India Ink

Making Peace With the Sea

I don't do well under water. I've said here before: while I'm always happy to jump out of an airplane, bungee, or fly an ultralight,  if you throw me in the deep end of a pool, I will die.  I've never been able to master the art of regulating my breathing underwater.  As soon as my face is covered and I can't breathe normally, I panic. Even a snorkle mask makes me gag; I made yet another attempt at snorkling on this trip, without much success. (My guide told me I'm an "obligate nose breather." Whatever that means; isn't that what everybody's noses are for??)

I've always wanted to have the underwater experience, and have been jealous of people who can dive or snorkle easily.

On this Aruba birthday adventure, I finally found a way to get my head underwater without the terror part: the Sea Trek helmet walk.

Instead of snorkeling gear or a dive tank, you wear a giant helmet with an air line attached in the back. Strangely enough, the helmet is open at the bottom (you can stick your hand in and scratch your nose if you needed to), but the air bubble never gets filled with water.  Basic physics, I'm told, but amazing to me nevertheless. I got the full colorful-fish-swimming in-my-face-experience, without worrying about where my air was coming from.

The helmet is quite heavy and confining, so if you have any claustrophobic tendencies, this might not be for you. The only discomfort I felt was from pressure building up in my ears during the 20 ft. descent. At one point I thought I might have to abort the descent because my ear was hurting a lot, but then it seemed to equilibrate itself and was fine for the rest of the time I was on the ocean floor.

This is the way to view Caribbean marine life: drinking a toast to my birthday adventure at the Underwater Cafe.

Check out these videos of our group, taken by our scuba-diving guides.  I'm at 28-35 seconds.

 

Below, I'm at 41-47 seconds.

Appalachian Oddities

A few weeks ago, I meandered my way from Fairfax down the Shenandoahs and the Blue Ridge Parkway, to the Museum of Appalachia in Tennessee.  Below, some oddities from that visit.

Gourd sculptures by Minnie Black. What she wanted on her tombstone:
"Let it be said as I lie in my casket, she raised a gourd as big as a bushel basket"

 "Child Bride - Saved by the Sheriff" - Painting

"Get Right With God"
Work of coal miner/evangelist Brother Harrison Mayes
"This bike is dedicated to outer space. I hope to ride it on the moon & many of the planets erecting sacred signs."

"The Devil"
"Felix Casey Jones (1890-1962) tramped the hills and mountains near his home in Clinchport, VA, searching for unusual formations in stone and wood. He found hundreds of strange things, but his all-time favorite was "The Devil." It is a natural formation from a walnut tree, and Casey added only the eyes, and a set of horse's teeth in its mouth."

"Barbed Wire Heart"
"Philip Payne came upon an abandoned roll of barbed wire near his home in Brodhead, Kentucky, while looking for twigs to make furniture, love hearts, and such. He immediately thought, he said that the thorny character of the old fence wire was more like love than the smooth willow twigs; and so he proceeded to make the love heart shown here."

Fisk Metallic Burial Case
 Prior to the embalment era, these air-tight metallic burial cases were said to preserve the body for months or even years.
 

Ukuweewee, or Bedpan Banjo
Recycling, before it was trendy...

Bull Blinds for a mean bull

 

Where: The Museum of Appalachia, Clinton, Tennessee

Sand Sculptures

From a sand sculpting competition in Virginia Beach, VA, part of the annual Neptune festival, in honor of the Roman god of water and the sea. Sculptures were created on the beach, then enclosed with a tent for the 10-day display. Puts my feeble attempts at sand castle building to shame!

 

Where:
Virginia Beach Boardwalk, Virginia

Shenandoah Caverns

Underneath the Shenandoah Valley of northern Virginia is a series of limestone caves known as Shenandoah Caverns. A half mile-long guided tour takes you through 17 connecting chambers filled with spectacular geological formations.

The snowy white color comes from limestone deposits

Stalactites, which grow from the ceiling down (as opposed to stalagmites, which grow from the floor up)

Left: Diamond Cascade, made of calcite crystals
Right: Capitol Dome formation

"Breakfast bacon" formations  made of naturally red-striped limestone

A stalactite with its companion stalagmite

 

Where:
261 Caverns Road, Quicksburg, Virginia

 

If you liked this post, you might also be interested in:

Iceland: Lava Caving

Andaman Islands: Textures

Cathedral of Junk

You never know what you're going to find in Texas.

Toilet Seat Art Museums. Herds of pink flamingos or llamas frolicking in bluebonnets. And then there's the Cathedral of Junk. The old saying "one man's trash is another man's treasure" was never more true than with this crazy-amazing contraption in South Austin, made completely of, well, junk.

Old typewriters, refrigerators, wires, ladders, street signs, toys, masks, hub cabs, CDs, vacuum cleaner pipes, tennis rackets and a thousand other (many unrecognizable) items wired/welded/taped together, it's tucked away in the back yard of a home in Austin. Or at least, as tucked away as 60 tons of junk can be. It's a multi-room installation; you can actually walk underneath the cathedral, climb it, and get intimate with the trash.

The artist, Vince Hannemann, claims that the contraption is wired together well enough to withstand Texas storms, but the City of Austin is skeptical. Shortly after I was there, I heard it was temporarily shut down by the city for violation of city codes, though I hear it may reopen in the future.

