Star Trek III: the search for laundry becomes Star Trek VI: the undiscovered country.*

*Note: I have seen neither movie nor does this post have anything to do with Star Trek, I was just aiming for a catchy title for today’s entry. If you are a trekkie, you will be sadly disappointed.

About every two weeks our search for something to do becomes a search for a place to do laundry. We have about a weeks worth of clothes packed but wash them by hand wash every other week. But when you’re living out of a backpack there’s something decadent and comforting about the smell and feel of freshly laundered clothes. Most times the search is short and ends at the reception desk of wherever we’re staying. Today was not one of those days.

So I pulled out the 5 year old Lonely Planet. Now I’m sure you’re sick of me going on about this 5-year old Lonely Planet. It’s not its fault it’s old and out of date. It's Amazon’s fault. I ordered the new 2007/8 versions of the Central American Shoestring Guide but didn’t notice they’d sent me the 2004 versions until I actually got on the road 1 year later. It’s not a big deal when looking for a place to stay as so many places are on the internet. And as for the prices, I just double every one listed so it hasn’t been too bad – except when we’re looking for very specific things like Garifuna museums or places to do laundry. Knowing that the info in the book could possibly maybe most definitely be wrong, I asked the guy at the reception desk about where to do laundry. His suggestions were the same as the ones in the book so that was encouraging.

It was only 10am but it was already sweltering and carrying 10lbs of laundry it was even hotter. And none of the laundry places were around the corner. We headed to the first near the stadium trying to stay in the shade as much as possible. But when we got there it was closed – not open on Sundays. Le sigh. Okay on to place number 2 down at the south end of the city. But when we got there it was closed too – although the sign said it was supposed to be open. BLARGH! I guess it was hand washing once again.

But first we found a bench in the shade to sit on and cool off. I took my glasses off so I could wipe the sweat off my face. We guzzled the water we’d wisely brought with us then headed back to the hotel. About half way back to hotel I realized I’d left my glasses back on the bench. It was so hot I hadn’t noticed that I wasn’t wearing them. Adrian was not happy with me. So I left him under a shady tree while I went back to get them. On this lazy Sunday morning there was no one around and they were exactly where I’d left them. Phew. I joined up with Adrian and we went to find a nice air conditioned coffee shop before attacking the load of laundry.

Actually the coffee was the last thing I wanted but I needed some caffeine because the heat had sapped all the energy from us. And then to cool off, we followed up the hot coffee with some slushies and talked about taking a taxi to one of the beaches outside of town. But then Adrian discovered an easier remedy. While standing outside for a smoke he discovered the fancy hotel next door had a swimming pool. I went next door if we could use the pool – they replied of course for only 100L each (about $6). Sold! That would probably be the cost of a taxi to the beach and back but a whole lot easier.

But first there was the laundry. Once again Adrian to the rescue. He went looking for a place to hang out the clothes and found the hotel maid doing laundry… in machines! Unable to communicate with her, I went over and asked if it was possible to do some laundry. She said no problem and shook her head when I asked how much. She said she’d leave it on our room when it was done. I could have kissed her. Yay! now off to go jump in the pool. Maybe this fancy hotel had wifi too.

For the best 200 Lempiras money could buy, we spent the next 6 hours lounging in, by and around the pool. And decided there was no way we were going to a jungle lodge in this heat. And thankfully the hotel did have wifi so I was able to email the scuba place to let them know we were coming the next day rather than later in the week. Then it was back in the pool and repeat as necessary.

I’m, cough, cough ,through, achoo, with you.

There’s a group of squeegie men outside of our hotel. They’re not like the squeegie guys we’ve come to know in Toronto, they’re true professionals with amazing technique. Within in three flicks of their wrist they can scrub down and dry a window in about 10 seconds flat. What is equally amazing is that they’re not considered nuisances here. People encourage them to wipe the grime off their windows - daily. That's when you realize just how crappy the air is in this city. Then you wish they could work the same magic on your lungs.

It was our fourth day in Mexico City and by now our throats were burning, our noses perpetually running and mouths perpetually dry. All thanks to the smog. And thanks to our crappy transportation experience the day before our mental state kinda matched our physical state. We weren’t completely run down but we were a little annoyed. So we thought we’d take it easy and explore a couple of neighbourhoods close to our hotel. And when I say close, I mean we didn’t need to take another crappy bus.

