Friday February 21, 2014
Day 1
Breakfast = $2.25
Lunch = $1
Free Transport to Hostel
Siem Reap Hostel = $38
Dinner = $5
Day 2
Temple Pass for 3 Days = $40
Angkor Wat
Breakfast = $4.50
Water = 50 cents
Tuk-Tuk = $5
Bayon
Ta Prohm
Lunch = $3.75
Pub Street
Dinner = $2.50
Night Market
Day 3
Breakfast buffet = $2
Pad Thai = $3.50
Banana Nutella Pancake = $1
Smoothie = $1.25
Yellow Noodles = $3.50
Movie Night at Hostel: Tomb Raider
Day 4
Breakfast buffet = $2
Stilted Village = $18
Yellow Noodles
Banana Pancake
Smoothie
Snake = 75 cents
Tarantula = 75 cents
Day 5
Breakfast buffet = $2
Carpool to Temple = $15
Beng Mealea = $5
Pho = $2
Water = 25 cents
Banana Pancake = $1
Watermelon Juice = $1
Fried Noodles = $1
Day 6
Breakfast buffet = $2
Laundry = $2
Fried Noodles = $1
Temples
Tuk-Tuk = $15
Banana Pancake = $1
Guava Smoothie = $1
Water = 25 cents
Day 7
Breakfast buffet = $2
Banteay Srei
Tuk-Tuk = $10
Yellow Noodles
Smoothie
Banana Pancake
Day 8
Breakfast buffet = $2
Lunch = $5
Dinner = $3.50
Tuk-Tuk to Airport = $6
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
4 Days in the Capitol of Cambodia
Phnom Penh (February 17, 2014)
Day 1
Visa = $25
Tuk-Tuk ride to Hostel = $4
Lunch = $1
Dinner = $1
Day 2
Breakfast = $2.25
Lunch = $1
2 water bottles = 54 cents
Independence Monument
Mekong River
Watermelon Juice = $2.25
Day 3
Breakfast = $2.25
Genocide Museum = $2
Killing Fields = $6
Tuk-Tuk = $6
Lunch = $5.50
Dinner = $2
Day 4
Breakfast = $4
Laundry = $4
Bus Ticket to Siem Reap = $8
Frozen Yogurt = $2.25
2 water bottles = 52 cents
Milkshake = $2.25
Two Days in Ho Chi Minh
Day 1
Visa = $45
Taxi to Hotel = $35 (Rip Off!)
LaFelix Hotel = $30
Breakfast = $2.50
Ben Than Market
People's Court
Saigon River
Lunch = 67 Dong
Dinner = 97 Dong
Day 2
Free Breakfast at Bich Hotel
Sunday Morning Mass at Notre Dame Basilica
Reunification Palace
Guava Smoothie = 20 Dong
Lunch = 63 Dong
Jackfruit Smoothie = 20 Dong
Booked Bus to Phnom Penh = $11
Dinner = 91 Dong
Visa = $45
Taxi to Hotel = $35 (Rip Off!)
LaFelix Hotel = $30
Breakfast = $2.50
Ben Than Market
People's Court
Saigon River
Lunch = 67 Dong
Dinner = 97 Dong
Day 2
Free Breakfast at Bich Hotel
Sunday Morning Mass at Notre Dame Basilica
Reunification Palace
Guava Smoothie = 20 Dong
Lunch = 63 Dong
Jackfruit Smoothie = 20 Dong
Booked Bus to Phnom Penh = $11
Dinner = 91 Dong
A Week in Thailand
Flight from Seoul with an overnight layover in Shanghai.
Bangkok
Day 1 (01/17/14)
Kuan San Road
Day 2 (01/18/14)
Visiting Temples via Tuk-Tuk
Choa Phraya River Boat Tour
Chiang Mai
Day 1 (01/19/14)
Visiting Temples on Foot
Night Market
Day 2 (01/20/14)
Thai Cooking Class = 700 Baht
Day 3 (01/21/14)
Zip-lining
Day 4 (01/22/14)
Tiger Kingdom = 420 Baht
Day 5 (01/23/14)
Woody Elephant Training Camp = 2,400 Baht
Day 6 (01/24/14)
free day to relax
Day 7 (01/25/14)
Flight to Seoul with an overnight layover in Shanghai.
Bangkok
Day 1 (01/17/14)
Kuan San Road
Day 2 (01/18/14)
Visiting Temples via Tuk-Tuk
Choa Phraya River Boat Tour
Chiang Mai
Day 1 (01/19/14)
Visiting Temples on Foot
Night Market
Day 2 (01/20/14)
Thai Cooking Class = 700 Baht
Day 3 (01/21/14)
Zip-lining
Day 4 (01/22/14)
Tiger Kingdom = 420 Baht
Day 5 (01/23/14)
Woody Elephant Training Camp = 2,400 Baht
Day 6 (01/24/14)
free day to relax
Day 7 (01/25/14)
Flight to Seoul with an overnight layover in Shanghai.
Tuesday, November 25, 2014
Small World
Sunday February 16, 2014
I walked from my hotel in Ho Chi Minh to the Notre Dam Basilica to catch the morning church service. I underestimated how long it would take to walk there, so I was late, but I managed to squeeze in a pew before the sermon ended. I was surprised to discover that the sermon was delivered entirely in English with no Vietnamese accent. I was so curious where he was from, so I found him after the service and introduced myself. He said he was from Missouri. I told him I was from Louisiana. He was the youth pastor at Louisiana Tech in 1986 and 1987. I was born in Baton Rouge in 1988.
Small world.
