A Walk in the Woods

What a glorious stroll.

Just had a splendid walk around the lake in the park, and it was great. Cold and damp, but not actively raining, so it was just fresh enough to walk for two hours without getting hot. Took an extended detour through a forest after I saw a sign saying "Nature Trail". My initial thought was that nature was not something to be forced into so rigorous a regime as a clearly demarcated trail, it would rather be free to frolic and gambol - but fortunately, I dismissed that as pointless flippancy and followed the path through the woods.

As it turns out, it was lovely - softly carpeted with wood-chips and periodically posted with informative little signs, highlighting the more notable flora along the way. It was so pleasant that I decided to leave it and take a short-cut to get back to the lake.

You can see where this is going.

Yes, as expected, I spent the next half hour crashing through underbrush, sinking into the soggy, muddy turf and crossing rivers on nightmarishly slippery logs - and then the next ten minutes trying to wash the mud (which was by this point caked an inch thick) off my shoes. But it was worth it just to be out there among the trees and birds...

Bobo was frustrated when I got back because he was feeling restless, but he really wouldn't have appreciated two and a half hours in the cold air. I'll take him for a walk tomorrow.

Changing Places

Well, this has certainly been an unexpected week.

No matter how good your holiday, if you have to go through US immigration on the way back, prepare to have it all ruined. I believe the border officials exact words were, "Go home, you've been here too long. We don't like you. Get out, stinkypants."

Which was a bit unfriendly, I thought.

So anyway, the short version is that she gave me 30 days to get the hell out of her country and shut the door behind me. I spent the next few days trying to rearrange my flights and try see if there were any options available. A short descent into insomniac depression followed, stunned into inaction by the apparent futility of all my efforts at making something worthwhile happen.

Fortunately, the family dragged me back out of that and convinced me to have a look at the UK on the way back. Which I now think is a splendid idea. And Tony Scott was very positive about me working for Xact, anyway, just an issue of working out the visa.

That was the next surprise. As it turns out, there are no work visae for the rest of the year - there is a numerical limit, and the 2005 stock all got tapped out on the opening day. The next ones will only be available in October this year, and I'm not sure if Tony will be happy to wait that long. Anyway, I'm meeting him again next month to talk details, so we'll see...

But in the meantime, it's off to the UK for me. Have a quick look around, see what the options are, have a look into going over on a working holiday gig. Then head back to Cape Town, stay for Piet's wedding, plan the next move...

Die Welt ist meine Auster, ja?

Adios, Cancun

So I'm waiting in the hotel lobby for our bus, and another guest is waiting for hers, and she turns to me and says, "Are you going on a tour today?"
"No," I tell her, "we're off to the airport."
"Oh, that's too bad. Don't you just wish you could stay forever?"
I think for a second. "No, not really," I reply.

And it's true. The ruins were great, but there's really nothing else that I'm interested in seeing down here. It's been educational and new, but if I never go back to Cancun I will not be left with any regrets. Unless you're a student on spring break, two days and three nights is plenty.

We missed breakfast, but the airport cafeteria was charging 49 pesos for a ham & egg croissant. I wasn't hungry enough for that. We survived on bad coffee from the hotel buffet.

On the way through security in Cancun airport we had our bags thoroughly searched. Actually, not all of them - they rifled through our dirty clothes, but left Joseph's laptop case untouched. Of course, they might not actually have been security personnel - perhaps they just like going through other people's sweaty, beer-stained laundry. For all we knew, they could be an obscure breed of aiport-dwelling luggage fetishists. Either way, if you want to smuggle anything out of Cancun, hide it in your laptop case.

One more airline incident before I close this chapter:

We're somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico, about an hour out of Cancun, and the stewardess suddenly pipes up, "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, does anyone have change for a $20?" And I'm thinking, if you guys weren't ridiculous enough to charge for drinks in the first place...

on top of the pyramid...

a first view...

but at least they deliver...

not what we came to see...

