berg, as that counts as an activity.

Pretoria, South Africa

Well, that’s 56 countries down, 141 to go.  I should be at 60 by the end of the year (or by January 8 at the latest).  I really don’t have much to write, since not much has happened in the past 5 hours (is it really only 5 hours since I closed?).  I have really forgotten how beautiful South African women are.  They could definitely give any other country in the world a run for their money.  Cue the line from Mean Girls (“If you’re from Africa, then why are you white?”).  I went through emigration and security and found an overcrowded seating area, filled predominantly with South African and British tourists on their way home.  I slept a little on the plane, read the in-flight magazine, and otherwise wasted time.

We soon landed, and I had calculated that I would have enough time to head into Jo-berg, but, then, I figured, what was the point.  Just dinner, a cigar, an entry, and a picture?  That was hardly Official.  I found out some information.  Then, I learned that Pretoria was not much further.  Ah, that would be Official.  Dinner, flag pin, parliament, entry, cigar.  I would have just enough time.  My driver was awful, not knowing where anything was, and his use of the GPS was not the best.  He got to the place, but he couldn’t figure out how to get into the entrance.  I had arranged a price for transportation to and from Pretoria and two hours of waiting.  He tried to give me some crap about it being two hours with the driving time included.  Bullshit, and I shot him down right away.

He dropped me off at a restaurant called Kream, where I got ostrich and a South African red.  It was staffed by gorgeous waitresses.  Literally, like all of them, gorgeous.  I remembered my Seventh Grade crush and her twin brother.  They were both exceptionally good-looking.  Oh, right, they were from South Africa.  (Then why are they white?)  Reader, watch Mean Girls if you haven’t seen it before.  It’s hilarious.  I paid the check and had my driver take me across the street to the mall.  He had trouble finding the parking area.  I was soon approached by a security officer, who was determined to help me find my flag pin.  Fortunately, I had the Zimbabwean and Zambian flag pins to show as an example.  No luck.  I gave him a small banknote for his help, and he was so appreciative.  He walked me around the entire mall helping me find that flag pin.  No dice.  In the end, we were short on time, so I had to call off the search, and I went back to the car.

The driver took me to the parliament, called the Union Buildings.  I told him I’d be half an hour, and he said that was too long, that it had already been two hours since we left the airport.  I was pissed at this point.  I was very clear with the desk my plan.  I told him he dropped me off at the restaurant at 4:15 PM, and I would be ready to leave the Union Buildings at 6:15 PM, two hours, and went out of the car without another word.  I took my ceremonial pictures in front of the building, lit up a Montecristo (it was actually a Punch this morning, not a Montecristo), and announced, “56,” signifying my visit to South Africa was Official, and I had now been to 56 countries.

Pretoria is the same latitude south of the equator as Miami is north of the equator, and it shows.  It looks and feels much like Miami.  The women are just a hell of a lot more beautiful here.  I sat down on the steps of a statue across from the parliament, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head back to the airport.  South Africa is the kind of place that deserves a week to see properly, not a few hours, but, for now, I am able to consider this my 56^th country.

OR Tambo International Airport, South Africa (JNB)

Well, my trip is now at an end, and the return journey may begin.  What a brutal return journey it will be.  The flight is 15 hours.  Even if I sleep for 8 hours, that still leaves 7 hours.  I am not looking forward to it, and I hope like hell I have a good seat.  It would be great if the two middle seats were empty again.  I am tired as hell, and I’m ready to go home, except I’m not.  I want to stay.  I don’t want to come back.  I want to stay.  I want to stay until March.  I want to visit every country, capital, and WHS, not just in southern Africa, but all of Africa.  I literally want to see it all, from here to Timbuktu.  That is not an option.  I have used up all of my PTO for the year, and I have to get back to work.