Sunday November 9, 2014
I was at an Irish Pub in the financial district of NYC. The bartender asked me where I'm from. I said Louisiana. He asked which city. I assumed most people wouldn't know Slidell, so I just said it's an hour from New Orleans. "Not Slidell?" he asked. "Yes," I said, amazed. "How did you know?"
The bartender said he has been to New Orleans several times. "For Mardi Gras?" I asked.
He has never been to Mardi Gras. He's only been to NOLA for football games and helping Hurricane Katrina victims. My two-story house flooded with four feet of water in Katrina.
Small world.
Tuesday November 11, 2014
I was sitting at breakfast in my hostel in NYC, wearing my jacket with English Teacher written in Korean on the back. There was a girl at the table behind me. She noticed the Korean on my back and I noticed the Korean on her travel guide book. After exchanging a few glances, I asked if she was Korean. She was born in Chungcheongnamdo, the same province in Korea where I taught English. We're both twenty-six years old. She currently lives in Seoul. I'll be returning to Korea this March.
Small world.
Wednesday November 12, 2014
I took a bus from NYC to DC. While passing through New Jersey, I glanced out my window to see a big-rig riding along side us. Written on the cab of the delivery truck was "Hammond, LA," where I've lived since I started attending SLU in August 2007.
Small world.
I walked from my hotel in Ho Chi Minh to the Notre Dam Basilica to catch the morning church service. I underestimated how long it would take to walk there, so I was late, but I managed to squeeze in a pew before the sermon ended. I was surprised to discover that the sermon was delivered entirely in English with no Vietnamese accent. I was so curious where he was from, so I found him after the service and introduced myself. He said he was from Missouri. I told him I was from Louisiana. He was the youth pastor at Louisiana Tech in 1986 and 1987. I was born in Baton Rouge in 1988.
Small world.
Sunday November 9, 2014
I was at an Irish Pub in the financial district of NYC. The bartender asked me where I'm from. I said Louisiana. He asked which city. I assumed most people wouldn't know Slidell, so I just said it's an hour from New Orleans. "Not Slidell?" he asked. "Yes," I said, amazed. "How did you know?"
The bartender said he has been to New Orleans several times. "For Mardi Gras?" I asked.
He has never been to Mardi Gras. He's only been to NOLA for football games and helping Hurricane Katrina victims. My two-story house flooded with four feet of water in Katrina.
Small world.
Tuesday November 11, 2014
I was sitting at breakfast in my hostel in NYC, wearing my jacket with English Teacher written in Korean on the back. There was a girl at the table behind me. She noticed the Korean on my back and I noticed the Korean on her travel guide book. After exchanging a few glances, I asked if she was Korean. She was born in Chungcheongnamdo, the same province in Korea where I taught English. We're both twenty-six years old. She currently lives in Seoul. I'll be returning to Korea this March.
Small world.
Wednesday November 12, 2014
I took a bus from NYC to DC. While passing through New Jersey, I glanced out my window to see a big-rig riding along side us. Written on the cab of the delivery truck was "Hammond, LA," where I've lived since I started attending SLU in August 2007.
Small world.
Bizarre, Bazaar
There's a big courtyard in the beautiful Thai city of Chiang Mai. My first day there, a market was assembled where locals sold food and souvenirs. My last day there was a classic car show. This evening there was nothing. After a long day, I decided to just sit on a bench and watch life go by. I watched families having picnics. I watched an old man ride around on a bicycle with a white board that read "Free International Hugs." I watched tourists sneak snapshots of monks in their traditional orange robes.
A guy with naturally brown curly hair that had been dyed pink down the middle introduced himself and took a seat next to me. He was British and looked to be in his late twenties. I told him I was an American on vacation from teaching ESL in South Korea. He said he was here to teach fire-breathing at circus school. Alright, you win, guy with a way more unusual and specific job.
A Chinese girl approached us, cell phone in hand, and asked if she could take a picture of the man with pink hair. And since he didn't do that to himself to avoid attention, he obliged her. Then she wanted a picture of the two of us together like the old friends I guess we appeared to be. I put my arm around him and smiled. Before walking away, she mentioned that she'd be dancing at one of the clubs down town tonight if we were interested in joining. We said maybe, but meant no.
When she was a safe distance away, Pink informed me that he was on too many drugs to do something that required coordination, like dancing. He asked if I could tell he was on something. "No," I said. "Good," he said.
It was then that we were met by a dirty hippie. He was a carpenter from southern France, white with dreads. Either anything and everything normally makes him laugh hysterically, or he was high. He said he saves money on accommodations when traveling by sleeping in a hammock every night. "What if there's bad weather?" I asked. "What about animals and bugs? What if somebody tries to rob you?" He simply said he wasn't worried about it. After all, he's got a mosquito net and sleeps with his arms and legs wrapped around his luggage.
Hammock met up with his friends and took off. Pink had to go shopping and invited me to tag along. He told me the story of how he had sex with a girl in Laos who revealed that she was a prostitute after the act. "I should've known," he said. To paraphrase his side of the story: She invited him into her room to watch a movie, one thing led to another, and he had to pay for her services. That was as much detail as he was willing to divulge. Fine by me.
After watching Pink haggle a poor old man nearly to tears for an e-cig, I decided to go my own way.
I saw a blue sign that read Night Bazaar, and followed the arrow. I followed sign after sign, arrow after arrow until I found myself on a street lined with nothing but bars. I walked to the end of the street and looked left and right, hoping to see a bazaar. There was nothing to see, so I walked back up the street. Like sirens, ladies stand out in front of their bars and try to lure men inside.
