Ethiopian Airlines

We should have listened to the warnings. "Never fly Ethiopian Airlines. They are always late, always have problems, and Addis is the worst airport to be stuck in."

But the price was right and with a direct flight from Nairobi to Addis to Rio de Janeiro. World Cup 2014 here we come, or so we thought...

My husband booked the flight in December. He searched the internet looking for the best route for hours. Ethiopian Airlines seemed legit, how bad could it be?

The months went by and we eagerly awaited our trip. We received no emails or calls from Ethiopian so when we arrived at Jomo Kenyatta airport we were a little surprised to hear that a portion of our flight did not exist. At first we figured that the Nairobi office didn't know what they were talking about. They checked our luggage through all the way to Rio but we were not on the flight from Sao Paolo to Rio. When questioned, the check-in clerk said we could take a bus. I don't think she was aware the distance from Sao Paolo to Rio is 300 miles or a 4-5 hour drive. And more importantly, what happened to our direct flight to Rio?! We got on the flight to Addis hoping that maybe things could be figured out there.

After safely arriving in Addis, we immediately go to customer service and wait for 20 minutes. Mr. Yimer was very polite and redirected us to the Transfer Desk. 30 minutes later Ms. Eleni relayed the bad news that the direct-to-Rio flight was canceled and that we would need to fly to Sao Paolo first and then get a flight to Rio two days later. There were no other options. At this point, I wanted to strangle someone. How could a business operate this way? Why weren't we notified? Is there any other way to get to Brazil? Another airline, another flight? Anything? Ms. Eleni searched again. Aha, a flight leaves Addis at 1 am to Rome then to Paris and finally to Rio. Unfortunately for us, it was 11 am. No way, we said and stalked off to find a flight on our own.

An hour later, I was back in line, tail between my legs, hoping that the flight to Rome was still a possibility. Another 45 minutes go by until my turn with Ms. Eleni. We explain that we want to do the Rome-Paris route. At this point I must mention it was difficult to communicate with her due to a group of irate customers in line next to us. In fact, we were the only pleasant people in the vicinity. Everyone was screaming and yelling, and no semblance of an orderly line remained.

A group of Indians from Mumbai were late making their connection and were demanding $300 each as compensation. Apparently one of them had received money before so they all "jumped on the plane" expecting the same thing. The far more vocal complaints came from the Nigerians. One man's booming voice was immediately joined by the other men and one fierce woman. "We want to go to Lagos. I pay you money to take me to Lagos. My ticket says Lagos. Give me my money." In the USA security would have been called long ago with the yelling contingent thrown in airport jail. But not in Ethiopia. The ladies at the Transfer Desk kept on working at what I have now concluded to be the worst job in the world.

Over the deafening roar, we were issued new tickets and a hotel voucher complete with lunch, dinner, and bus transport. We gathered our things, with one last thank you and pitying glance at Ms. Eleni, picked up our luggage and made our way to the bus. Woohoo! My first trip to Ethiopia.

The Panorama Hotel was very hospitable, the staff extremely polite and accommodating. We walked through the door and were immediately handed a key and shown to our room. No long lines or check-in process. The room was basic but seemed clean. Next stop, the restaurant where we chose items from a set menu: soup, salad, vegetable spaghetti which was included for our free meal. There was wifi and soccer playing on the tv. What more could we want? Later we had dinner where the chef made me special shiro (I was not leaving Ethiopia with out it), took a nap, woke up, and returned to the airport for our flight.

The rudeness of passengers on Ethiopian flights will never cease to amaze me. After boarding the plane, a chunky red-faced Italian man was berating the flight attendants for moving his carryon bag. Other passengers tried to calm him but he kept on screaming at everyone. "These stupid people. I will calm down when I feel like it." I think he may have even stomped his foot like a child having a temper tantrum. Once again, where was security? His behavior was completely inappropriate. Our flight was delayed leaving, almost sending my husband into cardiac arrest.

Everything went well from then on out. To Rome, sprint to the next gate. To Paris, race to the next gate. To Rio, exhausted, disoriented, but we finally made it. Only 48 hours of travel time.

And lest I forget, our return flight to Nairobi was also canceled and all flights on the same day were full, so after missing our time in Rio at the beginning of our trip, we gained it back at the end of our trip.

I do not recommend Ethiopian Airlines. Our experience with the flight attendants and "people on the ground" were positive but the airline itself is completely incompetent when it comes to booking flights and communicating changes. I plan on writing a letter of complaint in hopes of receiving some sort of compensation in the form of a refund or another flight since I have to go to Addis for a conference in September. Maybe something good can come from the experience.

Ethiopian Airlines The New Spirit of Africa. I think I might prefer the old.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Glamping with the Fifth Grade

Buses depart school at 9:00 am. We are on time. And on our way for the fifth grade inter cultural trip. So far so good. I never get to go on trips like this because I teach elementary. I am always jealous of the high school teachers who get to travel to amazing places and see really unique things. Not this time though. I won't be left behind. I get to go too!

First of all, I had never seen so much luggage. I think the kids might have brought their entire bedrooms. My father would have sent me on the trip with one change of clothes and a toothbrush. Be tough. These kids have multiple sets of shoes, giant pillows, foam mats thick enough to test the princess and the pea. Nonetheless our bus drivers and the workers manage to stuff us all onto the school buses.

Yes, we are going on a four hour drive and then an hour between each cultural activity, and then four hours back on a school bus. These buses are not the new modern type. These buses are pushing the limit of what one might consider as road worthy for a short drive through a parking lot. Rattling, leaking tin cans, bolted together in some places...did I just see a bungee cord? Rust "coloring" takes on a whole new meaning. The shocks might have fallen off 30 years ago and were never replaced. But, they are outfitted with a fancy shmancy impact camera which will pre-record several seconds before the crash. I think they can also record remotely and see what we're doing from the school. The seat belts were designed for the bellies of morbidly obese people and much to my torment, the kids keep them loose throughout the trip. I shudder every time I get a local news update about some multi-vehicle car accident where everyone has died. Only after the threat of dish or toilet duty, do they finally comply with a tight belt. 

The ride up was rather uneventful. I played Uno with some of the girls in the back of the bus, the cards spilling all over the place as we careen down the road. Every bump in the road literally lifted us several inches into the air before slamming us back into our seats. We stopped for a snack at a hotel, let the kids run around a bit and continued to the campsite.

Upon arrival, we released the students to play and then set up their tents. The boys were on one side and the girls on the other. The adult tents were set up already so we assisted the kids with theirs. Hot and dry as hell, an oven like Gail force wind making it practically impossible to stake down our tents. Eventually everyone is successful. 

Our trip organizer blows the whistle and we split into groups for a nature walk. Ha! We walked through someone's garden and looked at a few indigenous trees. Luckily it was a short walk and we returned to camp for a MauMau storyteller. 

Well, she isn't exactly a MauMau, and she doesn't really talk about the British colonialism for the first 30 minutes. Mrs. Millicent was a school teacher and does use different strategies to keep the kids attention. Apparently she is a better replacement for the"old man" from previous years. Mrs. Millicent tells us the myth of the different tribes around Mount Kenya and briefly mentions how Kikuyu girls must be circumcised. This elicits excited murmuring among the students and anxious looks exchanged between the teachers. The story continues until we finally get to the MauMau and Jomo Kenyatta. At the end, the speaker asks if there are any questions. "What's circumsition?" one child asks immediately.  But of course that's the only thing they heard. Mrs. Millicent feels all of the teachers silently staring her down to not answer and she says to ask their parents another time. Disaster discussion averted. 

