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.

Wildest Dreams: The Experience - Day 1 - My Sixth Continent

9/12/15, “My Sixth Continent”

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe (Mosi-oa-Tunya/Victoria Falls National Park)

Six down, one to go.  Next December, when I set foot in Melbourne, I will have visited all seven continents.  I still remember the first time I set foot on each continent, well, except for North America, seeing as I was born here.  First came Europe (Norway) when I was 12.  It was not until I was 25 that I visited my third continent, Asia, when I went to Israel.  Last December, at the age of 27, I got four and five when I went to Argentina and Antarctica.  Now, here in Zimbabwe, the day before my 28^th Birthday, I have visited my sixth continent.

Ironically, it seems that something happens to my water bottle each time I visit a new continent.  In Israel, I lost my first water bottle.  In Antarctica, the second one broke.  Today, as I took my picture at Victoria Falls Airport, I noted that the lid strap on my third water bottle broke.  It’s an easy repair or replacement, but it’s a nuisance until I manage it.  I don’t care.  I am sitting in view of the largest waterfall in the world.  Well, I am when the people taking photos don’t obstruct my view.

To me, this is familiar, writing in this Travelogue in a scenic spot.  To the people smiling at me, it is a novelty, a story they will tell their friends back home.  More strangers who will have stories about me.  Reader, just think about all the strangers you have stories about.  Doesn’t that mean there are strangers who tell stories about you?

It is clearly deserving of its title as one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, just as were the Grand Canyon, the Paricutin Volcano, and the Northern Lights.  I have no doubt that Harbor of Rio, Everest, and the Great Barrier Reef, all of which I believe I will see next year, will live up to the title, too.  I have had plenty of time to write since I closed at Kennedy, but I have held off.  I wanted this entry to start with Victoria Falls dateline and this vista.

The flight was unadventurous, especially for a 15-hour flight.  I slept most of it.  The row of four only had me and one other guy, and he suggested we take three seats to nap in shifts.  I was fine with that, and I slept well, ate a lot, too, and saw the old Hitchcock film, “Strangers on a Train,” which was pretty fun.  I went through the transit at JNB and then headed to the Duty-Free shop, where I got two boxes of cigars, including my traditional birthday box, Montecristo No. 4, the same box I have gotten on my birthday for three years in a row now.

I really hope this computer is water-resistant.  I’m replacing it with an Acer as soon as I get home, so it just needs to survive the trip, but the mists from the falls are not helping.  Anyway, I went to the smoking lounge, which was very elegant, and I realized I didn’t have means to charge my phone.  I asked if they had a USB port, and they gladly plugged it into their computer terminal.  To call African service obsequious would be a gross understatement.  I got a coffee and enjoyed a Punch.  I then decided to buy adapters, which I knew I’d need for the trip, and Zimbabwe still uses British adapters, so it wasn’t a total waste.

It was soon time to board, and I had to gate-check my bag.  I slept most of the flight, and we were soon in Zimbabwe.  As I got off the plane, I asked myself if I should say it, meaning should I announce my sixth continent.  I decided to wait.  I did however, take a ceremonial picture at the welcome sign, which was when I noticed the strap on my water bottle was broken.  Immigration was just a formality and paying the visa fee, a cross-border visa that covered both Zimbabwe and Zambia.  I took a cab into town, and he told me about the options for exploring the area.  I wanted to swim the Devil’s Pool and go to Hwange National Park, neither of which were as easy (or as cheap) as I expected.

I came here to see the falls.  I’ve seen the falls.  Technically, I could get my souvenirs, have my meal, and go home.  Whatever I do tomorrow is a bonus.  I got to the hotel, and the service once more was beyond obsequious.  I mentioned that I wanted to swim the Devil’s Pool and go to Hwange.  They set their entire activities department on finding out for me, and they spent an hour looking into it.  I was shocked at the price they quoted for Hwange, and I’m not sure it’s worth it.  The Devil’s Pool, they said you need a reservation, and it’s fully booked for my entire stay.  Fuck.