As hard as I tried to resist the temptation, I was lured. I took a seat. This bar wasn't too popular. It was just me and about five women. You can see the appeal.
The woman who called to me was the only one who really spoke English well. She introduced herself and the other ladies. I wasn't in the mood for a drink, so I just took a water.
One of the ladies positioned herself closer to me and lavished me with attention, sensually moving her hands and hips. I knew I was just a customer, but I allowed her to continue her sales pitch for a while.
The bartender asked, "You like her?"
"Yes," I said. "She's very nice." Why do you ask?
The bartender gave me the price for her special services. This sounds like the beginning of a story that will later be told with "one thing led to another" censoring the middle, and ending with an itchy souvenir. I feel like I've heard a similar story where the male lead shouldn't known better.
"Sorry. I don't have any money."
"No money, no honey."
No problem.
A guy with naturally brown curly hair that had been dyed pink down the middle introduced himself and took a seat next to me. He was British and looked to be in his late twenties. I told him I was an American on vacation from teaching ESL in South Korea. He said he was here to teach fire-breathing at circus school. Alright, you win, guy with a way more unusual and specific job.
A Chinese girl approached us, cell phone in hand, and asked if she could take a picture of the man with pink hair. And since he didn't do that to himself to avoid attention, he obliged her. Then she wanted a picture of the two of us together like the old friends I guess we appeared to be. I put my arm around him and smiled. Before walking away, she mentioned that she'd be dancing at one of the clubs down town tonight if we were interested in joining. We said maybe, but meant no.
When she was a safe distance away, Pink informed me that he was on too many drugs to do something that required coordination, like dancing. He asked if I could tell he was on something. "No," I said. "Good," he said.
It was then that we were met by a dirty hippie. He was a carpenter from southern France, white with dreads. Either anything and everything normally makes him laugh hysterically, or he was high. He said he saves money on accommodations when traveling by sleeping in a hammock every night. "What if there's bad weather?" I asked. "What about animals and bugs? What if somebody tries to rob you?" He simply said he wasn't worried about it. After all, he's got a mosquito net and sleeps with his arms and legs wrapped around his luggage.
Hammock met up with his friends and took off. Pink had to go shopping and invited me to tag along. He told me the story of how he had sex with a girl in Laos who revealed that she was a prostitute after the act. "I should've known," he said. To paraphrase his side of the story: She invited him into her room to watch a movie, one thing led to another, and he had to pay for her services. That was as much detail as he was willing to divulge. Fine by me.
After watching Pink haggle a poor old man nearly to tears for an e-cig, I decided to go my own way.
I saw a blue sign that read Night Bazaar, and followed the arrow. I followed sign after sign, arrow after arrow until I found myself on a street lined with nothing but bars. I walked to the end of the street and looked left and right, hoping to see a bazaar. There was nothing to see, so I walked back up the street. Like sirens, ladies stand out in front of their bars and try to lure men inside.
As hard as I tried to resist the temptation, I was lured. I took a seat. This bar wasn't too popular. It was just me and about five women. You can see the appeal.
The woman who called to me was the only one who really spoke English well. She introduced herself and the other ladies. I wasn't in the mood for a drink, so I just took a water.
One of the ladies positioned herself closer to me and lavished me with attention, sensually moving her hands and hips. I knew I was just a customer, but I allowed her to continue her sales pitch for a while.
The bartender asked, "You like her?"
"Yes," I said. "She's very nice." Why do you ask?
The bartender gave me the price for her special services. This sounds like the beginning of a story that will later be told with "one thing led to another" censoring the middle, and ending with an itchy souvenir. I feel like I've heard a similar story where the male lead shouldn't known better.
"Sorry. I don't have any money."
"No money, no honey."
No problem.
THE END
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Quiet on the Bus
I was taking a bus into a big city to go shopping one afternoon when I was living in Korea. I was traveling with a fellow ESL teacher from Wales. She and I taught in a small town where foreigners were rarely seen. So when we saw a big group of Germans board the bus, we were excited to talk to them. We were headed to Daejeon, while they were headed to Seoul for a martial arts tournament. Other than being foreign, we didn't have much common ground for conversation.
I mentioned that I'd been to Switzerland and Austria, and that I'd love to go to Germany one day. One of the guys responded by saying that the Swiss and Austrians only try to speak German.
When we hit a lull, I started talking to my Welsh friend. While swapping funny stories about our students, one of the Germans offered me a piece of chewy ginseng candy. I accepted the gift, even though I don't think they taste very good, and thanked him. After finishing it, I continued my conversation. Then they all laughed, saying they wished that would have shut me up. My attempt at a friendly conversation with my fellow foreigners was a failure. I was silent from embarrassment for the remainder of the trip.
I was taking a bus from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap during my Cambodia vacation in February 2014. I sat across from two beautiful girls from London (the redhead was born in Ireland). We were exchanging travel stories for about the first half of this six-hour trip. There was an older woman sitting in front of me, and looking through the space between the two seat-backs, I could see she was reading a travel book in German. Apparently I was once again enrapt in conversation to the point of not being aware of the volume of my voice. I assumed everybody must be talking to somebody. After all, people have loud conversations on planes. There was loud street noise and we were driving on old bumpy dirt roads. Surely nobody was attempting to sleep. It's not like we were in the study room of a library. But once again, someone from Germany was tired of hearing me speak to someone from the UK.
She turned around and asked if I worked for CNN. Confused, I said no, I'm an English teacher. Then she hit me with the punchline: "Oh, because you're really loud."