Ernest Hemingway wrote that there was never a morning in Africa when he didn’t wake up happy.  It’s something that’s very easy for a tourist to say, and I agree with him, but I doubt the locals would agree.  The hardship of living here, in the village, not a tourist hotel, has to be unmatched.  When food is unaffordable, and you have to have rice airlifted to your country because your country is too poor to afford such a basic staple, you are not waking up happy.  When you have to spend every day trying to fleece tourists under the hot sun, you are not waking up happy.  When you are Ernest Hemingway writing your next novel or me working on my Travelogue, then, yes, you can wake up happy, every morning.  I have been more purely happy this trip than I have been in quite some time.

It might not just be the greatest short trip I’ve ever taken, but it might even be a top ten trip of all time.  It’s certainly top three for the year (Antarctica and TLGSRTA have it beat).  However, Cuba, Sweden, Belize, Mexico, New Mexico, and even the Lesser Antilles pale in comparison to this trip.  As I have mentioned, this has been my first time to Africa, and I want to go back, as often as possible.  I don’t think I could make it annual voyage, as there are only like three destinations in Africa that have direct flights from NYC, other than Jo-berg and Cairo.  I know Accra and Casablanca do, and I think Nairobi or one of the neighboring capitals might.  Casablanca and Ghana are doable as a two-day weekend, but others are harder.  Further, a lot of the places I’d want to visit (e.g., Timbuktu) are unsafe.

Well, this is a discussion for another time.  Egypt is happening in two months, and, I would love to throw in a weekend to Casablanca, but my travel itineraries are pretty much fully booked for the next two years.  In about half an hour, I will be heading to the gate, where I will be trapped in that aluminum prison for fifteen hours.  For many, the idea of a flight this long would completely preclude and adventure such as this.  For me, it’s just a minor nuisance.

My next international trip will be to Costa Rica, and I will be able to say “Central America Complete,” which is something I have been toiling at for quite some time, and it was not easy.  I will remind my reader of our voyage to the biosphere in Honduras or sneaking into the ruins in Nicaragua.  I will also remind my reader of my adventures in Panama.  It has all worked out, and, once I’m done with Costa Rica, I’ll be free to focus more on finishing up Mexico.

The West Indies are almost complete.  I still need Hispaniola and the Bahamas, along with a revisit to Jamaica to get their new WHS.  Bahamas is easy, just an overnight trip from Florida or a weekend from NYC, same with Jamaica.  I could even probably combine them for a three-day weekend.  Same for Hispaniola, separate trips to the DR and Haiti or a three-day trip to cover the pair.  That will just leave US and CAN to complete my North American goals.  Other trips to Egypt, China, Korea, Australia, Rome, London, Antwerp, Rio, and Peru are necessary to complete my goals.  Actually, I think those are the only trips necessary to finish everything out, the destinations I have just listed.  Oh, right, Everest and Babylon (Iraq).  Those will be a challenge to say the least.  Alright, enough of this.

After I closed, we made our way back to the airport.  I gave him a little bit more than the price quoted, though I had not planned to give him a tip.  There was a souvenir shop called SA Flags.  Perfect.  One would think they would have flag pins there if any place would, right?  Wrong.  They were sold out.  They told me they would have it past security.  Okay, fine.

I went to security and emigration.  When I got to emigration, the officer kept looking at me funny.  He asked if I was ever on TV.  I said that I had been once or twice (when I got filmed collecting autographs), and I told him about that.  He swore he remembered me.  Seriously?  He remembered seeing my face for about three seconds 3 years ago?  I didn’t believe it, but I played along.  I found some other souvenir shops, and there was a variety of flag pins, but none of them were right.  There was a very elegant rectangular one with a thick border.  Another store had the right one, but it was way, way too big, like four times too big.  I got the elegant one, along with a mug and t-shirt.

I then headed to duty-free, where I got a bottle of their local liqueur, along with two bottles of wine (one for me and my friends to drink, one to give to my mother) and three cigars.  I headed up to the smoking lounge, where I ordered a coffee, lit up one of the cigars (a Romeo y Julieta), charged my electronics, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can begin the long and arduous return journey.  I am very happy with how my life is right now, and it has been a great way to start my 29^th year and the New Year, which coincidentally began on the same day.

