This is a much delayed review of an excellent restaurant from someone who isn't a reviewer. My friend Kathryn from San Francisco, many of you may remember me talking about, came out to visit me here in Podunkville. She came here for business in Kansas City then came on out to see me. Actually, she really wanted to go to the Drugstore she's heard so much of from me and publications I brought her.
We started with a couple of delicious cocktails that the Drugstore is known for. This time Jay Beavers was our fabulous barkeep. I had a Silver Elder made with Tanqueray gin, house infused vanilla vodka, elderflower, fresh squeezed lemon and lime juice, and egg white. Kathryn had a Hothouse Flower made with chamomile infused bourbon, muddled lemon, smoked honey, soda water, and house hop bitters. As I've said before the bitters and infusions are homemade.
After the orders were given we were offered an amuse bouche. These small appetite teasers are different every night and offered to every customer. Tonight it was a tiny striper bass risotto cake. I could have eaten five. Jonathan also gave us two house made infused vermouths made with an amontillado sherry, brandy, rosemary and 40 other ingredients! It was delicious and paired well with the amuse bouche.
We shared the pig heart saute. I get this almost every time I come. It's made with shitake mushrooms, baby bok choy and a peppery pan sauce. This dish is a great example of the umami taste. On this night it was a little heavier on the pepper side. You have to like pepper, as I do, or tell them to go light on it. We each chose the recommended spicy Feraud Brunel Rasteau.
For a salad you can't go wrong with the curly endive. Lardo/lardon is there anything better? What makes this better is the smoked trout roe and truffle oil along with the breaded soft boiled egg. Try breading a soft boiled egg and then frying it and you'll know how hard it is do this. Our wine pairing with the salad was a Tavel rose. You couldn't go wrong with that pairing either.
Kathryn was going to order the fried rabbit with mashed potatoes an ode to Route 66, which in the day travelers would see advertised all through southern Missouri. It was tempting but Jonathan told Kathryn she would probably not get the Majinola American Kobe beef in California unless she went to Chez Panisse. Alice Waters has to have the same beef shipped to her but Jonathan has only a few miles to get it.
Anyone who says grass fed beef doesn't have the fat feel that corn fed has is an idiot and I don't even know why I brought it up. This meat melts in your mouth. We were supposed to be sharing but I didn't blame Kathryn for wanting it all for herself. She did let me have a couple of bites and of course since I live here I can have it easily again. The beef as it was would have been perfect by itself but Jonathan served it with caramelized shallots, Maytag blue cheese and smoked honey (they do it in their smoker). It was served on top of a sweet potato/parsnip, Brussels sprouts/caramelized onion saute with a fig/clover flower gastrique. Is your mouth watering? The Summers cabernet sauvignon was the perfect pairing.
I never can resist the local freshwater Striper Bass which this time was served with smoked tomato, Berkshire bacon, lemon confit cream and (Yea!) was on top of that yummy bass risotto cake. My wine pairing was the luscious Vina Mein Ribeiro.
With all this food you usually can't think about bread but you'd be missing out if you didn't eat Camile's (Jonathan's wife and needed partner) absolutely delicious bread. It comes with the local Shatto Farms fresh butter.
Would you believe we still had dessert? A deconstructed basil champagne sorbet with little cocoa tuiles and sour cherry glee . We scraped the plate. Now Kathryn wants to come back and bring her husband, Nick. I hope she does.
www.drugstorerestaurant.com
Monday, March 15, 2010
Not My Story
Since nothing is going on in my life I've decided to give you this story my boyfriend, Jeff, sent me. He just finished the Iron Man Triathlon in Haikou, China. I only did a little editing.
I survived the race. I got up at 4:00 am where the hotel gave everyone who was participating in the race a free breakfast. Two nights prior, at the exclusive hotel, they held a banquet for the Ironman participants. Unfortunately, many of them got food poisoning. One guy stood up at the table in the early hours and collapsed. I had met a couple from Singapore. Chong is a teacher and his wife is an airline hostess. Chong felt sick and was up all night. He went to the starting place and practiced one lap and couldn't go any further. Fortunately, instead of dining at the Ironman banquet I had dinner with the operator who did a lot of translating for me. We ate traditional Chinese food, including duck neck. It was a very good dinner and my stomach did well with it.
As for the race, the swim course was going well and I predicted my pace would get me out of the water after 1 hour, 45 minutes. It's a four lap course and after each lap we had to run on the beach and then back out into the water. On my final leg of the 3rd lap I missed the beach by 30 yards from the get out point, so I had to keep swimming up. I wondered why it was taking me longer. Something should have drawn suspicion. On the fourth lap I began to swim up river to the first buoy and after some time, I raised my head to get my sightings and realized I hardly moved to it at all. I had to keep swimming. The progress seemed to be a fight and I realized that the tide in the river had changed. I had to struggle for every inch. It had been taking me 25 minutes to do each lap but it now took 25 minutes to reach the first buoy. Fear set in as I realized that I might not make it to the end by the 2 hours 20 minute cut off time. I made it in 2 hours and nine minutes. The only comical part was the announcer who seemed to be well aware of the Bay Area. Every time I reached the beach he would announce where I was from and gave the crowd more information about how close I was to Napa Valley and San Francisco. This made me laugh.
With the swim section done it was off onto the bike. During the start of the swim we waited in line in intervals of five and I was standing next to an Aussie who had done over 30 Iron Men. He gave me much needed advice as we stepped closer to the water's edge. He told me, being my first Ironman, not to overdo it on the bike. The goal for the first one was to only finish because of the vast amount of unknowns that will occur later in the race. His advice was if you think you should move up to a larger chain ring, don't do it. You should save your legs especially since I didn't have a tri-bike.
The bike section was good but then the heat started climbing up with severe cross and head winds that made it a struggle. The best part of the race was riding through the ancient villages, where children were shouting words of encouragement. I was saying thank you and hello in Chinese every time I could, which brings me to another observation.
The other riders just seemed to ride through the two villages with their heads down and not pay any notice to the local support. With the exception of a few, most of the Ironmen people I met were not exactly friendly. In fact, most were complete assholes. When I would run into them in the hotel they would just look you up and down to check out your fitness and whether you were really a competitor. I don't think I, my bike, or my helmet really measured up. If asked what other Ironmen events I had completed, there was always hesitation on their part and then some comment like, "Do you know what you're really getting into in this race?" Like I said, assholes. Chong, who had done a few, explained to me that this is was an important event in the Ironman world. Only 500 were doing this one and it would increase their chances to gain entrance to the famed Kona event if they could beat the competitors of their age group.
I took the Aussie's advice and didn't over do it on the bike, so I'd have some strength left in my legs for the marathon section. Maybe my lack of understanding this helped me, but little did I know what lay ahead after the cumulative hours of pushing myself. I felt good, even with the heat and humidity rising in the late afternoon. I assumed it would cool down, which it did. I did not realize the humidity would just keep climbing, but still the first eight miles went well and there was nothing to indicate the pain that would follow.
And did it follow! Now the pavement was hot and my feet absorbed the heat. I felt I was running across coals. I was soaked head to toe from my own sweat but at every aide station I was taking in more Gatorade and Gu gel. It wasn't long before my stomach felt like it couldn't take more of these super sweet energy supplements, but I needed the calories. My feet now were all blistered from the young, enthusiastic volunteers at the aide stations pouring cold water over me in their attempts to cool me down. Then the cramping of legs started, plus the cramping in my stomach which was telling me to eat real food.
My strategy was to walk to the aide station then run to save my legs. Every 15 minutes I had to stop and massage the cramps in my legs. My muscles felt like they were on fire. I could feel the pain all the way down to my core. I thought I could walk part of it, but looking at my watch I knew I would have to keep on running or else not make it by the 12 o'clock cut off time. The avenue was cleared of traffic and police stood at every corner. A pretty stoic group of people. The hardest part of the course was getting just to the outside of the finish line where the party was going on and hear everyone cheering for the finishers. There I was instructed to turn around and go back. Talk about the ultimate in rejection. An Aussie, next to me, said so too, "Oh Mate, this breaks my heart." We continued back to where we started. The night just got longer and longer and the pain was so intense at this point I just want to scream. I arrived at one aide station where I had a hard time standing, unless I was leaning against the table. A Chinese doctor pulled out warm saline fluid for me to drink.
As I turned at the loop with eight miles to go I had to keep telling myself to keep going. When I got closer to the finish, the last mile weaved through the older section of town. Thousands were out watching and it seemed like China town on steroids. A young college student named King who studied English and was a race official on a motor scooter took it upon himself to get me through the last five miles. He rode slowly next to me handing me Gatorade to drink and pouring water over my head. I felt like I was in a frying pan. I guess because of all the buildings, the humidity gets trapped so it also felt like the Amazon rain forest. King stayed with me and kept up his words of encouragement, "We can do this Jeff, keep going." I know I had to be polite but I was thinking, well, of course, you're on the stupid motor scooter and I can't even feel my feet or legs anymore. Even the stoic police were now verbalizing comments. I think all the observers on the streets, liked watching the winners going through but they also liked watching the ones that might not make it, sort of like a crash in Nascar auto racing. They were waiting for someone to crash and burn. Of course, the children buoyed my spirits running along with me. Well actually, walking fast at this point next to me. I can't even count how many times I was saying thank you, thank you.
The ending felt surreal, King told me between the two buildings was the bridge and the finish line. At 11:35 pm and 25 minutes before the cut off time, I arrived. They held up the ribbon for me at the finish line to go through. I don't have the words to describe how I felt. To go so deep within myself to keep fighting became a new place where I have never gone before. They grabbed my arms and then escorted me to the medical tent where a doctor examined me. He laid me down on a cot and stuck an IV needle in me. After about 30 minutes I could start moving again and it was finally over. Chong had told me at breakfast, "Enjoy the race and enjoy the pain." Now I know what he was talking about.
Looking at the results today, I assumed I was almost dead last, but I was at the top 60 percent of my age group. This made no sense to me. Looking closer, the ones after me did not finish, including 40 percent of the pros. So even though I felt like a turtle, I did make it. That put a grin on my face today.
I survived the race. I got up at 4:00 am where the hotel gave everyone who was participating in the race a free breakfast. Two nights prior, at the exclusive hotel, they held a banquet for the Ironman participants. Unfortunately, many of them got food poisoning. One guy stood up at the table in the early hours and collapsed. I had met a couple from Singapore. Chong is a teacher and his wife is an airline hostess. Chong felt sick and was up all night. He went to the starting place and practiced one lap and couldn't go any further. Fortunately, instead of dining at the Ironman banquet I had dinner with the operator who did a lot of translating for me. We ate traditional Chinese food, including duck neck. It was a very good dinner and my stomach did well with it.
As for the race, the swim course was going well and I predicted my pace would get me out of the water after 1 hour, 45 minutes. It's a four lap course and after each lap we had to run on the beach and then back out into the water. On my final leg of the 3rd lap I missed the beach by 30 yards from the get out point, so I had to keep swimming up. I wondered why it was taking me longer. Something should have drawn suspicion. On the fourth lap I began to swim up river to the first buoy and after some time, I raised my head to get my sightings and realized I hardly moved to it at all. I had to keep swimming. The progress seemed to be a fight and I realized that the tide in the river had changed. I had to struggle for every inch. It had been taking me 25 minutes to do each lap but it now took 25 minutes to reach the first buoy. Fear set in as I realized that I might not make it to the end by the 2 hours 20 minute cut off time. I made it in 2 hours and nine minutes. The only comical part was the announcer who seemed to be well aware of the Bay Area. Every time I reached the beach he would announce where I was from and gave the crowd more information about how close I was to Napa Valley and San Francisco. This made me laugh.
With the swim section done it was off onto the bike. During the start of the swim we waited in line in intervals of five and I was standing next to an Aussie who had done over 30 Iron Men. He gave me much needed advice as we stepped closer to the water's edge. He told me, being my first Ironman, not to overdo it on the bike. The goal for the first one was to only finish because of the vast amount of unknowns that will occur later in the race. His advice was if you think you should move up to a larger chain ring, don't do it. You should save your legs especially since I didn't have a tri-bike.
The bike section was good but then the heat started climbing up with severe cross and head winds that made it a struggle. The best part of the race was riding through the ancient villages, where children were shouting words of encouragement. I was saying thank you and hello in Chinese every time I could, which brings me to another observation.