The girls asked me what happened, and I whispered that we need to be quiet on the bus. They both promptly took a nap.
We pulled over somewhere for a lunch and bathroom break. Each individual stall was like a little wooden closet with a hole in the ground instead of an actual toilet. There was a cafeteria-style dining area. None of the food looked appealing to me, so I shopped at the fruit stand. I bought a bunch of bananas for one US dollar.
There were steers wondering around, and I thought that I also heard stray cats. If the cattle here aren't fenced in anywhere, seeing wild cats wouldn't be surprising. But I never saw any. Just as everybody started to board the bus, the German woman approached me said I have to go check out this bird. I saw the bird cage she pointed to, and I knelt in front of it. There was a small black bird inside. There were no cats. The bird said "Meow." It didn't make a sound similar to cats. This bird literally said the word "Meow." It also told me "Hi." I was mesmerized. By the time I turned my phone on to record a video of this, I had to get back on the bus.
Three days later I visited a village on my 26th birthday. That night I decided I would try something new and crazy to celebrate my new age. I had been curious about trying bugs, since it was something people did in Southeast Asia--locals for the protein, and tourists for the novelty. So I found a food cart that sold crickets, beetles, ants, tarantulas, and snakes. I thought the crickets and beetles would probably have the most unpleasant texture, and ants were too small. Tarantulas and snakes were only 75 cents each. I figured if they were gross, I wouldn't lose much. So I bought one tarantula and one snake. The snake was on a wooden stick like a kabob. It was about a foot long. Due to the dried skin and cartilage, I had to eat it like beef jerky. The taste was also similar to beef jerky. I didn't hate it, but I'm not a fan of gnawing on dried reptile skin. The tarantula was black, almost the size of my hand, and a bit greasy. I didn't want to taste the guts, so I didn't even attempt to eat the body. I plucked the legs off like flower petals.
When I started snacking on my spider, the German woman who mistook me for a newscaster showed up. She approached me as if we were complete strangers to tell me how entertaining it was to watch my face as the hairy barbecued legs inched their way down my throat. She also congratulated me on being so brave. She didn't ask if I would be reporting this on the news later. No jokes about the cat-bird. No jokes at all. She was just being friendly. She didn't hate me, or even remember me. The tae-kwon-do Germans probably don't remember that annoying American they gave the shut-up candy to either.
I thanked her.
She waved goodbye.
I finished my serving of spider legs. Something new. Something crazy.
Happy Birthday to me.
I mentioned that I'd been to Switzerland and Austria, and that I'd love to go to Germany one day. One of the guys responded by saying that the Swiss and Austrians only try to speak German.
When we hit a lull, I started talking to my Welsh friend. While swapping funny stories about our students, one of the Germans offered me a piece of chewy ginseng candy. I accepted the gift, even though I don't think they taste very good, and thanked him. After finishing it, I continued my conversation. Then they all laughed, saying they wished that would have shut me up. My attempt at a friendly conversation with my fellow foreigners was a failure. I was silent from embarrassment for the remainder of the trip.
I was taking a bus from Phnom Penh to Siem Reap during my Cambodia vacation in February 2014. I sat across from two beautiful girls from London (the redhead was born in Ireland). We were exchanging travel stories for about the first half of this six-hour trip. There was an older woman sitting in front of me, and looking through the space between the two seat-backs, I could see she was reading a travel book in German. Apparently I was once again enrapt in conversation to the point of not being aware of the volume of my voice. I assumed everybody must be talking to somebody. After all, people have loud conversations on planes. There was loud street noise and we were driving on old bumpy dirt roads. Surely nobody was attempting to sleep. It's not like we were in the study room of a library. But once again, someone from Germany was tired of hearing me speak to someone from the UK.
She turned around and asked if I worked for CNN. Confused, I said no, I'm an English teacher. Then she hit me with the punchline: "Oh, because you're really loud."
The girls asked me what happened, and I whispered that we need to be quiet on the bus. They both promptly took a nap.
We pulled over somewhere for a lunch and bathroom break. Each individual stall was like a little wooden closet with a hole in the ground instead of an actual toilet. There was a cafeteria-style dining area. None of the food looked appealing to me, so I shopped at the fruit stand. I bought a bunch of bananas for one US dollar.
There were steers wondering around, and I thought that I also heard stray cats. If the cattle here aren't fenced in anywhere, seeing wild cats wouldn't be surprising. But I never saw any. Just as everybody started to board the bus, the German woman approached me said I have to go check out this bird. I saw the bird cage she pointed to, and I knelt in front of it. There was a small black bird inside. There were no cats. The bird said "Meow." It didn't make a sound similar to cats. This bird literally said the word "Meow." It also told me "Hi." I was mesmerized. By the time I turned my phone on to record a video of this, I had to get back on the bus.
Three days later I visited a village on my 26th birthday. That night I decided I would try something new and crazy to celebrate my new age. I had been curious about trying bugs, since it was something people did in Southeast Asia--locals for the protein, and tourists for the novelty. So I found a food cart that sold crickets, beetles, ants, tarantulas, and snakes. I thought the crickets and beetles would probably have the most unpleasant texture, and ants were too small. Tarantulas and snakes were only 75 cents each. I figured if they were gross, I wouldn't lose much. So I bought one tarantula and one snake. The snake was on a wooden stick like a kabob. It was about a foot long. Due to the dried skin and cartilage, I had to eat it like beef jerky. The taste was also similar to beef jerky. I didn't hate it, but I'm not a fan of gnawing on dried reptile skin. The tarantula was black, almost the size of my hand, and a bit greasy. I didn't want to taste the guts, so I didn't even attempt to eat the body. I plucked the legs off like flower petals.