Iceland: Died and Went To Heaven

The Blue Lagoon, Reykjanes Peninsula, Iceland

If a belching volcano isn't enough to bring you to Iceland, how about the Blue Lagoon geothermal spa? (No relation to the Brooke Shields movie).

The Blue Lagoon is a giant saltwater hotspring in the midst of a lava field, with water temperatures of 98-110°F (37-40°C).  It's part of a commercial spa resort, but you don't have to do any of the spa stuff, you can just come for a soak.

Strangely enough, the water is actually a byproduct of a nearby geothermal power station, but don't let that deter you. I spent 4 blissful hours soaking here, dragging myself out of the warm waters only because my plane was taking off in two hours. (The lagoon is 15 minutes from the airport, so a lot of visitors stop here on the way to or from the airport). If the thought of just sitting in hot water bores you, you can pop into the steam and/or sauna baths surrounding the lagoon, get a powerful massage by sitting under a thundering artificial waterfall, or dig into one of the silica bins to lather on a silica mud mask.

The next time you fly to Europe, Internet, pack a swim suit, arrange for a couple-hour layover in Iceland and pop in here for a unique experience. (Icelandair offers free stopovers in Iceland on their USA to Europe flights).

The ultimate hot tub. Pure bliss.

This was the last picture I clicked, before my camera died. Yeah, yeah, I know, who takes their camera into a hot spring with them? I didn't actually drop it in the water, but I guess cameras just don't like steam baths... (Fortunately, it dried out after a few days!)

Fire And Ice

Iceland is not just about ice, but also about heat. Dotting the polar landscape of lava and snow-covered mountains are steaming geothermal hot springs. Some are bubbling mud, but others are crystal clear and beckon hikers for a dip.

Hot spring winding its way through Olkelduhals valley

Hikers walking through lava fields toward a steaming hot spring at Misty Valley, Olkelduhals, Iceland

Ice crystals form from steam settling on the grass and rocks surrounding the hot spring

Me enjoying a dip in a hot spring at Olkelduhals, Iceland.
The hardest part was getting out of my 5 layers of winter gear, into a swim suit (and back).
Outside temperature: 32°F (0°C)
Wind chill: -10°F
Water temperature: 97-99°F (38°C)!

Reporting Live from Ground Zero Iceland!

Today, I FINALLY got a glimpse of that magnificent volcano that's been wreaking havoc around the world. Our tour guide was able to drive up closer than I thought we could--we were probably within about a mile or so of the site. Of course, for me, even closer would have been better, but the search-and-rescue guys stationed at this checkpoint wouldn't let us go any further. 

Sorry for all the disruptions, Europe, but from where I'm sitting, it's absolutely SPECTACULAR!

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Me with the search and rescue boys stationed at this checkpoint

Proof that I was really there!

Every Toilet Tells a Story

While visiting my friend Shannon in Corpus Christi this weekend, I was browsing a book on off-the-beaten-path places in Texas, when a blurb about a "Toilet Seat Art Museum" caught my eye. It was in San Antonio, which I would be going through on my way back to Austin the next day, so I immediately decided to check it out.

The museum operates out of the garage of 88-year-old Barney Smith, who has been using toilet seat covers as canvases for his art for decades. Mr. Smith spent over two hours giving me a personal tour of his 900+ toilet covers, and he was almost as entertaining as his museum. 

Barney Smith and his Toilet Seat Art Museum

When I asked him what got him started in this craft, he told me he used to be a master plumber, and when he retired, he thought he should stay in the trade!

There were toilet seats with religious themes, sports themes, geographical themes, musical themes, and just about any other theme you could think of. His creations were part art, part collage, part scrapbook, part memory lane. Every seat had a story, and his memory of the details was phenomenal.

 

Barney has been on dozens of talk shows (including The View, above) and has been written up hundreds of times, including an article in Life magazine with Jackie O on the cover.

 

 

When he found out that I was born in Poland, he insisted that I sign his "Eastern Europe Panorama" toilet seat with my name and date of birth (above), which he said he was going to etch into the seat later.

He also proudly showed me his organization system, where he keeps meticulous track of every toilet seat as well as every visitor that walks in the door, using color-coded markers for identification. When he saw I was from Rochester, within minutes he located the only other Rochester visitor he's ever had, a fellow named John. With a mischievous grin, he told me that when I got home I should check out the Rochester fella and see if maybe he's single... and, if anything comes of his matchmaking, he wants to hear about it, and he's going to create a special toilet seat in our honor!! So, John Ballou of Hillside Ave in Rochester, if you're reading this, you know where to find me.... ;o)

In this picture, he reminds me of my uncle.

 

He refuses to sell any of his works of art, and doesn't even charge visitors an entrance fee. A toilet company offered to buy out his entire stock, but he turned down that offer too. When I asked him why he doesn't sell his work and make some money out of his hobby, he said that he had asked god for a 48-hour day but hadn't received it yet, and until he does he won't have time for any of that.

He told me this was his favorite toilet seat cover (above). It depicts a poem that he learned as a child, and which he recited to me in full: Rudyard Kipling's When Earth's Last Picture Is Painted. It includes these lines, which sum up what Barney Smith is all about:

"And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame,
But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star..."