I lit up a Montecristo during this process and headed to the falls.  Once I got to the entrance, a helpful guide walked me through the path to the park, saying he’d keep the hawkers off of me.  He helped.  I gave him a tip.  He earned it.  People here have names like Duty and Honor and Champion, and it shows.  I finished my cigar before I got to the information desk.  I paid the entrance fee, and they were able to show me where the inscription photo was taken.  It is quite possibly where I am sitting right now, though it is hard to tell now that we are in the “dry” season.  I put dry in quotes, since it still feels and looks plenty wet.

Once I looked at the viewpoints, I lit up my Cohiba and then walked around, in complete awe of the falls.  It puts Niagara to shame.  I found my spot with a good view of the falls, where I proceeded to write this entry, and lit up a Rome after I finished the Cohiba.  I will now close so that I can make my way back and keep singing “Wildest Dreams.”

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

I don’t like to count a visit (NPS, WHS, new country, new continent, etc.) until I try feel like I’ve visited that country.  That’s why National Parks need cigars and hikes, why airports don’t count, why I include the Official meal.  Stepping into my hotel in Victoria Falls, it didn’t feel like I was in Africa.  Even the falls themselves could have been anywhere in the world.  It just so happened that they were in Africa.  It wasn’t until my adventure tonight that I truly felt like I was in Africa.  Eating Pumbaa for dinner, what could be more African than that?

After I closed, I made my way back to the entrance, checking out a few more vistas along the way (I have no fucking idea how I’m going to pick which few photos to include in this entry.  11 people Liked my selfie in front of the falls, which is an usually high number for me.  There are so many other great photos.  I headed to the entrance and got the requisite souvenirs (keychain, t-shirt, and mug), all of which were overpriced.  I then made a deal to purchase a hyperinflated Zimbabwean banknote with literally 13 more digits on it than the price I paid for it US dollars.  Yes, I got an exchange rate of 4 trillion to 1.

My friend was waiting for me, and he escorted me back to the hotel, telling me where I could find souvenirs and game meat for dinner.  I needed two more things from Zimbabwe: a flag pin and replica of the falls.  The flag pin I found easily, but the replica, that was much harder.  I am heading to Hwange National Park in the morning, which should be a familiar name to anyone who has read anything about Cecil the Lion, and I will not be back to Victoria Falls until around 1 or 2 PM.  My plan is to then head straight to Zambia, possibly changing first.

It is a bit of conundrum for me, since I, as a rule, wear my suit whenever I cross an international border, but the two activities I’m doing in Zambia (bungee jumping and swimming) are not easily done in a suit.  Hiking in a suit is one thing, swimming quite another.  Well, long story short, I found two people willing to custom carve a replica of the falls for me.  The price will be very reasonable by my standards.

Alright, I’m really tired, so I’m going to wrap up.  It is not yet 10 PM local time, 4 PM New York time, but is also really the next day, since I haven’t slept in a bed since Thursday night, and I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost a week.  One of the shopkeepers also set me up with a taxi, which was a big rip-off.  Actually, all the tourist services here are a rip-off, but I’d wager that a significant portion of this country’s tourist income comes from the falls and related activities.

Boma was the name of the restaurant I wanted to eat at, as they had a game buffet, which would have been perfect for my first Official meal in Africa.  The taxi driver said I needed a reservation.  It seems like you need a reservation for everything here, taxis, restaurants, even to go swimming.  It turned out a wedding party had booked Boma for the night, and it was unavailable, but he assured me I could get any meat I wanted cooked fresh at the main restaurant.  Okay, that would work.  He made a reservation for right away.

As we drove, he pointed to some guinea fowl on one side of the rode and some elephants on the other side.  Wait.  Elephants?  Would I like him to pull over so that I could see the elephants?  Absofuckinglutely!  There were elephants.  Like actual elephants.  We got to the hotel, which had the restaurants, and it was 6:10 PM.  That was when I got the bad news.  The bar stopped serving food, and the restaurant would not start serving food until 7 PM.  Wait, what?  I was absolutely starving. And I could not wait that long to eat.  I was going to demand that my driver take me back to the hotel, but he left before we could resolve everything.