Chichen Itza Blues

It was a Mexican roadside toilet. I thought, "What could possibly go wrong?"

Actually, the toilet wasn't too bad. The bus tour to the ancient Mayan ruin complex at Chichen Itza involved far more crap. It started out when we the coach bus arrived at the meeting point (an hour late, but that's expected), and it turned out that there were far too many people to fit, so we hung around while they got a mini-bus for us. Got on with a group of about 12 fellow touristas, and headed off... but not to the ruins. Oh, no. Of course not. Who goes on a tour to see the ruins? You must be far more interested seeing this crappy, overpriced market full of mass-produced, cheesy rubbish! And after that, you must surely want to come to this big hole in the ground for which you will be charged a small fee! (And if you don't feel like paying, you are welcome to stay in the hot bus and wait!)

Joseph and I made a quick recce of the market and found that there was a little stall tucked away at the back with cold bottles of local beer for 20 pesos. We got four each.

Fortunately, we were not alone in our frustration, and being part of a small group proved very advantageous in our negotiations. No-one on our bus wanted to pay extra to see the sink-hole, so our disappointed guide took us directly to the lunch buffet, hosted at a nasty little back-street cantina built from cinder-blocks and tin sheets. We were scheduled to be there for an hour and a half. Eating took ten minutes.

Let's evaluate this situation for a second: we're about to spend the next hour and twenty minutes sitting on a bare concrete porch examining our toes and staring vacantly into space, while, no more than a couple of kilometres away, sits a magnificent spectacle from the ancient world. A spectacle which we have paid dearly to come and see, and which was the purpose of our entire trip.

Personally, I've spent enough time staring vacantly into space when I could have been doing something more interesting. I took a quick survey of the other travellers to make sure we all felt the same, and then went off and tracked down our driver. After a few minutes of complaining about how he was just doing his job, and they had to stick to a schedule, and he wasn't even supposed to be working today, and something about his boss being the real person I had to speak to, he eventually gave in and took us to the ruins.

Which were magnificent.

Stunning, awesome, spectacular, and definitely worth waiting for. We went straight up the main pyramid to soak up the splendid view and get a sense of perspective on the temple complex. There is truly nothing like sitting on top of an ancient Mayan pyramid in the middle of the Yucatan jungle, drinking a couple of cold beers while a three-foot iguana suns itself on the warm stones nearby. (Yes, we took beers up to the top. I highly recommend it, but be careful climbing down afterwards).

The next few hours were spent in an unbroken state of awe as we wandered among the ruins. At one point as we followed the path through the trees to Platformas de las Tumbas (roughly translated as, "The Platform of the Tumbas"), a small Mexican boy came up to us and started chattering excitedly in Spanish. He was gesturing insistently for us to follow him down a side path to a small and dingy cave, but it was too dark to see whether the cave held a makeshift souvenir store or the boy's eight large and unfriendly brothers. We declined his invitation.

That evening, back in Cancun, we repaired to another street restaurant for restorative beers and tortillas. We sat outside and watched the passing crowd - mostly tourists, but also indigenous women in ethnic dress selling hand-woven bracelets. One had her infant daughter tied to her back with a blanket as the trawled up and down the street. She didn't seem to be selling very much, though. Across from the restaurant, a lady was showing off her two pet monkeys, and offering tourists the chance to have their pictures taken with them.

She was doing better business.

One night in Cancun

Well, last night was certainly entertaining.

Found a street stall selling open-bar tickets for three places for $30, so that made the decision of where to go easy. The first place was just a bar, but the second was more of a club with a mix of live and canned music. The first live act was a Village People cover with two girls and two guys - good fun. The best was a guy in white shirt and white jeans with black leather chaps and a giant afro. Then came two girls singing a Tatu song, mostly as an excuse to have two girls rubbing eachother on stage - especially as they were just lip-syncing, rather than doing an actual cover.