I love quirky, off-the-beaten-path things like these, and I am fascinated by people who follow their passions to the max, no matter how crazy they may seem. I admit it though, that I came here as a lark, expecting only to get some good toilet jokes for the blog. Halfway through my visit, I had forgotten that these were toilet seats, and walked away feeling enchanted by this delightful old man who is living his passion.

If you find yourself in San Antonio, don't miss Barney Smith and his Toilet Seat Art Museum (210-824-7791). And tell him Basia from Rochester/Poland sent you.

NYC Buskers #3: Bass Ackwards

One of the most popular performers at this year's Best of the Buskers performances on Times Square was this very limber yogi contortionist, who goes by the name Yogi Laser. 

Something for me to aspire to in my yoga practice...

Fabulous Fireworks

I'm a little late with this, but here are some scenes from THE best July 4th fireworks I've ever seen anywhere. Six identical displays, set off simultaneously from six barges over the Hudson River. From our vantage point at the Hudson River Park, my sister Donna and I could see five of them at once. Absolutely spectacular!

Donna and I staked out our spot at the Hudson River Park (above) about 4 hours before the start of the show. It was well worth the wait!

Polar Plunge

The temperature is freezing and the wind is howling. So what do crazy New Yorkers do? Why, they go for a dip in Lake Ontario of course...

Each year, in the dead of winter, Rochester is host to the Polar Bear Plunge, a fund-raising event for Special Olympics that has otherwise sane people plunging into the icy waters of Lake Ontario. This year, over a thousand people took part. I must say, I was tempted to join them, but I was already shivering in my boots, just standing there fully clothed taking pictures. I hope to be more courageous next year!

Clearing off the icy sludge of Lake Ontario before the plunge

The plungers were led by a bagpipe band.

 
There were several sightings of Elvis, Blue Men carrying toilet plungers (get it?), and other assorted characters

 

   
Hat? check. Mittens? check. Scarf? check. Bikini? check

 

 

 
The icecube tray man (above left) gets my creativity award

My favorites were these two prom queens (bridesmaids?), in full regalia. [Update from the subjects in this photo: that was a recently-married bride with her maid of honor!]  And here I thought it was only at Marina Beach in Chennai, that women ventured into the water fully clothed!

The prom queens take the plunge, under the watchful eye of members of the coast guard,
who along with scuba divers and paramedics were on hand in case of any mishaps.

Buffalo Crossing

For a moment, I thought I was back in India.

Driving through South Dakota on my way to Mt. Rushmore, I rounded a bend and found a giant American bison (aka American buffalo) standing in my way. Another hundred of his mates were on both sides of the road.

The lumbering creatures grunted, stared at us gawkers, and grunted some more before sauntering back and forth across the road. I always assumed there were still some bison left out west, but I imagined them on some far-away fenced-off ranch, little dots in the landscape that, if I was lucky, I could perhaps spot with binoculars. I had no idea that wild bison still freely roam the roads like this!

American bison crossing the road in South Dakota

South Dakota was hosting a massive motorcycle rally that week, with half a million bikers converging on the Black Hills, so the roads were filled with rumbling biker dudes (and a few dudettes). It was hilarious to watch the burly bison staring down the burly bikers.

I got out of the car for a moment to get some better shots, just as a sheriff's patrol car pulled up. "M'am you are in harms way. They can come at you before you have time to run back to the car," Mr. Sheriff politely pointed out to me. So I reluctantly got back in my car.

But -- I noticed that Mr. Sheriff wasn't hassling the biker dudes, who were also getting off their bikes and congregating on the road. Did he think they could outrun a buffalo -- or is it just that you don't scold a herd of Hell's Angels??

Bison meets biker

Another Way To See Grand Canyon

Several years ago, I read about a new attraction that was scheduled to open at Grand Canyon: a glass-bottomed bridge called Skywalk that would jut 65 feet (20 meters) out, and 3800 feet (1158 meters) above, the canyon.

When I got to Grand Canyon South Rim (the section of Grand Canyon where most tourists go), I was a little disappointed to learn that, although it had opened as planned, the Skywalk was not part of the Grand Canyon National Park. It was actually over 250 miles away, at what is known as Grand Canyon West, and is operated by the Hualapai Indian tribe. That meant my National Park entrance fee wasn't any good there, and it meant an additional day's drive, which included almost an hour on an unpaved, bumpy road that was killer on my car. I decided to check it out anyway.

The Skywalk definitely offers a spectacular view; this must be what eagles see when they soar over the canyon. But it was smaller than I expected, and not all made of glass, as I had imagined. And, WAY overpriced. $20 parking fee + $30 entrance fee + $30 to stand on the Skywalk for 10 minutes -- that's a total of $80 bucks for a few minutes of enjoyment. They also don't allow cameras on the Skywalk itself (but are happy to take your picture and sell it to you for another 30 bucks). Things were also much more regimented and limited than at the Grand Canyon South Rim, where the parking and transportation were free and plentiful, and which had dozens of activity options to do at your own pace.

The Skywalk over Grand Canyon West: cool but overpriced

I'm glad I experienced it once, and if the Skywalk concept intrigues you, then Grand Canyon West is the place to go. But if you just want to experience the majestic Grand Canyon, skip the Skywalk and head for the old standby South Rim area. It's a much better deal.