When I started snacking on my spider, the German woman who mistook me for a newscaster showed up. She approached me as if we were complete strangers to tell me how entertaining it was to watch my face as the hairy barbecued legs inched their way down my throat. She also congratulated me on being so brave. She didn't ask if I would be reporting this on the news later. No jokes about the cat-bird. No jokes at all. She was just being friendly. She didn't hate me, or even remember me. The tae-kwon-do Germans probably don't remember that annoying American they gave the shut-up candy to either.
I thanked her.
She waved goodbye.
I finished my serving of spider legs. Something new. Something crazy.
Happy Birthday to me.
Friday, November 21, 2014
To Meet Stephen King
I originally planned my recent trip to the northeast to be in October, before it got too cold. I pushed it up to November, however, when I read that my favorite author Stephen King would be in New York City signing copies of his newest novel Revival. As much as I wanted to avoid the low temperatures, I wanted to meet him more. I later read that he would also be speaking at an auditorium in Washington DC the next night. So I planned to spend my final day in NYC when he would be signing books, and my first night in DC when he would be speaking.
I became a fan of Stephen King in high school after reading The Green Mile. It's been three years since I graduated college, and I'm still hooked. I own almost every book he's written. My book collection, which includes many classic works of literature as well, is my pride and joy. To have the latest edition of this beautiful collection signed in front of my very eyes by a man I've admired for nearly a decade would have been priceless. And I didn't meet him. Here's what happened.
The doors of the Barns-N-Noble in Union Square would open at 9 AM on November 11, 2014. With the purchase of Revival came a wrist-band that would get you into the signing, which would begin at noon. My first mistake was going to sleep the night before. A month prior to my trip, I called the Barns-N-Noble, and I asked if people would be camping out overnight in order to be the first in line. She didn't know. I also asked how many copies of the book would be in stock. She didn't know. "Use your best judgement," she said. I did not.
I set my alarm for 7 AM. I made it to the line that was wrapped around the block about 30 minutes later. The man in front of me said it was announced that only 350 people would be getting a book. That seemed like a lot to me. He said he thought there was less than 300, which sounded right because from where I was standing, I couldn't see to the front of the line. As far as I could see, there were less than 300 people. I couldn't see the people in sleeping bags and tents.
After waiting for an hour, some staff members came out and showed where the line ended, which was about 50 people ahead of me. I'm just glad the line didn't end one person ahead of me. Especially since the middle-aged Asian American man behind me "accidentally" cut in front of me.
He was having a conversation with the man in front of me, and casually slipped in front of me to continue talking. I've heard stories on the news about people getting stabbed and shot for cutting in line to be the first to get the latest video game consul.
I overheard him saying to the other man that in today's job market you have to be ruthless and sometimes do bad things to get ahead in life. To which I quickly replied, "Like cutting in front of people in line?" Oblivious to our present situation, he said that anybody who cuts in line deserves to be punched in the face. This made me, and the man in front of and behind me laugh really hard. The man in front of me said, "Well you cut in front of him." Of course, he denied it. Luckily I had two witnesses to attest to the fact that he arrived after me. He then apologized and returned to his spot, where he continued to loudly defend terrible things allegedly committed by his favorite celebrities.
I was heartbroken and angry at myself for not getting here earlier, but I was also relieved to not be stuck by that guy any longer.
After checking into my hostel in DC, I asked one of the staff members to call a taxi to take me to the Linser Auditorium at George Washington University. After waiting about 15 minutes, I found my own taxi. Sitting in the rush hour traffic for what felt like an eternity, I realized what took the original taxi so long. I was sure that after booking a spot in the audience for $40, I would arrive just after the doors closed. Luckily that was not the case. I paid the $14 cab fare and stepped out to a very long line. I noticed that everybody was holding a ticket, except for me. My panic returned. But the line moved quickly, and within minutes I was inside, standing at the ticket counter. With the sound of panic still in my voice, I explained that I must have forgotten my ticket at home, but I wrote down the confirmation number. So pretty please let me in, or I'll DIE!
"Name?" the lady requested.
"Sean Keogh," I said, and spelled my last name.
She flipped through a stack of pages on a clipboard and highlighted my name. Sweet relief!
I was handed a ticket and instructed to hold on to it to get my copy of Revival after the show. (A random number of them were pre-signed, and I'll just let you know now that this was a lottery I did not win.)
Despite being late, I managed to find a good seat. Then an old married couple took the two seats to my left. I noticed they had a strong accent and asked where they're from. They currently reside in Virginia, where they moved to from Russia 12 years ago. I was very excited to have the chance to use some of the Russian phrases I had memorized. So I introduced myself in Russian to them. Nelson Mandela said, “If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.” I could tell it warmed their hearts to hear their native tongue. My experience of being bilingual was invigorating, however brief.
Like me, the husband was an English major. We talked about classic Russian authors like Franz Kafka. That name reminded him of joke. He said there's an expression in Russia that goes, "Let's make real life like a fairy-tale." The joke is play on words. The Russian word for fairy-tale sounds like Kafka, who famously wrote the short story "Metamorphoses," which is about a man who wakes up to discover that he has transformed into a giant bug. So the joke is that expression in Russian, but with Kafka replacing the word for fairy-tale. HA-HA-HA-HA! Right? I guess you had to be there.
Anyway... fast forward to rules about no flash photography, which was ignored the moment Stephen King walked out to the podium, even though due to the lighting, every single shot of him comes out as a mysterious white blurry figure. You know, like a character in a horror movie.