They had some bar snacks, which they gave me with my beer, and it was enough to tide me over until dinner.  My phone’s battery, that was another story.  You could see elephants watering from the bar’s patio.  By the time I was done with my beer and snacks, it was getting dark, my phone was almost dead, and it was almost 7 PM.  I had just enough battery for me food pictures and to post to social media.

I didn’t see any appetizers I liked, and she recommended the warthog from dinner.  It was not local, instead brought in from South Africa, but, still, it was Pumbaa!  I got a glass of South African shiraz to go with it.  The warthog was delicious, but I only ate about half the sides and drank less than half the glass of of wine.  I then handed her the driver’s card when I asked for the check.  Literally as an afterthought, I announced, “54,” indicating that I had now visited 54 countries.  It seemed so insignificant compared to the new continent and the NWOTW.  She took care of everything, and my car was soon there, a different driver this time.  I lit up an OpusX on the ride.  I got to the hotel and relaxed for a bit as my phone charged.

I then went outside and found a nice lounge chair with a view of the bridge, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish.  Reader, this will be the last entry I write as a 27-year-old.  I only have 2 more years to finish my 30 Goals, and I like to be in good shape to do it.  The only minor snag is Babylon, for two reasons.  First, no one really knows where the Hanging Gardens of Babylon were, or if they even actually existed.  Second, the areas where they are thought to possibly be are probably two of the least safe places in the world.  Will the security situation change enough in 2 years to make it feasible?  I certainly hope so.

Wildest Dreams: The Experience - Day 0 - A Day Remembered

“Wildest Dreams: The Experience”

9/11/15, “A Day Remembered”

John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York (JFK)

For the rest of our lives, it will always be impossible to write that date without remembering the tragic events of 14 years ago, impossible.  It was a day that changed each of our lives forever.  It is the reason I have to take my shoes off when I go through airport security, and I why I cannot bring liquids with me, either, but that is so unimportant.  For all the anti-TSA articles we have ready, one thing is left out.  In the past 14 years, there has not been a single airborne terrorist attack or hijacking in the homeland.  Our leaders have done what they need to do keep us safe, and that is what matters most, not that I have to refill my water bottle or take my shoes off and on.  No, what matters is that I feel safe flying an airplane.

Today, I am going off to live out my “Wildest Dreams,” but it would be remiss to begin talking about them without first mentioning those whose dreams died in the instant the first plane hit the tower.  Three thousand lives were lost that day, countless more lives changed forever, family and friends, people whose jobs were destroyed with the very tower that contained their offices, soliders who died avenging the attacks and fighting to keep us safe.  Maybe when my father was my age, Baghdad was seen as a popular tourist destination, somewhere someone might go to live out their wildest dreams, but the Americans who went there under President Bush’s tenure went there to risk their lives to defend our freedom, and many died for that honor.  They did not get live out their wildest dreams, nor did their families.

Me, here I am sitting in an airport, about to get on a plane to Africa, for no other reason than to see the biggest waterfall in the world, one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World (just Rio, Everest, and the Barrier Reef will be left after this).  Okay, why do I keep mentioning my “Wildest Dreams?”  Well, it turned out that Taylor’s Swift “Wildest Dreams” music video was set in Zimbabwe.  I did not plan this trip around the video, but the name wrote itself.  It’s my second favorite track on the album, and the one that makes me swoon the most.  Just a couple of weeks ago, she released the music video.  I had been planning to go to Victoria Falls for my 28^th Birthday for over 2 years now, so that was quite a shocker to see scenes from Zimbabwe in Taylor’s new music video only two weeks before I was leaving.  Hence the name.

When I set out to see the world, it was initially a very simple list: all US States and World Heritage Sites.  All Canadian Provinces and WHS soon joined the list.  I did not expect to be going to Zimbabwe.  These things feel unreal.  Mexico, fine, that’s kind of familiar, even Cuba was somewhat normal.  However, Zimbabwe, Victoria Falls?  That’s something special.  It’s one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World for a reason, and now, it’s becoming a reality.