Mule Power

Less than an hour ago, I was riding a jackass deep in the bowels of Grand Canyon. (Hey! I said I was riding a jackass, not I was a riding jackass...) ;o)

And you dear readers, get to see it in almost real time. Ah, the joy of WiFi hot spots, which can now be found even in the Grand Canyon!

Our sturdy animals looked like horses, but they were actually mules. FYI, a mule is the offspring of a mother horse and a jackass father. (That's not a judgement, it's just the genetics I'm talking about!) The 12-mile journey from the rim of the canyon down (and back up) took us about 7 hours. And oh, my aching butt and knees!

But the views? Spectacular.

My mule's name was Sissy, which was OK by me. If I'm going to teeter on the edge of a canyon (these animals prefer to walk on the side closer to the cliff edge, I swear it's just to torture the tourists), I would rather not do it on a mule named Rambo or Bruiser or Killer. So Sissy was just fine by me.

Me saddled up on Sissy

That's me, with the Colorado river below, which runs at the bottom of the canyon

My mule's eye view

Getting hosed down to take the edge off the 110 degree temperature inside the canyon

Our mule train

Speaks For Itself

Grand Canyon...speaks for itself

Tip Of The Iceberg

By far the #1 top experience on my Canada trip was the icebergs. I wasn't expecting to see them; I wasn't even aware that they existed in this area. Sitting in a coffee shop near St. John's in Newfoundland, I glanced out the window and saw this:

"Is that an iceberg??" I asked the waitress incredulously. Indeed it was. Two of them, having just split off from one chunk, according to my server. I was in the right place at just the right time of year to get a glimpse of these giant beauties, which float around in the waters off Newfoundland & Labrador in May/June every year. I immediately signed up for a boat ride to get a closer look.

Icebergs start out as fresh-water glaciers in Greenland, floating down the Atlantic before melting away in mid-summer. From a distance, they look white. But up close, you can see that they actually have quite a bit of blue in them. And they are huge -- they look like the Rockies, but without the rock part! The two that I saw were probably 5 or 6 stories high. Typically, the part that is visible is only about 10% of the iceberg (which explains "just the tip of the iceberg"...)

For safety reasons, tour boats are not allowed to get up too close to them (the submerged part could easily damage a boat's bottom, a la Titanic), but our boat got up close enough to see the beautiful ice ridges (above).

Me on the boat, with iceberg in the background

A bit of trivia from Wikipedia: there are actually people who camp on these things (though I don't think that's allowed on the ones in Newfoundland), and they are called icebergers. I'd love to be one of them...

Bricks Is So Old Skool

Those crazy Canadians.

First, they build houses out of ice. Now, I find out they're also building 'em out of bottles. Les Maisons De Bouteilles, or Bottle Houses, are a suite of buildings on Canada's Prince Edward Island, made of over 25,000 glass bottles held together with cement. The structure was built by Canadian Edouard Arsenault starting in 1980, and now includes a chapel, a tavern, and a gabled house.

Doesn't anybody use bricks and boards for homebuilding anymore??

The pump organ (above) is the only thing NOT made out of bottles

The sun wasn't out the day I was there, but supposedly it looks really spectacular with sunlight streaming through all the bottles.

Mr. Arsenault saved some of his favorite bottles for the bar in the tavern building.

Several weddings have been performed in the bottle chapel.

The pews are made of votive candle bottles.

Ice Follies

Just outside Quebec City, Canada, there is an extraordinary place called Hotel De Glace -- Ice Hotel.  It's a real hotel, made almost completely out of ice and snow. And yes, you can actually spend the night there. Being so close to Quebec when I was in Vermont last week, I couldn't resist a visit. Well OK, it wasn't THAT close--about a five hour drive from Burlington--but my sister Donna gamely agreed to join me for an impromptu road trip.

The complex is built with 5,000 tons of ice and 15,000 tons of snow.

Inside, everything--walls, pillars, tables, seats -- is carved from ice and snow.

Benches, chairs, and beds are covered with deerskin for warm seating.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

Even the chandeliers are made of ice.

There are fireplaces scattered throughout (above), with real fire. But the fire is well-insulated (for obvious reasons) and is meant more for ambiance than for warmth.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

Donna relaxes on an ice bar.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

When you take pictures without flash, the ice comes out in various shades of blues and pinks (above). I wondered if the colors reflected the temperature or thickness of the ice?

There is also a chapel, where supposedly a number of weddings have taken place. Gives new meaning to "getting cold feet" on your wedding day...

Your favorite alcoholic beverage is available at thefull service bar, also made of ice.

 
Donna and I trying out the Maple Liquor drink, served in a recyclable glass made of--what else?--ice.

The hotel has 36 private rooms and suites, each with a different artistic theme.

This was one of two beds in our suite. Beds are made of a thick slab of ice, covered with a plank of wood, and topped off with a styrofoam mattress. Some of the bedrooms come with fireplaces, but those cost an extra $150.00 USD per night, so I opted out of that.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

That's me (above) snuggling in for the night. The thick ice walls keep the temperature inside at about 25°F / -4°C. The nordic sleeping bag is included in the price, and is definitely needed! The only part of my body that got a little chilly was the top of my head, so I ended up sleeping with my hat on. And yes, I did make it through the whole night. Getting out of that cozy sleeping bag in the morning was the most difficult part of the experience.