The other riders just seemed to ride through the two villages with their heads down and not pay any notice to the local support. With the exception of a few, most of the Ironmen people I met were not exactly friendly. In fact, most were complete assholes. When I would run into them in the hotel they would just look you up and down to check out your fitness and whether you were really a competitor. I don't think I, my bike, or my helmet really measured up. If asked what other Ironmen events I had completed, there was always hesitation on their part and then some comment like, "Do you know what you're really getting into in this race?" Like I said, assholes. Chong, who had done a few, explained to me that this is was an important event in the Ironman world. Only 500 were doing this one and it would increase their chances to gain entrance to the famed Kona event if they could beat the competitors of their age group.
I took the Aussie's advice and didn't over do it on the bike, so I'd have some strength left in my legs for the marathon section. Maybe my lack of understanding this helped me, but little did I know what lay ahead after the cumulative hours of pushing myself. I felt good, even with the heat and humidity rising in the late afternoon. I assumed it would cool down, which it did. I did not realize the humidity would just keep climbing, but still the first eight miles went well and there was nothing to indicate the pain that would follow.
And did it follow! Now the pavement was hot and my feet absorbed the heat. I felt I was running across coals. I was soaked head to toe from my own sweat but at every aide station I was taking in more Gatorade and Gu gel. It wasn't long before my stomach felt like it couldn't take more of these super sweet energy supplements, but I needed the calories. My feet now were all blistered from the young, enthusiastic volunteers at the aide stations pouring cold water over me in their attempts to cool me down. Then the cramping of legs started, plus the cramping in my stomach which was telling me to eat real food.
My strategy was to walk to the aide station then run to save my legs. Every 15 minutes I had to stop and massage the cramps in my legs. My muscles felt like they were on fire. I could feel the pain all the way down to my core. I thought I could walk part of it, but looking at my watch I knew I would have to keep on running or else not make it by the 12 o'clock cut off time. The avenue was cleared of traffic and police stood at every corner. A pretty stoic group of people. The hardest part of the course was getting just to the outside of the finish line where the party was going on and hear everyone cheering for the finishers. There I was instructed to turn around and go back. Talk about the ultimate in rejection. An Aussie, next to me, said so too, "Oh Mate, this breaks my heart." We continued back to where we started. The night just got longer and longer and the pain was so intense at this point I just want to scream. I arrived at one aide station where I had a hard time standing, unless I was leaning against the table. A Chinese doctor pulled out warm saline fluid for me to drink.
As I turned at the loop with eight miles to go I had to keep telling myself to keep going. When I got closer to the finish, the last mile weaved through the older section of town. Thousands were out watching and it seemed like China town on steroids. A young college student named King who studied English and was a race official on a motor scooter took it upon himself to get me through the last five miles. He rode slowly next to me handing me Gatorade to drink and pouring water over my head. I felt like I was in a frying pan. I guess because of all the buildings, the humidity gets trapped so it also felt like the Amazon rain forest. King stayed with me and kept up his words of encouragement, "We can do this Jeff, keep going." I know I had to be polite but I was thinking, well, of course, you're on the stupid motor scooter and I can't even feel my feet or legs anymore. Even the stoic police were now verbalizing comments. I think all the observers on the streets, liked watching the winners going through but they also liked watching the ones that might not make it, sort of like a crash in Nascar auto racing. They were waiting for someone to crash and burn. Of course, the children buoyed my spirits running along with me. Well actually, walking fast at this point next to me. I can't even count how many times I was saying thank you, thank you.
The ending felt surreal, King told me between the two buildings was the bridge and the finish line. At 11:35 pm and 25 minutes before the cut off time, I arrived. They held up the ribbon for me at the finish line to go through. I don't have the words to describe how I felt. To go so deep within myself to keep fighting became a new place where I have never gone before. They grabbed my arms and then escorted me to the medical tent where a doctor examined me. He laid me down on a cot and stuck an IV needle in me. After about 30 minutes I could start moving again and it was finally over. Chong had told me at breakfast, "Enjoy the race and enjoy the pain." Now I know what he was talking about.
Looking at the results today, I assumed I was almost dead last, but I was at the top 60 percent of my age group. This made no sense to me. Looking closer, the ones after me did not finish, including 40 percent of the pros. So even though I felt like a turtle, I did make it. That put a grin on my face today.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Outrageous Drinks
Over the last month or so I've had some delicious drinks at the Justus Drugstore Store. Mixologist Chris Conatser is amazingly good. He majored in botany and this is why he is so fantastic at making drinks. He knows his herbs and he knows organic is the best way to go.
I'm ashamed that I once described one of Chris's drinks as just an infused vodka concoction. It was a blueberry infused vodka with orange and lemon juice, orange bitters, and sparkling water. The restaurant has many house infused liquors and homemade aromatic bitters.
I love the celery foam. I'm sure my brother would reprimand me but foams remind me of what a savory aerosol wiped cream in various favors would taste like — in this case celery. Chris made me an Applejack, St. Germaine Elderflower Liqueur, homemade dry vermouth drink with this celery foam. Forgive me because Rachael Ray annoys me but "Yum Oh". Another similar one to the previous and just as yummy, but with gin, Applejack, lemon juice, homemade grenadine and that delicious celery foam. Oh god what would I do without his and wife's restaurant here? Well, I wouldn't be here without my head in the oven.
I've just mentioned the cocktails, not the painstakingly picked wines that go with the entrees as if E-Harmony was involved.
There will be more on this later, in the meantime: www.drugstorerestaurant.com
I'm ashamed that I once described one of Chris's drinks as just an infused vodka concoction. It was a blueberry infused vodka with orange and lemon juice, orange bitters, and sparkling water. The restaurant has many house infused liquors and homemade aromatic bitters.
I love the celery foam. I'm sure my brother would reprimand me but foams remind me of what a savory aerosol wiped cream in various favors would taste like — in this case celery. Chris made me an Applejack, St. Germaine Elderflower Liqueur, homemade dry vermouth drink with this celery foam. Forgive me because Rachael Ray annoys me but "Yum Oh". Another similar one to the previous and just as yummy, but with gin, Applejack, lemon juice, homemade grenadine and that delicious celery foam. Oh god what would I do without his and wife's restaurant here? Well, I wouldn't be here without my head in the oven.
I've just mentioned the cocktails, not the painstakingly picked wines that go with the entrees as if E-Harmony was involved.
There will be more on this later, in the meantime: www.drugstorerestaurant.com
Friday, January 22, 2010
The Last Word
I had planned on going back to Turkey to see Emino. I knew I shouldn't. I knew it would make matters worse. But there was nothing else going on in my life. I knew Podunkville would be depressing and I would need a drug to make me feel better. That drug would be sex.
In the meantime, while looking for a college girlfriend I found one of my best friends instead. We had biked together. We hiked together. We went on trip together. We saw concerts together. We read the same books, shared the same views. I went to his wedding. Then I went to Asia for a year and he moved to another state. As I thought his marriage didn't last. I couldn't be happier and neither could he. We're making plans to stay together. Although at the moment he's on the coast and I'm in Podunkville. The obvious (sex) isn't happening, but to some people this doesn't seem to make a difference. I guess it's the thought that counts and the double standard.
Thanks to a little investigation through Facebook, Emino got wind of this. He emailed me from Indonesia. "I am fucking little girls. How do you like that?" There were more hurtful words that made me immediately take his name off Facebook and Yahoo Messenger. "Thank you, I thought, for making me see what an asshole you are!"
I guess he thought it was alright he fucked others, but not if I did. He could have ended this in a nice way, if he wasn't such a liar. He could have been honest in the beginning and not just with me. But I had the ace of spades. I had Jennifer phone number. When Emino was trying to get a visa to the States, Jennifer had written a letter in his behalf. Emino showed it to me and when he went to work I copied down her number. I figured it would come in handy some day.
I called her. As I've told you before, she knew nothing about me or any of the others. What I didn't know was that she was just there this past December. While I was there in November he had torn up a love letter Jennifer had given him and a picture of the two of them together. He had told me that I was the only woman in his life now. (Although, I still knew he would eventually marry a Kurdish virgin.)
But Jennifer was more shocked. She was shocked that I knew so much about him. I told her he was in Indonesia at the moment - a place she didn't want him to go. I told her I could send her intimate pictures and emails he sent me telling me how much he missed and loved me. She wished I had told her sooner. She said we should fly there together to confront him- remember she works for Delta. I like her, but I don't want to see him again.
After I got off the phone I emailed Emino and told him what I did. "Have a good life." He should have known better than to mess with a woman that has an imaginary machine gun."
In the meantime, while looking for a college girlfriend I found one of my best friends instead. We had biked together. We hiked together. We went on trip together. We saw concerts together. We read the same books, shared the same views. I went to his wedding. Then I went to Asia for a year and he moved to another state. As I thought his marriage didn't last. I couldn't be happier and neither could he. We're making plans to stay together. Although at the moment he's on the coast and I'm in Podunkville. The obvious (sex) isn't happening, but to some people this doesn't seem to make a difference. I guess it's the thought that counts and the double standard.
Thanks to a little investigation through Facebook, Emino got wind of this. He emailed me from Indonesia. "I am fucking little girls. How do you like that?" There were more hurtful words that made me immediately take his name off Facebook and Yahoo Messenger. "Thank you, I thought, for making me see what an asshole you are!"
I guess he thought it was alright he fucked others, but not if I did. He could have ended this in a nice way, if he wasn't such a liar. He could have been honest in the beginning and not just with me. But I had the ace of spades. I had Jennifer phone number. When Emino was trying to get a visa to the States, Jennifer had written a letter in his behalf. Emino showed it to me and when he went to work I copied down her number. I figured it would come in handy some day.
I called her. As I've told you before, she knew nothing about me or any of the others. What I didn't know was that she was just there this past December. While I was there in November he had torn up a love letter Jennifer had given him and a picture of the two of them together. He had told me that I was the only woman in his life now. (Although, I still knew he would eventually marry a Kurdish virgin.)
But Jennifer was more shocked. She was shocked that I knew so much about him. I told her he was in Indonesia at the moment - a place she didn't want him to go. I told her I could send her intimate pictures and emails he sent me telling me how much he missed and loved me. She wished I had told her sooner. She said we should fly there together to confront him- remember she works for Delta. I like her, but I don't want to see him again.
After I got off the phone I emailed Emino and told him what I did. "Have a good life." He should have known better than to mess with a woman that has an imaginary machine gun."
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Just Yachting
I thought I was the only one in Chau Doc, but after I walked out of the internet cafe I saw other travelers. I wasn't the only one. Not only was I not the only one, but there was a hotel in Chau Doc that charged over $100. I don’t know why anyone would stay there when for only $11 they could get an a/c room overlooking the market which was a constant source of amusement. I watched people put together their makeshift kitchens and then saw restaurants suddenly emerge. I even had HBO - not quite as entertaining as the market. I did end up having a Mai Tai for $5 at this hotel. This was my birthday present after riding the bike through villages surrounded by rice paddies and climbing Sam Mountain. My friend, David, told me it’s an acronym Surface to Air Missile.
The next morning I went to the bus station and took the worst bus I've taken so far on this trip. One of those buses where I felt filthy before we even left. As a foreigner I paid double for this luxury as the prices were blatantly displayed. Still I was in good spirits. All I had to do was imagine of a couple of my friends sitting on this same bus.
There were two seats on each side of the aisle, which actually sat three. I was lucky and had a cute young mother and her beautiful, doll like, daughter for seat mates. Everyone had brought their breakfast with them and the scrapes were dumped on the floor along kids' pee because they couldn't wait until we stopped. When we did stop for a toilet break it was another one of these cement platforms in the back of the cafe. There were no walls but, at least, there was a slight incline so you weren't totally splatter when you went. The bottom of my shoes and everyone else became wet. We tracked them back to the bus.
Arriving at the bus station in Ha Tien was like arriving anywhere, you're immediately met with a dozen of 'se om' drivers (motorcycle taxis). These drivers are not just for the foreigners but for all. Of course, foreigners are a prize because they can charge them more. They are shocked and happy to see me. Who's going to get the prize?
I fought my way through. I was going to walk across the bridge, I had read about, to the hotel where I wanted to stay. The bridge wasn't there. It collapsed four months ago. I found this out after walking through deep mud. There waiting for me to return was Cuong (same name, different person from up north). He won me over by asking me what I wanted to pay. Yes, he spoke English. He looked like a Vietnamese Tony Bourdain, which as you all know, was another plus.
I was most definitely the only traveler in Ha Tien that day and most days. Travelers going to Phu Quoc skip Ha Tien (which is off the main road and why I had to take a local bus) to take the speeder boats from Rach Gia.