Dinner is served, we talk about the day around the campfire, eat marshmallows and drink hot chocolate, and get ready for bed. It was a successful first day.

Bright and early, we are up and getting the girls ready for breakfast and the day's activities. There is a huge line up at the one toilet for the girls and everyone is really grossed out. The toilets reek. The girls are still getting used to aiming in the potty. We have now asked the manager to have the toilets cleaned after breakfast, after lunch, and after the kids go to sleep. I feel really sorry for them. Of course our bathroom isn't any better. 

The bus ride to our first destination was one of the most tortuous events of my life. Imagine the bus (described vividly above) and add a road which resembled the dark side of the moon. You needed to hold on for dear life just to prevent being launched from your seat. On top of this, there are 28 screaming and singing children. I heard the screeched chorus to every teenybopper favorite from Dynamite to Wrecking Ball. There were even a few classics like Old Macdonald and 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. (They sang all the way down to zero bottles and the to negative 99 bottles.) I think my favorite was the school fight song because for once they were all singing the same lyrics rather than an all out battle of the bands, competing for loudest most annoying song. 

After an excruciatingly painful hour we escaped the confines of the bus at the MauMau caves. The freedom fighters (or terrorists to the British colonials) used to hide out in the cave using the part we visited as a hospital. Our guide led us through a short tunnel and gave us a brief history of the revolutionary events leading up to the British expulsion. Sadly much of the land around Mount Kenya just transferred from colonial ownership to becoming part of the vast holdings of Kenyan ruling elite. 

Second we went to a Kikuyu village. Men and women, dressed in traditional clothing and ornaments met us at the road singing and dancing. As I have come to realize after several village visits, everything is a bit contrived and completely for tourist entertainment. We enthusiastically joined in the chanting anyway and wound our way through the more modern dwellings to the one and only authentic mud building. We learned how to grind maize into flour, make porridge, weave sisal baskets, and brew beer. The real people from the village watched us like we were animals in a zoo. 

We returned to the camp for lunch and a very short break before heading off to the Ecotourism Centre. I am not sure what to think of this establishment. The building itself seemed fairly modern with high ceilings but the air was stagnant. I have never understood how Kenyans stand the heat. They wear long pants, jackets, hats and never sweat. With the combination of a very filling lunch and Harriet, the tour guide's, monotone voice, I was almost lulled to sleep. We reviewed the plants seen on our nature walk and the murals on the walls. It seemed as if this centre was begun by some good-intentioned nonprofit organization, but then the locals didn't really know what to do with it afterwards. By the grace of the gods, we made it out alive before being bored to death. 

Last stop for the day was a farm where the kids would learn how to hoe, plant seeds, and milk a cow. They ended up having a great time despite the complete lack of organizational skills of the manager who also answered his phone at least twenty times while giving his little speil. Several students and I were a little put off by some of the farm workers beating a poor sheep and its newborn with sticks. Only to be followed by an assault on the dairy cow with what looked like a crowbar to get her into the milking pen. I realize some people have no empathy or concern for the feelings of animals, especially animals they consider to be dumb. I can assure you the bleating of the baby sheep and its mother, and the fearful look in the cow's eyes bespoke of sentient beings. Had the workers prepared for our arrival, put the sheep away first and penned the cow, the experience for all would have been much improved. 

Finally, we returned to camp for dinner, campfire, teeth brushing, and bedtime. I was exhausted. 

On a rather disgusting note, I realize I have not gone number two for several days. I think the close proximity of people, starchy foods, and unrelaxed feeling of squatting has affected my bowels. I don't feel particularly good and know I need to go. But I can't. I am so repulsed by the toilets themselves and embarrassed to stink up or make nasty sounds in the adult toilet that I wait until all the girls have gone to bed. If only they knew the creature about to be unleashed. Thankfully the cleaner had come and cleaned the girls' potty. Although after the foulness I deposited shortly thereafter, I should have paid her to come back and clean it again. I still feel guilty. Enough said.

Around 11:30 pm I am woken by someone crying. A little girl has a headache so I get her some medicine. Back to bed. 1:30 am. "Ms. Fine, I need to go to the bathroom and my tent buddy won't wake up. Will you come with me?" Yikes, I wouldn't want to go in there. I wanted to tell her it was safer to go outside but I didn't. I cringed as she entered and emerged, her face looking like death warmed over. 3:00 am. I have to go to the bathroom. Ugh. 4:45 am. Chatter outside the tents. The Muslim girls are up to pray. I commend them for their devotion but tell them they need to do it quietly. 6:00 am. Time to get up. It's a new day! 

One of the chaperones does exercises and running with the kids. Then we eat breakfast and herd the "cats" onto the buses. A threat of no singing is in place. It's helps a little.

First stop is the trout sanctuary which is really a trout farm with attached restaurant. We wander around and view the different stages of trout raising. The kids get to feed and touch the trout as well. The highlight of this activity is the modern clean bathrooms. Everyone is thrilled. The other chaperones have been talking about it since breakfast and now I know why! The phrase "porcelain throne" takes on a whole knew meaning. I felt like royalty. The bathroom smelled wonderful. It had tile floors. Sinks with soap and warm running water. And best of all, a beautiful shiny white toilet complete with a seat and closing lid. I basked in the view around me, never wanting to leave the spacious stall. "Ms. Fine, are you ever coming out?" My sweet reverie is broken.

We return to camp for a leisurely lunch and break before going to Nayuki Primary School. This might be my favorite part of the trip. I loved seeing the children interact. 

Our buses pull up to the gate and a child runs over to open it. A sea of children rush out from the buildings wearing green and white checked shirts or dresses, paired with brown shorts or pants, and green sweaters. All the Kenyan schools wear uniforms and despite the fact that some had been passed down from one child to the next, they looked orderly and nice. I had to smile as our ragtag group exited the buses. 

The Nanyuki school had prepared a welcoming and thank you ceremony for us. We were donating some PE equipment and blackboards to them. Our students  were shuffled into the center of the Nayuki kids who were all stoically silent and well behaved. I think with all eyes on them, our students were a little embarrassed and also, finally, silent and still. The director of the school gave a speech and then the fifth year students sang songs for us. Our kids joined in singing and dancing to the songs they knew. They are such an awesome group of kids. 

After the ceremony, we joined the fifth year students in a classroom for some lessons taught by the Nanyuki teachers and one of our fifth grade teachers. The kids learned about rounding off numbers to the nearest ten, the names of the sounds animals make, and the big message or theme of a story. The teachers would ask a question and the kids all raised their hands, snapping their fingers, saying "Teacha, teacha." Hopefully our students don't pick up that habit. I did appreciate the strategy used by the teachers to hold the students' attention where they would say the first part and then expect the kids to finish the sentence. I might incorporate that in my classroom more. 

Now it was time for some fun. The lessons were over and we walked outside for the Kenyan tradition of planting some seedlings to cement our new friendship. Then we played soccer and clapping games, jumped rope, and twirled hula hoops. A wonderful experience bonding and a little friendly competition was had by all. 

One downside to the day involved me borrowing another chaperone's expensive camera and losing the lens cap. Hopefully they find it and mail it to Nairobi. Maybe I got a few good photos.

At last, tired, dusty, bedraggled, we return to our camp. It was now shower time. The girls and boys lined up on opposite sides of the bathroom building to take compulsory three-minute showers. The adults sat on benches in between them to call time and make sure they stayed on their respective sides. One at a time they bathed. It took over an hour (I checked and responded to 65 emails) but the girls sang, chatted, and even made some obscene burp and fart noises. I am so happy with their independence. 