If things get too chilly for you, there is a spa nearby, with outdoor hot tubs (above)and a sauna. I spent an hour here, watching the spectacular total eclipse of the moon from a hot tub. Getting out of the tub was excruciating -- the outside temperature dipped down to 0°F / -17°C that night. They give you strict instructions to dry off every part of your body (including your hair) before getting into your sleeping bag, so you don't turn into a human icicle.

This spectacular place is available from January through April only. In April, the whole thing melts down, to be rebuilt again the following year. This was the most impressive addition yet to my Sleeping Around series!

Misbehavin' With The Tourist Lady

Aah, but it gets better. I thought I left the drunken mobs behind at the Delhi railway station. Not so. More drama was in store for me as my whistlestop tour of northern India continued.

At the Kaziranga National Park in Assam (a state in the northeastern corner of India), I make arrangements with the lodge where I am staying to take a cruise in a small motorboat (below) down the Brahmaputra river to see river dolphins.

Two fellows from the lodge drive me to the launch site in a jeep. We get out of the jeep and make our way to board the motorboat, when a gang of young men intercepts us and begins a heated discussion with my two guys. At first, I don't think much of it. As often happens in India, I don't understand what they are saying, so I tune out. I notice only when voices start to get louder and louder. The next minute, they are swinging punches at each other! Two guys in particular are being very rowdy, shoving around the two guys who are with me, trying to push them down a small cliff, posturing, yelling at them. Others in the group are pulling sticks off nearby trees and thrashing them around as weapons. It's clear that the whole gang has had a bit too much to drink.

I'm standing in the middle of this melee and although they haven't targeted me yet, I start to worry about getting caught in the crossfire. I quietly inch my way back to the safety of the jeep -- such as it is, since the jeep is wide open -- and debate my next move. Should I intervene? Should I help kick some butt? My two guys are skinny fellows, and there is no way they are going to win a fight against these burly, alcohol-powered lunatics. Should I run for shelter into the tiny Shiva temple that stands nearby? Surely no one would hurt me inside a temple...

I still have no clue what they are all yelling about. After a few minutes, the ringleader makes his way to my jeep and starts yelling and posturing at me. "Why are you so angry?" I ask. "What is the problem?" He says something about "going down the river," but his English is very limited, so I understand little of it. I know that the Brahmaputra river is considered sacred by Hindus, and since I keep hearing the word "Hindu," I'm wondering if maybe he's offended that a foreigner was planning on cruising the river.

But it turns out his intention is nowhere near that noble. His gang of rowdy mates was having a picnic party (along with a busload of other revelers), and had decided they wanted to cruise down the river. The only motorboat available was the boat owned and operated by the lodge that I was staying at. It was not a public boat, but they decided they wanted the boat and had tried to bribe the boat operator to take them for a ride. The boat operator refused to take them because of their drunken behavior. This infuriated them further, and I'm guessing they were probably accusing the boat operator of preferential treatment for agreeing to take me but not them. They decided that if they couldn't go, I couldn't go either.

The fight dragged on for what seemed like forever. At some point, one of my guys managed to put a call in to the lodge, which immediately sent a car with two female staff to extract me out of the war zone and whisk me back to the lodge. They also tipped off the police, who must have arrived a few minutes after I left.

Safely back at the lodge, I decide to climb a little hill where a spectacular sunset is in progress. When I make my way back down a few minutes later, I find an entire battalion of armed men waiting for me in front of the lodge. Not one, not two, but at least 25-30 cops, all with various weapons by their side. Seated in front is a man who is introduced to me as the superintendent of police. He invites me to sit down next to him.

"The townspeople are very ashamed of how these troublemakers have treated you.  Misbehaving in front of a tourist lady -- that is very, very bad. We welcome and respect visitors in this town. We don't treat them like this. These people are not from here, they are from a neighboring town. We have booked them and they will spend the night in jail. But first, with your permission, I want to bring them out here for a public apology."

Three cops escort the two ringleaders out of the police van and order them to kneel in front of me. It is clear that police lathi sticks have beaten the bravado out of them. (Police in India are not shy about using their sticks to maintain order...) They limp as they walk up, and visibly wince when they kneel down. They are no longer shouting or poking their fingers into my face. Their eyes are down as they kneel in front of me. "Apologize to the lady," Mr. Superintendent orders.

Ye gads. What do I do with them?? The travel guidebooks don't tell you what is the proper etiquette for something like this!! I feel like the pope, being asked to absolve his errant flock. I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to them, so I blurt out something lame: "Why are you so mean to the tourists? We just want to get to know your country...You shouldn't be drinking like this, it just gets you in trouble." They make a quiet apology under the watchful eye of the cops. I nod my head to indicate I accept their apology.  By this time, I am almost feeling sorry for the jackasses.  I'm quite certain that when they decided to pick a fight with two scrawny guys and an old white lady, they had no clue it would incur the wrath of an entire police battalion.

The superintendent gives them a little lecture, and orders them back into the van. The lodge owner promises me that I'll get my dolphin cruise tomorrow. Not without police protection, I tell him.

One thing's for sure: around here, they take their tourist protection commitment very seriously! 