Cuong caught up with me later for a motorbike ride. We rode around the countryside to see the cave where the Kymer Rouge slaughtered 130 Vietnamese and to some beautiful pagodas where Budhist monks still lived. Again, he asked me what I wanted to pay. This guy was sharp.
I enjoyed my afternoon with him and I trusted him, which was what he wanted. He asked me if I had a ticket to Phu Quoc Island. I didn't have a ticket yet, but I booked a reservation (no payment or credit card) from Rach Gia. "You don't need to go all the way to Rach Gia . You can take a hydrofoil from Ba Hon." I didn't believe him, but told him I'd think about it and would tell him tomorrow. In the meantime I asked around and every local told me not to take the boat from Ba Hon. Lonely Planet, my guide book, said the boats from Ha Tien (not far from Ba Hon) were not seaworthy, dodgy at best. It also said there were known pirates on that route. Well, as Cuong said, the boat wasn't leaving from Ha Tien. I was sure that made all the difference in the world - Not!
The next morning there was Cuong waiting four me. I told him I was not going to Ba Hon. He could take me to the bus station so I could go to Rach Gia. He still tried to convince me. "Cheaper/faster, all the Vietnamese tourists take this boat." Suddenly I changed my mind. What the hell. When have I listened before? It's not the first time I've ignored advice.
Lonely Planet also said the road from Chau Doc to Ha Tien has had reports of bandits, which was another reason travelers didn't come here. I took a chance coming here and now I was basically hitchhiking with over $500 in cash on the same stretch of road with someone I only trusted because of the Tony Bourdain similarity.
We pulled into Ba Hon 20k away from Ha Tien. It's a little fishing village where I expect very few and I mean very few foreigners have gone. Who could be as naïve, as stupid, as masochistic as me? Cuong showed me the boat. As I thought, it was a fishing boat and not a hydrofoil. It was a fishing boat that looked like it was carrying refuges - refuges and goats! So Cuong showed me the boat but I couldn't get on. I was sure the boat owner already had his limit of passengers - all of this was suspect. There were passengers packed on the boat already. The boat had to be checked out with the harbor patrol police before the boat owner could leave the harbor. He didn't want me on the boat, for sure, until after they had done this. Cuong then took me back towards Ha Tien. I didn't know what was going on or why I was going along with it!
We went to this small cafe off the side of the road and next to the water. There were a few other locals there and three motorcycles. I had to pay the woman at the cafe a price that was only slightly less than if I had taken the hydrofoil from Rach Gia. I knew I was being ripped off. I was only doing this for the adventure. I forked over the money. I already gave Cuong money for taking me here. I knew he's getting a cut. I told him that I hoped he was getting a big commission.
This little crew and three motorcycles (the boat already had two other motorcycles on it) go off - down and across a bamboo slotted bridge and on trail to an outrigger canoe. Someone else was getting a cut. Hidden in the mangrove we loaded up the three bikes and ourselves.
I'd been laughing up until now, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Now I looked at Cuong one last time. Tears were forming in my eyes. "I hope you're honest with me. I won't be hurt?" He turned and walked away.
The outrigger went out in the bay and waited. The fishing boat came after being cleared with the patrol. It was a chore loading the motorcycles onto the deck. We were finally off and I constantly scanned the water for places I could swim to. I was taking my money with me if I had to suddenly leave this boat. If I couldn't have it no one would. But before I even scanned the ocean I had to plug up my ears with my indispensable earplugs. The engine was deafening. No one talked, they just made motions.
I felt like a refuge. This was not a boat you could walk around on, play cards on a table or drink a beer. In the center of the deck were two low levels that you had to crawl into and sit. In this case, I was glad I was short. I could sit up straight. I sat next to the captain as did just about every one else who was on the upper level, because the space was so small.
You couldn't walk around on the deck unless you held onto something with dear life or you'd be thrown off the boat. Anyway, it was covered with the goats and the motorcycles that were tied down. The toilet was a hole in the deck that was surrounded with flimsy tarp. I couldn't imagine using it - trying to open the flapping tarp and go as the boat was rocking all over the place. I was too nervous to go, anyway.
Most of the time, I could see tiny islands and occasionally another lone fishing boat. The sky was blue but it was very windy. The waves were huge and at one point, of course, when there were no islands or other boats the crew looked extremely concerned as we were being tossed about. Anyone who was sleeping was now wide awake. Everyone was alert and rigid.
I was using two life jackets as pillows. There were five more hanging and tied up. I had difficulty untying the two. There were also two kid sized life preservers. That made nine. There were over 40 of us on the boat, not including the goats.
Well, we made it, but Cuong was definitely not honest on this one detail. It didn't take just three hours. It took six counting the skiff ride. About an hour before landing one of the crew members went around and collected the money. It seemed
awkward and tense as the other passengers doled over their money and nothing else was asked from me. I thought for sure he'd ask for more. I had to hand it to them they could have demanded it, but didn't.
It was so windy the boat had problems tying up on the long pier. All the 'se om' drivers were waiting on the pier. When one spotted me he jumped on. I ignored him. The boat was never closer than three feet from the pier. All these 'se om' drivers had their hands out to help me - to help themselves. I had to jump and push them away at the same time. I didn't stay to watch them unload the bikes and the goats. I don't how they did it. I charged through the sea of 'se oms' to get some air, though I knew I'd have to pick one.
I also knew where I wanted to go but the driver didn't want to go there. He wanted to go where he'd get a commission. When we finally got to where I wanted to go the driver demanded more money for taking me to those other places
I was exhausted and I'd had it with being taken advantage of. The room wasn't anywhere near as nice as what I'd been paying. This time I couldn't hold back, I started to cry.
I ordered a beer, put my swimsuit on, and dove in the ocean. After a few strokes I was in total bliss.
The next morning I went to the bus station and took the worst bus I've taken so far on this trip. One of those buses where I felt filthy before we even left. As a foreigner I paid double for this luxury as the prices were blatantly displayed. Still I was in good spirits. All I had to do was imagine of a couple of my friends sitting on this same bus.
There were two seats on each side of the aisle, which actually sat three. I was lucky and had a cute young mother and her beautiful, doll like, daughter for seat mates. Everyone had brought their breakfast with them and the scrapes were dumped on the floor along kids' pee because they couldn't wait until we stopped. When we did stop for a toilet break it was another one of these cement platforms in the back of the cafe. There were no walls but, at least, there was a slight incline so you weren't totally splatter when you went. The bottom of my shoes and everyone else became wet. We tracked them back to the bus.
Arriving at the bus station in Ha Tien was like arriving anywhere, you're immediately met with a dozen of 'se om' drivers (motorcycle taxis). These drivers are not just for the foreigners but for all. Of course, foreigners are a prize because they can charge them more. They are shocked and happy to see me. Who's going to get the prize?
I fought my way through. I was going to walk across the bridge, I had read about, to the hotel where I wanted to stay. The bridge wasn't there. It collapsed four months ago. I found this out after walking through deep mud. There waiting for me to return was Cuong (same name, different person from up north). He won me over by asking me what I wanted to pay. Yes, he spoke English. He looked like a Vietnamese Tony Bourdain, which as you all know, was another plus.
I was most definitely the only traveler in Ha Tien that day and most days. Travelers going to Phu Quoc skip Ha Tien (which is off the main road and why I had to take a local bus) to take the speeder boats from Rach Gia.
Cuong caught up with me later for a motorbike ride. We rode around the countryside to see the cave where the Kymer Rouge slaughtered 130 Vietnamese and to some beautiful pagodas where Budhist monks still lived. Again, he asked me what I wanted to pay. This guy was sharp.
I enjoyed my afternoon with him and I trusted him, which was what he wanted. He asked me if I had a ticket to Phu Quoc Island. I didn't have a ticket yet, but I booked a reservation (no payment or credit card) from Rach Gia. "You don't need to go all the way to Rach Gia . You can take a hydrofoil from Ba Hon." I didn't believe him, but told him I'd think about it and would tell him tomorrow. In the meantime I asked around and every local told me not to take the boat from Ba Hon. Lonely Planet, my guide book, said the boats from Ha Tien (not far from Ba Hon) were not seaworthy, dodgy at best. It also said there were known pirates on that route. Well, as Cuong said, the boat wasn't leaving from Ha Tien. I was sure that made all the difference in the world - Not!
The next morning there was Cuong waiting four me. I told him I was not going to Ba Hon. He could take me to the bus station so I could go to Rach Gia. He still tried to convince me. "Cheaper/faster, all the Vietnamese tourists take this boat." Suddenly I changed my mind. What the hell. When have I listened before? It's not the first time I've ignored advice.
Lonely Planet also said the road from Chau Doc to Ha Tien has had reports of bandits, which was another reason travelers didn't come here. I took a chance coming here and now I was basically hitchhiking with over $500 in cash on the same stretch of road with someone I only trusted because of the Tony Bourdain similarity.
We pulled into Ba Hon 20k away from Ha Tien. It's a little fishing village where I expect very few and I mean very few foreigners have gone. Who could be as naïve, as stupid, as masochistic as me? Cuong showed me the boat. As I thought, it was a fishing boat and not a hydrofoil. It was a fishing boat that looked like it was carrying refuges - refuges and goats! So Cuong showed me the boat but I couldn't get on. I was sure the boat owner already had his limit of passengers - all of this was suspect. There were passengers packed on the boat already. The boat had to be checked out with the harbor patrol police before the boat owner could leave the harbor. He didn't want me on the boat, for sure, until after they had done this. Cuong then took me back towards Ha Tien. I didn't know what was going on or why I was going along with it!
We went to this small cafe off the side of the road and next to the water. There were a few other locals there and three motorcycles. I had to pay the woman at the cafe a price that was only slightly less than if I had taken the hydrofoil from Rach Gia. I knew I was being ripped off. I was only doing this for the adventure. I forked over the money. I already gave Cuong money for taking me here. I knew he's getting a cut. I told him that I hoped he was getting a big commission.
This little crew and three motorcycles (the boat already had two other motorcycles on it) go off - down and across a bamboo slotted bridge and on trail to an outrigger canoe. Someone else was getting a cut. Hidden in the mangrove we loaded up the three bikes and ourselves.
I'd been laughing up until now, laughing at the absurdity of it all. Now I looked at Cuong one last time. Tears were forming in my eyes. "I hope you're honest with me. I won't be hurt?" He turned and walked away.
The outrigger went out in the bay and waited. The fishing boat came after being cleared with the patrol. It was a chore loading the motorcycles onto the deck. We were finally off and I constantly scanned the water for places I could swim to. I was taking my money with me if I had to suddenly leave this boat. If I couldn't have it no one would. But before I even scanned the ocean I had to plug up my ears with my indispensable earplugs. The engine was deafening. No one talked, they just made motions.
I felt like a refuge. This was not a boat you could walk around on, play cards on a table or drink a beer. In the center of the deck were two low levels that you had to crawl into and sit. In this case, I was glad I was short. I could sit up straight. I sat next to the captain as did just about every one else who was on the upper level, because the space was so small.
You couldn't walk around on the deck unless you held onto something with dear life or you'd be thrown off the boat. Anyway, it was covered with the goats and the motorcycles that were tied down. The toilet was a hole in the deck that was surrounded with flimsy tarp. I couldn't imagine using it - trying to open the flapping tarp and go as the boat was rocking all over the place. I was too nervous to go, anyway.
Most of the time, I could see tiny islands and occasionally another lone fishing boat. The sky was blue but it was very windy. The waves were huge and at one point, of course, when there were no islands or other boats the crew looked extremely concerned as we were being tossed about. Anyone who was sleeping was now wide awake. Everyone was alert and rigid.
I was using two life jackets as pillows. There were five more hanging and tied up. I had difficulty untying the two. There were also two kid sized life preservers. That made nine. There were over 40 of us on the boat, not including the goats.
Well, we made it, but Cuong was definitely not honest on this one detail. It didn't take just three hours. It took six counting the skiff ride. About an hour before landing one of the crew members went around and collected the money. It seemed
awkward and tense as the other passengers doled over their money and nothing else was asked from me. I thought for sure he'd ask for more. I had to hand it to them they could have demanded it, but didn't.
It was so windy the boat had problems tying up on the long pier. All the 'se om' drivers were waiting on the pier. When one spotted me he jumped on. I ignored him. The boat was never closer than three feet from the pier. All these 'se om' drivers had their hands out to help me - to help themselves. I had to jump and push them away at the same time. I didn't stay to watch them unload the bikes and the goats. I don't how they did it. I charged through the sea of 'se oms' to get some air, though I knew I'd have to pick one.