The first stop was a Scotiabank so that we could replenish our wallets. Then breakfast. Then to the Palacio de Bellas Artes, a beautiful art nouveau building that was a bit confusing. Despite it’s exterior inside was an art deco explosion complete with more awesome murals by Diego Rivera, including a copy of the Crossroads of Man that he painted when Rockefeller destroyed the original. It would appear that the capitalist Rockefeller wasn’t happy with the anti-capitalist themes of the mural (the portraits of Lenin and Marx may have been the last straw). But the other confusing thing about this art gallery was that it wasn’t an art gallery. So after checking out the rest of the murals we left.

Thwarted by our attempt at culture, we sat outside and did some people watching. There was an interesting mixture of organ grinders, punk kids, tourists, and shoe shine men. Adrian decided to get his sneakers cleaned and thankfully the one nearest to us spoke English so Adrian could do his own negotiating.

“How much?”
“For you, 15 just like the Mexicans.”
“15?”
“Yes, 15.”
“Sure go ahead”

Notice the repetition of the number 15 – it’s the equivalent of $1.50. Seems like a reasonable price for the 5-10 minutes it took him to finish the job. And when he finished that’s when the trouble started.

“Finished. 50 pesos”
“50?!? You said 15”
“No, I said 50 – it’s normally 60 pesos for Mexicans.”
“No you said 15”
“50 pesos”

We knew he was lying and getting ripped off was not helping with our mental state but arguing with him would have made us even more cranky so we paid him the 50 pesos and considered the $3.50 an investment in our mood. I do have to give the rip off artist props for knowing that fifteen would get us to agree but sounded enough like fifty to pull off a bait and switch. Lesson learned– always say the prices in Spanish or write them down.

We walked across a big crazy park to a shady sunken square between two churches. One of the churches was leaning scarily to the left. While the other one was now a small museum. Noticing the two current exhibits Barbie and Italian design, I convinced Adrian to go check them out. The museum was home to a bunch of old furniture and other household goods as well as some 200+ year old paintings by artists from around the Spanish world. Just as Adrian was yawning, we found the Barbie exhibit full of screaming and giggling little girls. I have to admit it was more entertaining than the old household stuff. They had 500 Barbie dolls from over the last 50 years, including a bunch dressed as representatives of various countries. You’ll be pleased to know that Canada was included but not so impressed when I tell you she was dressed as a Mountie. In contrast the UK Barbie was dressed in a custom-made designer Burberry outfit. Doesn’t quite seem fair does it.

Now to find the Italian Design retrospective. We wandered through the entire museum multiple times but finally I had to ask in my atrocious spoken Spanish (yes, my lessons were great for reading but when it comes to speaking I suck) only to be told that it wasn’t open yet. Hmm… you’d think they’d tell you that before you paid admission. Or at the very least adjust the sign out front that claims it opened two days earlier. Time to move on.

We walked over to the Plaza de la Revolucion which was being restored, past a deserted art deco arena called the Fronton Mexico (picture above) where jai alai was played (you know, that sport that they showed at the beginning of Miami Vice involving men dressed like jockeys and whipping balls at a wall with a scoop). We were close to a restaurant mentioned by Lonely Planet that is owned by an ex Lucha Libre wrestler and known for it’s giant tortas – the delicious Mexico City sloppy joes we discovered on our first day. And decided the combination of kitch and yum would be perfect. However after walking over there, we discovered that it was shuttered tight with giant public health violation notices pasted up on the windows. Yet another thing that didn’t go as planned. But better than actually eating there and getting sick I suppose.

We tried to make up for the day by going back to our old torta stand but even those didn’t taste as good as they had the first day. The shine was beginning to wear off of Mexico City just like it had on the old Fronton building so the next day we decided to get out of the city.

Read all about it

Thanks again to wiki for this photo

When I was about 7, my dad bought me two books that had lots of words and no pictures. Real grown up books called The Coral Island and King Soloman's Mines. And I still have the books. It took me forever to read these adventure stories. But they're probably the reason I have such a travel bug. Every description I read exposed me to exotic places, people and animals I wanted to see for myself. And I was lucky that although my parents weren't world travellers they sent me on every school trip they could so I could feed the bug.