It's our last night and I am feeling a little melancholy. We roast the last marshmallows, drink the last hot chocolate, sing the final songs, and tell the final jokes. One more time for the school spirit song, fight song, and the terrible pumpkin song (See below). We send them off to bed. I dread the bus ride home but know I can now just put my earbuds in and work on my blog. I will miss them. 

What have I learned? I think that despite our rough conditions and the worries of parents, this trip might be the best experience the fifth graders have before middle school. I personally have learned it is ok to say, "Fluff off!" And I expressed to one of the boys that I don't usually do stuff like this. He tells me compared to what his family does this is glamping. Glamour camping. I supposed I can survive glamping. 

Some of the activities were great learning experiences, some were great team building opportunities, and some were a test of patience. Our tour guides were knowledgable, the Kenya people we visited were warm and welcoming, and the students were active participants in everything. Memories were made that will last a lifetime. 

Pumpkin Song

I am orange and round.

I have a nose and a mouth.

I have a candle in my belly.

Whenever I run,

My head goes up, Pop!

Some people think I'm scary.

(Make a clawing motion.)

Roowwrrr!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

What?! I'm going camping?

So I agreed to substitute as a chaperone on the fifth grade inter cultural trip. Many might ask: What were you thinking? Are you mad? Four days and three nights with 70 ten and eleven year olds?! Camping? 

But of course...I am always up for a challenge. Even if I'm not really outdoorsy.

In preparation for our trip we began with a camp out on the lower field at school Friday afternoon. The kids brought all their bags, sleeping mats, etc. to school with them and then we trudged over to the field after dismissal. 

Fortunately for the adults, our tents were already pitched and looked significantly more sturdy and larger than the little triangular prisms the "tent buddies" would be sharing. After a demonstration on tent setup by one of the teachers, the kids excitedly raced across the field reminiscent of the land rush scene in Far and Away to claim their piece of earth for the evening and begin setting up. 

As fifth graders with some expert campers among them, they did quite well with only a little help where  they needed a stronger arm. After the raising (or razing) of the tents we headed off to the pool to have some down time before dinner. I am always shocked how great international kids have it since they can jump off the side of the pool deck, and heaven forbid, a diving board without the school under threat of being sued. 

At the blow of a whistle and a chirruping chorus of "Sí Señor!" we headed back to the tents for a carb rich dinner of pasta, bolognese sauce, coleslaw and some tomato sauce for the vegetarians. The kids were very polite, organized, many ate their vegetables and practically everyone cleaned their plates. Compared to second grade, they were quite civilized. 

Gathered around the campfire, individual students told jokes, and funny or spooky stories. We roasted marshmallows, drank hot chocolate and discussed the the upcoming trip. Squeals of laughter ensued with talks of squatty potties and only getting one three minute shower. Some girls expressed their fears of the baby-like wailing of tree hyraxes and missing home. Overall everyone is upbeat and excited about the night sleeping at school and the trip ahead. 

Brush your teeth, go to your tents, lights out. As soon as the kids are in their tents and quieted down, a sudden piercing yowl sounds throughout the camp. Giggles and screams of terror emanate from every tent. Two cats were fighting, perfectly replicating the hyrax. Finally, after being assured nothing was going to attack, the kids went to bed.

Everyone was up early to pack up their stuff, take down their tents, and go home. Nervous parents have already started to arrive anxiously searching for their little babies. I am so glad my parents weren't like that. 

Phase 1 is complete. In one week, we're off for the real deal.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Nairobbery

Nairobbery is a well deserved name. Before moving to Kenya, I read many articles, stories, blogs, books, and travel guides all warning me about the exponentially growing amount of theft cases. I foolishly thought to myself, Ha! it cant be that bad. How wrong I was. We arrived in Nairobi and lived complacently for six months before experiencing what I had started to believe may just be urban legends.

It was Valentine's Day; my husband and I planned to have dinner with our friends at Thai Chi, a fancy shmancy restaurant at the Stanley Hotel downtown. Our reservation was not until 8:30 pm which was pretty late for dinner on a school night anyway, and the traffic was terrible. We attempted to go to a restaurant closer to Westlands where we live, but they were booked. So we decided we would brave the traffic. It was Valentine's Day after all.

We took a side route which spit us out in the worst roundabout flooded with matatus (minivans of mass destruction) and gargantuan cross-country buses. Somehow we had ended up near the exit for the bus station. We creeped along mere centimeters from every other vehicle. I smiled and waved my mazungu cheerfulness at matatu drivers in hopes they might let me sneak in. Some laughed and cut me off, and after almost hitting someone, I just barreled into the jostling crowd.

Noxious fumes, clouds of black exhaust clouded my view practically blocking out my ability to see the massive bus muscling his way into my lane. Our little Nissan Xtrail was no match for this beast, so I slowed down to let him in leaving a millimeter of space between us to keep the other cars from bulldozing me out of the way. Strangely and nicely enough, Kenyans have not learned to honk like the Chinese. It was relatively free from blaring horns.

All of a sudden, I heard a sickening thud towards the passenger side and the car vibrated a little. Oh no! Did I just hit something? Or someone?! Not a second later I saw a flash of someone on my side of the car. There were a few more thumps and I realized my side view mirror was gone. Out of nowhere, two adolescent boys had come from behind our car, and made a synchronized attack. In less then two seconds and a couple of thuds, we were sans our side view mirrors and the petty thieves had disappeared in the sea of matatus.

After a moment of shock, disbelief, and numbing fear, I started hysterically laughing. Maybe it was my "brush with death," at least we weren't carjacked. My husband on the other hand swore and hit our dashboard, almost adding to the abuse of our car. It took a while to realize that the two miscreants had taken the entire side view mirror and its attachment. All that was left were a few straggly wires. Our poor little car.

Luckily the night continued successfully and dinner was delicious. We made it home without incident.

Since then, I have heard the most exciting stories. Another friend of ours experienced the same thing near the Sarit Center in the middle of the day. He tried to get out with something resembling a tire iron to defend his mirrors but realized that the seven men surrounding him were not worth the effort of a few parts of a car. A girlfriend of mine told me a story about being stuck in traffic at night when a man came along. He smiled at her and proceeded to steal her headlights, leaving her in the dark.

My favorite story of all time was about a woman who very crudely screamed the rudest of all womanly c-words, "You c**t!" to the driver of a matatu as he cut her off. He leaned his head out the window and yelled back, "I can, and I will!" Something was obviously lost in translation. I love it here!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Nairobi, Kenya

In Search of the Perfect Bloody Mary

The concept of a Bloody Mary varies greatly from place to place. According to Wikipedia a Bloody Mary is a popular cocktail containing vodka, tomato juice, and usually other spices or flavorings such as Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco sauce, piri piri sauce, beef consomme or bouillon, horseradish, celery, olive, salt, black pepper, cayenne pepper, lemon juice, and celery salt. It has been called "the world's most complex cocktail."

There are many spins on the original cocktail like adding tequila instead of vodka for a Bloody Maria or using Clamato instead of tomato juice for a Bloody Caesar. A stick of celery, pickled asparagus or okra, olives, even a shrimp all serve as garnishes. Despite these changes, the basic recipe produces a tasty beverage often used to cure hangovers, act as an excuse to drink at brunch before 10 am, and can substitute a meal if the right garnishes are included.