I also knew where I wanted to go but the driver didn't want to go there. He wanted to go where he'd get a commission. When we finally got to where I wanted to go the driver demanded more money for taking me to those other places
I was exhausted and I'd had it with being taken advantage of. The room wasn't anywhere near as nice as what I'd been paying. This time I couldn't hold back, I started to cry.
I ordered a beer, put my swimsuit on, and dove in the ocean. After a few strokes I was in total bliss.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Market Day in Sapa
Saturday's the big festival day here in Sapa: parade, sacrificial foods, kids dressed in traditional costumes, dragons, and a theater group to boot. It's a perfect time for me to get out of town! I high tail it down to Cat Cat village. It's not named for cats. I don't know the Vietnamese word for cats. Although I guess I should so I won't be eating it. I'm the only Westerner and practically the only person which suits me fine. It's scenic and that's all I care about: rice paddies and locals carrying loads of wood in baskets on their backs, swing bridges and waterfalls. A few hours later as I'm drudging up the hill back to Sapa I see a mini bus full of tourists getting out. Their tour leader is handing them water bottles and he gives me one as I pass: "Cam on!" Thank you, just what I needed!
I'm wearing jeans. Yes jeans. Do as I say and not as I do. Since I'm the inveterate traveler people assume I'm an expert and I should be. Do not, do not bring jeans I have said. Heavy, hot, can't be wash by hand, and take forever to dry. But I was packing for two trips: one that was much cooler, and I had a washer/dryer at my disposal. I wasn't that attached to these and I kept thinking I would dump them somewhere. But they've come in handy here in Sapa at 1500 meters. One thing you can say about jeans is that it takes a long time before they look dirty. My legs start itching before then and that's what they've been doing. In the old days (dumber days) I would wash everything by hand, usually with all the other local women down by the river or whatever other water source. Yes, I did my share of mucking up the environment.
Now I hand it over to someone else to do, which reminds me of Spain. I wanted this man at the laundry mat to wash all my stuff except my underwear. I ask him as I hold open my bag of panties, "Es posible tener un poco sopa? I thought I was asking for soap so I could wash my underwear myself. But I was asking him for soup. Could you put some soup in my bag of panties? It came to me pretty quickly when I saw the look on his face. I should have said jabon not sopa.
The next day is Sunday and it seems like all the tourists are loading up in the mini buses to go to the fabulous Bac Ha market. Guess where I'm going? Ta Phin. Again beautiful countryside: green jutting mountains, terraced land, lots of water buffalo with children riding them. The first person I meet is Ma Mai a pretty Red Dzao hill tribe woman. She speaks decent English and becomes my free guide taking me to places I really don't care about and to show my appreciation I buy something from her I really don't want.
My thrill for the day is the motor scooter ride back. I had planned on walking there and catching a scooter back. The scooter guys here remind me of the kids on Haight Street selling buds. Motor bike, motor bike, motor bike like they're selling drugs and of all the scooters I could've have taken I pick one that's already loaded down with a three foot wooden rack and a five gallon plastic container of gasoline. What was I thinking? I was thinking he was going to drop those off quickly and we'd be on our way to Sapa 17kms away. But no he's taking those to Sapa. He puts the gasoline container between his legs and holds the rack with his one hand. He doesn't trust me to hold it. The other hand he steers around the mountain curves, the bumps, the people, dogs and other scooters. I just scream "Hati Hati!" over and over again, which is Indonesian for "be careful". Of course, he doesn't know Indonesian but he didn't know English either. He pulled over three times to discuss nothing - just both of us talking excitedly. I thought it was about money but when we finally arrived back in Sapa he seemed happy about the $1.25 I gave him and I gather through his motions of patting his seat behind him and pointing to his mouth he opened and closed that he wanted to buy me lunch. I'm sure I passed up another golden opportunity of eating a cat.
I'm wearing jeans. Yes jeans. Do as I say and not as I do. Since I'm the inveterate traveler people assume I'm an expert and I should be. Do not, do not bring jeans I have said. Heavy, hot, can't be wash by hand, and take forever to dry. But I was packing for two trips: one that was much cooler, and I had a washer/dryer at my disposal. I wasn't that attached to these and I kept thinking I would dump them somewhere. But they've come in handy here in Sapa at 1500 meters. One thing you can say about jeans is that it takes a long time before they look dirty. My legs start itching before then and that's what they've been doing. In the old days (dumber days) I would wash everything by hand, usually with all the other local women down by the river or whatever other water source. Yes, I did my share of mucking up the environment.
Now I hand it over to someone else to do, which reminds me of Spain. I wanted this man at the laundry mat to wash all my stuff except my underwear. I ask him as I hold open my bag of panties, "Es posible tener un poco sopa? I thought I was asking for soap so I could wash my underwear myself. But I was asking him for soup. Could you put some soup in my bag of panties? It came to me pretty quickly when I saw the look on his face. I should have said jabon not sopa.
The next day is Sunday and it seems like all the tourists are loading up in the mini buses to go to the fabulous Bac Ha market. Guess where I'm going? Ta Phin. Again beautiful countryside: green jutting mountains, terraced land, lots of water buffalo with children riding them. The first person I meet is Ma Mai a pretty Red Dzao hill tribe woman. She speaks decent English and becomes my free guide taking me to places I really don't care about and to show my appreciation I buy something from her I really don't want.
My thrill for the day is the motor scooter ride back. I had planned on walking there and catching a scooter back. The scooter guys here remind me of the kids on Haight Street selling buds. Motor bike, motor bike, motor bike like they're selling drugs and of all the scooters I could've have taken I pick one that's already loaded down with a three foot wooden rack and a five gallon plastic container of gasoline. What was I thinking? I was thinking he was going to drop those off quickly and we'd be on our way to Sapa 17kms away. But no he's taking those to Sapa. He puts the gasoline container between his legs and holds the rack with his one hand. He doesn't trust me to hold it. The other hand he steers around the mountain curves, the bumps, the people, dogs and other scooters. I just scream "Hati Hati!" over and over again, which is Indonesian for "be careful". Of course, he doesn't know Indonesian but he didn't know English either. He pulled over three times to discuss nothing - just both of us talking excitedly. I thought it was about money but when we finally arrived back in Sapa he seemed happy about the $1.25 I gave him and I gather through his motions of patting his seat behind him and pointing to his mouth he opened and closed that he wanted to buy me lunch. I'm sure I passed up another golden opportunity of eating a cat.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Albania Border
It’s the 30 percent of pleasure, which seems like a 100 percent - that’s what makes me love travel. I can then forget about the 70 percent of torture. All I need for an attitude adjustment is a hike and in this case it was a hike up to this castle in Kotor. After that everything was fine.
Sometimes decisions are made for you. I had planned on going on down to Albania. I wanted to take the scenic southern coastal route but last year the border wasn't open there. Supposedly it was now. The northern route passed through an uninteresting city. But from that city I could make a choice: either I go to the mountains to the north or Albania to the south.
When I got to the bus station at 7 am the bus going the northern route to Podgorica was pulling up. A pit of a city, from what I heard, but the one with two choices. I was afraid to chance the southern route, so I hopped on.
A couple of hours later I was in Podgorica and the taxi drivers immediately swarmed around me, "Taxi, taxi, taxi" Even when I said no emphatically.
I asked the reservationist what time the bus to Durimtor, the national park, left.” In four hours”, he said.
"Taxi, taxi, taxi" the drivers kept calling. I don't want to be in this station for four hours and have to listen to that.
"What time does the bus to Albania leave?"
"There's no bus to Albania. You have to take a taxi to the border." I turned and a taxi driver with no teeth gave me a big grin.
"Aren't you happy? Well, not so quick buddy." I smirked.
The taxi ride to the border is 20 euros (about $23). I am not going to go to the border then have to take another Albanian taxi ride to the next closest town, if even.
Thinking is hard when I’m pressured. "What time does the bus to Niksic leave?"
"In five minutes." Niksic is a city on the way to Durmitor. I might have to wait for the same bus that will leave here in four hours, but at least I won't be surrounded by taxi drivers. I jump on.
About an hour later and not half way we are in Niksic. Brother, is this podunk! No one speaks English, although basically no one in Podgorica did either. Montenegro uses the Cyrillic alphabet, so I can't makes sense of any words.
I thought I would use the toilet. I don't mind the Indonesian squat style but this one was disgustingly dirty. Two Roma children sat out front wanting money to use it. I was not that desperate and if I was I'd go behind anything else. I scanned the area for a substitution.
In the restaurant no one knew what I was saying. Fortunately, my guide book had Durmitor written in Cyrillic so they knew where I wanted to go. There was a mini bus leaving in 15 minutes. Great! I wouldn't have to wait for the the bus coming from Podgorica.
Okay 15 minutes - I had time for a coffee. But every time I said anything the waiter held up a beer. No, I didn't want a beer. When I pointed to a man with coffee, the waiter still held up a beer. Finally, I got a coffee. It looked like mud and tasted worst.
"Aye Yi Yi!" I made a face "This will keep me up for a week!" I asked for sugar, and the waiter held up a beer. I made a face every time I took a sip and this was all very funny.
Then we were off. There were four passengers. On the way a few got on and a few got off. The driver also picked up a carton of cigarettes on the way. He kept looking at them. Amazingly, no one smoked. It was a very winding road. I wasn't sick but this time I had a plastic bag - just in case. On that last mountain trip, when I thought I might throw up, I didn't have one. I will not be without a plastic bag again.
I was fine but an old lady threw up. She had a plastic bag. She was mad at the driver because from what I gathered we were taking a detour and this road was rougher and had even more twists. Well, it was a detour. The driver stopped by the side of the road and gave this woman the carton of cigs. No money was exchanged. We went on and then this teenage kid threw up. He threw up right behind the driver and he had no plastic bag. I was glad I was sitting by the window and I got a lot of air.
At last we got to Durmitor. The mountains were just what I needed. I have so many pictures of mountains if you shuttled them I probably couldn't tell which one it was. After hiking for four days I was ready to leave.
I got a ride with two Norwegians, who had a rented car, to the larger town of Mojkovac. They would go south from there and I would get a direct bus to Nis, where I could see the remaining 58 of 982 Serbian heads that the Turks scalped and embedded in a monument. The Turks did this to show their victory two hundred years ago. (Oh those nice Turks!) Nis was also not far from the Bulgarian border. I was by passing Albanian for now.
Everything was fine until once we were in Mojkovac I learned that the bus to Nis would not leave for another four hours. It would take at least another five to get there. It was 2:30 then. I decided to stay in Mojkovac and take the bus that left the next morning at 9 am. But there was one problem. There were no hotels or private rooms in town. There was one hotel 4km away. The Norwegians drove me there.
If it weren't for them I would have stayed at that bus station and waited. I was so glad I didn't have to. I loved this hotel. Beautiful setting, great food – it was a place where the locals went for a special occasion, but really inexpensive for me. It cost me 10 euros for one of the best rooms I've ever had and I'm treated like a queen. I walked around the bucolic countryside and bought wild strawberries from some children. I was pretty happy.
The next morning an employee drove me to town to catch the bus to Nis. The bus route followed a canyon most of the way. It also followed the border of Kosovo, which I was not allowed to enter. The bus was stopped by Serbian police a couple of times. Other than that, it was a comfortable bus ride with few people. I sat on one side and then the other depending on the view, which was spectacular.
Sometimes decisions are made for you. I had planned on going on down to Albania. I wanted to take the scenic southern coastal route but last year the border wasn't open there. Supposedly it was now. The northern route passed through an uninteresting city. But from that city I could make a choice: either I go to the mountains to the north or Albania to the south.
When I got to the bus station at 7 am the bus going the northern route to Podgorica was pulling up. A pit of a city, from what I heard, but the one with two choices. I was afraid to chance the southern route, so I hopped on.
A couple of hours later I was in Podgorica and the taxi drivers immediately swarmed around me, "Taxi, taxi, taxi" Even when I said no emphatically.
I asked the reservationist what time the bus to Durimtor, the national park, left.” In four hours”, he said.
"Taxi, taxi, taxi" the drivers kept calling. I don't want to be in this station for four hours and have to listen to that.
"What time does the bus to Albania leave?"
"There's no bus to Albania. You have to take a taxi to the border." I turned and a taxi driver with no teeth gave me a big grin.
"Aren't you happy? Well, not so quick buddy." I smirked.