Fast forward about 25 years when Adrian and I were planning our trip to Peru. Thanks to the wonders of google and the recommend of fellow ThornTree posters I discovered two blogs: Conor's Mildly Thrilling Tales and The Global Trip. Both followed the adventures of two guys travelling solo around the world. From the first entries, I was immediately hooked and gave up more than a few hours sleep to catch up and follow along with their entries as they made their way around the planet.

Although both of their blogs made me feel like I was there with them, I wasn't. So the next step was finding a way to visit all these places myself. Thankfully, Adrian was fully onboard. And 3 years later it's getting close to being a reality.

As we've been planning, we've read alot of other blogs and books. So I thought other's might appreciate some of the inspiring reads we've found.

Of course, I'm a huge fan of <Lonely Planet guidebooks - even when they've led me astray as they did in Vancouver. I've got the complete Shoestring guides set and have been using them to plot our adventure. They are already horribly out of date in terms of pricing and contact info but a little google magic fixes that. 

Rough Guides has a great book called First Time Around the World. A must have and read and study for anyone thinking of taking off. It's rather straight but that's what you want in a guide book. 

I suggest reading it in tandem with Vagabonding. If the Rough Guide is all about getting the your physical world in order, Vagabonding is all about the mental. It's rather philosophical but in a good way - and I don't know how many times i'd stumble across a passage and think "that's exactly what I was thinking but I never had the words to describe it. It's like he's in my head". 

Admittedly sometimes the philosophical can be too much. Thankfully there are some great websites inspired by this book where a bunch of author's contributing a wide variety of articles to help you in your quest to become a Vagabond. 

Here's an annotated list of of other resources in a loose chronological order of when I came across them.

Michael Palin's stuff: Seeing Michael Palin on TVO was always a little treasure when I was a teenager as he followed the footsteps Hemmingway and Jules Vernes.  I have a couple of his coffee table books (always picked up for pennies from the clearance section over the decades) and while I can now recognize that many of his journeys are unattainable to the average backpacker, they were one of my first inspirations. Plus, he was in Monty Python and A Fish Called Wanda - what's not to love?

Lonely Planet/Globe Trekker/Pilot Guides TV: Ian Wright is my hero. While Michael Palin was always the observer, Ian is the participant. The way he interacts with people he encounters reminds me that travelling is about getting involved and not watching stuff from the sidelines. Interaction over observation. And he certainly makes it look fun. Adrian and I saw him speak at Convocation Hall a few years back and I he was so... so... normal. Just a kinda geeky and awkward guy who happens to travel to some pretty awesome places. He knows he's lucky and doesn't forget it. No wonder I've been a fan for 20 years. 

Chasing Che: Retracing Che's motorcycle journey across South America for your dissertation - why didn't I think of something fun this when I was writing mine? Regardless, it's a great travelogue as the author shares the trials and tribulations of travelling solo through many different cultures and countries adding in a thin Che political filter (Latin American politics light). It began Adrian and I's own accidental retracing of Che's steps. Hopefully we won't end up dead in Bolivia too. 

The Beach: when I read this in the mid nineties I was blown away by the idea of an individual taking off to far away Thailand. It seemed so seedy yet so decadent - exactly what 20-something I was attracted to. I read it again this year and was struck by how immature and annoying the characters were. Interesting how time and experience can completely change one's perspective. Oh yeah and the movie sucked. 

Bill Bryson: any of his books. His humour is so spot on. My first introduction to him was in 1999 during a raucous Hogmanny (New Year's Eve) in Edinburgh crashing on the floor of a friend's flat with 8 Brits. Caught in the crossfire of competing regional accents, I ducked and picked up the copy of Notes from A Small Island that was lying around and quickly devoured it. I don't know if it was my outsider status at the time  but everyone of Bryson's North American observations about Britain was dead on and hilarious and timeless.

me-go.net: A girl. Travelling solo. Through really odd countries. I'll take Obscuri-Stan for 200,  Alex. Megan's site is a great travelogue from a unique perspective. She shows that no country is off limits (within reason) if you want to go there. It's also a great reference. She shares all her financials - something few people are willing to do for some strange reason. Oh and she responds to emails promptly and thoroughly. She's pretty awesome.

Holidays in Hell: 80s memoir of travelling to some whacky places courtesy of P.J. O'Rourke. I loved the spirit of this book. In a weird way it's the travelogue I related to the most. Although a little warning some of the terms he uses later in the book are a little irking for my PC addled brain. Amazing how appropriate the politics are 20 some years later. 