I have no schedule for my 48 hours in Zimbabwe, though I do have a few activities in mind, some of them normal (a side trip to Hwange National Park to see the animals, etc.), others extraordinary (bungee jumping 300 feet off a bridge over the falls, swimming at the little pond at the top of falls, etc.).  However, all of them fall within the category of living out my “wildest dreams.”  I see airplanes here that would take me to Hawaii, the Middle East, India, Central America, and Europe.  However, the one that I am about to board will take me to Africa.  Once I set foot on solid ground in Africa tomorrow, I will only have one continent left: Australia.

Day 0 has really only consisted of getting to airport.  I went to a movie last night, for no other reason than to keep my streak alive (it’s been 9 weeks of checking in at the same theatre now, I’ve set a record).  I chose “A Walk in the Woods,” which was really fun, even if slow at times, but the good far outweighed the bad.  I had to wake up early, since I said I would do some remote work this morning before my flight.  I set my alarm to 6:20 AM but woke up naturally before 6 AM, absolutely freezing for some reason.

I did some work on my laptop in bed before I got ready.  I then went to McDonald’s for breakfast and caught a cab to the airport, doing more work in the cab.  I did pretty much everything I needed to do by the time we got to the airport.  Then it happened, at exactly 8:46 AM, everything fell silent, as the airport observed a moment of silence.  It was a very moving experience seeing everything come to a stop like that.  A minute later, everything was underway again, and it happened again at 9:03 AM, though it was less moving the second time around.  I went through security and then headed to my gate, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.

The Royal Route - Day 4 - The Return Journey

9/8/15, “The Return Journey”

En route, NYC Taxi 7C68

I fucked up.  I fucked up big time.  However, if getting to work 40 minutes later was the extent of the repercussions from this trip, which otherwise went perfectly, it’s not that big of a deal.  I can just as easily work 40 minutes later.  After I closed at Benito Juarez (still calling it that), I meanedered through to security.  I put my bag through the x-ray machine and walked through the metal detector, like always.  Neither set off any alarm, yet they still patted me down and searched my bag.  I guess they wanted to look busy at an otherwise empty security checkpoint.

It was over an hour before boarding, and my electronics were slowly dying, since I had trip-planned and budgeted like predicted.  When I finally got on the plane, I learned to my dismay I was seated in between two guys, neither of them particularly small, one taller than I.  At least we had the exit row.  I had trouble falling asleep, but they soon brought food and drinks.  A ham and cheese croissant, pudding, and Diet Coke, yes that would do well.  Between the sugar and caffeine crash, I would soon pass out.  That was exactly what happened, and I woke up as we were making our descent.  It took a long time for my bag to come out, and, when it did, I almost didn’t recognize it, as it had been wrapped in a plastic bag.  I then headed to Customs, and was too groggy to answer his questions properly, but he soon welcomed me home with no hassle.

It was now 8 AM.  Would I take the taxi or the bus?  I opted for the bus.  That was my big mistake.  The bus is supposed to come every half hour, and I feared I had missed the 8 AM bus, but I couldn’t justify spending the extra money on the taxi to save half an hour.  A bus came at like 8:20 AM, but he pointed behind him and told me to take the next bus.  Around 8:35 AM, I asked the lady, who had been on her cell phone the whole time, when the next bus was.  She said that the next bus wasn’t until 9 AM, and she didn’t know I was waiting for the bus, and I should have said something.  Well, maybe if she wasn’t in her cell phone, I would have said something.  I told her what the driver had said, and then a bus came, but it was full.  She said I’d have to wait half an hour.  No, if I took a 9:10 AM bus, I wouldn’t get to the office until close to 11 AM.  That wouldn’t do.

I’d have to bite the bullet and take the taxi, like I should have done 40 minutes earlier.  That was where I fucked up.  Well, I’ll be at the office before 10 AM, won’t be the end of the world.  I got in the taxi, where I proceeded to publish the rest of last night’s entry and write this one once we were en route, which I will now close, along with closing out the trip.  I have done enough reflections on the trip and on Mexico in general.  Next stop: Zimbabwe to live out my “wildest dreams” and see the biggest waterfall in the world, Victoria Falls.