Despite specific recipes being available online and in bar tending recipe cheat books around the world, the Bloody Mary can be a culinary masterpiece or a libation that could awaken Bloody Mary herself in the mirrors of urban legend.

One of my favorite Bloody Marys was made at the Blue Frog in Shanghai. The majority of times I ordered a Bloody Mary in China, I never knew what I might get. The tomato juice was usually sweet or it came out without ice. The Blue Frog did it right though. It was a do-it-yourself sort of affair. The tomato juice and three shots of vodka came out in a pint glass with the lime, lemon, horseradish, tobacco, salt, pepper, and Worcestershire sauce on the side. I guess being able to make it myself is what made it good. Refreshing and strong! Even better during happy hour.

The worst of the worst was prepared at the New Mathaiga Mall in Nairobi. After an interminably long wait, the waitress carries out my drink which can only be described as a disaster. The color is an unhealthy coagulated blood red with unknown chunks floating in it. Upon further inspection, I realized as I lifted my straw out of the drink, that something was very wrong with the consistency. Gelatinous goo does not a good Bloody Mary make. In an effort to be polite to the expectant waitress watching on, I take a sip and know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I cannot bear to choke this down. My friend Derrick tells me he knows the people at the restaurant and he takes the reddish colored poison away. About 15 minutes layer he returns and informs me that the bartender has no idea how to make a Bloody Mary even though it is on the menu, and that the restaurant ran out of tomato juice. In place of tomato juice, they used a Kenyan version of spicy tomato sauce ladled out of a can. I am speechless and to be honest, quite grossed out. A glass of ketchup with some spices and vodka cannot be passed off as a Bloody Mary.

Almost every Bloody Mary I have had in Mexico has been incredible. Usually they serve it with half Clamato and half tomato juice, ice cold with salt on the rim, and lots of lime. A good spin on the drink is to make it with beer instead of vodka called a Michelada which is by far my most favorite drink in the world.

Light, simple, and made from scratch are usually the the requirements for a good Bloody Mary. Pre made mixes like Mr. and Mr. T's, Zing Zang or Pat O'Briens will work if you are in a rush but nothing compares to tailoring the drink to suit your tastes. I have traveled the world, a connoisseur of Bloody Marys, but even I know the ultimate drink is made at home.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:The World

Mother-Daughter Duo vs. Evil Horizon Empire and the Shady Ladies

"I am moving to Nairobi!" I squealed excitedly to my mom. "And I get money for a shipment so I can finally get my stuff out of storage. Yahoo!"

"Mandy Rae, you might not remember this but the last time we lived in Africa our shipment never came. It was lost for a whole year, and was returned to our home in Tucson when we came back from Abidjan. The shippers claimed it was stuck in Amsterdam."

"Maybe it stopped at a coffee shop and couldn't get out." My mom's ability to spread anxiety is parallel to none. But I was excited to finally have my stuff with me so I could set up a real home. I was going to ship. This is the 21st century, not the early unpredictable 1990's. Shipping has to be more reliable.

Little did I know what was in store for my mother and I when we contacted Horizon Movers for what became a shipping nightmare. Beware...

I was planning a wedding, getting married in Mexico, unpacking my storage unit, and moving from Shanghai to Kenya all in one summer so I called a "professional" company to come give me a quote for my shipment. My new school gave us $5000 to spend on moving so I gave away a lot of furniture but kept my favorite couch, clothing, knickknacks, etc which were piled nicely in the middle of my mom's living room when Kristine, or should I say, Shady Lady #1, arrived. She quickly glanced at my items and pressed a few buttons on some fancy machine, asked me where I was moving and said they would get back to me soon with a quote. We had already packed it but Kristine said they needed to unpack it, do inventory, and repack it. Ok fine.

A few days later, the quote arrives. $4200 which was fortunately under our $5000 allowance so we say yes, of course, foolishly believing we have alleviated one of our responsibilities for the summer. Enter Shady Lady #2, Olivia, most well known for never being at her desk, always at lunch, and for taking several days to reply to an email, if she does at all. We had to fill out all sort of forms, insurance, and a power of attorney so my mom could sign off on the move since the packers were coming a day after we got on the plane. Red Flag!

I think waiting until the client has left the country is a great way to pull a fast one because you know they can't do anything about it. Most people just say yes, I know the price went up, but ship anyway, we need our stuff.

Well, not this mother-daughter duo! The packers came with two small crates and managed to fit everything inside both of them and take them away. I received an email stating the actual price. Now, I know the quote was a quote and that the real price would be a little different. I assumed that being a professional moving company, Horizon might have hit the nail a little closer to the head, but no. The original quote was $4200 and the actual cost was NOW going to be $7200. WTF?! That's almost double! Going ballistic does not even begin to describe my emotions as I sit in a five-bedroom house without any furnishings....in Nairobi.

The face-off had begun. I immediately email Shady Lady #2 stating that they need to cancel the shipment. The price is way too high. No response....for two days. She writes back saying ok where would we like it sent? I ask her what will happen if we take out the couch and she says that might help. We find out from Shady Lady #1 that the quote was for only one container. Then why did you bring two?

My mom was on and off the phone with Horizon representatives for weeks. She went down to their warehouse to try to repack and get as much as possible into one crate but the person who was supposed to meet her forgot about it. Then that same person tried to offer her $100 for gas and wasted time. My mom adamantly refused this "bribe" all the while politely filing a report with the Better Business Bureau. The BBB starts investigating our little shipment fiasco and at the same time my mom somehow reaches marvelous Michael who works for another moving company contracted with Horizon who takes the shipment through the next step from Arizona. He is also appalled at the way we have been treated by the swarthy Horizon associates. The Shady Ladies also tried to accuse us of adding extra items like chairs and extra boxes. The chairs were folding beach chairs and we didn't add them, they were in the pile. The extra boxes came from the packers when they packed up some of the items in the pile that weren't already in boxes. It was one thing after another.

After all of this back and forth, almost a month has gone by. We wait in an empty house and our shipment hasn't left Tucson. At this rate, we will open our shipment at Christmas. With the pressure from Michael and the BBB, Horizon finally reveals itself as the money-grubbing scum that they are. They drop the price to $5600 but that is still over the $5000 i wanted to spend. Finally they came down. The actual cost to us will now be $5000. Obviously Horizon and the shady ladies were making a huge cut somewhere. I didn't realize I had to bargain in the USA.

Lessons learned:
1. Make sure your shipment leaves the country before you do.
2. Always have someone on your side back at home like a fierce Mother!
3. Just because it's America doesn't mean "professional" companies won't try to rip you off. But because we live in the good ol' USA, we can complain to a higher power like the BBB and then be treated fairly.
4. Everything is negotiable. (I learned that from my mom who will bargain anytime and everywhere, and who always gets a better deal.)

We have been charged $5000 and our shipment leaves LA on September 9 to travel the big blue sea hopefully bypassing any Somali pirates, arriving in Nairobi around November 9. Just in time for Thanksgiving!

I would like to take a moment to thank my Mom. Without her forcefulness and resourcefulness, the evil Horizon Empire and the Shady Ladies would have won, resulting in their taking advantage of countless others.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Tucson

Hundreds of Shots, Thousands of Shots, Millions and Billions and Trillions of Shots

Yellow fever, Hepatitis A and B, Meningococcal, Measles, Mumps, Rubella, Polio, Tetanus, and Typhoid, oh my!

No, I am not trying to get a job with the Center for Disease Control or trying to list every communicable disease known to man. These were the immunizations I had to get before moving to Nairobi. There is nothing I hate more in the world than being stuck by a needle. And lucky me, I was going to get all these lovely shots in one day.