But the beer was free.

And there was a midget Mexican. Which is always a good thing at a party.

Also loads of girls going around with bottles and dispensing shots, after which they make a great show of shaking your head around. Joseph insisted on buying a couple. The shots were basically just fruit juice, so I guess the head-shaking is to make you think that you're getting drunk.

The evening devolved from there.

This morning was good, though - woke up to glorious sunshine and incredible dehydration. Wandered down to the beach to have a look at the famous azure waters of the Yucatan, and found that there was already a bar open. Had a Corona for breakfast.

Took a bus into town to have a look at the market there. There was a busker with a guitar on the bus singing Ecuadorian and Venezuelan ballads. The stores were full of the same tourist trash, churned out of the same factory, marginally cheaper. And they all had vaguely ominous signs reading "Touch At Your Own Risk" above the fragile merchandise. Whatever happened to the kitschy little poem about "...if you break it, consider it sold"? Bought some coffee in a supermarket. There were some green cookies for sale in the bakery section, but I didn't get close enough to see whether they had coloured icing or mold on them.

Need to get a reasonably early night tonight - getting up early tomorrow to go to Chichen Itza to see the Mayan ruins there.

To old Mexico!

Well, it was an early start this morning... up at 4am to get to the airport by 5 for a 7 o'clock take-off. Didn't sleep terribly well (no surprise there, the night before a flight).

Last night had to take Bobo to Joe's parents. We met them halfway to their house at a steak barn. Odd place. Good steaks, but it had a honky-tonk jukebox and a line-dancing floor, and the walls were festooned with the cut off ends of ties. Apparently they were all involuntary donations from former patrons who were careless enough to wear a tie to the restaurant.

And then there was no Bo.

And it was bad.

Ridiculous, but we were both missing him by the time we got home. Silly dog.

Anyway.

Back to the airport, where we got on board Champion air flight MG300 (MG? what is that?) and headed for the border as fast as the engines would pull us. Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico the pilot pointed out the meteorite impact crater which was thought to have been the cause of the K/T extinction boundary - since disproved, but I guess the pilot doesn't keep up with the current breaking news in extinction sciences. At any rate, all we could see was a faint light patch in the water.

More entertaining was the immigration card to get into Mexico. Not only did it have separate sections for locals and "foreing" visitors, but it directed said visitors to "sing in the box below". Good humour after all that time in Asia.

Seated next to me was a fairly grouchy middle-aged couple who were going down south of Cancun. The lady was reading from pages torn out of Lonely Planet's Mexico guide. Her husband disparaged it as a guide for "poor people on cheap holidays", which offended me more than I would have expected. (I almost went to the trouble of explaining to him that LP actually publish Shoestring Guides as a separate series of books for the budget traveller, but I have lost interest in trying to convince people when I'm pretty sure they won't appreciate it). I wanted to borrow the pages and have a quick look before we got to Cancun, but she didn't stop reading them all the way there.

We got out of the airport in a flash, not having any checked baggage, but then we had to wait for the other people who were staying at the same hotel before the bus could leave. The best-laid plans, etc.

Dumped the bags at the hotel - we got there at about 12, but couldn't check in until 3:00 - and then went in search of an internet cafe so that Joseph could check his e-mail, as he was technically telecommuting (rather than on holiday). Surprisingly difficult to find a suitable place in that town. I know that there's not a lot of business travel down there, but I'm sure that even the party animals like to check their e-mail. Eventually tracked a cafe down, but the internet was offline! Went back to try the hotel, but it was a city-wide problem. There was nothing for it but to have lunch.

Went down a small back street and found a place. We chose the bar on the sole fact that we could change money there. Ordered some burritos and massive, 940ml bottles of Sol with lime. The air was hot and humid, and the beer was cold. It's always good weather when you can wash your hands before lunch by running them over the condensation on your beer bottle.

