January 24th, 2009 02:32am
Bishop
>мебели стара загораonline casinocatvnew International Airport is about an hour north east from the city. And they weren’t kidding about the fact that the painted lanes in the road are optional. Huge overloaded lorries are transporting all kinds of goods at 2:30 in the morning and we are weaving and darting between them, with what seems nothing but pure idiocy. The driver is flashing his brights as he comes up behind them and honks his horn as he passes. We pass marked speed limit signs, but it doesn’t really matter. The lights on the dash of the car don’t work and there is no way to even see how fast we are traveling. The roads are relatively good – they look new. Except for one thing and that is the presence of giant speed bumps placed every few kilometers across the road. The onlt thing warning you of an impending date with a 2 foor high bump is a very dim blinking red light on the right side. Essentially, had I been driving I would have had to figure out how to expense a new transmission.
We pass over a bridge and the driver exclaims that we are now int he city limits and then all of a sudden the smell hits me. I have no idea how to descibe it. Rotting socks? Decaying flesh? I have no idea but it takes my excitement away as we enter Bangalore. It’s very dark and we are zooming through intersections that have yellow blinking lights on all four directions. “This can’t be good,” I am thinking. My driver does a good job of flashing his brights as we come into an intersection, announcing our presence, but he doesn’t slow, and I am just bracing for impact. A car traveling in our direction is only 25 meters in front of us but as we both cross the intersection it is common to have a car from the cross direction pass betweenn us – all at over 60km per hour. It is surreal and a crazy introduction to the driving habits of Bangaloreans.
The Leela Palace is impressive. I arrive and there are several levels of security present. They stop the car before it reaches the centrally places entrance and ask you to walk through a metal detector and place your bags through a x-ray scanner. I don’t think they have any idea what they are looking for. The guy who wands you over with the metal detector wand does so half-heartedly and when it beeps, he doesn’t stop. I check in only to find out that my reservation is for Friday, but not until 2:00pm so I have them book me a night now, but the room I requested won’t be ready until he current occupant checks not. No worries, I just want a bed.
January 23rd, 2009 11:36am
Bishop
Wow, I am tired. One interesting note when I came through customs in Bangalore. I had a ‘X’ in white chaulk on my bag. Apparently, they scan the bags coming in and if they see anything that looks like electonics they mark the bag so customs can go through it. I had some electronics in my carry-on but only a power supply in my checked bags. Had I known about the ‘X’, I should have taken my bags to the bathroom and scrubbed it off.
Well, I come up to customs but I told them I have nothing to declare as that I am taking everything I bring in back with me when I leave. The older customs agent wasn’t having any of it, even though he was very nice and get a smile on his face. Well, I show him the power supply and explain that it is just a power supply, when he looks over at my other bags and wants to open them up too. This is going to be bad.
He has me lay my bags out and opens them up. He sees the hardware in the checked bag and his eyes light up – like he won the lottery. If I only knew how right I was at that instant. He then asks me how many laptops I am carrying my other case. I reply with two and his eyes get even wider. He explains that I am limited to only bringing one laptop into the country and that I would have to pay a tax on it. Also, he wanted me to pay a tax on the equipment he found in the carry-on. We negotiated down to a total import price of $750 and I was to pay a 33% tax on that. I was pretty nonchalant about it as that I was just going to put it on the corporate AMEX card, but he kept asking me if I thought that the company would re-imburse me. Apparently, he didn’t really know how corporate AMEx cards work so I replied, “Maybe” just to see if I could get him to bite. He motions for his supervisor and he comes over and directs me to a back room. I ask the supervisor, “How much?” He reples $60. I tell him I will pay $50 and he then says I should pay in Euros then. I ask him how many Americans he has seen with Euros in their wallets and I get a shake of the head. “You get $50,” I tell him and the money passes hands and I am out of the terminal in a flash.
I meet up with a guy who has my name and company on a placard and we hurry outside and load my bags into his car. I take a quick snapshot of a wild dog scurry by me while the bags were being loaded. The air is dry and sweet.