9/15/15, “The Return Journey”

En route, NYC Taxi 6M92

Well, in summary, the return journey was long and boring.  I left Pretoria almost 20 hours ago, and it’s been 18 hours since I closed at JNB.  After I closed, I headed the boarding gate, stopping to buy a bottle of water on the way.  I left it sealed.  There was a secondary security checkpoint before the gate, and they made me throw out my bottle of water.  I pointed out that it was still sealed and that I bought it in the airport.  They didn’t care.  I drank half of it and threw out the rest.  I knew I could get more water on the plane, and I did, as much water as I could possibly drink.

I wanted to watch a movie, but, well this was where it got complicated.  They did the beverage service first, before the meal service, and I didn’t want to get up once I started the movie, and I needed to go to the bathroom before I started the movie, so I figured I’d go between the beverage and the meal service.  I opted for Gran Torino, which I vote as the greatest movie of the past 20 years and a top five movie of all time.

The flight attendant, well, there was something special about her.  She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense.  In fact, if I saw her face in a magazine, I probably wouldn’t have given it a second glance, but the way she moved, the way she conducted herself, was with such a grace that is impossible to put into words.  It was like every motion she made served a purpose and there were no unnecessary motions, each one tying into the last.  When she got to our row, as we were debating our drinks orders, she magically produced three bottles of water, as if from nowhere.  I asked for a bottle of South African wine.  She asked which type I wanted, merlot or a different variety, “or both?” she offered causally.

In addition to the bottle of the water and the wine, I got a gin and a Diet Coke, lots of liquid, right.  The dinner was a chicken dish, which was delicious, and I ate every bite.  The movie did not disappoint either.  It had been a few years since I’d seen it, and I had forgotten just how perfect of a movie it was.  I can’t believe it wasn’t nominated for a single Oscar.  It should have swept the field.  The ending, as always, brought tears to my eyes.  I finished the rest of my liquids and was soon asleep.  I slept sporadically throughout the flight, certainly getting at least 8 hours of sleep, snacking and drinking (water, not alcohol), when I was awake.  As predicted, the 15-hour flight was only a minor nuisance, not a game-changer.

When they woke us up for breakfast, my seatmate (as before, it was two of us in a four-seater), joked that I kept moving about the seats as I slept.  I probably encroached into the third seat more than I should have.  He said that he watched Dirty Harry.  I laughed, saying I went with a Clint Eastwood film, too, and he agreed that Gran Torino was a great one.  Breakfast was good, too, the coffee not so much.  We soon landed, and my phone lit up with notifications.  I sorted through all of them and made my way to baggage claim.  My bag came out, and I cleared Customs without a single question being asked.

I headed outside and grabbed a taxi back to Grand Central, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out this trip.  Next stop: a weekend trip to Connecticut and Rhode Island to compliment last month’s trip to New Jersey and Delaware, same travelling companions.

Wildest Dreams: The Experience - Day 2 - Birthday Celebrations

9/13/15, “Birthday Celebrations”

Hwange, Zimbabwe (Hwange National Park)

20 years ago, we went to the Bronx Zoon for my birthday.  This wins.  I am in Africa, looking at zebras, warthogs, kudu, crocodiles, hippos, waterbucks, elephants, wildebeasts, and all sorts of birds, in their natural habitat.  This was where Cecil the Lion lived.  It should be a very familiar scene to anyone who has watched the new “Wildest Dreams” music video.  This is exactly what I am doing here.  Living out my wildest dreams.  All that’s missing is a girl in a nice dress with red lips and rosy cheeks saying that I’m so tall and handsome as hell.