Logan's Mexican Run

It's about ten hours until I need to wake up to go to the airport again... But this time it's for me! Yes! I'm off to Mexico for the weekend, which will truly be excellent.

Been reading up online about Mayan temples in Yucatan. Also called Australia for an hour and a half this morning - gotta love Skype. Then called my parents in Cape Town for an hour, and chatted with James for about 45 mins... a lot of phone and e-mail happening today.

And now watching "Logan's Run" while chatting to two people simultaneously on MSN. Now, I know that I'm not really doing the movie full justice by multi-tasking, but I'm really just watching it to reinforce my background education of classic sci-fi. I mean, it may have won the 1976 Oscar for special effects, but I don't expect to be blown away by the awesome explosions and oh-so-futuristic sets...

Hmm...

Not bad. Probably better to see it back in 1976, when the whole "post-apocalyptic uber-controlled closed society with a few scattered survivors still living outside" was still novel, but it was still an interesting story.

Very "Soylent Green" kind of feel to it. I suppose that's just how the polyester-clad 70's generally depicted the future.

Anyway.

Bring on country number 28...

Dumb dogs

Bobo is even crazier than usual today. It feels like there's storm coming, which could be part of the reason, but even so, he's acting like he's dumb.

And no, I don't mean stupid - he's never been particularly bright, so I don't expect intelligent behaviour and rational thinking from him. What I mean is that I'm getting the strangest impression that even if he could speak, he wouldn't have uttered a word all day.

It's not a vocal thing - he's never been a particularly yappy dog (which is certainly one of his more endearing features). I mean, apart from the occasional yelp when he falls off the sofa or hurts himself somehow, he doesn't make a sound anyway. But today he has that weird, vacant look of a person who's been struck mute by some terrible trauma.

Took him for a walk, and we went up a little back street that I haven't taken before. Not a great street for walking a dog, as it turned out - full of mean, broken-down houses with mean, broken-down dogs tied to trees and locked behind chain-link fences. All of them angry, all of them barking. Animal fury in the air. Fear, frustration, anxiety about the weather, all thick in the atmosphere of that dusty little street. Rusty cars parked out front or up on blocks behind the house.

Turned the corner.

A quieter road, grass verges and houses set further back from the tarmac, but there was a noisy construction vehicle at work here - a cherry-picker, I think. The wind picked up and the leaves and dust started to swirl in the warm, humid air - much too warm for January. The engine roared and growled at the dark skies above as the giant metal monster loomed over us.

Bobo was panting now, his eyes bulging as he strained at the leash. Not to get away, though: he'd pull ahead, then get transfixed by the scent on a tuft of grass and become immovable as I tugged at the leash and tried to get him walking again.

Eventually we got back. His eyes continued to move erratically. He took a couple of disinterested laps at his water bowl (in place of his usual frenzied drinking after a long walk), and shuffled over to his pillow.

He hasn't moved since.

Strange day...

Well, it started out pretty normally: woke up, drank coffee, checked the e-mail. Did some reading online about some software, called someone about a job ad. (They could only offer full-time, no contract positions).

Had Mexican food for dinner. The fajita steak was very mediocre, but the enchiladas and the Dos Equis Amber were both very good.

Went to a movie. "House of Flying Daggers". Awesome. Had to leave before the end, though.

Someone complained to the management about the fact that we were drinking beer in the theatre. Can you believe that shit? Honestly, do people have nothing better to do with their sad little lives?

It was a really good movie, too.

The management called the police. Chatted to the nice officer for a few minutes outside the theatre. Said that I would drive us home. Took a sobriety test. Passed.

Drove home.

Funny smell when we walked in the house. Dead rats on top of the dishwasher. Stinky. Little rat droppings next to them were green, just like the poison they had eaten.

Disposed of them. Turned on the TV.

The Lingerie Bowl was showing on HDTV. Euphoria was playing Dream Vixens, I think. One of the teams was wearing powder blue, the other was fuchsia with black lace.