Stephen King opened with a joke. After delivering the set-up--"Two jumper cables walk into a bar"--he said that because he's the master of suspense, he would save the punchline for the end.
I listened to him talk for over an hour and was entertained the entire time. For someone who specializes in scary stories, he has a great sense of humor. He told stories about his family. He talked about past, present, and future writing projects.
When it was announced that he would be taking questions from the audience, I didn't stand a chance. Two long lines formed beginning at the front of the stage and ending where I couldn't see within seconds. Some questions were good. Some were so stupid, it was like watching somebody find a genie and waste their first wish on something stupid they could easily obtain themselves.
Then came the moment we'd all been waiting for--besides the books, of course. The punchline: The bartender said, "I'll serve you guys, but you better not start anything!"
I became a fan of Stephen King in high school after reading The Green Mile. It's been three years since I graduated college, and I'm still hooked. I own almost every book he's written. My book collection, which includes many classic works of literature as well, is my pride and joy. To have the latest edition of this beautiful collection signed in front of my very eyes by a man I've admired for nearly a decade would have been priceless. And I didn't meet him. Here's what happened.
The doors of the Barns-N-Noble in Union Square would open at 9 AM on November 11, 2014. With the purchase of Revival came a wrist-band that would get you into the signing, which would begin at noon. My first mistake was going to sleep the night before. A month prior to my trip, I called the Barns-N-Noble, and I asked if people would be camping out overnight in order to be the first in line. She didn't know. I also asked how many copies of the book would be in stock. She didn't know. "Use your best judgement," she said. I did not.
I set my alarm for 7 AM. I made it to the line that was wrapped around the block about 30 minutes later. The man in front of me said it was announced that only 350 people would be getting a book. That seemed like a lot to me. He said he thought there was less than 300, which sounded right because from where I was standing, I couldn't see to the front of the line. As far as I could see, there were less than 300 people. I couldn't see the people in sleeping bags and tents.
After waiting for an hour, some staff members came out and showed where the line ended, which was about 50 people ahead of me. I'm just glad the line didn't end one person ahead of me. Especially since the middle-aged Asian American man behind me "accidentally" cut in front of me.
He was having a conversation with the man in front of me, and casually slipped in front of me to continue talking. I've heard stories on the news about people getting stabbed and shot for cutting in line to be the first to get the latest video game consul.
I overheard him saying to the other man that in today's job market you have to be ruthless and sometimes do bad things to get ahead in life. To which I quickly replied, "Like cutting in front of people in line?" Oblivious to our present situation, he said that anybody who cuts in line deserves to be punched in the face. This made me, and the man in front of and behind me laugh really hard. The man in front of me said, "Well you cut in front of him." Of course, he denied it. Luckily I had two witnesses to attest to the fact that he arrived after me. He then apologized and returned to his spot, where he continued to loudly defend terrible things allegedly committed by his favorite celebrities.
I was heartbroken and angry at myself for not getting here earlier, but I was also relieved to not be stuck by that guy any longer.
After checking into my hostel in DC, I asked one of the staff members to call a taxi to take me to the Linser Auditorium at George Washington University. After waiting about 15 minutes, I found my own taxi. Sitting in the rush hour traffic for what felt like an eternity, I realized what took the original taxi so long. I was sure that after booking a spot in the audience for $40, I would arrive just after the doors closed. Luckily that was not the case. I paid the $14 cab fare and stepped out to a very long line. I noticed that everybody was holding a ticket, except for me. My panic returned. But the line moved quickly, and within minutes I was inside, standing at the ticket counter. With the sound of panic still in my voice, I explained that I must have forgotten my ticket at home, but I wrote down the confirmation number. So pretty please let me in, or I'll DIE!
"Name?" the lady requested.
"Sean Keogh," I said, and spelled my last name.
She flipped through a stack of pages on a clipboard and highlighted my name. Sweet relief!
I was handed a ticket and instructed to hold on to it to get my copy of Revival after the show. (A random number of them were pre-signed, and I'll just let you know now that this was a lottery I did not win.)
Despite being late, I managed to find a good seat. Then an old married couple took the two seats to my left. I noticed they had a strong accent and asked where they're from. They currently reside in Virginia, where they moved to from Russia 12 years ago. I was very excited to have the chance to use some of the Russian phrases I had memorized. So I introduced myself in Russian to them. Nelson Mandela said, “If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.” I could tell it warmed their hearts to hear their native tongue. My experience of being bilingual was invigorating, however brief.
Like me, the husband was an English major. We talked about classic Russian authors like Franz Kafka. That name reminded him of joke. He said there's an expression in Russia that goes, "Let's make real life like a fairy-tale." The joke is play on words. The Russian word for fairy-tale sounds like Kafka, who famously wrote the short story "Metamorphoses," which is about a man who wakes up to discover that he has transformed into a giant bug. So the joke is that expression in Russian, but with Kafka replacing the word for fairy-tale. HA-HA-HA-HA! Right? I guess you had to be there.
Anyway... fast forward to rules about no flash photography, which was ignored the moment Stephen King walked out to the podium, even though due to the lighting, every single shot of him comes out as a mysterious white blurry figure. You know, like a character in a horror movie.
Stephen King opened with a joke. After delivering the set-up--"Two jumper cables walk into a bar"--he said that because he's the master of suspense, he would save the punchline for the end.
I listened to him talk for over an hour and was entertained the entire time. For someone who specializes in scary stories, he has a great sense of humor. He told stories about his family. He talked about past, present, and future writing projects.