I vaguely remember having to do this before we moved to Abidjan, Côte d'Ivoire when I was in fifth grade. Obviously I had repressed the memory in order to move on with my life. We also had to take malaria pills once a week. Not so easy for me either. The generic cheaper pills my mom bought were the size of a gobstopper and had the consistency of chalk so they stuck to your throat. I hacked up several of these before my mom gave me the more expensive candy coated version. I barely survived. Fortunately Nairobi is above the elevation for malaria carrying mosquitos and my ability to swallow pills has increased somewhat over the years.

In order to save some money, I made an appointment for Djorf and me at the county health department in the ghetto of South Tucson. We arrived on time and took our seats in the waiting room. There were several other people waiting so it wasn't too bad. An old tv blared local commercials in the background as I anxiously waited to be called.

After a very long time we were called back into the room to be "counseled" about traveling to Africa and the dangers involved with getting certain immunizations. Two ladies who looked like they had never even ventured out of the state of Arizona were assigned to us. We handed them the forms we had filled out which stated that we would be traveling to Nairobi, Kenya. I knew we were in trouble when one lady asked us if we would be going to any other countries besides Nairobi and Kenya. I can't believe this lady was counseling us when she didn't know that Nairobi was a city in Kenya. I almost told her "Yes, we will also be visiting the country of Africa."

I wish I had said something that might have spared us from the grueling hour that followed where we were handed a printout describing each and every vaccination, the dangers, the side effects, which we had to read and initial. Then they proceeded to regale us with tales of rabies, cases or bubonic plague, and countless other gifts we could receive from journeying to the Third World.

I don't know who hired these people but they were obviously not professionals. They kept looking in this huge book to tell us about all the diseases. I like to call it the Lonely Planet's guide to a painful death abroad. They pointed out Kenya on a map (I am surprised they could find Kenya on a map) which was color coded to match the different diseases. One snippet of advice they gave for the prevention of contraction of rabies was to leave the area if you were being bit by fleas. Wow, how many years of research and hours of training went into coming to that conclusion?

Just when we thought it couldn't get worse, they gave us the bill. $1000 for both of us to get all the shots we needed. That's not cheap! You'd think that preventing these diseases from spreading would be more important and the costs should be affordable. I am sure the shot costs less than hospitalizing someone with yellow fever. Proactive medical treatment is for some reason deemed unimportant. Let's just wait until someone is dying from a disease because the government would prefer to spend thousands in hospitalization pills.

Finally we were ready to get the actual shots. My thoughts and fears screamed inside my head and I felt myself melt down the wall as I slowly slid into the torture chair. The nurse started unwrapping syringes. Lots of them. Were those all for me? The nurse was the most adept adult at the clinic. Bam bam bam...three shots in one arm. Bam bam bam...three shots in the other arm. I was done in 45 seconds or less. Some of them were quite painful and stung. The worst part is the mental image of the long pointy hollow needle entering my arm. I feel nauseous just thinking about it piercing my innocent skin and introducing toxins into my poor healthy body. Djorf was next and he didn't even blink. I don't don't why I get so upset about it. I even cry when my dog has to get a shot because I can't explain to him that it's for his own good and that his mommy really isn't trying to hurt him. His little cry of pain tears my heart to pieces.

Finally we were able to leave the clinic. We would have had one more shot but there was an oral version for typhoid which kept you safe longer than the shot anyway. This noxious disease was dispensed in pill form that had to be refrigerated at all times, even on the way home from the pharmacy in order to keep the nasty cultures of semi-vital typhoid fever alive inside.

Frightening to think of willingly ingesting a disease that killed children and adults with abandon on the Oregon Trail computer game. We have not really eradicated any of these diseases. Some Dr. Jekyll type is now lurking in a secret underground lab manufacturing tons of these diseases and planning his takeover of the world after releasing them into the atmosphere. Oh, wait, is that the CDC emblem I see patched on his lab-coat? I always feel safer knowing my country is at the forefront of chemical warfare. Now I can sleep soundly at night.

I am now a host of viruses and diseases: tuberculosis, hepatitis A and B, yellow fever, typhoid fever, meningitis, measles, mumps, rubella, polio, and tetanus, and I've had chicken pox. Watch out world, I have escaped and can kill on contact. I might even glow with nuclear waste. I was finally ready to go to Africa.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Tucson and Nairobi

Zumba Across Continents

The jingle of a belly dancing skirt, pounding base from an array of Latin, hip hop, and dance/electronica music fill the studio, laughter from multiple women and a few gay men, you have just joined a Zumba class. This upbeat dance inspired aerobics class has swept the entire world. You can party your way into great shape. Watch out! It's an addictive, easy to follow, calorie burning "fitness party" offered in over 110,000 locations across more that 150 countries.

One fortuitous day in the mid-90's the creator, Alberto "Beto" Perez, accidentally forgot his music one day for an aerobics class and had to use his own collection of salsa and merengue tapes. The class loved his moves. In 2001, Beto brought his dance moves to Miami, Florida and began Zumba Fitness: The Company where he has been training and licensing Zumba instructors ever since. Seven types of classes are offered worldwide to meet the needs of different age groups, body types, and workout regimens.

My first experience and ultimate addiction to Zumba began in Shanghai. One of the teachers at Shanghai Community International School where I was working, organized a class for us on Monday and Wednesday afternoons after school. This is where I first fell in love with my instructor. James was an adorable Chinese guy who just radiated energy. No matter how tired I was or how awful my day had been, I looked forward to Zumba. He made everyone feel good about themselves and their ability to pull off some of the difficult dance combinations.

James flitted around the room, getting freaky with the walls, and always telling us to be sexy. He sang along with all the songs and wore fluorescent clothing accented with one glove or one sock pulled up. No way could anyone ever be bored.

For a promotional video, we even did Zumba on the Bund! People were walking by taking photos and joining in. On older gentleman practiced tai chi while balancing a fishbowl and several other items atop his head while we boogied in the background.

We had other teachers but no one could inspire me like James. He was just so much fun! When I found out I was moving to Kenya I immediately went to Zumba.com to see which classes were available. Of course there were tons but I would have to wait until I got there to know where the locations were and if I would like the instructor.

Upon arriving in Kenya, I was so busy getting settled in that I didn't start Zumba for several weeks. Then while wandering through a mall I saw a poster advertising Zumba classes with Magic Mike. (My jaw hit the floor. Yes, Magic Mike, like the movie with Channing Tatum.) Except this Magic Mike is black and not quite as sexy but still has a great body and tons of energy. I was hooked after one class. Now I go two to three times per week.

Another great thing is that it only costs 500 ksh which is the equivalent to $6 compared to Shanghai where I was paying 100 yuan which is $15 per class. One not so great thing about the classes in Kenya is the lack of air conditioning and use of deodorant. The most recent class I attended smelled so badly of BO, I thought I might pass out. Every time this lady lifted her arms in front of me, I stumbled and had to stop breathing until the tidal wave of stench had passed. This of course is a small price to pay for the best, most exhilarating workout I have ever done. I highly recommend Zumba to anyone anywhere. Maybe some day I can be an instructor. Until then....

Z-U-M-B-A What's that spell. ZUMBA!