Adventures of a Continental Drifter: series of short travelogues by one guy. Interesting for the perspective of a former American flight attendant travelling after 9-11 but also because he's black. The outsider in many cultures and just another face in the crowd in others. A great read because he doesn't try to make sense of anything that happens he just experiences it and shares it with us.

Do Travel Writers Go to Hell?: A Swashbuckling Tale of High Adventures, Questionable Ethics, and Professional Hedonism: This one isn't an inspiration but I feel the need to include it because I take it as a cautionary tale. The author's attitude and adventures are exactly what I want to avoid while travelling. All selfish and self important "what's in it for me" mentality. The guy has an ego the size of Greenland and like to think he's living on the edge and writing like Hunter S. Thompson. But his actual adventures and experiences are pretty tame, and lame. Perfect contrast to P.J. O'Rourke who downplays the real craziness happening all around him.

I have another hundred books and movies set in certain countries that I could add to my list of inspiration. Don't worry I won't. Every time Adrian and I come back from a trip, the one constant on our customs declaration has been books. (yes it means we have a lot of books waiting to be packed up before we go, don't remind me). Reading them is a great way to revisit the places for free. And on one occasion buying a book was an adventure itself. 

In the Cusco, Peru airport as we were waiting for our flight to the Amazon, Adrian was at a newspaper stand looking for NFL news (I know, don't get me started). Out of luck he was flipping through the rack of books on Macchu Picchu when another customer started talking to him about Macchu Picchu. This gentleman happened to be an author and the book Adrian happened to be leafing through was his. Adrian had a great conversation with the quirky man in the panama hat and when Adrian bought his book, he signed it for him. 

Reading can't replace the real thing but sometimes it can be an adventure in itself.

Rain, rain go away, please! i'm begging you.

It's been 3 months since I returned from Vancouver and I still don't know what to say about it. Disappointed? Confused? Sad? Maybe all of the above. And then some. My lack of enthusiasm about the city could be the reason that I've not hurried to finish this post. 

I can't blame Vancouver wholy. I was there for work. I came straight from London - a city I love. And the weather was crap.

I left London at 3:30pm. I arrived in Toronto at 5:30pm. Adrian met me at the airport so I could hand over my dirty laundry, dry cleaning and trinkets that I wouldn't need in Vancouver. And so I could give him the black bin bag full of proper British goodies that had caused me so much grief to and at Gatwick. We had dinner at the Swiss Pigeon at the airport - ah romance. Then I boarded my 8:30pm WestJet flight to Vancouver com - 5 hours of a baby that didn't just cry it wailed, something seatback television can't fix. 

By the time I got to the Opus Hotel and checked in it was midnight and I had been awake for 24 hours. The room was lovely. The bathroom however was not for the faint of heart. It ran the width of the room overlooking the street and I do mean overlooking the street. One wall was floor to ceiling windows. Needless to say, I kept the shades down the entire stay. That wasn't the only odd thing about the Opus. On weekends, the lobby turned into a nightclub complete with bouncers who made us show our room keys to get into the hotel. But it wasn't a cool nightclub - instead it seemed full of suburbanites with too much money and not a lot of sense. And gang members. In fact one night while having a drink, my co-workers and I found ourselves surrounded by 7 police officers in windbreakers with "gang task force" written on the back. Soon they zeroed in on two guys and removed them from the bar. Weird, very weird.

Vancouver was full of oddities like that. Despite being surrounded by beautiful mountains and the sea, the city itself is downright ugly. Most of it seems to have popped up in the last 20 years. All concrete and glass condos devoid of any personality or redeeming features. When combined with the constant drizzle this did not make for a happy trip. 

I did some Lonely Planet walking tours that took me from Yaletown where I was staying to Chinatown and Gastown. Most of the downtown was more of the concrete and glass condos except for Granville with it's numerous neon theatre signs. And then I noticed that the streets went from retro to rundown. Dear old LP neglected to mention that they were taking me to Main & Hastings until I was at Main & Hastings. This is the poorest postal code in Canada and the New York City of heroin addicts. Although it was the weekend, the streets were heaving with junkies wandering aimlessly. Occasionally, men in a reflective vests would weave through the crowds sweeping up syringes from the sidewalk. I wish I could say I was exaggerating. Once I realized where I was I put the camera away - this wasn't a zoo and these people weren't attractions. 