The taxi ride to the border is 20 euros (about $23). I am not going to go to the border then have to take another Albanian taxi ride to the next closest town, if even.
Thinking is hard when I’m pressured. "What time does the bus to Niksic leave?"
"In five minutes." Niksic is a city on the way to Durmitor. I might have to wait for the same bus that will leave here in four hours, but at least I won't be surrounded by taxi drivers. I jump on.
About an hour later and not half way we are in Niksic. Brother, is this podunk! No one speaks English, although basically no one in Podgorica did either. Montenegro uses the Cyrillic alphabet, so I can't makes sense of any words.
I thought I would use the toilet. I don't mind the Indonesian squat style but this one was disgustingly dirty. Two Roma children sat out front wanting money to use it. I was not that desperate and if I was I'd go behind anything else. I scanned the area for a substitution.
In the restaurant no one knew what I was saying. Fortunately, my guide book had Durmitor written in Cyrillic so they knew where I wanted to go. There was a mini bus leaving in 15 minutes. Great! I wouldn't have to wait for the the bus coming from Podgorica.
Okay 15 minutes - I had time for a coffee. But every time I said anything the waiter held up a beer. No, I didn't want a beer. When I pointed to a man with coffee, the waiter still held up a beer. Finally, I got a coffee. It looked like mud and tasted worst.
"Aye Yi Yi!" I made a face "This will keep me up for a week!" I asked for sugar, and the waiter held up a beer. I made a face every time I took a sip and this was all very funny.
Then we were off. There were four passengers. On the way a few got on and a few got off. The driver also picked up a carton of cigarettes on the way. He kept looking at them. Amazingly, no one smoked. It was a very winding road. I wasn't sick but this time I had a plastic bag - just in case. On that last mountain trip, when I thought I might throw up, I didn't have one. I will not be without a plastic bag again.
I was fine but an old lady threw up. She had a plastic bag. She was mad at the driver because from what I gathered we were taking a detour and this road was rougher and had even more twists. Well, it was a detour. The driver stopped by the side of the road and gave this woman the carton of cigs. No money was exchanged. We went on and then this teenage kid threw up. He threw up right behind the driver and he had no plastic bag. I was glad I was sitting by the window and I got a lot of air.
At last we got to Durmitor. The mountains were just what I needed. I have so many pictures of mountains if you shuttled them I probably couldn't tell which one it was. After hiking for four days I was ready to leave.
I got a ride with two Norwegians, who had a rented car, to the larger town of Mojkovac. They would go south from there and I would get a direct bus to Nis, where I could see the remaining 58 of 982 Serbian heads that the Turks scalped and embedded in a monument. The Turks did this to show their victory two hundred years ago. (Oh those nice Turks!) Nis was also not far from the Bulgarian border. I was by passing Albanian for now.
Everything was fine until once we were in Mojkovac I learned that the bus to Nis would not leave for another four hours. It would take at least another five to get there. It was 2:30 then. I decided to stay in Mojkovac and take the bus that left the next morning at 9 am. But there was one problem. There were no hotels or private rooms in town. There was one hotel 4km away. The Norwegians drove me there.
If it weren't for them I would have stayed at that bus station and waited. I was so glad I didn't have to. I loved this hotel. Beautiful setting, great food – it was a place where the locals went for a special occasion, but really inexpensive for me. It cost me 10 euros for one of the best rooms I've ever had and I'm treated like a queen. I walked around the bucolic countryside and bought wild strawberries from some children. I was pretty happy.
The next morning an employee drove me to town to catch the bus to Nis. The bus route followed a canyon most of the way. It also followed the border of Kosovo, which I was not allowed to enter. The bus was stopped by Serbian police a couple of times. Other than that, it was a comfortable bus ride with few people. I sat on one side and then the other depending on the view, which was spectacular.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Toilets
Usually I say you can judge a good restaurant by its bathrooms. Well it does make me feel better. When Brigitte and I were on the China border with Cuong we ate at this really great restaurant, one of my best meals so far and this time we really wished that Cuong was with us and hadn't run off. Cuong actually wanted to come to this border town more than we did. It was a huge shopping town of knock off Western clothes and Cuong wanted to buy something for his wife.
Brigitte and I found a very popular restaurant. No menus. We pointed at another table's food and, of course, by doing this they wanted us to join them. We refused but that didn't stop them from bringing over the rice wine - high quality stuff too!
The Peking Duck- the best ever, Chinese broccoli cooked perfectly, still slightly crisp with garlic and oyster sauce and fried tofu then braised with more vegies in this turmeric curry sauce. I'm sorry I can't describe more adequately the shiny dark amber of the duck, the bright greens and yellow sauce of the tofu. No matter where you go, no matter how simple or inexpensive, your meals are always colorful in Vietnam.
Well, I had to pee. I open the door to a big cement room. A woman was guarding the door for her friends because it was used for both men and women. Several women were squatting with their pants down. There was no way I was going to squat on cement and have pee splatter all over me let alone step in it. I went back to the table and told Brigitte I was going to hold it.
So I'm desperately looking for a place to pee and now Brigitte has to go, too. We see a hotel. I gotta tell you 90% of the time men can go anywhere. As a woman I think I could write a book on just toilets: the best ones, the worse ones and where to find them. If there's an expensive hotel around that's where I go. If like Raffles in Singapore or the Sofitel in Hanoi or even the St. Francis in San Francisco since they're conveniently located I'll go every time I'm close just because the bathrooms are so luxurious.
I have to sidetrack here. If you're in the St. Francis you must take the elevator (passed the bathrooms to the right) to the 30th, 31st, 32nd and keep pushing those numbers for one of the best views in town. The last time I did this a Latino man with his young son were doing the same. If you're really lucky no one will get in on your way down and you'll get that feeling of having your stomach drop. Kids love this and so do I!
Back to this hotel at the Friendship border - it was not like one of those mentioned above. We enter the hotel and I seem to have a homing device to find the bathroom quickly. There it is, the WC. Brigitte and I go in and immediately the smell of ammonia overwhelms me. It's an open room with a trough and four holes in it. Most of these holes have been missed. Piles of feces surround them. I have to go. I squat and hold my breath. Brigitte is squatting besides me. This clinches our bond.
Brigitte and I found a very popular restaurant. No menus. We pointed at another table's food and, of course, by doing this they wanted us to join them. We refused but that didn't stop them from bringing over the rice wine - high quality stuff too!
The Peking Duck- the best ever, Chinese broccoli cooked perfectly, still slightly crisp with garlic and oyster sauce and fried tofu then braised with more vegies in this turmeric curry sauce. I'm sorry I can't describe more adequately the shiny dark amber of the duck, the bright greens and yellow sauce of the tofu. No matter where you go, no matter how simple or inexpensive, your meals are always colorful in Vietnam.
Well, I had to pee. I open the door to a big cement room. A woman was guarding the door for her friends because it was used for both men and women. Several women were squatting with their pants down. There was no way I was going to squat on cement and have pee splatter all over me let alone step in it. I went back to the table and told Brigitte I was going to hold it.
So I'm desperately looking for a place to pee and now Brigitte has to go, too. We see a hotel. I gotta tell you 90% of the time men can go anywhere. As a woman I think I could write a book on just toilets: the best ones, the worse ones and where to find them. If there's an expensive hotel around that's where I go. If like Raffles in Singapore or the Sofitel in Hanoi or even the St. Francis in San Francisco since they're conveniently located I'll go every time I'm close just because the bathrooms are so luxurious.
I have to sidetrack here. If you're in the St. Francis you must take the elevator (passed the bathrooms to the right) to the 30th, 31st, 32nd and keep pushing those numbers for one of the best views in town. The last time I did this a Latino man with his young son were doing the same. If you're really lucky no one will get in on your way down and you'll get that feeling of having your stomach drop. Kids love this and so do I!
Back to this hotel at the Friendship border - it was not like one of those mentioned above. We enter the hotel and I seem to have a homing device to find the bathroom quickly. There it is, the WC. Brigitte and I go in and immediately the smell of ammonia overwhelms me. It's an open room with a trough and four holes in it. Most of these holes have been missed. Piles of feces surround them. I have to go. I squat and hold my breath. Brigitte is squatting besides me. This clinches our bond.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Fainting
So I lied. I have almost fainted (or something) before. The something was 30 years ago in Hawaii. I used to hitchhike all the time, especially when I lived on the Big Island of Hawaii. I first lived in Volcano, Hawaii. I worked for Volcano House when it was privately owned. If you worked for Volcano House you could live in the employee cabins for only $50 a month. On my shifts I could eat for free so I spent very little money - all besides the point. Volcano was at 5000 feet, so it was wasn't hot, quite cool at night, and not near the beach so on my days off I'd hitch, usually to Kona. I usually stayed with my friends on lived on Telephone Exchange Road. I have lots of wild hitchhiking stories. They will have to be told another time. But on this one particular time I was picked up by these religious fanatics.
These fanatics preached to me the evils of alcohol, they gave me a bible, and prayed I would get a safe ride the rest of the way to Kona. As soon as I got out of their van I was picked up by some other friends of mine and we immediately beelined it to the nearest liquor store. We drank and made our way towards Telephone Exchange. When I got out of the car I fell to the ground and had some sort of epileptic type fit. Second later I came to and I was totally sober. Obviously, I was freaked out and didn't drink any more that night.
The next day I went to the nearest Alcohol Anonymous chapter. After a few minutes of listening to more religious spill I decided there was nothing wrong with me. I never had anything happen like that again.
Ten years ago I was working at L'Osteria del Forno. The chef brought in some habinero peppers and me being the masochistic, macho that I am ate two - just to make sure he knew how tough I was. My mouth wasn't on fire, but I felt like passing out. The other waitress told me to go upstairs to storage room and lay down. We weren't busy so I went up there, laid on my back and put my feet up. In just a couple of minutes it was as if I never ate them. I felt fine and went back to work.
This brings me to my most recent episode. On December 31st my cousin Catha and her husband, Ron were here visiting and Catha wanted to see the Owen's home in Independence. I really could care less about ancestors. I have never been to Independence. Harry Truman is from there and seems to be a favorite school outing, but our class never went. I just wanted to get out of the house.
The previous day I was at the Podunk gym. There was a girl twenty years younger than me who was going quite fast on the treadmill next to me. I couldn't stand that and upped my speed. My hip hurt afterwards, but that didn't stop me from shoveling more snow off the driveway. I was limping now. I knew the gym would be closed on January 1st, so although I was limping I went back to the gym on the 31st and ran an hour more on the treadmill. When my cousins came to pick my mother and myself up, I could barely walk.
I don't want to leave out anything so whether it's important or not, I'm mentioning it. It's not unusual for me to not sleep well and the night before was no different. I also want to mention that I had a glass of wine with lunch before we went to this house. Most of the time when I go out for lunch with others I have a glass of wine. I ate well and felt fine except for my limp. Then we went to the house.
The owner of the home was excited to see us and immediately started talking about Sam Owens and his wild daughters. I wasn't listening well and I'm sure Catha will correct me, but one ran off and married a lawyer when she was 14. He later killed a man he thought was flirting with her in this very house. It was either her or her sister that was married to three men at the same time.
I wasn't listening well, because I desperate to sit down. I became dizzy as soon as I walked in the door. The house was filled with antiques. I had to sit, but where? I kept telling myself not to fall, I had to keep moving. I moved closer to the door and when I couldn't stand it, I went out. I thought the air would help but it didn't. I went back in and asked Ron for the keys to his car. "I have to lay down."
The woman of the house said I could lay down in the family room. I went in there and laid on the sofa with my feet propped up on the arm. I laid prone for 20 minutes. Then I was fine.
After the tour the owner told us I wasn't the only one this happened to. One woman refuses to ever go in the house again. She said there might be ghosts. Ron teased me, saying one entered my body.
This assumption pleases me. I'm sure there's another reason but I don't think having one glass of wine or pulling a muscle is it.
These fanatics preached to me the evils of alcohol, they gave me a bible, and prayed I would get a safe ride the rest of the way to Kona. As soon as I got out of their van I was picked up by some other friends of mine and we immediately beelined it to the nearest liquor store. We drank and made our way towards Telephone Exchange. When I got out of the car I fell to the ground and had some sort of epileptic type fit. Second later I came to and I was totally sober. Obviously, I was freaked out and didn't drink any more that night.
The next day I went to the nearest Alcohol Anonymous chapter. After a few minutes of listening to more religious spill I decided there was nothing wrong with me. I never had anything happen like that again.