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Shanghai and Nairobi

The Road Less Traveled (Part 2 of Visit Arizona)

Arizona shares about 378 miles of border with Mexico. This has resulted in a love-hate relationship that has spurred considerable controversy receiving national and international attention recently in the form of Arizona SB 1070. In case your head has been in a hole for the last few years, AZ 1070 is the "Immigration Law" which allowed officers to check the citizenship of people who were already being questioned for some other infraction. Many people were up in arms because they felt that this would result in discriminatory practices against people who "looked" like they were from another country, or to put it plainly, they had brown skin. Yes, there are probably a few jerk-head cops out there who take advantage of their position as an authority figure. How can we solve this problem? Make the citizenship question mandatory like the Miranda Rights for everyone...then we are all on the same level again and equally annoyed.

A related issue is the conditions "undocumented people" are subjected to in order to come to the US? Enter the human trafficker or "coyote" whose assistance is in high demand and whose fees easily run into the thousands per person. Oftentimes in order to evade capture and arrest by border patrol agents, these coyotes abandon their charges to wander the desert where they die of dehydration. The remains of 200 immigrants were found in the desert in 2011. The border patrol sets up water stations throughout the desert to help these people from dying of thirst. Of course, they are then captured and returned to their home country.

Drug smuggling plagues the state and has become almost unmanageable. Higher crime rate as well as more violent crimes have increased dramatically. Thousands of pounds of marijuana, hundreds of kilos of cocaine, and loads of the more recently manufactured methamphetamine flood the border cities where they are then driven to states across the US. Millions of dollars are spent patrolling the borders and incarcerating dealers and users alike. Many people blame Mexico for the influx of drugs but in all reality, if the demand for drugs didn't exist, neither would the supply.

Americas's drug problems seem minor compared to the terrors innocent citizens of Mexico witness on a day-to-day basis in larger border towns. Massive gang wars have broken out making historically promising places to work and conduct business, abandoned ghost towns. The news regularly reports shootings, mutilations, kidnappings, and assassinations in what used to be bustling border towns. Mexican citizens have deserted their businesses and homes in order to escape the violence. (Rest assured, Puerto Peñasco is no where near a major border town and although you may see soldiers in trucks with guns, they are there to keep us safe. My mom and I felt perfectly at ease the entire time we were in Mexico. So did the other hundreds of Americans strolling the streets in the old port area and frequenting the multitude of delicious restaurants and relaxing resorts.)

On the other hand, immigration has made us the powerful country we are today and I hope we will continue to be. Illegal aliens cross our borders every day and work jobs that no other Americans want. We have become to hoighty toighty to do menial labor. Many prefer to never work again and live off welfare for the rest of their lives. School is too hard for some and to those who want to learn it is too dangerous.

The largest school district in Tucson, TUSD (Tucson Unified School District) is a disgrace whose top heavy administration sucks the life from its teachers, students, and funds, redirecting any cash directly into their pockets in the forms of $90K salaries to a head of a department that no longer exists and the hiring of a specialist who can bypass the Board whenever he pleases. More than 30 students are stuffed into classrooms with disrespected, mistreated and underpaid teachers. Why do you think I escaped public education and decided to teach abroad?! The community is in an uproar demanding a complete overhaul of the district or begging to be annexed by Maricopa county in hopes the state or federal government will take notice that we are 50th in the state rankings with the lowest test scores.

I digress...I love politics but I find the issues so frustrating and people so selfish that I angrily cry out as a child would, "Why can't we all just get along?" But I know that humans are by nature greedy and lazy way to often. Instead of prattling on about topics which might cause my future in-laws to question Djorf's sanity for marrying me, I will move on to our trip.

Why, Why, Why, WHY!!!
Why do you ask?
Why is this place here?
Why did people ever come here?
Why are we in Why, Arizona?
Yes, the town is called Why. A befitting name with a convenience store: Why Not Travel Store offering free why-fi.
So you might ask yourself, why are we in Why. Well, Why is where you turn left towards Lukeville to get to Mexico. Do not accidentally turn right towards Ajo. Also, for the return trip there are no signs in Why telling you which direction to go to get back to Tucson. So when you drive back through Why to get home, you must turn right. Do not go to Ajo if you want to go to Tucson.
Why?

My mom and I stopped along the roadside to go to the bathroom. As soon as we exited the vehicle we aged 10 years as all moisture was sucked from our skin. We immediately slathered on oil free lotion, knowing that anything with oil might cause us to fry. People have been known to fry an egg on the sidewalk in Arizona.

We longingly searched for clouds in the sky which might promise rain. Monsoons should be coming soon. Along with the much needed moisture come an assortment of creatures like rattlesnakes, tarantulas, and gila monsters. Just after a thundering storm, you can hear the rattles of a million snakes out to enjoy the water. Tarantulas, gargantuan hairy black spiders, cruise across the roads en masse. Gila (pronounced like heela) monsters, 18-inch long black-spotted orange lizards, lounge about on large stones daring every passerby to mess with them. People and animals in-the-know would never touch these prehistoric looking monsters because they bite! Gilas latch on and never let go. Anyone arriving to the wedding with a gila monster clamped to his or her leg will no be permitted to enter. Desert animals can be gorgeous to look at but only from a safe distance or from inside the car.

An interesting fact about Arizona: the majority of deaths at the Grand Canyon are white males who feel it is necessary to teeter dangerously close to the edge of the canyon in order to pee off the side. Oddly enough, they fall in on a regular basis. Men beware.

You now enter Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. An organ pipe cactus resembles the pipes of an organ. They also look like skinny versions of saguaro cacti all growing up from the same base area with no arms. Most of the organ pipe cacti can be found along dirt roads which require visitors to leave the main highway. In the past this was a popular tourist attraction for botanists and bird watchers. Sadly, not long ago, the park ranger was murdered by "coyotes," the human trafficking type, and now visitors travel here with an armed guard.

The second border checkpoint is shortly after leaving Why. Watch out for sheriffs hiding behind AZ flora to catch speeders.

Camp sites are advertised...Space Available! Surprise surprise! Hold tight to your steering wheel: dust devils and rogue tumbleweeds abound. Which brings to mind a childhood experience I have repressed but now rears its ugly head. Returning from a trip to Puerto Penasco with my family when I was a wee girl, our mom made my sister an I collect tumbleweeds and stack them in the back seat of the car. Dreaming of a desert Christmas, she planned to spray paint them white, sprinkle them with glitter, and hang ornaments on them. But already dangling near the center of one weed, was a black widow! With a screech of terror from the back seat, the car squealed to a stop and the widow nest was kicked out. Never a dull moment in the desert.

Up ahead the town of Lukeville waits on this side of the border and its Mexican counterpart Sonoyta. We were stopped on the US side and questioned about where we were going and where we were from. Then we continued to the Frontera (border in Spanish) where a green light means keep driving and a red light means stop to the left so the Mexican border patrol can ask you questions and maybe search your car. They are mostly just checking if you have firearms or ammunition, neither of which can be brought into Mexico.

The speed limit is in kilometers per hour not miles per hour. Hopefully your car's speedometer has both. Otherwise 40 km is about 28 mph and 20 km is about 15 mph. There was construction when we were there last so you might need to follow detour signs. Follow the major flow of traffic because most people are also just traveling through. Many blue signs with Puerto Penasco or Rocky Point in white letters direct you to our beach destination.

This very desolate part of Mexico, sand dunes and rocks with maybe a shrub or two used to be a volcanic zone. There are lava fields and cave you can visit in the Biosfera de Pinocate recommended during a cooler time of the year.

