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.

The Royal Route - Day 1 - An Old Friend, and a New One

9/5/15, “An Old Friend, and a New One”

Benito Juarez International Airport, Mexico (MEX)

One of the most common themes I present in this Travelogue is the idea of the unfamiliar within the familiar and the familiar within the unfamiliar.  Sitting here, in this very familiar concourse, I am embarking on the unfamiliar.  On each of my last two trips to Mexico, this concourse has meant that I was going home.  In fact, six months ago, I sat at this very gate, this very seat I think, as I prepared to board my flight back to New York.  Today, I am flying outbound to Guadalajara, the first of my Mexico WHS runs that was not based out of the Federal Disctrict.

I will have to take somewhere between 4 and 7 more trips to Mexico before I can say, “Mexico Complete.”  A lot more of them will involve a stop here, and others will be different entirely, as I continue to mix the familiar and the unfamiliar.  I am dead tired and just want to get on the plane, so I can sleep until I meet Enrique and can pass out in his car for the four hour drive that will begin our journey together.

After I closed last night, I got an overpriced ice cream and soda.  I then sat down to write a personal journal entry.  I was on my first sentence when I heard my name called.  They had managed to get me an exit row window seat, and, it turned out, the middle seat was empty.  I managed to quickly write my journal entry before I had to board.  It took me a while to fall asleep, but, as soon as I did, I felt like no time had passed before I woke up as we were making our descent.  As we landed, I checked my watch, and it said 5:20 AM.  Okay, just 10 minutes late, I thought, plenty of time to make my connection.

It took me a while to remember the time zone change.  We weren’t 10 minutes late.  We were 50 minutes early.  I’d have time to kill, lots of time to kill.  That wasn’t good.  I don’t like risking sleeping in an airport for a short period of time.  I’d rather have been asleep on the plane for that extra hour.  I then went towards border control, and something was different, well, two things, actually.  First, I was on the right side, not the left side as I had previously been.  Second, where was the long line?  There had always been a horribly long line to go through Immigration.  There were only a half dozen or so people in front of me.  When it was my turn, we went through the process without exchanging a single word, except maybe a thank you.  I picked up some cigars at duty-free, cleared customs, went back through security, and found some outlets.

Breakfast

No, this wouldn’t do.  There were three hours before my flight, and I was already airside.  I had over two hours to kill.  I wanted a cigar.  Could I smoke anywhere in the terminal?  Too tired and groggy to properly understand any Spanish or even speak it that well, I asked one of the security guards where I could smoke.  He appeared to be looking for a secluded area in the airport for me to hide and have a smoke, but then he told me I had to go outside.  I took a pass on that.  Instead, I got a couple more cigars and went to get breakfast, finding a French bistro where I could sit down and kill an hour or so.  I ordered something called a “Croque Madame,” basically grilled cheese with green eggs and ham, I mean, ham and a fried egg, like all in one sandwich.  It was really good, as was the coffee I got with it.  I soon proceeded to the gate, still two hours before my flight, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can try to kill another hour before it’s time to board.

Zacatecas, Zacatecas, Mexico

I have decided to rename this trip.  Most of the WHS I visit this trip will be part of or be associated with the Royal Route or Camino Real.  It was a trade route focused predominantly on silver in the middle of the last millennium.  Here, in Zacatecas, I am at the heart of it, where much of the silver was mined.  It is a lovely city, and I am allowing myself some extra time, even though it will mean a later arrival at the hotel.

After I closed at Benito Juarez, I found a newly effective way to sleep at the airport, and it was soon time to board.  I think I slept through most of the flight, and I was soon in Guadalajara.  As soon as I left the airport, my old friend was waiting for me, and we greeted each other like old friends.  I told him the plan, and he hemmed and hawed, like he always does, before agreeing to the plan.  He had gifts for me, well, maybe not gifts since I have to pay for them, but he had ten cigars he picked up before he left the Federal District.

Lunch

Once we got on the highway, I lit up my traditional first cigar, the Davidoff Escurio, and blared Red.  Our first stop was a town called Encarnacion de Diaz, where my new friend had told me there was a WHS Plaque for the Royal Route.  I made this friend on Instagram, through our shared love a WHS sites.  He said it was right in the cemetery, so that was where I told Enrique to take me.  We got lunch first, pork sandwiches that took forever to make, and the cemetery was a block away.

Where the plaque was

I lit up an H. Upmann Epicure and headed to the cemetery.  No plaque.  The lady at the souvenir shop said it was at the municipal building, so we headed there.  The guards said there was no plaque there, nor could we find it, and my Instagram friend insisted it was at the cemetery, so we headed back there.  Long story short, the plaque had been taken down because they received word it was about to be stolen, and it was no inside the municipal building, which is closed on the weekend.