When it was announced that he would be taking questions from the audience, I didn't stand a chance. Two long lines formed beginning at the front of the stage and ending where I couldn't see within seconds. Some questions were good. Some were so stupid, it was like watching somebody find a genie and waste their first wish on something stupid they could easily obtain themselves.
Then came the moment we'd all been waiting for--besides the books, of course. The punchline: The bartender said, "I'll serve you guys, but you better not start anything!"
THE END
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Itinerary for Two Days in Washington DC
Day 1
The White House
The Washington Monument
World War II Memorial
Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Korean War Memorial
Lincoln Memorial
Day 2
US Capitol Building
Folger Shakespeare Library
Supreme Court
Library of Congress
The White House
The Washington Monument
World War II Memorial
Vietnam Veterans Memorial
Korean War Memorial
Lincoln Memorial
Day 2
US Capitol Building
Folger Shakespeare Library
Supreme Court
Library of Congress
Itinerary for Four Days in NYC
Day 1
Washington Square Park
The Flatiron Building
The Chrysler Building
Times Square
Bryant Park
The New York Public Library
The Empire State Building
Rockefeller Center
NBC Studios
Radio City Music Hall
Day 2
World Trade Center
9/11 Memorial
Wall Street
New York Stock Exchange
Brooklyn Bridge
Day 3
Museum of Natural History
Central Park West
Day 4
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Central Park East
Washington Square Park
The Flatiron Building
The Chrysler Building
Times Square
Bryant Park
The New York Public Library
The Empire State Building
Rockefeller Center
NBC Studios
Radio City Music Hall
Day 2
World Trade Center
9/11 Memorial
Wall Street
New York Stock Exchange
Brooklyn Bridge
Day 3
Museum of Natural History
Central Park West
Day 4
Metropolitan Museum of Art
Central Park East
Itinerary for Two Days in Boston
The following is what I was able to accomplish in the two days I gave myself in Boston, having never been there before. After my experience, I would recommend three to four days.
Day 1
- Harvard
- Massachusetts State House
- Boston Common
Day 2
- Boston Public Library
- Freedom Trail
- Quincy Market
This may not seem like much, but it's easy to spend an entire day walking around Harvard's campus. It's a very big, beautiful place, as is the Boston Public Library. There are also many historic things to see along the Freedom Trail. You can see the original Cheers restaurant. I did not eat there, however, because I found the menu to be too expensive. Unfortunately, I did not have enough time to visit the Paul Revere House or the Boston Tea Party Museum. Quincy Market is all in doors, and contains a large variety of food stalls and souvenir stands.
Also, it should be noted that it was very cold, rainy, and windy my second day in Boston, so I tried to stay in doors as much as possible.
I hope this helps.
Happy travels!
How much I spent in Boston, NYC, and Washington DC
I arrived in Boston on November 4, 2014. I stayed at a hostel for two full days. Then I took a bus to NYC, where I stayed at a hostel for four full days. From there I took a bus to Washington DC, where I stayed at a hostel for two full days.
I collected all my receipts from every purchase during my trip, and added them all up after I returned home to Louisiana.
The following is an approximate total (I rounded up) for each city and the combined total.
Boston = $250
NYC = $600
DC = $210
Total Amount Spent = $1,060
*I booked my flights with points from my Southwest credit card.
Here are some price comparisons between these three cities:
single one-way metro pass in Boston = $2.65
single one-way metro pass in NYC = $2.75
single one-way metro pass in DC = $3.15
Boston hostel = $140
NYC hostel = $360
DC hostel = $104
I hope this helps you budget how many days you can afford to stay in these wonderful cities.
Happy travels!
I collected all my receipts from every purchase during my trip, and added them all up after I returned home to Louisiana.
The following is an approximate total (I rounded up) for each city and the combined total.
Boston = $250
NYC = $600
DC = $210
Total Amount Spent = $1,060
*I booked my flights with points from my Southwest credit card.
Here are some price comparisons between these three cities:
single one-way metro pass in Boston = $2.65
single one-way metro pass in NYC = $2.75
single one-way metro pass in DC = $3.15
Boston hostel = $140
NYC hostel = $360
DC hostel = $104
I hope this helps you budget how many days you can afford to stay in these wonderful cities.
Happy travels!
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Jet Lag
When most people suffer from jet lag, it's after returning home from a week-long vacation in a different time zone two hours ahead or behind. In those cases, you tend to fall asleep unusually early or unusually late. Returning to your home country after a year is another story.
I left the US in March 2013 to teach ESL in South Korea. I returned to California in July 2014. Living in a time zone twelve hours ahead for fifteen months made it much more difficult for my body to readjust. Every day for the first week, I would nap away the afternoon and be wide awake until the following sunrise. Most of my plans for visiting and sightseeing had to be canceled or postponed because I couldn't stay awake. Having never been overseas for longer than a week, I didn't know what to expect. Personally, I did not try any tricks or home remedies to help myself recover from jet lag. One week was how long it took my body to naturally readjust to the time change.
Of course everybody is different. Additionally, some other factors at play here that can determine your recovery time are the time your flight departs, the length of your layover, and the duration of the flight. For example, I flew out of Seoul at night and my layover in Taiwan was only one hour. After sitting in a plane for thirteen hours awake, I arrived in San Francisco around 8 pm, close to the same time I left Korea.
So my recovery from jet lag could have been shorter if I departed on a non-stop flight in the afternoon, slept throughout my flight, and arrived in the morning, refreshed.
But when it comes to traveling, there are so many factors we cannot control. We can only plan and prepare so much. Sometimes there are delays, changes, cancelations. Sometimes you just have to make like a plane, and wing it.
