Sonika from “The World of Cupcakes” has honored me with The Liebster Blog Award! Thanks Sonika! Find out more about it here and see who I’ve nominated.
Liebster Blog Award!
30 Saturday Mar 2013
Posted Uncategorized
in30 Saturday Mar 2013
Posted Uncategorized
inSonika from “The World of Cupcakes” has honored me with The Liebster Blog Award! Thanks Sonika! Find out more about it here and see who I’ve nominated.
05 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted Solo Travel, Thailand, Travel
inTags
Southeast Asia can be a culture shock for a number of reasons, but the one thing that rattled my chains was the squat toilet. It’s one thing to squat over a toilet at a gas station or the strip mall, but it’s an entirely different experience to squat over a hole in the ground. The Banterist summed up the experience in hilariously accurate detail in a 2006 blog post, and knowing I could not have explained the process better myself, you’ll find the post copied below.
Note: I had a few extra hurdles to jump – and my experience was at the train station in Suratthani which I unfortunately had to make use of more than once. It was that, or be guided down a dark alley to an empty spot by the wall by the guy at the food stand.
Rule One: Exhaust all other possibilities.
If you are truly in need and condemned to use the squat toilet, comfort yourself with the knowledge that you are several thousand miles from friends and family. No one has to know.
Proceed as follows:
Most stalls do not have toilet paper. This is the best time to realize this. Either take paper from the general dispenser in the bathroom area or preferably bring your own as it will be made of tissue and not plywood carpaccio.
Approach the squat toilet apprehensively and make sure it’s not covered in stool. If it is covered in stool, choose another stall. If another stall is not available, accept the cards that have been dealt you. This is a good time to come up with a title for your experience such as My Great B.M. Adventure or Disgusticon One.
Close the door to the stall, knowing full well the handle has more germs on it than the entire population of Botswana.
Place your feet on the appropriate foot grids, assuming they are not covered in stool. If they are covered in stool, place your feet on the least fouled space you can find, being careful to maintain balance.
Unfasten and drop your trousers and underpants, making sure that they do not make contact with the urine and stool covered surface area.
Grimace and ask yourself if a country with such a toilet can or should ever be a superpower.
Assume a squatting position like a competitive ski jumper. Stick your ass out like a whore in a 50 Cent video. This is a good time to pretend you’re not a miserable tourist with your pants around your ankles, squatting over a barbaric poo hole.
Use your right hand to prevent the soiling of your trousers and underpants by holding them off the ground and pushing them forward, away from any Danger Zone. This is perhaps the best time ever to be a kilt-wearing Scotsman.
In your left hand should be the assortment of paper/wipes/anti-bacterial sheets you intend to use after you are finished with your production.
You would think you would want your left hand to brace your squatting self against the stall wall. However, the stall wall is covered in nose nuggets and as such is not touchable. At any rate, if you have a penis you will need your left hand for guidance anyway.
For the penised: Use your left hand to aim it away from your trousers and underpants. Point it backwards between your legs – as if it were a rocket engine designed to propel you far away from this alien hellhole. At the same time be sure not to drop any of the objects in your left hand as they will be rendered horribly irretrievable should you do so.
If you do not have a penis, use the left arm to balance yourself – waving it around wildly rather than touching the snot covered stall wall or filthy support bars (if any).
If you are able to maintain balance for several seconds, you are ready to begin bowel evacuation. At this point the bulk of your focus should be towards the quick evacuation of your bowels without soiling your clothing, missing your mark or – God forbid – losing your balance and falling.
For aiming purposes keep your head tucked between your legs – like a bombardier on a very unpleasant mission assigned by General Squalor.
If your aim is true you will have the pleasure of watching poo (yours) drop down a deep, dark hole to a resounding ploot. If it’s not true, you will have the pleasure of watching poo (yours) come to rest on the floor between your legs.
After you have completed your bowel evacuation, DO NOT STAND UP. Remain squatting and miserable.
Continue using your right hand to prevent contact of your trousers/underpants with urine/stool. Place your tissues and wipes in your left hand on top of your underwear/trousers and select the items you need for wiping.
Wipe and curse culture simultaneously, all the while maintaining the squatting position.
Do not drop soiled tissues. That would be too easy. Sadly, the 16th century plumbing can only handle poo. Soiled tissues are to be placed in the bin behind you. Without leaving the squat position, twist your body in order to see the bin and make a good throw. Don’t worry if you miss, as it’s obvious from the poo-sheet pile on the floor that even the squat-tastic natives are no Michael Jordans.
Once sufficiently wiped, humiliated and traumatized, you may stand and re-underpant and re-trouser yourself. This is a good time to reflect on your life and also a good time to try blacking out these last ten minutes – like a freshly-sodomized felon might do.