Ten years ago I was working at L'Osteria del Forno. The chef brought in some habinero peppers and me being the masochistic, macho that I am ate two - just to make sure he knew how tough I was. My mouth wasn't on fire, but I felt like passing out. The other waitress told me to go upstairs to storage room and lay down. We weren't busy so I went up there, laid on my back and put my feet up. In just a couple of minutes it was as if I never ate them. I felt fine and went back to work.
This brings me to my most recent episode. On December 31st my cousin Catha and her husband, Ron were here visiting and Catha wanted to see the Owen's home in Independence. I really could care less about ancestors. I have never been to Independence. Harry Truman is from there and seems to be a favorite school outing, but our class never went. I just wanted to get out of the house.
The previous day I was at the Podunk gym. There was a girl twenty years younger than me who was going quite fast on the treadmill next to me. I couldn't stand that and upped my speed. My hip hurt afterwards, but that didn't stop me from shoveling more snow off the driveway. I was limping now. I knew the gym would be closed on January 1st, so although I was limping I went back to the gym on the 31st and ran an hour more on the treadmill. When my cousins came to pick my mother and myself up, I could barely walk.
I don't want to leave out anything so whether it's important or not, I'm mentioning it. It's not unusual for me to not sleep well and the night before was no different. I also want to mention that I had a glass of wine with lunch before we went to this house. Most of the time when I go out for lunch with others I have a glass of wine. I ate well and felt fine except for my limp. Then we went to the house.
The owner of the home was excited to see us and immediately started talking about Sam Owens and his wild daughters. I wasn't listening well and I'm sure Catha will correct me, but one ran off and married a lawyer when she was 14. He later killed a man he thought was flirting with her in this very house. It was either her or her sister that was married to three men at the same time.
I wasn't listening well, because I desperate to sit down. I became dizzy as soon as I walked in the door. The house was filled with antiques. I had to sit, but where? I kept telling myself not to fall, I had to keep moving. I moved closer to the door and when I couldn't stand it, I went out. I thought the air would help but it didn't. I went back in and asked Ron for the keys to his car. "I have to lay down."
The woman of the house said I could lay down in the family room. I went in there and laid on the sofa with my feet propped up on the arm. I laid prone for 20 minutes. Then I was fine.
After the tour the owner told us I wasn't the only one this happened to. One woman refuses to ever go in the house again. She said there might be ghosts. Ron teased me, saying one entered my body.
This assumption pleases me. I'm sure there's another reason but I don't think having one glass of wine or pulling a muscle is it.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
American Legion
It used to be the only place to have a drink in Podunkville was the Town Tavern. Now there's the American Legion. I guess the veterans can go there and get wasted to forget the war they fought. I don't know if there were any vets there last night. I can't believe I was there myself. Podunkville is about 20 miles miles from Kansas City. It bad enough to have to drive that far in good weather but the snow on the roads have barely been plowed. I could go to Justus Drugstore for a tasty concoction or a nice glass of wine but they are not cheap. Since I'm practically broke I can't be going there often.
Well, my mother invited me to go to the Drugstore with her. "But I'm only buying you tea." I wanted something stronger than that so I brought some cash. And I lucked out. My equally bored neighbor (unemployed/living with elderly parents) was there with her two sons who were visiting for the holidays. She asked if she could buy us a drink. Great! I got some yummy infused vodka drink and talked to her charming sons, mostly about Tony Bourdain, our idol.
I was also killing time until a couple of other old high school friends called me. Jeff, who lives in Sacramento, and Jamie, who lives in St. Louis were both back for the holidays. Jamie wanted to play pool at the American Legion. He said it's 'the place' to go in Podunkville. The place to go? So if I want to see other inebriated high school friends this where I would find them.
They pick me up at the Drugstore and off we go. I didn't think of music. If I had thought I probably would have been more hesitant about going. I can't stand country music. Before I got my drink I heard the Clash. "Wow! Thank you, Jamie" He knew I'd appreciate that. So at various times to keep my sanity, I had to shove some red neck aside to play some Ramones, Springsteen, Hendrix, and the Beastie Boys on the jute box.
Oh we played pool.Unfortunately for Jeff, I had to be his partner. But considering I haven't played in 15 years, I didn't think I did so badly. And as far as seeing anyone I knew, I only recognized one. The pounds and wrinkles made it difficult to figure out the others.
As you read in my Nuisance story there are corrupt cops in this area. I swear there must be one for every residence and they are bored. I will not let Jeff and Jamie drive back to Blue Springs, an hour away. "There's plenty of room at my mother's house." I don't want to go to jail again and I don't want them to either.
Will I go back to the American Legion? Although there was music I liked and I could refine my pool playing, unless Jamie or Jeff come back to town before I leave I doubt it.
Well, my mother invited me to go to the Drugstore with her. "But I'm only buying you tea." I wanted something stronger than that so I brought some cash. And I lucked out. My equally bored neighbor (unemployed/living with elderly parents) was there with her two sons who were visiting for the holidays. She asked if she could buy us a drink. Great! I got some yummy infused vodka drink and talked to her charming sons, mostly about Tony Bourdain, our idol.
I was also killing time until a couple of other old high school friends called me. Jeff, who lives in Sacramento, and Jamie, who lives in St. Louis were both back for the holidays. Jamie wanted to play pool at the American Legion. He said it's 'the place' to go in Podunkville. The place to go? So if I want to see other inebriated high school friends this where I would find them.
They pick me up at the Drugstore and off we go. I didn't think of music. If I had thought I probably would have been more hesitant about going. I can't stand country music. Before I got my drink I heard the Clash. "Wow! Thank you, Jamie" He knew I'd appreciate that. So at various times to keep my sanity, I had to shove some red neck aside to play some Ramones, Springsteen, Hendrix, and the Beastie Boys on the jute box.
Oh we played pool.Unfortunately for Jeff, I had to be his partner. But considering I haven't played in 15 years, I didn't think I did so badly. And as far as seeing anyone I knew, I only recognized one. The pounds and wrinkles made it difficult to figure out the others.
As you read in my Nuisance story there are corrupt cops in this area. I swear there must be one for every residence and they are bored. I will not let Jeff and Jamie drive back to Blue Springs, an hour away. "There's plenty of room at my mother's house." I don't want to go to jail again and I don't want them to either.
Will I go back to the American Legion? Although there was music I liked and I could refine my pool playing, unless Jamie or Jeff come back to town before I leave I doubt it.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Nuisance
Nuisance loves me. If it wasn't for me he'd have a different home - if one. There's a long story that goes with the day I got my family (my mother and father) to adopt him. I would have adopted him myself except I was living in San Francisco. A place I never thought I'd leave. I was just visiting Podunkville - something I didn't do even annually. I once went four years without coming to visit - I like it so much.
So on this day, July 24, 2004, I just ran six miles. I was getting ready to swim in my parent's pool when I saw what I thought was a rat. Not unusual. My parent live close to a woods. When I was growing up I found different animals in the pool I'd have to save or just retrieve, if they already drowned. In this case, it wasn't a rat but a baby bunny and still alive. I wrapped it in some towels and gave it some lettuce to eat. I kept an eye on it periodically and then suddenly it was gone. Just minutes later I saw a small scrawny cat hanging around. "Well, I have to feed that cat or he's going to eat my bunny." I said to myself. So I did.
As I swam my laps my father came out. His dog, Henry, had just died the previous week. "I guess we have a new pet," he says. "What should we name him ?" I asked. "Nuisance." And Nuisance became his name.
After swimming my laps I jumped on my nephew's bike, that was left here, and rode to Paradise eight miles away.
I felt fit after doing my little mini triathlon and ready to see my friend, Rodney, in the city. Rodney used to have a different girlfriend every time I saw him. I used to call him the Hugh Hefner of Kansas City. I have known him since I was four and as he would go through different women I remained his friend. As I've said before Rodney is the hippest person I know. I always have a great time with him and this time was no different. Except!
Except I had way too much to drink. Rodney suggested I stay at his house in the city. I didn't want to. I didn't want to because now I had the munchies and I wanted some ice cream that I knew was in my parents' freezer.
Although I didn't know Kansas City well, I had no problem getting out and on the highway back to Podunkville. I was a half mile from my parents' house when I got pulled over for not using my blinker. Why would I use my blinker? There was no one else on the road. That was the cop's excuse. A fight ensued and I manage to spit, kick and shove him. First I'm taken to the city jail, but because I assaulted the cop I was later taken to the county one.
I ended up getting a DUI and had to do a weekend in a motel taking alcohol related classes. This was actually fun. There were lots of games and I was very competitive. I considered the other 17 guys all idiots and red necks, but there were two other girls; one, an airline hostess and the other, an athletic club manager. We hung out together. At the end of the weekend everyone, except me, was told to never drink again. I was told I could have two classes of wine a days - seriously I'm not lying. I have my report.
Oh and the assault was dropped because the cop was fired for molesting another woman.
I'm writing about this now because at this moment Nuisance is sleeping next to me and he looks so sweet. My mother is threatening to get rid of him because he peed on her pillow. We both have our issues.
So on this day, July 24, 2004, I just ran six miles. I was getting ready to swim in my parent's pool when I saw what I thought was a rat. Not unusual. My parent live close to a woods. When I was growing up I found different animals in the pool I'd have to save or just retrieve, if they already drowned. In this case, it wasn't a rat but a baby bunny and still alive. I wrapped it in some towels and gave it some lettuce to eat. I kept an eye on it periodically and then suddenly it was gone. Just minutes later I saw a small scrawny cat hanging around. "Well, I have to feed that cat or he's going to eat my bunny." I said to myself. So I did.
As I swam my laps my father came out. His dog, Henry, had just died the previous week. "I guess we have a new pet," he says. "What should we name him ?" I asked. "Nuisance." And Nuisance became his name.
After swimming my laps I jumped on my nephew's bike, that was left here, and rode to Paradise eight miles away.
I felt fit after doing my little mini triathlon and ready to see my friend, Rodney, in the city. Rodney used to have a different girlfriend every time I saw him. I used to call him the Hugh Hefner of Kansas City. I have known him since I was four and as he would go through different women I remained his friend. As I've said before Rodney is the hippest person I know. I always have a great time with him and this time was no different. Except!
Except I had way too much to drink. Rodney suggested I stay at his house in the city. I didn't want to. I didn't want to because now I had the munchies and I wanted some ice cream that I knew was in my parents' freezer.
Although I didn't know Kansas City well, I had no problem getting out and on the highway back to Podunkville. I was a half mile from my parents' house when I got pulled over for not using my blinker. Why would I use my blinker? There was no one else on the road. That was the cop's excuse. A fight ensued and I manage to spit, kick and shove him. First I'm taken to the city jail, but because I assaulted the cop I was later taken to the county one.
I ended up getting a DUI and had to do a weekend in a motel taking alcohol related classes. This was actually fun. There were lots of games and I was very competitive. I considered the other 17 guys all idiots and red necks, but there were two other girls; one, an airline hostess and the other, an athletic club manager. We hung out together. At the end of the weekend everyone, except me, was told to never drink again. I was told I could have two classes of wine a days - seriously I'm not lying. I have my report.
Oh and the assault was dropped because the cop was fired for molesting another woman.
I'm writing about this now because at this moment Nuisance is sleeping next to me and he looks so sweet. My mother is threatening to get rid of him because he peed on her pillow. We both have our issues.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Dough
For those of you that think I only load up on fatty meats I want you to know that on Sunday I went out with my vegan friend, Diana. Actually, my excuse to come to San Francisco this time was to go to Diana's wedding. I really wanted to go because she was having it at 'Millenium' a very upscale vegan restaurant. Unfortunately, I thought it was the 13th but it's the 20th. I have to leave on the 16th. Just as well, she said because she'd be tide up with family.
So on Sunday we went to 'Herbivore' an inexpensive vegetarian/vegan cafe. I had some spicy lemongrass noodles with tofu. And hey, I loved every bite. So There!
Meanwhile back at the ranch and fatty meat. We went to 'Flour and Water' (www.flourandwater.com) last night. We started off with lamb tongue salad with a poached egg and salsa verde. Usually salsa verde is made with cilantro but this was made with mint. That was good but both Kathy and I thought the tongue had too much of a vinegar taste. We all loved the other appetizer: crispy pork and black truffle terrine with pickled red carrots.
Thank god I read 'Yelp' before we left or would have never thought to order the celery root tortelloni - melt in your mouth good. The beet chitarra (basically beet spaghetti) with braised octopus didn't fare as well. I make a fabulous beet gnocchi so I was pretty critical. There wasn't much of a beet taste and the octopus was too chewy.