The Royal Route - Day 3 - "Until Next Time"

9/7/15, “Until Next Time”

Tequila, Jalisco, Mexico

I have had tequila in Tequila.  I might say that my life is complete, but I have only now visited 18 of the 33 World Heritage Sites in Mexico.  I will return, at least five more trips it will take me to say, “Mexico Complete.”  Enrique will probably be with me another time, but I’m not as sure now as I was 24 hours ago.  When we part, I will say, “Until next time,” but it is far less certain now that there will be a next time than it was yesterday.

The next trip I take to Mexico will be to the Yucatan peninsula, six WHS in 3 days.  Ambitious, but doable.  Enrique and I were discussing the various options, but, one thing led to another, and my new friend offered to join me.  If I was travelling with a local WHS hunter, I did not need to hire Enrique as a tour guide.  This is a stranger I have never met, have only known for two weeks, only started messaging two days ago.  Now, we’re planning a three-day trip together.  I guess I can file it under “That escalated quickly.”

After I closed last night, Enrique and I headed out to dinner, his favorite spot in town, called Casa Veracruz.  I was starting to get a caffeine headache, so I got a double espresso and a Diet Coke.  For my first course, I chose Aztec soup, my second course one of their famous steaks.  The soup was so filling that I wasn’t even hungry for my steak, which came with fried potatoes, onions, and cactus, yes, cactus.  I had force myself to eat, and I got a Leon beer to go with the steak.  I lit up an OpusX to go with the meal.  The steak was delicious, but I only ate half of it.

As we ate, we discussed various issues from politics to the economy to gay marriage.  He said it was legal in Mexico, and I asked his personal feeelings on the issue.  He said he didn’t care, complete equality before the law, right?  I agreed.  We also agreed that it makes us feel uncomfortable when we see two men or two women being affectionate in public, but we quickly added that we felt just as uncomfortable if we saw a man and a woman being affectionate like that in public.  Gay or straight, “Keep it in the bedroom,” we agreed.

After dinner, I started planning my Yucatan trip, and I went to bed as soon as the cigar was done.  I overslept a little, and I had a rich breakfast, which I couldn’t finish, still full from last night, traditional Mexican fare, and I uploaded my photos to Facebook.  We then hit the road, heading to Guadalajara.  I unsuccessfully tried to sleep, lighting up a My Father when I failed.

We were soon at the WHS in Guadalajara.  It’s called Hospicio Cabañas, a famous, historic hospice, now a museum.  The museum was closed today.  Fuck.  The inscription photo and the plaque were both inside.  I lit up my Romeo y Julieta, and the security guard let me take a picture of the interior through an open door, but I couldn’t get inside to take the picture with the plaque.  I even tried bribing him.  He pointed to the security camera.  I did, however, manage to get a keychain of the site, so it was good enough.

We then headed straight to Tequila.  We got lunch at La Fonda Cholula (like the hot sauce), and I ordered a glass of their finest tequila.  Somehow, without me even thinking about, the Spanish rolled out of me effortlessly.  “En un vaso, con nada, no hielo, no agua, nada.”  (“In a glass, with nothing, no ice, no water, nothing.”)  I also got a steak to go with it.  The tequila was excellent, but, reader, I don’t particularly like tequila.  In fact, I hate it.  I couldn’t finish the glass, but I slowly sipped on it.  The steak was beyond delicious.  It was cooked with an agave sauce, their house speciality.  When the bill came, I was shocked at the price.  Well, the tequila was pricey, more than the steak.  Okay, fine, it was still cheap by New York standards.

Afterwards, I lit up an Hoyo de Monterrey Epicure No. 2 (not H. Upmann as I wrote on Day 1) and took my ceremonial pictures at the Jose Cuervo factory.  I then got some souvenirs and took my ceremonial pictures with the plaque.  I found a nice place to sit down in view of the plaque, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can get some tequila to take home and head to the airport.

Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla Guadalajara International Airport (GDL)

Well, here I am, sitting at, of all places, a Johnny Rockets in Guadalajara International Airport.  I have almost two hours before my flight, plenty of time to eat, write, and smoke.  Well, except for one small problem.  The smoking bar has been discontinued, and I’m too hungry to wait until I go outside and smoke to eat, and I don’t think I have enough time to go outside and go through security again if eat first.  Hence, the Johnny Rockets.

As predicted, we exchanged the greeting that formed the title of this entry: “Until next time.”  I’m not sure, now if there will be a next time, if Enrique will be joining me for the Yucatan or Oaxaca or another trip or none at all.  We have now been to 18 Mexican WHS together, an Olympic Stadium, and one of the Natural Wonders of the World.  Even if we never see each other again, we had a great run.  Loyola, that’s his last name, and he’s been as loyal to me as the name suggests.

I have made a new friend (through Instagram) and he may become my new go-to Mexico travel partner.  It’s funny, we’ve never met, only connected through social media and our love of plaques and World Heritage Sites, and we’ve just made a plan to spend a three-day trip together, and I’ve invited him to come to New York next summer, and I would show him around the east coast.

What’s left?  The three-day trip to the Yucatan with 6 sites.  A two-day trip to central Mexico to see the last 4 sites I need in the region.  A two-day trip from Phoenix or ABQ to see the 2 sites by the border.  A three-day trip to Baja to see the two sites there.  Then, one more, a two-day trip Cabo, where I will say, “Mexico Complete” and finally sit on the beach, something I haven’t done in Mexico (or Central America) since I went to Cancun half a lifetime ago.  I love Mexico, and it feels a very familiar country to me now, as familiar as Canada.  I have not gotten behind the wheel of car in Mexico yet, but, other than the Cabo trip, I believe I will be driving in each of my remaining trips.  And the food?  Well, it’s always phenomenal, even when it’s not.

After I closed in Tequila, I found my tequila and the found Enrique.  I still had a little cigar left, and I figured I’d have just enough to find an agave field and take a ceremonial picture.  I was right.  We stopped at the first agave field we found, and I trekked across to take the picture.  We then settled up our finances as we drove to the airport.

The initial price he quoted was a little higher than I expected, and I asked him to round down (a discount of about five percent).  He had paid for gas and tolls and everything, so I figured that, if it included his tip, it was a very high price, especially with all the extra driving.  We stopped at an ATM, and I paid him in a mix of dollars and pesos.  Before long, we were at the airport, took our ceremonial picture together, and said our goodbyes.

I checked in, having over two hours before my flight, and asked where I could smoke.  They told me there was a bar upstairs.  I headed to the bar, but the smoking area had been discontinued.  That was when I went to the Johnny Rockets and got my burger with fries and onion rings and cherry milkshake.  There was nothing Official about that meal.  I decided not to smoke, so I sat at the counter, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish.  I will treat the entry from MEX as part of the Return Journey entry.  Wait, that’s not Official.  Fuck.  Maybe I can just upload the photos now and do a short entry from MEX, or maybe no entry at all from MEX.  I’m so confused!

Benito Juarez International Airport, Federal District, Mexico (MEX)

Yeah, I published the entry.  If I can get WiFi before I board, I’ll just addend this to the entry.  This is the third time I have sat and smoked here while I waited for my flight to take me home.  The lesson I learned the first time is to always check in before the smoke.  This will not be my last time flying home from here.  I will do it at least twice more.  The first time I flew home, I smoked first, then went to check in, but they wouldn’t let me board, since, by the time I was done with my smoke, it was too close to the flight.  That was a disaster.

This time, I have my boarding pass, but it was no easy task to get from the terminal back outside.  In the US, it would be no problem at all.  Here, not so much.  The next two times I fly out of here, I will probably be likewise connecting from another destination in Mexico.  The trip to Baja, I will connect somewhere in the US.  The trip to Cabo, I can fly direct.  After I closed, I had to buy a new cord to charge my phone, and I also got an aux cord, since I lost mine.  I went to the gate and upload my photos and published, not without some difficulty.  The flight was delayed, but I had plenty of time.