I left the US in March 2013 to teach ESL in South Korea. I returned to California in July 2014. Living in a time zone twelve hours ahead for fifteen months made it much more difficult for my body to readjust. Every day for the first week, I would nap away the afternoon and be wide awake until the following sunrise. Most of my plans for visiting and sightseeing had to be canceled or postponed because I couldn't stay awake. Having never been overseas for longer than a week, I didn't know what to expect. Personally, I did not try any tricks or home remedies to help myself recover from jet lag. One week was how long it took my body to naturally readjust to the time change.
Of course everybody is different. Additionally, some other factors at play here that can determine your recovery time are the time your flight departs, the length of your layover, and the duration of the flight. For example, I flew out of Seoul at night and my layover in Taiwan was only one hour. After sitting in a plane for thirteen hours awake, I arrived in San Francisco around 8 pm, close to the same time I left Korea.
So my recovery from jet lag could have been shorter if I departed on a non-stop flight in the afternoon, slept throughout my flight, and arrived in the morning, refreshed.
But when it comes to traveling, there are so many factors we cannot control. We can only plan and prepare so much. Sometimes there are delays, changes, cancelations. Sometimes you just have to make like a plane, and wing it.
Layovers in Shanghai
The airport in Shanghai, China can be very confusing the first time. And if you're like me, it can also be confusing the second, third, and fourth time. In this post I will explain my traveling troubles there, and how to avoid them.
The first thing you should note is that there is a separate airport for domestic flights, which is quite a distance away. You may assume, as I did, that when you arrive at your layover from another nearby country like South Korea, you are in the international airport. When I made this mistake, I was returning to Korea (where I taught ESL) from my winter vacation in Thailand. I went to the information desk on the first floor, showed the woman my itinerary, asked for directions. She instructed me to go to the second floor. The person at that information desk told me to go to the third floor, and then that person told me to go to the first floor. The second or third lap of this wild goose chase, I showed my itinerary to a man, and explained what I just went through. It was only then that someone took a closer look at my itinerary and realized that a flight to Korea is international. I had to take the metro to the other airport, which was the furthest destination. When I reached the line to get my boarding pass, I was standing behind an ESL teacher who was also from the US. I told him about my situation, and he simply said, "Welcome to China."
For my next vacation in February, I went to Cambodia. My returning flight to Korea had a three hour layover in Shanghai, which sounded like enough time. My flight arrived right on time at 4 am. Standing at baggage claim, I observed that there was no where else to go. There were no other doorways or hallways to enter. It was not possible to go back the way you came. You could only exit the airport. This was my fourth and final layover in Shanghai, and it was all new to me. I asked the woman at the information desk where I should go for my international flight. She said a shuttle would arrive at 5 am. I wasn't too worried because I would still have two hours to board my flight.
When five o'clock rolled around there was no shuttle. I asked another employee who told me the shuttle arrived at 6 am, and takes an hour to reach the other airport. It seemed as if Priceline had designed this layover to make people miss their flights. What other explanation could there be?
I was told that my only option was to take a taxi. And if you think taking an hour long taxi ride is expensive, you are correct. That cost me $100. The irony here is that I only chose this particular flight because it was about $100 cheaper than the others.
Due to my experience, I would recommend booking a non-stop flight in order to avoid a stressful layover in Shanghai. But if you do have a layover in Shanghai, whether it's only a few hours or overnight, do your research. Look up which airport you're arriving in and the distance from your departure. You can never prepare too much.
I wish you happy flying and safe travels!
The first thing you should note is that there is a separate airport for domestic flights, which is quite a distance away. You may assume, as I did, that when you arrive at your layover from another nearby country like South Korea, you are in the international airport. When I made this mistake, I was returning to Korea (where I taught ESL) from my winter vacation in Thailand. I went to the information desk on the first floor, showed the woman my itinerary, asked for directions. She instructed me to go to the second floor. The person at that information desk told me to go to the third floor, and then that person told me to go to the first floor. The second or third lap of this wild goose chase, I showed my itinerary to a man, and explained what I just went through. It was only then that someone took a closer look at my itinerary and realized that a flight to Korea is international. I had to take the metro to the other airport, which was the furthest destination. When I reached the line to get my boarding pass, I was standing behind an ESL teacher who was also from the US. I told him about my situation, and he simply said, "Welcome to China."
For my next vacation in February, I went to Cambodia. My returning flight to Korea had a three hour layover in Shanghai, which sounded like enough time. My flight arrived right on time at 4 am. Standing at baggage claim, I observed that there was no where else to go. There were no other doorways or hallways to enter. It was not possible to go back the way you came. You could only exit the airport. This was my fourth and final layover in Shanghai, and it was all new to me. I asked the woman at the information desk where I should go for my international flight. She said a shuttle would arrive at 5 am. I wasn't too worried because I would still have two hours to board my flight.
When five o'clock rolled around there was no shuttle. I asked another employee who told me the shuttle arrived at 6 am, and takes an hour to reach the other airport. It seemed as if Priceline had designed this layover to make people miss their flights. What other explanation could there be?
I was told that my only option was to take a taxi. And if you think taking an hour long taxi ride is expensive, you are correct. That cost me $100. The irony here is that I only chose this particular flight because it was about $100 cheaper than the others.
Due to my experience, I would recommend booking a non-stop flight in order to avoid a stressful layover in Shanghai. But if you do have a layover in Shanghai, whether it's only a few hours or overnight, do your research. Look up which airport you're arriving in and the distance from your departure. You can never prepare too much.
I wish you happy flying and safe travels!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)