That's me on the dolphin cruise the following day, with the two lodge employees who "rescued" me.

Indian Army To The Rescue

After the Sun temple, next on my Orissa agenda was a bird sanctuary at Chilika Lake. My guide book said the best way to get there was to take a local train from Bhubaneswar to Balugan, and catch a bus from there to Rhamba, where I had reserved a room for the night.

I get to Balugan without a hitch (though taking a local train with unreserved seating was an experience in itself...), and set out in search of the bus stand. Balugan is a tiny town, and not seeing anything that looks like a bus stop, I inquire about it at a little roadside seafood stand. "Just wait here," a young man tells me. "Bus stops here. Please, please, sit down." He graciously gives me his seat, wedged in between a bucket full of giant crabs and a hissing ferret on a leash. (I'm not making that up. Why was there a hissing ferret on a leash at a seafood shop? I'm not able to answer that question. Not all things in India are meant to be understood.)

The bus comes in about 15 minutes. It comes--and it goes, in spite of a valiant effort by my new friend to flag it down for me. "No worry," he says. "Next bus come in 20 minutes." I return to my reserved seating next to the crabs, and wait some more. Sure enough, another bus comes. And whizzes by. That was the story of my life for the next two and a half hours: watching my buses come, and go.

By this time, a posse of curious locals had gathered to stare at the foreigner who has been keeping the crab man company for over two hours. As they relay my predicament from one to the next, they decide that the reason the buses are not stopping is because they are full, and you can only get a reserved seat from Bhubaneswar--the city that I took the local train from, and for which there is no train back tonight. So they're all scratching their heads trying to figure out how to get the hapless foreigner where she needs to go.

Next thing I know, one of them is flagging down a big old army truck (below) and motioning for me to climb aboard.

Turns out the army boys are heading in my direction and are more than willing to have me hitch a ride. They make room for me in their cab and off we go! I couldn't converse much, since they didn't speak English. But they dropped me off exactly where I needed to be, agreed to have their picture taken, and drove off waving good-bye. And, they refused to take any money for the lift!

 The view from inside an army truck.

Say what you will about the chaos, corruption, and craziness of India. Sometimes, Indian hospitality more than makes up for it. So thanks, Indian army dudes (as well as helpful locals), for being such good ambassadors and helping this foreigner out of a pickle...

Forget autorickshaw ripoffs. I think I've found a much better way to get around India...

Africa: Safari Skies

What would an African safari be without spectacular sunsets?

Maasai bush, Kenya

Naumare Hills, Kenya

Serengeti, Tanzania

Serengeti, Tanzania

Silhouetted weaver bird nests in Tanzania

Longido, Tanzania

 
Longido, Tanzania

Africa: Cheetahs

A cheetah family at the Masai Mara in Kenya.

The dark "tearmark" lines from their eyes are a quick way to differentiate cheetahs from leopards. Their spots are also different.

Africa: Black and White Whimsy

Things learned on safari: it's impossible to look at a zebra butt without grinning.

 

Zebras have the lovely habit of turning their butts to you when you're looking at them. (I guess I would want to do that too, if someone was always staring at me...)  Those big butts, with their psychedelic black-and-white stripes, were always good for a chuckle.  Even after seeing hundreds of these creatures in both Kenya and Tanzania, those wild stripes always held my attention.

 

Africa: Zebra Crossing

On an African safari, the animals don't wait for zebra crossings...

 

Zebras - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Elephants - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Giraffes - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Guineafowl - Serengeti, Tanzania

 

Hyena - Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania

 

Wildebeest - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Baboons - Lake Nakuru, Kenya

African Birds: Secretary Bird

Mix the face of an eagle with the legs of a stork, and you have the Secretary bird.

This peculiar bird could be seen strutting throughout Kenya's Masai Mara. It gets its name from the feathers sticking up from its head, which resemble quill pens. It is able to fly, but rarely does so, preferring to prowl the grassland looking for its favorite meal, snakes.

Secretary bird (Sagittarius serpentarius) at Masai Mara, Kenya.

Other Entries in the Birds of Africa series

 Flamingos  /  Superb starling  /  Fish eagle  /  Vulture  /  Black-necked weaver  /  Storks and herons  /  Lilac-breasted roller  /  Crested cranes  /  Ostrich  /  Barbets and weavers  /  Helmeted guineafowl   /  Flying flamingos   /  Kingfishers   /  Secretary bird  /  Grey hornbill   /  Sacred ibis

Greater Flamingos (Phoenicopterus roseus) fly in formation at Lake Elementaita, Kenya.

 

Other Entries in the Birds of Africa series

 Flamingos  /  Superb starling  /  Fish eagle  /  Vulture  /  Black-necked weaver  /  Storks and herons  /  Lilac-breasted roller  /  Crested cranes  /  Ostrich  /  Barbets and weavers  /  Helmeted guineafowl   /  Flying flamingos   /  Kingfishers   /  Secretary bird  /  Grey hornbill   /  Sacred ibis

Hippos don't have Big Five status in Africa -- but there's no denying that they're BIG! And Big Stinkers too. There was nothing more foul-smelling than this hippo pool in the Serengeti (below) with dozens of eyes and ears peeking out. The smell is due to their territorial practice of spinning their tail around while defecating to spread their feces over the greatest possible area. (You can't say you don't LEARN stuff from this blog, can you?