I am now 28 years old, and my life is not at all where I expected it to be.  A year ago today, in Andorra la Vella, I wrote almost the exact same thing, but I am much happier now than I was a year ago today, and I am enjoying this trip far more.  For all of my travel goals, my single wildest dream, the same as it was last year, the same as it has been since I was 16 is the happy life with a loving wife and two kids, living in a nice house, not seeing zebras in their natural habitat.  All the people who tell me how jealous they are of my travels, they are all either married or in happily committed relationships.  I never tell them how instantly I would trade places with them, give up all the travels to be happily married.

I am 28, and I feel old.  I am ready to settle down, but, until I do, until I find the person with whom I will spend the rest of my life, I will continue my travels, to pursue my travel goals, to live out my wildest dreams.  On that note, when I was at NYU, a girl and I talked about getting married in 2013.  We were at least half serious.  She got married this weekend.  It came as such a shock seeing her in a white dress, marrying someone else.  I haven’t seen her in 7 years, but that didn’t make it any less shocking to see it come through on my Facebook feed.  Alright, enough about this.

After I closed last night, I was so comfortable, and the weather was perfect, I could have slept out there for the night.  I wound up napping a bit in the chair before I headed in.  I wanted a little snack, well, dessert.  I stopped by the bar and asked to see the dessert menu.  They said they would bring something to my room.  I opted for the brownie with ice cream.  Afterwards, I had my Castello as I published my entry and uploaded my photos.

I overslept, not waking up until almost 7 AM.  I was supposed to be up at 6 AM.  I threw on my safari gear (sneakers, cargo shorts, button down short sleeve shirt) and headed to breakfast.  It was a traditional English-style breakfast buffet, and I got the works, along with English Breakfast tea.  I was behind schedule, so I didn’t really have time to enjoy it.  My driver was waiting for me.  We got on the room, stopping at an ATM along the way so that I’d have money for his outrageous fee.

As we drove, an easy drive, with easy navigation, I realized that I should have just rented a car.  I lit up a Davidoff Escurio (robusto, not toro) and listened to “State of Grace.”  We were soon at the park, and I switched to “Wildest Dreams.”  When we got to the camp, we made all of the necessary arrangements, and I got a much-needed Coke Zero.  I also did a little bit of filming for the music video I want to post to Snapchat.  I will also do a more involved full-length version for Facebook.  We got in the vehicle, and I lit up a Montecristo.

We saw a few animals, but the main attraction was the platform by the watering hole.  I filmed the scenery shots as I finished my cigar.  I then headed up to the platform, where I lit up a Padron and proceeded to write this entry, as I watched the animals.  I will now close so that I can finish filming for the music video.  My next entry should be from Zambia.

Livingstone, Zambia (Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls World Heritage Site)

One might think that, for the travels I have done to exotic places, I would learn how not to get conned.  How then have I managed to get conned out of a not insignificant amount of money this afternoon?  Technically I wasn’t conned, as everything I spent the money on was a great price.  I just spent far more than I wanted to spend.  I’ll be glad for the souvenirs when I get home, I’m just a little annoyed I got pressured into it.

After I closed, we filmed the videos and then went back to the camp.  I wanted game meat.  I got some souvenirs at the camp, but the selection was limited.  We found a restaurant at the Hwange Safari Lodge.  My readers of last night’s entry should find the name familiar.  They said they had some impala chops, which they would cook up for us.  I ordered a beer and lit up a Four Kicks while we waited, in view of the watering hole.  The impala was delicious.

We then headed back towards the town, and I was really tired, just wanting to sleep until we got to Vic Falls.  We stopped at a curios market, where I got some more small carvings of animals.  We were soon at Vic Falls, and my driver took me to the Elephant Walk, where I ordered my custom carving yesterday.  It was perfect.  I asked how much he wanted.  He told me to tell how much I was willing to pay.  I asked him for his price.  Again, he refused.  I named my price.  He laughed and told me it was too much.  I doubled it.  He laughed again and finally stated a number 8 times my original price.  I told him it was too much and handed it back to him.  We haggled.  In the end, we agreed on a number 3 times my original price, less than half of his price.