I escaped from the blight in the Dr. Sun Yat Sen Chinese Garden  - a quiet classic garden and oasis downtown. I checked out Chinatown that seemed too orderly and not stinky enough to be real. I walked across Gastown in about two seconds and saw the steam clock that doesn't run on steam. 

Between the constant drizzle and the various disappointments on the tour, I was about to write Vancouver off when a co-worker texted me to meet up. When we met at the old train station, my sightseeing had put me in a foul mood leading the ever-cheerful Cheryl to dub me the crusty traveller. She'd spent the day driving around Stanley Park with a friend. She'd actually seen the mountains and some of the super-natural stuff that makes people think Vancouver is beautiful. When I told her where I'd been, she made it her mission to improve my impression of the city by taking me to Robson via the business district. Sure it was nicer than the boarded up east side but not enough to change my first impression. We walked to the Burrard Street Bridge and along the sea wall back to the hotel at which point our feet were numb. 

Unfortunately, the weather never improved while I was in Vancouver. Unfortunate not just because we were trying to shoot some sunny summer ads in the middle of daily downpours but also unfortunate because it thwarted Cheryl and I's plans to bike out around Stanley Park or go whale watching. Instead we settled for quick trips to Granville Market (meh, probably much cooler if you like shopping and aren't trying to save your money for The Big Trip™) and the Vancouver Art Gallery or what Cheryl insists I call the Vag. The Vag was actually my favourite site in the city. It's the perfect size for an afternoon and the exhibitions were really well thought out. Finally, something I could give thumbs up to in Vancouver.

Actually, there was something else I enjoyed about Vancouver. Thanks to an expense account and my production company, I did get to have some fantastic dinners. Vancouver is known for it's food. And while I wouldn't say it's a worth the flight, it was definitely a highlight.

One night we were taken to Zen - a chichi Chinese nouvelle cuisine restaurant in Richmond. It is supposedly the best Chinese restaurant outside of China. And our dinner consisted of a 9 course tasting menu - foie gras, curried whelk, shark's fin soup, lobster, shredded chicken, sea bass, pork cheek. Interesting and decadent but a little over the top. 

Another night we went to Glowbal. The food was good but the best part was the trick we played on our producer, Meghan, with the help of the great staff there. Producers are the accountants of a shoot (as well as den mothers, nurses, travel agents and all round asskickers) and this job was on a budget. And Meghan was feeling a bit of pressure to keep the spending low. When she called us just after we'd ordered to tell us she'd meet up with us, we decided to test her. With the help of a couple of waiters and a bus boy, we littered the table with empty champagne bottles, and carefully decorated the table cloth with wine glasses and water marks. So by the time we were done, it looked like Mel Gibson, Lindsay Lohan and the rest of Hollywood AA had just relapsed at our table.  When Meghan walked in, she eyed the debris took a deep breath but said nothing. The waiter handed her a wine list and we suggested more champagne. She cautiously said "okay" while she started counting the bottles and the bill. When she asked how much, the waiter casually threw out "It's just a buck fifty a bottle". It was about then that her mental tally finished totalling and the normally calm cool and collected and sweet Meghan lost it. The colour drained from her face before switching to a deep crimson. Screaming at the top of her lungs she let loose on us. "What the f*ck have you guys done?!? I told you, you had a budget! $100 per diem - that's it. What the f*ck have you done!?! Are you serious?!?!" She didn't notice the entire wait staff standing behind her doubled over in laughter and mistook the tears of laughter on our faces for drunkenness. It took a few minutes and a stiff drink to convince her it was a joke. The good sport even picked up the tab leaving a lovely tip for the awesome staff.

We had the biggest plates of Italian food ever at Cafe Luxy.

We had too much sangria at Lolita's. 

We enjoyed super service and japanese tapas at Guu. 

We went fancy for sea food at the Blue Water Cafe. 

We enjoyed doughnuts from Deep Cove.

And many other meals I didn't mean to forget. 

This almost made up for getting soaked to the bone while shooting in Lynn Valley - a park that quickly transitioned from beautiful to horror film when dense fog rolled in. The cast and crew were real troopers and made sure we got what we needed. But I wasn't sad when it was all over. Finally after 2.5 weeks, 8 time zones, 17,000 km, 10 days straight of rain and one lost umbrella, I was back home.