The seared pheasant with the roasted pumpkin puree, quince and raisin- pine nut relish was the highlight of the meal. The pheasant was succulent. We fought over the last bites!
Quince is in season and like everything in season I eat as much as possible. I said the pheasant was the highlight, but the goat cheese torte with poached quince and candied Meyer lemon made this a memorable night. Oh the Italian wines were fairly priced and we each had a different glass to end the night, but Nick had brought a delicious Story Winery 2003 Picnic Hill old vines Zinfandel, which we started with.
Now I'm so depressed. I hate leaving San Francisco. If you don't hear from me it's because I've slit my throat.
So on Sunday we went to 'Herbivore' an inexpensive vegetarian/vegan cafe. I had some spicy lemongrass noodles with tofu. And hey, I loved every bite. So There!
Meanwhile back at the ranch and fatty meat. We went to 'Flour and Water' (www.flourandwater.com) last night. We started off with lamb tongue salad with a poached egg and salsa verde. Usually salsa verde is made with cilantro but this was made with mint. That was good but both Kathy and I thought the tongue had too much of a vinegar taste. We all loved the other appetizer: crispy pork and black truffle terrine with pickled red carrots.
Thank god I read 'Yelp' before we left or would have never thought to order the celery root tortelloni - melt in your mouth good. The beet chitarra (basically beet spaghetti) with braised octopus didn't fare as well. I make a fabulous beet gnocchi so I was pretty critical. There wasn't much of a beet taste and the octopus was too chewy.
The seared pheasant with the roasted pumpkin puree, quince and raisin- pine nut relish was the highlight of the meal. The pheasant was succulent. We fought over the last bites!
Quince is in season and like everything in season I eat as much as possible. I said the pheasant was the highlight, but the goat cheese torte with poached quince and candied Meyer lemon made this a memorable night. Oh the Italian wines were fairly priced and we each had a different glass to end the night, but Nick had brought a delicious Story Winery 2003 Picnic Hill old vines Zinfandel, which we started with.
Now I'm so depressed. I hate leaving San Francisco. If you don't hear from me it's because I've slit my throat.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Hiatus but Not From Food
As soon as Nick and Kathy picked me up in San Francisco (in their brand new Lexus hybrid BTW) we went to buy Dungeness crab. They wanted to buy already cooked crab. I have never bought cooked crab and convinced them to buy live ones. It was the first time for them. This surprised me and it's not the first time I've been surprised by people I know are foodies but afraid to kill the food they eat. Hey someone has to kill it and if you are going to eat meat or fish I think it's better if you do it. The fresher the better.
They bought four big crabs and I put them their bathtub filled with water and salt. They were so happy. Nick fed them bonito flakes and they played around while we did other things. Then I got the pots of boiling water ready and stuffed them in. I didn't cooked them all the way. Half way through I pulled them out, cracked them, and marinated them for a couple of hours in thyme, toasted fennel seed, parsley, red pepper flakes, garlic and olive oil. Then I roasted them for ten minutes - yummy! With the left overs I made crab cakes - equally delicious.
Later in the week I went to 'Range' (www.rangesf.com) My friend Elizabeth's adorable boyfriend, Jeff, is a bartender there. He made us a gin drink with lemon verbena and egg whites called 'The Fizz'. We had a smoked trout appetizer with pea tendrils, satsuma oranges, and roasted golden beets. We also had pumpkin sage raviolis. For my entree I had duck breast with Brussels sprouts and a wild mushroom crepe - oh yeah! I didn't need dessert but it came anyway: a quince tart with creame fraiche - to die for.
The next night I went out with the girls to 'Nopalitos'. Nopa means north of the panhandle. Nopalitos is their baby Latin restaurant. Unfortunately, I didn't eat all my duck the night before and made a duck and avocado sandwich. The sauce that came with it was better than mayonnaise. It spoiled my appetite for dinner. I wanted to have the pork enchilado appetizer with two types of chiles and queso fresco, but my tummy only had room for the goat in the mole sauce. It was beyond my expectations with their delicious organic corn tortillas. I couldn't even manage a bite of the pozole or the carnitas my friends were having. Everyone else said I was missing out since it was so wonderful.
Last night I went to one of my favorite restaurants, 'Beretta', (www.berettasf.com). Last time I was here I went there three times and each time I had lardo. Lardo (like it sounds) and foie gras are what I would eat every day if I was skinny and rich. I manage to get someone else to treat me every time I go here. Last night my cousin, Catha and her husband, Ron, took me. I had lardo to myself since they were both concerned about their cholesterol levels. We also had: fava bean crostini (I told you before that I make a better one but if you didn't have mine you'd think this was the best), chicken liver pate, carbonato, mixed beet salad, gnocchi, rocket with parmesan cheese, wintergreens with persimmons and pomegranates.
Tomorrow Nick and Kathy are taking me to 'Flour and Water' - tune in for that because it is the hip spot to go. I'll let you know if it is worth it.
They bought four big crabs and I put them their bathtub filled with water and salt. They were so happy. Nick fed them bonito flakes and they played around while we did other things. Then I got the pots of boiling water ready and stuffed them in. I didn't cooked them all the way. Half way through I pulled them out, cracked them, and marinated them for a couple of hours in thyme, toasted fennel seed, parsley, red pepper flakes, garlic and olive oil. Then I roasted them for ten minutes - yummy! With the left overs I made crab cakes - equally delicious.
Later in the week I went to 'Range' (www.rangesf.com) My friend Elizabeth's adorable boyfriend, Jeff, is a bartender there. He made us a gin drink with lemon verbena and egg whites called 'The Fizz'. We had a smoked trout appetizer with pea tendrils, satsuma oranges, and roasted golden beets. We also had pumpkin sage raviolis. For my entree I had duck breast with Brussels sprouts and a wild mushroom crepe - oh yeah! I didn't need dessert but it came anyway: a quince tart with creame fraiche - to die for.
The next night I went out with the girls to 'Nopalitos'. Nopa means north of the panhandle. Nopalitos is their baby Latin restaurant. Unfortunately, I didn't eat all my duck the night before and made a duck and avocado sandwich. The sauce that came with it was better than mayonnaise. It spoiled my appetite for dinner. I wanted to have the pork enchilado appetizer with two types of chiles and queso fresco, but my tummy only had room for the goat in the mole sauce. It was beyond my expectations with their delicious organic corn tortillas. I couldn't even manage a bite of the pozole or the carnitas my friends were having. Everyone else said I was missing out since it was so wonderful.
Last night I went to one of my favorite restaurants, 'Beretta', (www.berettasf.com). Last time I was here I went there three times and each time I had lardo. Lardo (like it sounds) and foie gras are what I would eat every day if I was skinny and rich. I manage to get someone else to treat me every time I go here. Last night my cousin, Catha and her husband, Ron, took me. I had lardo to myself since they were both concerned about their cholesterol levels. We also had: fava bean crostini (I told you before that I make a better one but if you didn't have mine you'd think this was the best), chicken liver pate, carbonato, mixed beet salad, gnocchi, rocket with parmesan cheese, wintergreens with persimmons and pomegranates.
Tomorrow Nick and Kathy are taking me to 'Flour and Water' - tune in for that because it is the hip spot to go. I'll let you know if it is worth it.
Friday, December 11, 2009
Hiatus
I'm sure you figured out that I'm back in the States. I'm in my beloved city, San Francisco but not for long. I'm broke so I have to live with my mother in Podunkville, the place I've been trying to escape since I was five.
For the next five months I will write about Podunkville whether you are interested or not. It's full of bible thumping racists so you might want to tune in for a different perspective or hear about yourself.
I will always consider San Francisco my home. I am a left wing socialist so being in Podunkville will be like being in prison. The only saving grace is my brother's restaurant 'Justus Drugstore'. Stepping into his and his wife's restaurant is like stepping back into San Francisco.
For the next five months I will write about Podunkville whether you are interested or not. It's full of bible thumping racists so you might want to tune in for a different perspective or hear about yourself.
I will always consider San Francisco my home. I am a left wing socialist so being in Podunkville will be like being in prison. The only saving grace is my brother's restaurant 'Justus Drugstore'. Stepping into his and his wife's restaurant is like stepping back into San Francisco.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Who's Crazy?
Emino says I'm crazy. Did he start this rumour? While I was in Kusadasi he had his spies out watching my every move.
"Your crazy girlfriend is at the tea shop." Emino owns this tea shop and it is next to where he works at the carpet shop. I get free apple or regular tea here and half off the juices. The pomegranate juice is my favorite and I have a glass daily.
"She came to the hotel (his cousin's) looking for you." This was when his conservative cousin was in town. Emino had gone there and I got tired of waiting so I thought I would just walk by. Since his conservative cousin was there I was not to be seen. Emino is suppose to be pure until he gets married to an equally pure Kurdish girl. Anyway, Emino had already gone home and was mad when I return to his house. His spy had already called him.
Then one of his spies says he sees me walk to Ladies Beach every day. "Why is she walking there?" To me Ladies' Beach is not far, sometimes I walk there twice, making this loop that's takes an hour and a half. But I also walk there to swim. This is after the season. Emino tells his spy that I go there to swim. "She is crazy," his spy says and probably Emino too.
Another spy says he saw me at Mr. Moon's with all the other crazies. The other crazies are ex-pats that I grown to love. All sorts of nationalities are represented: Irish, British, Dutch, German, Scottish, Belgium, Danish and me, the American. This is where I have my one obligatory beer - usually. Actually I can never finish two.
Mr. Moon's is next to Fetih hair salon. I go there to see him, too. Emine is his pedicurist. Seda used to be but she moved to Istanbul. You can see both of their pictures in my blog. Now you see of all the other crazies, except Eric, the Danish artist who covered his face. Efren, who is wearing a San Francisco sweatshirt, is the proprietor of this hang out.
But as far as I'm concerned it's Emino who is crazy and anyone who agrees to an arranged marriage. Emino left to Van to see his family the same day I went to Istanbul. He told me he would call. When he says he will call it's not long before I hear from him. But I waited a long time. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was having a hard time getting away from his family to call me in private. I was right. When he did call he told me his family was pressuring him to marry immediately. His family thought he should have married years ago. They want to know why he is refusing. Emino would benefit from marriage. He'll receive money. But I know Emino has been corrupted. but he can't put it off much longer. He wants to see me again. Of course, I want to see him again. I also know we would never be. The age difference and the culture is far to great. Oh such is my life.
This is the end of Turkey - this year. I would like to see Lisa and the crazy expats again. But I don't know what I'll do next spring. I wasn't detained or fined when I left, so if I do come back there shouldn't be a problem.
I also got through passport control in London. The officer said, "Was there a problem before?" For a second I thought, "Oh no!" but this time I kept my mouth shut. "No, I'm just seeing my niece for a couple of days then I'm going back to the States."
"Your crazy girlfriend is at the tea shop." Emino owns this tea shop and it is next to where he works at the carpet shop. I get free apple or regular tea here and half off the juices. The pomegranate juice is my favorite and I have a glass daily.
"She came to the hotel (his cousin's) looking for you." This was when his conservative cousin was in town. Emino had gone there and I got tired of waiting so I thought I would just walk by. Since his conservative cousin was there I was not to be seen. Emino is suppose to be pure until he gets married to an equally pure Kurdish girl. Anyway, Emino had already gone home and was mad when I return to his house. His spy had already called him.
Then one of his spies says he sees me walk to Ladies Beach every day. "Why is she walking there?" To me Ladies' Beach is not far, sometimes I walk there twice, making this loop that's takes an hour and a half. But I also walk there to swim. This is after the season. Emino tells his spy that I go there to swim. "She is crazy," his spy says and probably Emino too.
Another spy says he saw me at Mr. Moon's with all the other crazies. The other crazies are ex-pats that I grown to love. All sorts of nationalities are represented: Irish, British, Dutch, German, Scottish, Belgium, Danish and me, the American. This is where I have my one obligatory beer - usually. Actually I can never finish two.
Mr. Moon's is next to Fetih hair salon. I go there to see him, too. Emine is his pedicurist. Seda used to be but she moved to Istanbul. You can see both of their pictures in my blog. Now you see of all the other crazies, except Eric, the Danish artist who covered his face. Efren, who is wearing a San Francisco sweatshirt, is the proprietor of this hang out.