I made my way back to the car.  I went to the hotel, settled in, and headed right back out to Zambia.  It was later than I had expected, and I had stuff to do in Zambia.  I was soon at the border, escorted once more by my friend, and I lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey for the walk.  The border crossings were mere formalities.  I saw the bungee jumping, and I decided against it, both due to time and money constraints, and fear to a smaller degree.  When I got to the entrance to WHS, I learned that the Devil’s Pool was not sold out, but it was done for the day, and the timing would not work tomorrow.  Fuck.

That was when I walked into the souvenir market.  I wanted two things: an ashtray and a flag pin.  I got the ashtray but not the flag pin.  They had this ingenious scam, which I kept falling for, way too many times.  They offered to give me two free things in exchange for my cigar, but, when I picked out the two things, they said the second one was too expensive, and they needed some more money.  We’d haggle, I’d get the cigar back, and I’d wind up buying something I didn’t really need.

I quickly learned to switch to my cheap Cubans, but the cigar was just a gimmick for them.  A way to start the sale.  Eventually, after I got a coffee mug, an ashtray, some carvings, two paintings, and two keychains, I was almost out of cash, and I was fed up at this point.  I switched tactics and loudly announced that I wanted a flag pin and nothing else.  After a couple of false alarms, I just started walking, knowing that if anyone had it, they’d run up to me with it.  No one did.

I got a soda and ice cream and headed to the park, where I took some ceremonial pictures and found a bench with a great view, where I lit up an H. Upmann and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head out and get to dinner.

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

In perhaps a marked sign of maturity, this is the first birthday for as long as I can remember where I didn’t get utterly and royally toasted.  I’d say that Zimbabwe is not exactly a place to get toasted, but then neither was Andorra la Vella, which didn’t stop me from drinking the better part of a bottle of local wine at dinner and and in my hotel room after dinner with a cigar.  Bermuda, fine, that’s a party town, but Victoria Falls is a place where classy British tourists go on holiday.

The locals drink a lot, but not the tourists.  The only bars around are really at the hotels.  I doubt there is a strip club in the whole country.  It’s a classy place by those standards.  As for the locals, when I told my taxi driver I didn’t drink too much, he asked, “Oh, so only like two or three beers a night?”  Wait, seriously?  That’s their definition of “not a big drinker”?  If a friend told me he had two or three beers every night, I’d think he had a drinking problem.

When I’m New York, I think two or three drinks a week is more typical.  However, it’s my birthday, and I’m expected to celebrate.  I celebrated.  In a different way, and it’s going to go down as one of my best birthdays of all time.  A Full English breakfast in Zimbabwe, followed by seeing animals in Hwange National Park, having locally caught impala for lunch, getting the ultimate souvenir custom made for me, seeing the falls again in a new country, local goat stew for dinner, going to the casino, winning at the casino, and coming back to my hotel to write in view of the bridge was how I spent my birthday.

It was amazing.  I don’t want to go home.  Unfortunately, I will be heading to the airport in 12 hours, but I can hardly believe that just 12 hours past I was at Hwange National Park.  It feels like a lifetime ago, and it feels like I have been here for weeks, not less than 36 hours.  I’m pretty tired now, and I’m seriously considering sleeping out here on this lawn chair, for at least part of the night.  I want to see the falls again in the morning, but that only takes an hour, which means I could sleep until 9 AM if I want, and I have a 15-hour flight tomorrow to sleep some more.  I’m not worried about sleep.  It is like my last night in India.

I am thinking of that Aerosmith song (“I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing”).  If this is going to be the end of my trip, then I would have it be such an end as to be worthy of remembrance (yay LOTR!).  That was my thought process in India, when I stayed out in the garden until 4 AM.  Maybe I’ll do the same thing tonight.  What does it matter?  This is my birthday, and I will remember this night the rest of my life, instead of the drunken flashes I have of Hamilton, Bermuda and Andorra la Vella, Andorra.  I was depressed each of those nights.  I was drinking to forget.  Tonight, I am happy.  I am staying sober so that I remember all of it.