Hippopotamus amphibius

This little lake in Tanzania's Ngorongoro Crater, which had only a couple hippos sharing space with a sacred ibis or two (above), had a much more pleasant fragrance. (Yes, that big clunk is a hippo).

Hippos spend most of their daytime hours in the water, but occasionally, they'll join other wildlife on land (above). Our safari guide gave us this bit of advice: Never get between a hippo and its water!

What a hippo does when feeling threatened.

Hippo backs make handy landing pads for birds at a lake in the Ngorongoro Crater.

In the days when "safari" meant hunting rather than photographing animals, big-game hunters referred to the five animals that were the most dangerous and most difficult to capture as The Big Five. They included the rhino, buffalo, elephant, lion, and leopard. Fortunately, these days the shooting that takes place is more likely to be the photographic kind, but the goal of spotting all of The Big Five is something safarians still aspire to. And for me, Africa did not disappoint!

This so-ugly-it's-almost-beautiful white rhinoceros (Ceratotherium simum) was quite a contrast against the backdrop of graceful, colorful pink flamingos at Lake Nakuru, Kenya. Rhino horns are prized for their supposed medicinal value, making rhinos a favorite target of poachers.

They looked like placid cows, and during most of the safari I assumed these animals were similar to the water buffaloes that roam the streets of India. I didn't find out until much later that in fact the African Cape buffalo (Syncerus caffer) kills more humans in Africa than almost any other animal, and is not at all related to the domesticated Indian water buffalo. Probably just as well I didn't know that when I was getting up close to take this picture!

There were African elephants (Loxodonta africana) aplenty in both Kenya and Tanzania, sometimes solitary, sometimes in herds of a dozen of so. This mama had a baby tailing it.

Lions (Panthera leo) were a little more difficult to spot; they don't stand out as much amidst the tall grass. But the growl of this fellow was hard to miss. Supposedly, a lion roar can be heard as far as 3-6 miles (5-10 km) away, depending on weather conditions. Lions are only active for a few hours each day, which would explain why most of the lions we saw were not dramatically chasing prey, like you see on the Discovery Channel, but were just lounging about under the shade of a tree.

And I've already introduced you to our one and only leopard (Panthera pardus) sighting in the Serengeti, the final missing piece in our Big Five hunt...

#2 of the Africa Top 5 Most Memorable Moments is a sharp contrast to the beauty and serenity of the courting flamingos. But in its exoticness, it's hard to beat!

The Masai (or Maasai) are a warrior tribe living in Kenya and Tanzania. They live in mud huts and spend most of their time grazing cattle. Their wealth is measured in cows; the more cows you own, the richer you are. They subsist almost entirely on the meat, milk, and blood from their cattle, drinking blood directly from their cows and goats. Our guide arranged for us to watch the blood-drinking ritual. 

Five or six Maasai men wrangle a cow and hold it in place. The blood will be taken from the jugular vein of the neck, so a tourniquet is tied above this vein.

One of the warriors then shoots a very sharp-tipped arrow directly into the jugular vein (above). It was kind of like the way a phlebotomist would insert a needle into a human's arm to do a blood draw.

When the arrow is pulled out, blood gushes out of the vein and is collected in a bucket. It looked like they got at least a gallon of blood from this animal.

When they were done, they smeared a bit of cow dung over the wound to stop the flow, and the cow was released. Just like with a human blood donation, this cow will not be bled again for the next 4-6 weeks.

When they offered us a sip, how could I resist? Yes, three or four of us tourists joined them in the blood-drinking.

Photos of me taken by Ian

I know I'm looking kind of bug-eyed in these photos, but it actually wasn't that bad. It was very thin and bland. It tasted just like human blood. (Not that I'm in the habit of drinking human blood. But if you've ever cut your lip or had a tooth bleed, you know the taste). There was actually very little taste as I was drinking it, but for several minutes afterwards I had strong blood aftertaste.

If you saw Survivor Africa a couple seasons ago, you might recall that this was one of the challenges on that show. So this was good practice for when I get on Survivor...

The blood-drinking was followed by some milk porridge (above), with fresh milk straight from a cow being boiled together with (I think?) some cornmeal. It tasted a little better than the blood, but it was very hot, so I didn't drink too much of it. Sometimes, the Masai mix the milk and the blood together to make a blood milkshake.

OK. Go ahead. Bring on the EEEEWWWWWWW THAT'S DISGUSTING I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT comments.... 

I have lots more to say about the Masai, in future entries. Such as why they are a feminist's nightmare...

TOP FIVE AFRICAN MOMENTS
#1-Flamingos   /  #2-got blood?  /  #3-Fresh Kill   /  #4-Wildebeest Migration    / #5-Leopard 

African Birds: Flying Flamingos

Greater Flamingos (Phoenicopterus roseus) fly in formation at Lake Elementaita, Kenya.