Some road signs you might see along the way translate as follows:
No rebase - no passing
Area de descanso - rest area
Zona volcanica - volcanic zone
No arroje basura - no littering
Cinturon obligatorio - must wear seatbelts
Curva peligrosa - dangerous curve
(picture of a goat) - goat crossing
(octagonal sign at varying levels and shades of red to grey, might say alto) - stop sign

If you are caught speeding or running one of the many elusive stop signs, do not try to bribe or pay off the police. Mexico is attempting to cut back on corruption. Politely request to go to a police station to pay the fine. Americans are targeted for breaking laws in Mexico because they can afford to pay the fines.

Finally we are nearing the end of our journey. Puerto Penasco at last. A busy beach town, popular with spring breakers and families alike, welcomes visitors with open arms. The people are friendly, many speak English, and the American dollar is accepted along with the peso. Countless signs will direct you to Las Conchas where my wedding will take place. Remember to have fun, eat, drink, and smile. You are in Mexico and it is beautiful.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Visit Arizona (the part where no one else goes)

While traveling the four-hour, 260 mile long desolate road from Tucson to Puerto Peñasco (otherwise known as Rocky Point), my mother and I decided to write a short tourism guide for family that would be taking this adventurous route. Thus the road to bliss and relaxation can be rocky at times.

We were on our way to Puerto Peñasco to finalize arrangements for my wedding in July, so we packed up the car with tons of water, a small suitcase each, and Loki, the Pomeranian ring-bearer. With a full tank of gas, passports and wedding paperwork in hand, we set off.

The epic journey begins on Interstate Highway 10 traveling east and then turning onto the Interstate 19 towards Nogales. Shortly thereafter, you exit west on the Old Ajo Highway 86.

The unique beauty of the Sonoran Desert surrounds you. The Catalina mountains rise up towering and blue to the east as you pass by the Tucson Mountains which surround the city to the west. Native plants abound, immediately eliminating the common belief that deserts are only sand dunes.

And with one swift glance to the left, the spell is broken by the town of Three Points where Neo-Nazis and meth labs lurk, threatening arsenals of militaristic grandeur and apocalyptic explosions. Three Points also boasts the Arizona Minutemen or vigilantes who take it upon themselves to patrol our borders, keeping us safe from exhausted, dehydrated immigrant men, women, and children who have just traveled hundreds of miles in search of a better life. How manly the Minutemen must feel hunting down these ferocious "enemies" of the state.

In the distance you see the first of two border patrol checkpoints around mile marker 145 before you get to the AZ/Mexico Border. Make sure you slow down exactly to the posted speed limit, because sheriffs can be hiding on either side patiently waiting to pull over any speed racers. Normally the officers will just wave you through while venturing south but be prepared to stop and answer questions about your travels and citizenship on the return trip.

Without any notice except an old sign we entered the nation of the Tohono O'Odam native Americans. The reservation is not considered part of the regular United States so unless you are a member of the tribe, you cannot get off the highway and drive down side streets or meander too far without permission. The land may look barren and the houses ramshackle but make no mistake, the tribe distributes large sums of money from the revenues of four massive casinos near Tucson to anyone who can prove they have one quarter native blood through the female line. Aspiring students receive full scholarships to college. Even when the economy suffers throughout the state, people are still drawn to the casinos for that almost Las Vegas style destination vacation.

If you notice a large white dome at the top of the Quinlan Mountains off to your left, rest assured, it is not an alien spaceship or government test site. You are looking at Kitt Peak Observatory which houses 22 optical telescopes and two radio telescopes, is internationally recognized, and has made several famous galactic discoveries like how spiral galaxy rotation curves provided the first indications of dark matter. Kitt Peak is open for visits by tourists and school groups (try to plan your trip when field trips are certain not to be there) and for the star gazing enthusiasts out there, special overnight stays can be arranged.

The first town large enough to place on the map is Sells. There is not much to say about Sells except that there is a Circle K in case you need gas or a drink. Moving on...

The first thing that stands out to most visitors to the state is the lush green landscape complete with trickling streams and abundant wildlife. Just kidding. Realistically they experience unbearable, searing, suffocating, open-the-oven-door, devoid of any moisture heat. Temperatures in the summer months soar over 110 degrees Fahrenheit only simmering down to the 90's at night. But the air is clean, the skies are always blue, and we have 360 days of sun. The other nine months of the year are warm and wonderful making Tucson and Phoenix top spots for "snowbirds" which are our winter residents and personas mayores (retired folks).

Arizona's iconic Saguaro cactus speckles the land on both sides of the road measuring between 40-60 feet tall, weighing between 3200-4800 pounds. They are a very slow growing cactus. A 10 year old plant might only be 1.5 inches tall. Another desert plant is the jumping cholla which appears like some sort of fuzzy, gentle plant having a number of small fuzzy branches resembling the arms of a teddy bear. But don't cuddle this prickly bear which seems to leap off and attach itself to you with silvery spines. These thorns must be combed off your skin and never seem to go away. The Arizona state tree is the mesquite, described as lime greenish brown and thorny, that sheds bean pods and grows in groves along the roadside. In the past, and now for the tourism industry, Native Americans grind the seeds into flour.

Items not native to the Sonoran Desert are the excessive amount of beer bottles strewn on both sides of the road. Unfortunately, you will also see the crosses and flowers memorializing someone who died in a car accident most likely caused by drinking and driving. Arizona has some of the strictest drunk driving laws but countless people have still lost their lives.

Highway 86 stretches out in front of you as far as the eye can see. Every now and then, a yellow sign appears warning you of Dips. Dips are brief downward slopes followed by upward ones. Not something normally needing a sign. Arizonan dips are special because during the monsoon season, these brief downward slopes become homes to the notorious flash floods, gushing walls of water that spring up without a moment's notice. Despite signs proclaiming Do Not Enter When Flooded, people and cars are swept away each year. Rescue workers can be seen on the news bravely saving a man marooned on the roof of his car amidst the white water rapids he foolishly thought his monster truck could handle. Arizona has in fact implemented the Stupid Motorist Law that states, "Any motorist who becomes stranded after driving around barricades to enter a flooded stretch of roadway may be charged for his or her rescue. The costs can be billed up to a maximum of $2000 for purposefully and foolishly placing others in danger.

You will also cross what appears to be bridges over dry rivers. Eons ago, these rivers may have had water in them, but now they only fill when it rains. Our friends from Minnesota couldn't believe their eyes and took photos of the dry river bridges to laugh about when they showed their friends back home. Monsoon rains are nothing to scoff at. In 1982, in what is referred to as the 100 year flood, an entire building was sucked into the Rillito River and the power line poles were dragged down into the Santa Cruz River while the raging waters swept over the tops of bridges. When we have them, we take our rivers very seriously.

After a long time on the straight road you will pass the town of Quijotoa and at mile marker 110....A CURVE! In your comatose state from driving in a perfectly straight line for so long don't forget to slow down so you don't go careening off the edge of the road. Do not stop or seek assistance from the nearby Deliverance-style houses; there is a cemetery for those who do. Don't despair, the speed limit increases after a while, assuming you have become accustomed to the curves and small hills.




Right about this time, many adventurers become bored and begin counting border patrol vehicles. These are white with a green stripe going down the side and come usually in the form of trucks or vans. We counted 19 total vehicles NOT including the ones at the check points.

Stay tuned for Part 2.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Business vs. Steerage (economy) Class

Business class ramp

"But I don't want to get off the plane!" I squealed. This is not something I ever dreamed of saying but after experiencing the luxurious accommodations of Asiana business class, my next flight in economy might make me cry.