We were soon landing at Benito Juarez (does anyone else call it that?), and we had to take a shuttle bus to the terminal.  That’s when I saw something really weird.  In order to get back in the terminal for a connecting flight (as opposed to pick up your baggage and leave), you had to go through security.  That simply does not exist in the US or Canada.  This being my first connection Mexico, it came as quite a shock.  Actually, I think this might be my first domestic connection outside of the US and CAN since I went to Norway in 2000.  Yeah, it has to be.  The only other domestic flight I took was London to Glasgow.  Hmm, I guess I could count my Helsinki to Oslo flight in May, since that’s all Schengen Area.  When I continued on from Oslo to Newark, there was no security, no customs, just the emigration from the Schengen Area.

I then got a Diet Dr. Pepper to quench my thirst and tried to figure out how to get outside the terminal.  The first person told me I had to see the federal police officer and something about “su nombre,” which means “your name” politely, but it can also mean “his name.”  I figured she said I had to give the police officer my name, and then he’d let me go outside.  Fuck that shit.  I had a MEX-JFK boarding pass.  I could just pretend like I was coming anew.  If anything came of it, I’d feign confusion in English.  I then went to leave the terminal.  That was when I found out that by “su nombre,” they had meant “his name.”  I needed to get permission from the police officer and get his name, and then they would let me outside.

That worked.  I then went to get my seat assigned.  I was able to get the exit row, but only middle seats were left (even in the other rows).  Fine, whatever.  I will probably need to take a nap when I get home, anyway.  I’m doing Chinese and a movie from my friend tomorrow night, so it’ll be pretty late by the time I get to sleep, and the flight is only like 4 hours.  A redeye flight home really only works if it’s more than 5 hours.  LAX, SAN, and SFO are the best, since it’s like 6 hours, but PDX, SLC, ABQ, MEX are all brutal.  Even PHX is somewhat bearable.  I then got a donut and headed out to my usual spot.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted a pipe or a cigar, so I flipped for it.  The side I designated for the pipe came up, and I was pleased with the result, so I lit up an Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.  It is now 11 PM, and my flight does not leave for two hours.  I don’t even have to be at the gate for another hour.  I’m too tired to work, so I have no idea what to do.  Trip plan, I guess.

The Royal Route - Day 2 - More Old Churches

9/6/15, “More Old Churches”

Quaretaro, Quaretaro, Mexico

A couple of weeks ago, when I was in Cuba, I sat down in the famous, historic city of Trinidad, much as I am now, wearing the exact same outfit, same shirt even, and wrote an entry called “Old Churches.”  The title of the entry referred to the famous, historic cities we were visiting that day and their famous, historic churches.  Today is a very a similar day, hence the title of today’s entry.  We will be visiting four famous, historic cities today, each with their own famous, historic churches.  Four plaques and four keychains is the goal for today.  I am now halfway there.

Breakfast was extremely disappointing, but I got enough to fill me up, and the souvenir shop was open by the time I was done eating, so I packed, dressed, and got my keychain before lighting up my Montecristo Open Eagle.  I then started to take my ceremonial pictures with the plaque and the church.  Reader, this was Sunday morning, so there was beautiful music playing from the church.  I stopped to listen for a few minutes before heading back to the van.

It was a long and winding mountain roud that left me feeling quite nauseated for the three hours we drove.  I spent most of the drive futzing with my phone, trying to get my photos to upload with the spotty cell service in the mountains.  I was far too nauseated for a cigar, but we soon made it to the famous, historic city of Quaretaro, also called Santiago de Quaretaro.  Enrique parked the car and I found the tourist stand.

I found out where the inscription photo was, along with the main plaza, where I assumed the plaque to be.  Everything was a short walk apart, so we headed to the plaza, Plaza de la Independica.  Enrique asked a police officer where the plaque was, and he pointed it out to us, on a stand outside the tourist office, right next to the plaza.  I was starving, so we went to get lunch first.  I ordered tacos and a quesadilla.  While the fillings were delicious, the shell left much to be desired, and, eventually, I just emptied them out and ate it with a fork.