Now there's a strange horror movie with a guy wearing a gimp suit running around blowing holes in the walls of his house with a shotgun. Oh, and there are a bunch of partially-dismembered guys living in the cellar.

What a day...

Soporific Gumbo

Third time in a row.

A few months ago, Joseph and I went to Greg and Laurie's house for dinner and Greg made gumbo. (They had a lot of left-over shrimp from the wedding reception and needed to use it up). As is to be expected from anything which Greg cooks, it was delicious: just the right level of spiciness, and a wonderful rich blend of shrimp, bacon, beans and other bits of yummy goodness in a thick soup served over rice. Definitely good eating.

The surprise came after the meal. The four of us went into the living room, sat down, and all passed out within about 30 min.

After we woke up, they were kind enough to give us some of the extra gumbo to take home (seafood doesn't keep very well at the best of times, so it all needed to be eaten rather smartly). We had it again the following night, and Joseph and I were both fast asleep by about 9:30.

Last night we went to their house again, as Laurie wanted to have a dinner party for Young-sun while she was here. Greg made gumbo again. It was delicious.

And it put us all straight to sleep again. (Maybe Greg's secret ingredient is tryptophan).

The upshot is that it's taken three nights to make it all the way through "Harry Potter and the Prizoner of Azkahban". I'd seen it before, so when they gave it another stab last night, I was already in bed, but they didn't get far before the Slumber Gumbo took hold of their consciousness and dragged them off to the land of Nod.

Got through it tonight. Glad about that - it's really good, and I'd wanted to see it again.

Afterwards, we watched "Napoleon Dynamite".

And I'm speechless.

You'll just have to see it for yourself.

(It's really good, though).

P.S.

4. On no account should you consider having a fourth glass.

The Green European Fairy

Two important points I should mention:
1. "Eurotrip" is undoubtedly the greatest movie ever made.
2. You will come to the same conclusion if you watch it after drinking your first three glasses of absinthe.
(And just because...)
3. It took me a couple of tries to type every single word in this post.

New Year, Old Songs, Bad Cars, Good Movies

So it was on New Year's Eve that I found myself on the way to the airport again, but this time armed with some CDs for the trip. And as I was listening to Live's "V" album, I heard a most excellent lyric:
"...back to the studio,
To write a song so good it'll make a midget grow."

I laughed out loud. I spent the next five minutes trying to find the rewind function on the car's CD player just so I could hear it again. I had finally found something which ranked up with David Bowie's immortal lines in "Suffragette City":
"Hey man, we gotta pick up the pace,
The smell of fat chicks just put my spine out of place."

Unfortunately, all this amusement was just a small consolation for the drive to the airport. The traffic was fine, the music was good - it was just the car which truly sucked. For I wasn't driving Joseph's Altima, but instead a gargantuan creation belonging to his father - a Chrysler Behemoth or something along those lines. It could easily accomodate four people (or three well-fed Texans) sitting side-by-side across the front two seats, which would be great if there was any compelling reason to do that in a car, which there generally isn't. For a car so full of gadgets, it was also remarkably unfriendly. The seat had servo-motors to adjust the tilt and support in seven equally uncomfortable positions, but no apparent mechanism for moving it back and forth, which for my height is the most important option. And all of the machinery in the base forced the seat so high that I was scraping the ceiling. The steering wheel controlled the car's direction in the same way that oil prices in the Middle East control the bread price in Canada - a very vague and delayed sort of connection. The brakes were spongy. I could go on.

But I won't, because when I got home I found to my absolute delight that Starz channel was showing the LOTR movies sequentially in High Definition. It was already halfway through The Two Towers when I tuned in, but I had the unusual pleasure of seeing in midnight, not with the traditional fireworks, but instead with the lighting of the beacons of Gondor!

Sad, I know. Bring on 2005!