But as far as I'm concerned it's Emino who is crazy and anyone who agrees to an arranged marriage. Emino left to Van to see his family the same day I went to Istanbul. He told me he would call. When he says he will call it's not long before I hear from him. But I waited a long time. I knew something was wrong. I knew he was having a hard time getting away from his family to call me in private. I was right. When he did call he told me his family was pressuring him to marry immediately. His family thought he should have married years ago. They want to know why he is refusing. Emino would benefit from marriage. He'll receive money. But I know Emino has been corrupted. but he can't put it off much longer. He wants to see me again. Of course, I want to see him again. I also know we would never be. The age difference and the culture is far to great. Oh such is my life.
This is the end of Turkey - this year. I would like to see Lisa and the crazy expats again. But I don't know what I'll do next spring. I wasn't detained or fined when I left, so if I do come back there shouldn't be a problem.
I also got through passport control in London. The officer said, "Was there a problem before?" For a second I thought, "Oh no!" but this time I kept my mouth shut. "No, I'm just seeing my niece for a couple of days then I'm going back to the States."
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Top Dog
So I'm the only woman in Emino's life right now. The girl from Seattle, who bought him an air ticket, is out. He told me he was finished with her. He showed me the text messages she sent him saying if she didn't hear from him she would not come in December. She even called when we were right in the middle. Emino paused for a second then kept going.
Do I care? No way. He eventually plans on marrying a Kurd. I've always known that. He never told the girl from Seattle. She thought they would get married. I feel sorry for her. Would I want to marry him if I could? No way! And be in bondage the rest of my life? He's going to marry some young girl whose going to be wrapped up in a gunny sack.
Hey I can play the sex slave/house wife for awhile - knowing it's temperary. I even iron his shirts. I rarely iron my own clothes and I have never iron another guy's. I do it out of boredom. I can only swim so much.
He still wants me to come back next year. He will miss our fighting, our lovemaking and my excitability. He says he loves me. Well, until he has to marry. His family is pressuring him. He's trying to hold off until he's 35.
I just want one more year - maybe. I was starting to think like a friend of mine's girlfriend. He says she always thinks the glass is half empty instead of half full. I'm having a good time right and that's all I care about.
Do I care? No way. He eventually plans on marrying a Kurd. I've always known that. He never told the girl from Seattle. She thought they would get married. I feel sorry for her. Would I want to marry him if I could? No way! And be in bondage the rest of my life? He's going to marry some young girl whose going to be wrapped up in a gunny sack.
Hey I can play the sex slave/house wife for awhile - knowing it's temperary. I even iron his shirts. I rarely iron my own clothes and I have never iron another guy's. I do it out of boredom. I can only swim so much.
He still wants me to come back next year. He will miss our fighting, our lovemaking and my excitability. He says he loves me. Well, until he has to marry. His family is pressuring him. He's trying to hold off until he's 35.
I just want one more year - maybe. I was starting to think like a friend of mine's girlfriend. He says she always thinks the glass is half empty instead of half full. I'm having a good time right and that's all I care about.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Markets
No, it's not all sex. I have been swimming almost daily, although the Turks are all wearing their winter coats. I run around in a tank top. The night's are cooler but the days have been sunny and the water is beautiful. I've gotten into water before that gave me a headache. It hasn't gotten to that point yet - far from it.
Then the markets here. There are two outrageously huge farmers markets during the week that make Pike's Place in Seattle look like a hot dog stand. I mean they are overwhelming. I go absolutely nuts. I can barely walk back to the house with my load and I've spent about six bucks. Well, slight exaggeration if I buy cheese.
I could care less about clothes. Food is my favorite thing to buy. But I only came with sundresses on this trip - another first. I have never brought a sun dress or anything resembling one on any of my trips before. Again I knew this trip was all about sex and nothing else. So like I said the weather is cool at night - too cool for sun dresses. That's okay. There is a Wednesday clothes market about the size of a shopping mall. I got two long sleave tops for $3 a piece.
Then the markets here. There are two outrageously huge farmers markets during the week that make Pike's Place in Seattle look like a hot dog stand. I mean they are overwhelming. I go absolutely nuts. I can barely walk back to the house with my load and I've spent about six bucks. Well, slight exaggeration if I buy cheese.
I could care less about clothes. Food is my favorite thing to buy. But I only came with sundresses on this trip - another first. I have never brought a sun dress or anything resembling one on any of my trips before. Again I knew this trip was all about sex and nothing else. So like I said the weather is cool at night - too cool for sun dresses. That's okay. There is a Wednesday clothes market about the size of a shopping mall. I got two long sleave tops for $3 a piece.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Boring
If anyone is still reading this you're probably wondering why I named this blog unafraidtravel. If it wasn't for the Turkish passport control it would be totally boring. I can thank them for that. You see I used to have all sorts of adventures when I traveled, taking all sorts of risks.
In the late 80's I hitched hiked down Baja, Mexico and kept going until I got to Chile and then I made my way up through Brazil, down the Amazon, into Venezuela where I flew back into the States. This took about a year. During this time I got a ride in a truck across the Darien Gap, went through Columbia in the height of drug trafficking years, and hiked in the Cordillera Blancas when it was crawling with Sendero Liminosos.
A few years later I went to Southeast Asia. Yes, I went to touristy Thailand but my real adventure started in Indonesia where I spent four months, two of those in Sumatra, where I think every bus I took had a flat.
I went over to India and made my way up to Kashmir although because of the war there were no buses running so I had to make my incandescently.
Then there was Bulgaria where a vender thought I stole his potato chips and threaten to cut my head off. And just recently to save some money, or so I thought, I took a refuge boat to an island off of Vietnam. Well It seemed like a refuge boat.
Now it's all sex. I don't know what to say about that, but when I do I'll let you know.
In the late 80's I hitched hiked down Baja, Mexico and kept going until I got to Chile and then I made my way up through Brazil, down the Amazon, into Venezuela where I flew back into the States. This took about a year. During this time I got a ride in a truck across the Darien Gap, went through Columbia in the height of drug trafficking years, and hiked in the Cordillera Blancas when it was crawling with Sendero Liminosos.
A few years later I went to Southeast Asia. Yes, I went to touristy Thailand but my real adventure started in Indonesia where I spent four months, two of those in Sumatra, where I think every bus I took had a flat.
I went over to India and made my way up to Kashmir although because of the war there were no buses running so I had to make my incandescently.
Then there was Bulgaria where a vender thought I stole his potato chips and threaten to cut my head off. And just recently to save some money, or so I thought, I took a refuge boat to an island off of Vietnam. Well It seemed like a refuge boat.
Now it's all sex. I don't know what to say about that, but when I do I'll let you know.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Afraid of Police
I'd had become a local in Kusadasi. Every day I'd see Ali at the beach and Fehit every afternoon. Ali is the only Turkish person I've seen who can swim well. Fehit is the cute guy who cut my hair before and I had him cut and color it again. (I need a new photo of myself.) Next to Fehit salon is Mr Moon's where all the ex-pats hang out. I have my obligatory beer before going home to have Emino make us dinner.
The bum's life. But this bum needs to see Lisa. I will have to forgo sex for at least a few days.
It's quite a journey from Kusadasi. I had to take a bus first to Izmir. I caught the 10 am bus and I should've tried to make the 9 am one. Of course, Emino kept me in bed. Every morning Emino is late to work and now he's made me late too.
It takes over an hour to get to Izmir. I just missed the 11 am bus to Ezine so I had to take the noon one. The bus company employee told me it would take five hours to get to Ezine. I know the last ferry to Bozcaada leaves at 6 pm. At Ezine I have to take a mini bus on to the port and that takes a half hour. I'm worried that if there is any delay I will miss the ferry. The employee assures me that I won't.
"I'll be back in a few days so if you are wrong I'll let you know!"
I know Ezine. I know what to do to make the connections. But when I arrived the bus company had someone there waiting for me to make sure my connection was made. That was so sweet. What was sweeter was having Emino call me as I was on the mini bus. I told him I would call when I arrived, but he couldn't wait. I told him I thought he'd be glad to be rid of me for a few days. "No way!"
BTW I have a phone here. My niece lent me one she wasn't using and I got a sim card.
Lisa is waiting for me as the ferry pulls in. Although her restaurant has been closed for a month she still uses the kitchen to cook. We head to the fish market first thing. I love her baked fish, arugala salad, and the side dish of ambergine and tomatoes.
Bozcaada looks like it did when I came here in April. The tourist season hadn't started then and now it's over. Most of the restaurants are closed and some of the people I had taken pictures of have gone to Canakkule on the mainland. But I do see some familiar faces and they ae happy to see me.
There are people I am not going to see. Those people are the police. The Turkish consulate never told me I had to check in, but Lisa was approach by the police here. They told her they wanted to check my visa when I arrived. I'm not going to see them. Maybe I'm paranoid but I've been detained so much lately I'm afraid. I fear I will be detained again, fined again and worse, forced to leave again. I'm afraid they will take me away and I will not be able to see Emino again.
The bum's life. But this bum needs to see Lisa. I will have to forgo sex for at least a few days.
It's quite a journey from Kusadasi. I had to take a bus first to Izmir. I caught the 10 am bus and I should've tried to make the 9 am one. Of course, Emino kept me in bed. Every morning Emino is late to work and now he's made me late too.
It takes over an hour to get to Izmir. I just missed the 11 am bus to Ezine so I had to take the noon one. The bus company employee told me it would take five hours to get to Ezine. I know the last ferry to Bozcaada leaves at 6 pm. At Ezine I have to take a mini bus on to the port and that takes a half hour. I'm worried that if there is any delay I will miss the ferry. The employee assures me that I won't.
"I'll be back in a few days so if you are wrong I'll let you know!"
I know Ezine. I know what to do to make the connections. But when I arrived the bus company had someone there waiting for me to make sure my connection was made. That was so sweet. What was sweeter was having Emino call me as I was on the mini bus. I told him I would call when I arrived, but he couldn't wait. I told him I thought he'd be glad to be rid of me for a few days. "No way!"
BTW I have a phone here. My niece lent me one she wasn't using and I got a sim card.
Lisa is waiting for me as the ferry pulls in. Although her restaurant has been closed for a month she still uses the kitchen to cook. We head to the fish market first thing. I love her baked fish, arugala salad, and the side dish of ambergine and tomatoes.
Bozcaada looks like it did when I came here in April. The tourist season hadn't started then and now it's over. Most of the restaurants are closed and some of the people I had taken pictures of have gone to Canakkule on the mainland. But I do see some familiar faces and they ae happy to see me.
There are people I am not going to see. Those people are the police. The Turkish consulate never told me I had to check in, but Lisa was approach by the police here. They told her they wanted to check my visa when I arrived. I'm not going to see them. Maybe I'm paranoid but I've been detained so much lately I'm afraid. I fear I will be detained again, fined again and worse, forced to leave again. I'm afraid they will take me away and I will not be able to see Emino again.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
So Called Terroists
I guess the Turkish government aren't the only ones to dislike Kurds. Emino for the second time has tried to get a visa for the U.S. He had five invite letters (none of those were from me) and all the necessary documents. It costs him $300 yesterday to go to the Capital, Ankara, including the fee he had to pay just for the appointment. He had to take a ten hour bus ride there only to be told he was denied and then another ten hour depressing ride back.
One of the invite letters was from his girlfriend in Seattle. This is the one Emino first told me about and I accepted it. (It was the second one that pissed me off.) This girl works for Delta and even provided him a round trip ticket. Of course, she is devastated. Since I'm selfish I don't care because I doubt that he would be seeing me if he did go to States.
I'm perfectly happy with my situation now being the number one in his house. As my friend Rodney says it sounds like "Big Love" from the HBO series. I still want to go to Tajikistan and Turkey would be a good base. I'm confident that my only other competition is the Seattle girl and she never comes for more than a week at the time. I can always see Lisa then.
BTW I have not seen Lisa in Bozcaada yet. I don't know if I'm still suppose to check in with the police when I do get there.
One of the invite letters was from his girlfriend in Seattle. This is the one Emino first told me about and I accepted it. (It was the second one that pissed me off.) This girl works for Delta and even provided him a round trip ticket. Of course, she is devastated. Since I'm selfish I don't care because I doubt that he would be seeing me if he did go to States.
I'm perfectly happy with my situation now being the number one in his house. As my friend Rodney says it sounds like "Big Love" from the HBO series. I still want to go to Tajikistan and Turkey would be a good base. I'm confident that my only other competition is the Seattle girl and she never comes for more than a week at the time. I can always see Lisa then.
BTW I have not seen Lisa in Bozcaada yet. I don't know if I'm still suppose to check in with the police when I do get there.
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