January 22nd, 2009 03:04pm
Bishop
I am going there. I know not what to expect. Other travel blogs just leave me wanting more details. The few people that I know that have been there don’t describe it well enough.
January 22nd, 2009 08:27am
Bishop
How hard is it really to design an airport? It seems the people who are tasked with that decision forget about VOC (voice of the customer). I landed at Charles de Gaulle around 4am and headed for my next gate. Unfortunately, it requires mind reading to find it. You have to find the right escalator to go down, the correct bus to get on, the correct stop to get off and then the correct corridor to go down only to arrive at another security check point to go through. I’m glad I had 4 hours. On the return trip I only have 60 minutes. It is going to be interesting.
That bus is what took us to our Airbus 330. We had some handicapped people on the flight and they took them down to the bus by opening a door in the glass just beyond the pillars that go to the ground. A special lift truck came up and carried them down. Hell, I was scared for them watching them get into the lift.
We get to the airplane in a remote section of the tarmac and we have to walk up the stairs in the snow carrying our bags. Not a big deal for me, but we had older people and several adults dealing with small kids. I felt for them.
January 21st, 2009 02:43pm
Bishop
I’ve gone quite a long time between posts. I kinda don’t want to do that anymore. I am going to try and get one post a week. Hopefully, that is achievable.
January 25th, 2008 02:14pm
Bishop
The next night we are hanging out at the Dubliner when we hear a cackle of female voices coming from the back. Apparently, it is a celebration – a bachelorette celebration. Sean and I look at each other and just grin.
We are experts at this and we wanna show the Spanish and their “piropeo” that the Yanks have game too. We hold back and watch as the carnage begins. Time and time again the Spanish try and dive into the hoard of women. Time and time again they retreat with their tails between their legs as they are dismissed over and over. I head over to the supposed leader – there is always one. And I befriended her. I flash my Cruise smile and told her I was getting married in a few months so there was no way I was going to sleep with her tonight – no matter how much she wanted it. She laughed and invited us both to join them. I wish I had taken a picture of the looks from the Spanish guys. BTW, Sean has some decent pics over at his blog. He writes better then me anyway. We spend some time there – they were getting pretty trashed – one chick even flashed me her taco. We take off, we are both old enough we know you should always leave on a high note. We head over to some Argintina Salsa place and befriend some locals. The guys asks me for $6 euros and comes back with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and hands it to me. Man, I am really starting to love it here but we are leaving in the morning. We visit a few more places and Sean bags it in. I stick with them until the sun comes up. I head back to the hostel and as I walk around the corner in the hallway I see Sean’s feet sticking out. He is laying there, sleeping, in the hallway. I forgot to give him the keys. It was kinda funny actually.
Well, against my better judgement I let my head hit the pillow. I wake up, what seems 10 minutes later, but really is 3 hours. We only have 1:30 minutes before our flight takes off. Mother fucker.
I wake Sean up, yell to him to take the bedroom and I got the bathroom. I rake my arm over the sink and pile whatever was there into my suitcase. We will sort it out later. He does the same for the clothes on the floor. But, poor Sean misses a $100 pair of jeans, which he doesn’t discover unutil we get home. Poor bastard can’t catch a break. We run outside and pray we can find a cab driving around at 9:30am on a Saturday. We are oh so lucky and I say this to the driver as I point to him, “You Mario Andretti. Fast. Barajas.” His eyes light up with excitement, which should have scared the shit out of me then.
This guy could be his little brother, we are zooming all over the place. Sean is in the back going, “What the fuck did you tell him?” as he is thrown from side to side. Between that and the hangover I am trying not to throw up. We get there and the meter says something like $35 euros but he asks for $50. I give him $60 and we dart into the terminal. Sean, my good friend, becomes the ugly American and cuts to the front of the line getting into the Internationl terminal and almost starts an incident. I follow him and answer their snears with “estúpido” and point to Sean. We get through and settle into our seats just as the place backs away from the terminal.