The filth-covered flush button is behind you and may or may not work.
Open the door to the stall, again knowing the handle has more germs on it than a decade of scrapings from Paris Hilton’s tongue.
Exit the stall and never, ever, ever get yourself into a situation where you have to do that again. But first, wash your hands until they bleed.
05 Tuesday Feb 2013
Posted Cambodia, Solo Travel, Travel
inTags
Now, I know it’s a “no-no” to travel within a country seeking cuisine that is not their own i.e. Chinese in Italy or French in Thailand, but hey, food is food. And so long as you’re not jumping for joy outside of every KFC, Subway, or (insert dinky pizza chain here), then I say go for it. Maybe once a week during travels I’ll take a break from the local gastronomy. After all, you wouldn’t eat fried noodles every day at home, right?
On Yao Noi a few of us took a break from Thai for a night at La Luna Pizzeria. Ironically on the boat there from Krabi I’d met an Italian couple whose friends owned the restaurant. I had a prosciutto pizza that was better than any pizza I’ve had outside Italy. Yum.
And now, after walking around Phnom Penh for much of the day, I stumble across Nature by AsiaBio. “Organic food and grocery” it says on the sign out front, and without skipping a beat I’m there. It’s totally chic, and while the prices are above average for Phnom Penh, it’s still a fraction of the price I’d pay for lunch in the States, especially at an organic café.
I’ll admit my eyes were a bit larger than my stomach, but I regret nothing. While my fried snapper and veggie entrée sadly had a bit too much going on, my mango-coconut smoothie was spot on, as was my “Fresh and Light” salad with watercress, feta cheese, and watermelon.
Once I was full from that, I ordered a passion fruit panna cotta and a fresh limejuice for dessert. Biting into the panna cotta I let out an audible “holy crap”. A nice change from the “holy hell fire” I’d been silently cursing to myself all morning in the city heat.
15 Monday Aug 2011
Posted Morocco, Solo Travel, Travel
inTags
August 14, 2011
Morocco.
Unbelievable.
I’m in love already.
1pm. Landed in the heat of the day – 45 degrees. I’ve never experienced heat like that.
Called the riad for a pick up and was hand delivered to RiadO2. I was greeted by two smiling and eager to please women who invited me to sit and then brought me a cold glass of orange juice. Much needed. The riad and the room are exactly as the pictures portray them. Clean, spacious, and thoughtfully decorated. A gem.
After I was shown my room and left to my own devices. I explored the terrace, unpacked, and did some writing and some research about Marrakech. At around 3pm I went down to the courtyard to ask if it was possible to eat something as I hadn’t eaten anything but an apple and a bag of potato chips all day.
Delicious. Fresh bread, sweet carrots, zucchini and a tangy salsa with scallions.
As I was eating a Scottish women came down to dip her feet in the splash pool. Soon, her partner followed. We got to talking and they soon moved to my table to enjoy a late lunch themselves. Hillary and Lyndon from Shetland. For three hours we talked with each other and with another Italian couple who will be leaving tomorrow. H&L invited me to walk to Jemaa-el-Fna square with them and I gladly accepted.
From 7:30 until midnight we walked through Marrakech; through the souks and market and to Jemaa-el-Fna where we perched on a terrace to observe our new world.
Although home was only 20 minutes walk away it took us about an hour to weave north through the labyrinth to Riad O2.
Such an incredible evening. I love Marrakech already. This is what I’d been waiting for.
09 Tuesday Aug 2011
August 5th/6th, 2011
Was finally able to meet Roberto’s daughter, Marilyn, and her three sons, Bruno, Enea, and Simone – Simone being just two weeks old! We chatted for a bit over mini prosciutto sandwiches and pineapple with cheese outside her father’s store for about an hour. Then, as she needed to head home to feed the kids, I went back to the hotel for a little skype session with my momma. Actually cried. I miss her and I miss home.
At noon Marilyn came back for me and we went shoe shopping for me (broke my sandals in Rome) and for the kids, then she took me to the farm that her husbands family owns! So neat! It was a beautiful space. They raise and milk the cows for the Parmesan cheese so the cows are kept on an incredibly strict diet. It was wonderful to have a glimpse at a clean, healthy, and happy farm.
We sat outside her mother-in-law’s beautiful farmhouse until around 6:30 chatting in Italian (as best I could) with her and her two sister-in-laws while the kids played in the yard.
It was while there I realized that I needed to leave for Rome that night rather than Saturday morning as I had originally planned. There was an 11:37pm train for just 20/25€ that would get me into Rome at 6:30 in the morning. Far less expensive than all other trains (68€ and more), and I figured I could sleep on the plane and arrive at the airport in time to try for the earliest flights to Greece. Simple, right? Wrong.