Djorf wanted to surprise me by using his vast accumulation of flight miles (a mere 110,000 miles) to purchase two oneway tickets for Asiana business class for our final return flight from Shanghai. I have never flown business class so like a giddy child I have taken photos of everything, pressed every button I could find, ate everything I could, and drank enough champagne to drown in.

Almost completely flat reclining seat.

Let me just say, there is a reason a curtain is pulled to separate the haves and the have nots. If the commoners in the back of the plane knew what was going on up here on the "second floor," there might be a mutiny. The whole experience makes flying actually pleasant. I was in no rush, my bottom never fell asleep, I don't feel cramped, claustrophobic, my head didn't drop over onto the person next to me thereby saving them from a puddle of drool I surely would have deposited on their shoulder, I never got a crick in my neck, and I not once questioned the origin or expiration date of the delicious food placed before me. It was like being on a flying cruise ship except the alcohol is included.

Real Bloody Mary

Before we even got on the plane, we lounged in the Asiana Club munching on snacks and drinking wine. Then we leisurely walked over to the business class ticket collection area to the plane where there was no line, then strolled down our own ramp to the first/business class entrance. Unfortunately we did have to exert a little energy climbing the stairs to get up to the "second floor" of our plane before dropping gracefully into the reclining space pod looking seats. I chose the window seat which also boasts extra storage compartments we found out later and Djorf chose the aisle. There are only 12 total seats on the second floor, in comparison to the 12 seats in each row of economy class. When I stick out my legs straight, I can't even touch the seat in front of me.

Me at the top of the stairs on the plane.

This is where the button pushing began. There are 14 buttons alone that control my seat. It goes up, down, in, out, lumbar support, leg rest and support, and it reclines. The seat in front of me never moves and there wasn't a child in sight to even attempt to kick my seat or puncture the harmonious silence. The tv had tons of movies, games, shows, movies, and the flight show (my favorite because you can watch the airplane travel across the screen). I also have my trusty iPad in case I get bored with the inflight entertainment.

Just one of the many courses of our meal.

Moving on from the seat, we were given hot towels at every interval, slippers, lotions, lip gloss, and endless glasses of Mumm Napa Rose. Our menu for dinner consisted of seven courses and warm bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar throughout. To start we had fried eggplant stuffed purée with tomato confit, followed by an appetizer of grilled king prawn with couscous and baby leaves asparagus. A mushroom cream soup was served piping hot and the main course was Toscana-style beef cutlet with marinated radicchio for me and grilled halibut with fettuccine-style vegetables for Djorf. Then came a cheese platter with Munster, Taleggio, and Compte, fruit, crackers, etc. But wait, there's more. A tasty apple tart and coffee/tea service was provided for dessert. Everything was served separately in real little white dishes, real silverware, and real glasses.

Perusing the menu.

After gorging myself like a gluttonous Roman on all this decadent food, I slept like a baby for about five hours until Loki barked and woke me up. Mean little doggie. He must have wanted me to wake up for breakfast.

Breakfast was almost as delightful as dinner. The feasting began with fresh rolls and croissants, followed by fruit and blueberry yogurt. The main course was a mushroom and egg omelette, potatoes, and grilled zucchini for me. Djorf had a seafood crepe with béchamel sauce and green beans. Coffee and tea? Yes please.

Jet-setting Pomeranian

I am now writing this post as we descend to Los Angeles where I will sadly deplane knowing this may be the last time I experience such luxurious surroundings. Even the toilets in business class stayed clean, spotless, and never smell bad. The flight attendants are perfectly coiffed and immaculately dressed. Finally, no one leaps unceremoniously from their seats knocking over the elderly and children to tear their luggage from the overhead compartments before the captain turns off the seatbelt sign. We all sit patiently awaiting arrival at the gate where we will exit on our own ramp. We wouldn't want the economy class seeing how well we have slept and ate indesguisable because of the bounce in our step. A truly lovely journey. Had I written from my usual seat amongst the have nots, this blog would have taken an entirely different tone and I would have been chanting, "Let me off, let me off, get me out of this godforsaken metal tube death trap." I adore flying...in business class.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Asiana Airlines Shanghai via Seoul to LA

Gym of Eternal Stench

I have tried to stay positive and wait a few days or weeks before writing a rather scathing review of the gyms but I cannot resist any longer. Like a festering wound, one might have contracted at said gym, I must warn the world of the potential harm and horror of the two gyms I encountered while trying to stay fit in Shanghai.

Upon arriving at the mega mall center of Xujiahui, which crawls with a million people frantically shopping or milling about wanting to be seen "shopping," you must travel up five escalators to the fifth floor in order to get to Physical, the gym. The first smell that reaches you is popcorn from the next door theater. Not something you want to smell when you are trying to lose weight. The next smell that assaults you is after you hand over your membership card, receive your locker key, and enter the gym. Mildew, stinky feet, BO, and boiled eggs permeate the air. Followed by what can only be described as the "bog of eternal stench" in the locker room.

The odor is not the only thing to accost your senses. Your eyes are in for a treat. Ladies wandering around eating and gossiping in the buff, who haven't seen a razor...ever. Hair dryers are used to dry more than just the hair on your head. Legs are lifted onto stools and every follicle is dried to perfection. Hannibal Lector style masks are worn while relaxing on lawn chairs in the spa area which also boasts some of the fiercest grout mold I have ever seen. Despite the attentive ayis sweeping the floor, body hair curly and straight carpets the floor.

Frantically I leap across unknown refuse and scurry around the chaos of screaming women on their cells phones in hopes of making it to my locker alive. As I pass by the open trash cans I see what looks like a feminine hygiene autopsy, thankful I didn't arrive in the locker room when it was happening in plain view. My locker had something wet inside so I hung everything on the bent metal coat hanger holding on for dear life to a hook threatening to give way at any moment. I made a swift escape to the door and out to the main cardio section of the gym.

The gym was a toasty 85 degrees Fahrenheit as I ascended the step to a rather rickety looking treadmill. The machine squealed in pain as I pressed the quick start button and belt began to move. I ran listening to the pounding music and Chinese instructor screeching out the steps for a nearby aerobics class.

Five minutes later and to say I was pouring sweat would be an understatement. I was drenched, I couldn't breathe, and the gyrating bodies of the belly-dancing class next to me we're starting to make me ill. The treadmill on my other side held a lady with plastic wrap strategically bound around her upper arms, legs, and midsection in hopes of making them thinner. Much to my despair, she proceeded to peel off the plastic wrap flinging sweat in all directions. And I thought my own sweat was gross.

Thankfully after 20 months my membership at Physical ended and I signed up at Will's Gym, which is also closer to my apartment futilely believing things might be better. I was terribly wrong.

Because the gym was closer, I never had a bag with me so I did not venture into the locker room. Despite being much smaller than Physical, Will's still did not attempt to use the air conditioner at all. Each time I went to the gym, I would have to ask them to turn on the air. The final and last straw occurred when they refused to turn it on because a chubby man behind me on the elliptical machine claimed to be cold. I was at my wits end and cried out in distress, "But I am extremely hot and the air used to be on when I started running. If he is cold he can put on a sweatshirt. I can't take off any more clothes or I will be naked." My pleas fell on deaf ears. I whined a little bit more and they feigned to care and turned on the fan. That was my final day at Will's.

What have I learned? Even though the gyms are just as expensive as in other countries, you do not get what you pay for. In the future I will purchase a treadmill for my home and crank the a/c. If you like the heat and can handle less then hygienic conditions, gyms in Shanghai are the place for you.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Shanghai