We are headed home. One a little lighter than the other, but both us heavier in the understanding of a foreign culture and experiences that not many in the States ever partipate in. Most assuredly, this experience was great because I chose to travel with a guy who has the right mentality. Cool and calm even when things weren’t going right. And upbeat and fun without doing stuff that would get you thrown in jail. I only make a point of saying this because I have been on the trips from hell and it was only because of the people I was with. I tip my drink to you as you travel through China. I wish I was there – almost.
January 25th, 2008 01:40pm
Bishop
And they don’t let you take pictures inside – well they don’t let you take pictures with flashes. I know as that I almost got a beat down by a security guard. I took his picture – with a flash on. Asshole.
Sean and I walked around Madrid and hit some of the big museums and saw some wonderful culture. And even chatted up some locals in the coffee bar. I headed back to the hostel to take a nap and left Sean to his own devices to go shopping. I was saving up for the evening as that I heard the night life goes late and I didn’t want to puss out early.
Well, on our first night walking around Plaza del Sol we eat some tapas and drink some more sangria. Every bar we walk into has a pig leg set into a contraption and they slice a sliver of flesh off and server it with bread. From what I am told, the quality is measured by the color of the hoof. The darker the better.
More walking and I am telling Sean, “I am walking into the next bar I see.” We walk around the corner and lo and behold – “The Dubliner.” I, a mere mortal, can find an Irish bar in a city I have never been in, in a country I have never visited. We walk in after we talk to the doorman. His name escapes me now, but he is dressed in an Italien suit and is carrying a glock. (sidenote)We bullshit with him and he becomes our new best friend. Over the course of the next four days, we always go to the Dubliner first and talk to the doorman. He tells us the cool places to go (non tourist shit). (end sidenote) We walk in and the place is staffed with American chicks. Damn, we hit the lottery. This just became out homebase for the rest of the trip. If you are ever in Madrid, Plaza del Sol, please go check this place out if you like Irish pubs.
January 25th, 2008 01:18pm
Bishop
After three days in Pamplona/San Sebastian we have had enough. It was amazing but the accomadations were just too lacking for us American princes. We need hot water and AC. We are such pussies. So, we head early to Madrid, but since Sean lost his bus ticket (well, lost isn’t the right word but I am trying to be nice) I have to figure out how to buy him one. I bought our first tickets on the Internet and it was all setup when we arrived in Madrid a few days ago – I didn’t have to really communicate, just give them a reservation number. We don’t go first class this time because it is booked and I couldn’t get a first class ticket for Sean. We spend copious amounts of time in the bar car and try to talk to people. It’s becoming a sport. We take bets on how long before they walk away, and if I or Sean insults them first. It’s completely unintentional on our part but people really don’t like Americans right now.
Well, onward to Madrid and this is the first sleep I have had in 4 days. We take a train to Plaza del Sol and wander around until our find our hostel. Man, this is the way to go. Double beds, hot water, AC, security, and all for $79 a night. I love hostels!! We crash and sleep.