After I closed, I found a taxi driver who said he’d take care of me for the rest of the night.  He’d take me to find my flag pin, then to the restaurant, then come back for me to take me to the border.  The price was reasonable, but I was out of dollars and short on kwacha.  The ATMs in Zambia only dispensed kwacha, and I didn’t want to be left with any extra.  We quickly found my flag pin, and the price he quoted seemed outrageously high.  The reason being I had the wrong exchange rate in my head, since the ice cream and soda guy had apparently gipped me on the change, giving me only half the change in kwacha, or maybe he did the exchange wrong.  Either way, I had thought it was four to one, but it was actually eight to one.  The price I quoted, in kwacha, he scoffed at, and we haggled a little, coming to a price that was still too high for a flag pin, but I needed it, and he seemed to be the only one who had it.

The driver then took me to an ATM, where I withdraw a very small amount, but it was enough to pay him.  For dinner, I went to a place called Zambezi Café, which had all sorts of local, African, and Caribbean offerings.  I lit up my Ardor pipe and ordered a local beer, appropriately named Mosi.  I then asked for a dinner recommendation.  She said the local favorite was the goat stew.  I got it.  It was delicious.  Not as good as the impala but, still, delicious.  I finished my pipe as I waited for the check and got a coffee and cookies to go.  It was probably the cheapest birthday dinner I’ve ever had.  I think it was less than a tenth of the price of my meal in Andorra la Vella last year, and I’m sure my meal in Rome next year will be ten to twenty times as much.

We went to the border, and, to call Zambian emigration procedures a formality would be a gross understatement.  They were having their dinner, so the woman came over, and she held the stamp in one hand.  I figured her other had food on it, and I didn’t want to get my passport dirty, so I opened it up to the page with my visa.  She stamped the page without even looking at the photo page.  My driver met me on the other side.  Apparently they have specially designated taxis to go through the transit zone, since he used one of those.  I used pretty much the last of my kwacha to pay him, though I still have a little left as souvenirs.  Zimbabwe immigration actually scanned my passport, but it was still a mere formality.

I was then on the other side, a mile from my hotel, and it was pitch black.  No one else was around.  Wait, I wasn’t going to walk back to the hotel.  I man shining a flashlight soon approached and asked if I needed a taxi.  I did.  It was quite cheap, but I didn’t have enough left between kwacha and dollars to pay him, so we had to stop at an ATM.  I got a small amount, just enough to get me home and have a little leftover in case I wanted to head into town at Jo-berg.  However, the banknotes were large, and he didn’t have change, but we sorted that out.  I needed a nap.  I crashed almost as soon as I got to my room, having no idea what I wanted to do for the night.

I woke up close to 10 PM.  I wanted to go to the casino, but I wanted dessert first.  They confirmed the casino was open until past midnight, but there was no food.  However, they arranged for me to get a dessert.  The waiter remembered me from last night and asked if I wanted the same thing as last night (a brownie with ice cream).  I did, along with a coffee.  After I was finished, I asked if it was safe to walk down the road to the casino.  He said it was, but I needed to watch out for the elephants.  I’m not sure if he was joking.  Long story short, since I’m really tired now, I won a nice amount at the blackjack table, gave a little of it back at the slots, had a beer, lit up an El Credito, and headed back to my hotel.  I went to the room to change and came back outside.

I got another local beer (my fourth drink of the entire day, as opposed to four drinks in 2 hours as has been more typical on my birthday celebrations), and went to look for my lounge chair from last night.  It was on the opposite side of the pathway but still in view of the bridge.  I sat down, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and take a nap.  I really don’t want to go home tomorrow.  If had the money and vacation days, I’d hire a driver and have him take me to every country, capital, and world heritage site in southern Africa.  We could probably do it in a month, 18 days if we pushed it.