Encarnacion de Diaz

However, it was still part of a WHS, so I got my souvenirs and took the ceremonial pictures.  We then headed to Zacatecas, and I messaged back and forth my Instagram friend, who had now become a Facebook friend.  We made plans to do a WHS run together on a future trip to Mexico.  As we got into Zacatecas, where there were alleged to be two plaques, including one for the Royal Route, we drove through downtown, and I saw the first plaque.

Zacatecas

The inscription photo was of the Cathedral, so we drove past the plaque and continued to the Cathedral.  I got my souvenirs, lit up a Romeo y Julieta, and then took my ceremonial pictures in front of the Cathedral.  There was a coffee shop with outdoor seating in view of the Cathedral, so I sat down there, where I proceeded to write this entry and order a coffee.  I will now close so that I can finish exploring the city.

Jalpan de Sierra, Queretaro, Mexico

Just as I have decided to rename this trip, I am also renaming the day’s entry.  I had initially named it “My Old Friend” in reference to reuniting with Enrique.  However, I think I might have spent more time interacting with my new Facebook friend than I did with Enrique, so I would be remiss not to rename the entry.  It is almost 2 AM local time, and I am dead tired, so I will summarize as much as possible.

The thing about Mexico and their plaques is that most WHS in Mexico are located in or simply are a famous historic city, and, like in Cuba, every famous, historic city has a famous, historic church with a big plaza in front.  More often than not, that is where the plaque is.  That is where I am sitting right now in the appropriately named UNESCO Plaza.  Mexico and Canada respect their plaques in a way that the United States never does.  I can’t think of one US Plaque that is displayed in good location.  Parking lots, bathrooms, secluded areas of the VC, or even storage closets.  That is where the US puts their plaques.  Canada finds the most scenic vista in the entire WHS that is easily accessible and puts the Plaque right there.  Mexico, as I described, in the main plaza of the town, such as the one where I am sitting right now.

Zacatecas plaque

After I closed, I walked back to find my plaque in Zacatecas, took some ceremonial pictures, failed to find the other one, and headed back to find Enrique.  We drove to the other plaque, but it was just a duplicate of the first.  I knew there to be a Royal Route plaque in San Luis Potosi, thanks to my new friend, so I suggested we go there for dinner.  We were there before dark, and I got some ice cream to tide me over.  Enrique parked about 100m from the plaza that had the plaque, and I had to walk down a little pedestrian street with vendors hawking their wares, just as they probably have for 500 years.

Camino Real plaque

This city was the heart of the Royal Route.  I found my plaque, lit up an H. Upmann, much to my dismay, so I had previously smoked an H. Upmann Epicure at the first Royal Route stop, but I liked the symmetry, so I let it go, and the cigars are sufficiently different, purchased in different countries even.  I didn’t even buy the Epicure, as it was part of the package Enrique gave me.  I took my ceremonial pictures and headed back to the van.

Dinner

My new friend had given me a restaurant with his highest recommendation, so we headed there.  It was fancy and looked pricey, but we were celebrating.  The trip was off to a great start.  I ordered goat tacos, chiles en nogadas, and a beer.  Enrique got a hamburger and some kind of soda.  I could not believe how cheap the total bill was.  Like, when I get Chinese food for dinner at my favorite place on 28^th Street, which I do once a week, I spend more at that restaurant than I did tonight for the two of us for dinner.  The meal was delicious, and I was able to finish my cigar while we waited for the food, as we sat outside.

I was going to finish off the day with an OpusX, but we needed gas, and I wanted to wait until after we gassed up to light up the cigar.  We found a gas station, which also had an Oxxo (Mexican 7-11/Wawa).  I got an absurd amount of snacks, drinks, and desserts for an insanely low price.  I then lit up the OpusX, or I tried to.  My lighter was out of gas, and I lost my last matches to the wind.  I got a new plastic lighter and lit up the OpusX, announcing, “Day 1 Complete.”  I will not bore my reader with details of the drive, but I tried to sleep as soon as I finished the OpusX, unsuccessfully, though I did rest my eyes for the whole drive, which helped.

Jalpan de Serra plaque at night

We were soon at the hotel, which was literally across the street from the plaque.  I had a hard arrival at the room of 1 AM.  I had thought we’d be here by 8 PM.  Enrique was a great sport.  He always is, despite his initial hemming and hawing.  I settled into my room, charged my electronics a bit, and changed into my pajamas before heading out to the plaza, where I lit up a Montecristo, took some ceremonial pictures in the dark, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep at a somewhat reasonable hour.  The clock has just struck 2.  Literally, like the bell from the church just rang twice.