 

Other Entries in the Birds of Africa series

 Flamingos  /  Superb starling  /  Fish eagle  /  Vulture  /  Black-necked weaver  /  Storks and herons  /  Lilac-breasted roller  /  Crested cranes  /  Ostrich  /  Barbets and weavers  /  Helmeted guineafowl   /  Flying flamingos   /  Kingfishers   /  Secretary bird  /  Grey hornbill   /  Sacred ibis

Africa: Hippo Pool

Hippos don't have Big Five status in Africa -- but there's no denying that they're BIG! And Big Stinkers too. There was nothing more foul-smelling than this hippo pool in the Serengeti (below) with dozens of eyes and ears peeking out. The smell is due to their territorial practice of spinning their tail around while defecating to spread their feces over the greatest possible area. (You can't say you don't LEARN stuff from this blog, can you?

Hippopotamus amphibius

This little lake in Tanzania's Ngorongoro Crater, which had only a couple hippos sharing space with a sacred ibis or two (above), had a much more pleasant fragrance. (Yes, that big clunk is a hippo).

Hippos spend most of their daytime hours in the water, but occasionally, they'll join other wildlife on land (above). Our safari guide gave us this bit of advice: Never get between a hippo and its water!

What a hippo does when feeling threatened.

Hippo backs make handy landing pads for birds at a lake in the Ngorongoro Crater.

Africa: The Big Five

In the days when "safari" meant hunting rather than photographing animals, big-game hunters referred to the five animals that were the most dangerous and most difficult to capture as The Big Five. They included the rhino, buffalo, elephant, lion, and leopard. Fortunately, these days the shooting that takes place is more likely to be the photographic kind, but the goal of spotting all of The Big Five is something safarians still aspire to. And for me, Africa did not disappoint!

This so-ugly-it's-almost-beautiful white rhinoceros (Ceratotherium simum) was quite a contrast against the backdrop of graceful, colorful pink flamingos at Lake Nakuru, Kenya. Rhino horns are prized for their supposed medicinal value, making rhinos a favorite target of poachers.

They looked like placid cows, and during most of the safari I assumed these animals were similar to the water buffaloes that roam the streets of India. I didn't find out until much later that in fact the African Cape buffalo (Syncerus caffer) kills more humans in Africa than almost any other animal, and is not at all related to the domesticated Indian water buffalo. Probably just as well I didn't know that when I was getting up close to take this picture!

There were African elephants (Loxodonta africana) aplenty in both Kenya and Tanzania, sometimes solitary, sometimes in herds of a dozen of so. This mama had a baby tailing it.

Lions (Panthera leo) were a little more difficult to spot; they don't stand out as much amidst the tall grass. But the growl of this fellow was hard to miss. Supposedly, a lion roar can be heard as far as 3-6 miles (5-10 km) away, depending on weather conditions. Lions are only active for a few hours each day, which would explain why most of the lions we saw were not dramatically chasing prey, like you see on the Discovery Channel, but were just lounging about under the shade of a tree.

And I've already introduced you to our one and only leopard (Panthera pardus) sighting in the Serengeti, the final missing piece in our Big Five hunt...

Africa Top Five: #2 - got blood?

#2 of the Africa Top 5 Most Memorable Moments is a sharp contrast to the beauty and serenity of the courting flamingos. But in its exoticness, it's hard to beat!

The Masai (or Maasai) are a warrior tribe living in Kenya and Tanzania. They live in mud huts and spend most of their time grazing cattle. Their wealth is measured in cows; the more cows you own, the richer you are. They subsist almost entirely on the meat, milk, and blood from their cattle, drinking blood directly from their cows and goats. Our guide arranged for us to watch the blood-drinking ritual. 

Five or six Maasai men wrangle a cow and hold it in place. The blood will be taken from the jugular vein of the neck, so a tourniquet is tied above this vein.

One of the warriors then shoots a very sharp-tipped arrow directly into the jugular vein (above). It was kind of like the way a phlebotomist would insert a needle into a human's arm to do a blood draw.

When the arrow is pulled out, blood gushes out of the vein and is collected in a bucket. It looked like they got at least a gallon of blood from this animal.

When they were done, they smeared a bit of cow dung over the wound to stop the flow, and the cow was released. Just like with a human blood donation, this cow will not be bled again for the next 4-6 weeks.

When they offered us a sip, how could I resist? Yes, three or four of us tourists joined them in the blood-drinking.

Photos of me taken by Ian

I know I'm looking kind of bug-eyed in these photos, but it actually wasn't that bad. It was very thin and bland. It tasted just like human blood. (Not that I'm in the habit of drinking human blood. But if you've ever cut your lip or had a tooth bleed, you know the taste). There was actually very little taste as I was drinking it, but for several minutes afterwards I had strong blood aftertaste.

If you saw Survivor Africa a couple seasons ago, you might recall that this was one of the challenges on that show. So this was good practice for when I get on Survivor...

The blood-drinking was followed by some milk porridge (above), with fresh milk straight from a cow being boiled together with (I think?) some cornmeal. It tasted a little better than the blood, but it was very hot, so I didn't drink too much of it. Sometimes, the Masai mix the milk and the blood together to make a blood milkshake.

OK. Go ahead. Bring on the EEEEWWWWWWW THAT'S DISGUSTING I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT comments.... 

I have lots more to say about the Masai, in future entries. Such as why they are a feminist's nightmare...

TOP FIVE AFRICAN MOMENTS
#1-Flamingos   /  #2-got blood?  /  #3-Fresh Kill   /  #4-Wildebeest Migration    / #5-Leopard