After lunch, I lit up a Partagas, and we headed to the plaque, where I took my ceremonial pictures.  We then walked towards Templo de Santa Clara, where the inscription photo was taken, picking up a keychain on the way.  I also saw a Royal Route (Camino Real de Tierra Adentro) plaque.  I recreated the inscription photo and asked Enrique to meet me here in thirty minutes.  I found a nice place to sit with a good view of the church, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that we can get back on the road.

Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico

Twilight comes to an end over the famous, historic city of Guanajuato, and, I have no less than two famous, historic churches in view as I smoke my favorite pipe on my hotel’s terrace.  It has been an epic day of sightseeing, visiting the famous, historic churches in no less than four famous, historic towns.  It was just one of those days where everything went right, and we somehow managed to get to our hotel at 7:30 PM, unlike 1 AM like last night.  Guanajuato is a city unlike any I have ever seen, or so I had thought when we first got here.  It is city that has been built up for over five hundred years, the old city buried underneath newer ones.  I then remembered that I had been to a similar city: Akko/Acre in Israel.  This is more impressive, though.  Much more impressive.

After I closed in Queretaro, I got my Sunday paper, remembering for once, and I soon found Enrique.  We made our way to San Miguel de Allende, which was a protective town along the Royal Route.  Enrique took me to the vista where the viewpoint picture was taken, and I lit up a Cohiba, figuring this would be a quick site, just the inscription photo, a keychain, and a plaque, and the Cohiba was my smallest cigar.  I miscalculated, severely.  I took my ceremonial pictures and bought a keychain before we headed down to the plaza where the plaque should have been.  Of course, no plaque.  My new friend told me the plaque was actually in the associated site, the Sanctuary of Jesus Nazareno de Atotonilco.

It was 20 klicks away, and there was bad traffic getting out of town.  To add to that, Enrique wanted to stop for gas.  I did not think I had enough cigar left to get the plaque.  We were soon at the sanctuary, and I got to the plaque before the cigar was finished.  I took my ceremonial pictures and got a sandwich and a taco filled with pork.  I gave her a banknote, and I was shocked how much change I got back.  This was a full meal, and it cost less than a medium coffee (not latte, coffee) at Starbucks.  Gotta love the new strong dollar.  Across the board, the dollar has gained 30-40% against global currencies.  For someone who travels internationally as much as I do, it is a very good thing.

It was now 5 PM, and it was over an hour to Guanajuato.  I was concerned the souvenir shops would close at 6 PM.  Enrique ensured me they’d stay open late.  I lit up an Aroma de Cuba, and we made our way to the city.  We got to the viewpoint, where the inscription photos was clearly taken, and it was swarming with vendors and tourists.  Excelente!  I lit up a Churchill and took my ceremonial pictures before getting my keychain and t-shirt.  We then headed down into the city, through the tunnels, to La Plaza de Paz, where my new friend told me the plaque would be.

My phone was almost dead, so I knew I’d be limited how many photos I could take.  There was also the Baroque church nearby called Compañia, which was named in the short description on the inscription page.  I found my plaque, took my ceremonial pictures, and then headed to the Baroque church, which was under restoration.  There was a joke that was too good not to make.  One of the funniest lines from “Beauty and the Beast” is a joke that Cogsworth makes about the castle.  “If it’s not Baroque, don’t fix it.”  Well, here I was standing next to a Baroque church that was in the process of being fixed.  I then headed back to the van, and we went to the hotel.

Enrique went to park the car, and I checked in.  I got settled to the hotel, my phone slowly dying and the charger not working.  Enrique soon came back and lent me his charger.  I then went up to the terrace, where I found a nice view of the city, lit up my Ardor, and proceeded to write this entry.  By the time my phone got back up to 6% (the minimum needed to take a picture), it was dark out, but the famous, historic churches were lit up.  I will now close so that I can publish and head out to dinner.