Meeting the Marabout
The man in orange wasn’t the marabout.
Dominican Republic, that’s the tonic
I’m a tough critic and I know that. People ask me my opinion not to hear if something was good, but how much I disliked it or the reasons why. Let’s face it, not all trips are pleasurable or even meet expectations. I dismiss the review of a person who always seems to say “it was phenomenal” for any destination put to them. Equally annoying is the post journey revisionist who explains a week of rain as “a unique opportunity to see things when they were all wet”. In contrast, discussing my family vacation to Punta Cana in the Dominican Republic puts me at risk of being labeled a nitpicking crank.
It was an all inclusive resort with all the fixins’. Hassle free to get to, priced right and in a beautiful setting. So why is it every time I think back to that trip at the end of the 2007 summer, that all I remind myself of is “agua tonica”?
21 Days in Africa
Life in the (not very) fast lane
Something unusual happens when you cross over the border and enter Laos: time slows down.
Flaming Lips and Earthquakes: Concert Going in Chiba, Japan
What’s it like attending a big summer music festival in Japan?
One Sunday evening in August, I got my answer, as I found myself in front of the Sonic Stage at Japan’s annual Summer Sonic in Chiba, in the Greater Tokyo area. However, just as earthquakes would rattle the area throughout the week, the evening of the music festival was no exception. A major 6.9 to 7.1 quake pounded Tokyo for one full minute that same night, just before eight o’clock. This earthquake might have occurred around the time psych-alt-rock act The Flaming Lips were preparing to take to the stage; or, it could have happened while they were actually playing. Either way, I saw and felt nothing during the infamous minute, which supports the theory that The Flaming Lips were actually performing when the quake happened. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Chiba is actually just east ofTokyo, somewhat near Narita airport, that I didn’t notice the earth move that night. Or maybe the massive warehouse-like venue, with its concrete floor, prevented me from detecting any movements of the tectonic-plate variety.But I think, more likely, it’s because of The Flaming Lips’ raucous spectacle including: oversized-balloon drops, confetti dumps, sight-reducing smoke screen, and on-stage Jumbotron, which alternated between projecting B-movie-esque video footage, of semi-nude women, and giant images of front man/party instigator Wayne Coyne, singing away into the indoor concert space. A dozen or so extras danced the night away onstage throughout the ‘Lips show, dressed in cartoon-like frog and cat costumes.Yes, I think this had something to do with why I may not have noticed an earthquake that night.Or maybe, could it have occurred, at the point Coyne rolled off the stage inside his gigantic, clear plastic bubble ball, as he performed his ritual crowd surf, atop the outstretched hands of his fans? As he aimed to reach the second half of the front section of crowd, his ball leapt across the catwalk; I was the first to catch it, as he, and said plastic device, crawled over me.From this; and from meanwhile, being pushed a fair distance back along the catwalk, away from the front row, and from continuously batting countless giant balloons back up into the air and across the catwalk at fellow fans, I realized I was only sort-of-watching the stage performance and tried to refocus on the music. With all the commotion, and non-stop stimuli, I found my personal experience teetering on a fine line between blissful, celebratory euphoria and a bizarre representation of a party in hell, concocted by a seemingly deranged, drugged-out Willie Wonka visionary. Here, the impassioned ringleader of the circus was the lead singer of experimental rock band The Flaming Lips.
Mumbai Day 4 - things I have seen and lessons I have learned
Whistles and Horns
The sounds of Mumbai are overwhelming. No driver it seems can resist honking their horn. I’m not sure if it is to warn of an advance of just to announce their presence. I cross the main road adjacent to our office in the Worli district each morning to buy a cold drink where a large, imposing and heavily mustached & extravagant policeman seems to delight in assisting me. He boldly marches amongst the teeming traffic with both hands raised with great authority - all the while blowing on a large brass whistle. Upon reaching the centre he holds up his enormous mitts somehow commanding the traffic to a halt - and then gestures me to cross the road. Each step I take is accompanied by a loud toot of his whistle and he keeps rhythm with each pace. I’ve tried the brisk walk, the quick step and the slow crawl - and miraculously - and almost musically his whistles match each of my treads. This morning I paused mid-stride - hoping to catch him out and just to see how he would handle it. A brief look of puzzlement crossed his face before he broke into a broad grin - attuned to what game I was playing.
The forets of the cross
Forster, New South Wales
Nobody knows Australia better than the Australians. The beauty of traveling alone is that you are far more likely to make friends with locals and wander of the tourist track. With this is mind I accompanied a new Aussie friend down the ocean highway to the unspoilt town of Forster. A precious town on the Mid North Coast of New South Wales that backpackers have missed, but native Aussies flock to for the summer holidays.
From Saigon to Angkor by bike
61 Stories at Once
We took the elevator up to the 61st floor of the Macau Tower and I wasn’t coming back down in the elevator. At 233 meters, it’s the tallest bungy jump in the world. Your ears pop on the way up. It was my birthday, and while I wasn’t trying to overanalyze it, I thought it would be kind of ironic on a tombstone if anything went wrong. From the view up, there you can see the whole city and beyond. I was starting to feel a little sick. Not from the height, but from the day before…