December 12th, 2006 10:47am
Bishop
I get up early and the sun has already started to come up. The street is bathed in beautiful pastels as we walk to the start of the Run. There isn’t much talk between Sean and I. I was taking the time to do some self-reflection and I didn’t want to bother him with nervous chatter. It bugs the hell out of me when other people do it. We take our positions that we had taken the previous day. I say “Hello” to all the usual suspects that were there the morning before. An American living in Paris walks up and it is his first time. He calls his buddy from Chicago on his cell phone who is also in Pamplona to get him to run. He finally shows up and he tells us he isn’t going to run – a guy from the home of the Bulls, not running in Pamplona. Kinda ironic. Or Smart. So, we take his buddy under our collective wing and explain him the ropes of running. Like our one run experience is the proper well to draw from. At the same time Jose’ walks him and tells us that the spotted bulls are going to be a problem as that they will stay to the side and try to hook runners. I have no reason to doubt Jose’. He is regarded as the finest Runner and his picture appears everywhere. What’s neat is that he is a mute so it takes some time to communicate from proper English to mute-Spanish. It’s one of those things that you hope you guessed right to what he is saying because he really knows how to Run. At ten minutes to 7 they open the gates and we start to walk forward. Our friend from London is getting really nervous so I have to keep re-assuring him that everything is going to be just fine. We get into position right where Estafda opens up, about 300 yards from the end of the run. Our friend looks over and asks us when we need to start running and I say to him, “When your nuts go to your throat, don’t run.” The expression I get back is priceless. A kinda agast, what-in-the-hell-did-I-get-myself-into look. I tell him that he will hear the first rocket and your mouth will go dry. When you hear the second rocket you get really nervous that you might have to jump up and down a few times. When you start seeing the flash bulbs going off at the end of the street you are still 30 seconds from having to start even though you want to go then. As the Bulls get closer the more people start to pass you by. You still don’t want to run. That’s the dangerus part. If you fall in that madness, you have 6 bulls behind you with 6 giant steers. I tell him, wait until you see the Bulls, then you run. If anyone falls over in front of you, run over them. I told him I kept my rolled up paper, not for the bulls, but for the people. As the bulls get closer, people start looking down the street and jogging up the street. I use the paper to tap them in the shoulder or arm to let them know I am there and if they start running they are going to run right into me and fall down. It worked really well actually. Well, the first rocket goes off and I have a giant smile on my face. Other people around didn’t seem as happy. As the second rocket goes off I am excited, my heart is pounding. I feel honored to be here amoung all these people. The San Fermines. As the bulls round the corner on the street below the flash bulbs are going off and I remain where I am. People are jogging by now and I know the bulls are getting closer. I turn around to re-assure our friend and he looks at me and says, “Fuck this” and takes off. All of a sudden there is a mad dash of people and I can hear the hoves hit the cobblestones. I look up and I see a flash of brown and white. I start jogging and then as they approach I start sprinting. I run up to the trailing bull just as it passes me and I can see right into it’s eyes. I reach out and gently touch the bull as he moves by me. I keep running and as I move down the street there is a pile up of people on the left, and then on the right. I hurdle over the mass of legs. The guy behind me isn’t as lucky and gets trpped up. As he falls he grabs my shirt and if I hadn’t swatted him away with my newspaper he would have brought me to the ground to get surely trampled on. I enter the areana to massive cheers. This has been my best run.
December 12th, 2006 10:47am
Bishop
Well, that’s how I answered the phone when Chel called me. I was in San Sebastion, Spain. Sean and I needed to get out of Pamplona for awhile. I wanted to see more of Spain then the dry, sticky sangria and piss filled streets.
Our favorite Aussie chick was packing up and heading out for the bus stop in Pamplona when she asked us if we wanted to go a free Bob Dylan concert in San Sebastian. Ummm, yeah.
The Spanish countryside is amazing. We took a bus from Pamplona to San Sebastian and it is amazing the quality of people you meet traveling. Everyone is cordial and pleasant to talk to. They understand that there is a difference between a country’s politics and the people from that country.
We (Sean, I, and the Aussie chick) get to San Sebastian and we meet up with some of her friends at the train station closer to the beach and we are all standing around joking and having a good time. It would figure it would get fucked up. Sean puts his bag down between his legs and never sees it again. The pick pockets work fast in this city. He lost his passport, some clothes, and the overnight stuff he brought. So, we have to go get a police report so he can take that to the consulate in Madrid to get an emergency passport. Thank God we are leaving from Madrid because that’s the only consulate in Spain.
Well, we spend the next two hours walking around San Sebastian – what a cool city. Too bad we were in a bad mood. Hey, work called me while we were walking around and I had to deal with some emergency back in the States that couldn’t wait, but at least I had my stuff. 
I was able to use my limited French in this city as that more people could understand me. It is nice that this city butts up against France. Chel calls me when we are at the police station and I have to call her back. She is amused but immediately takes charge about finding out what Sean needs to get on the plane back to the States. She is awesome.
Previous Posts