In my mind, I'm goin to Sri Lanka

Revolutionario Anxiety
Thee days before we’re scheduled to leave and the aerial unit of the Tamil Tigers attempt to bomb the military fuel complex at the international airport. News breaks out that flights have been cancelled and I fret for about an hour. A brief moment of apprehension was the catalyst in a series of phone calls. This is the gist of those phone calls:

The tigers tried to bomb the airport, Colombo’s shut down..

Really? Is it still safe?

Yeah, relatively. It’s just that Emirates cancelled their flights there.

I guess it’s good we’re flying Sri Lankan Air then..

Yea.. I just hope they don’t cancel our flight..

We’re still going right?

Of course, I’m not worried.

Me neither..

But we’re taking a car.. I don’t want wait around the airport for a seaplane to take us...

Fine, you sissy..

And with that, our plans steamrolled ahead.. Something magical about Sri Lanka has been calling me for years now, and this was my time to find that voice. Braving the possibility of harm, we took the red eye from Dubai. Landing in Colombo early morning and I was amazed at how everything worked out so smoothly and efficiently, placating my anxiety about our safety. A sleepy 3.5hour drive later, we arrived in Koggala village right outside of Galle, on the south west coast, ready to chill out for the next 6 days and get an initial feel for the country.

Again with the mosquitoes..
Maybe we were asking for it by visiting Sri Lanka at the start of Monsoon season, but those bastards were ferocious. Having armed myself with jungle strength mosquito lotion, and jungle mosquito pads, I thought we were safe, but I paid dearly for that error. My first two mornings there were spent inspecting the new bites all over my face and hands. It got so bad that the hotel staff, fearing a lawsuit or something worse, burned citronella and mosquito coils twice daily in our room. I became “bumpy crater face from room 5”.

There is something to be said about the satisfaction of squashing a mosquito with your bare hands and seeing the blood that was just recently sucked from your skin splattered between your palms. Mosquito killing spree mornings were a lovely tradition of revenge on the trip. The nice thing about this was after being jacked on antihistamines, lotions and various remedies, I went to see an Ayurvedic doctor who rubbed some homebrew of oils and leaves on my arms to stop the swelling – in the karmic scheme of things, it felt nice getting holistic treatment meant to be cheap, but expensive because it’s in a hotel, for free.. Did that even make sense?

I'm on vacation, sure i'll have another...
Because of my anxiety and constant complaining about looking grotesque for my vacation pictures (over 15 swollen bites all over my face).. I was fed two bottles of wine a day with a number of drinks spaced out to keep my buzz and forget about my appearance. Let me tell you, there’s nothing that numbs the urge to itch, than inebriation.. It just keeps you jovial and merry, well except for the fact that I might have spurred alcoholism, but that’s all ok now.. Hiccup.


When in Ceylon, drink Ceylon
Not that I could tell the difference, but I was hoping to drink some good tea while in Sri Lanka. Every morning, we drank tea, and although pishi was able to tell the difference, I just tasted tea. Still unable to tell a difference, we drove through the jungle for a visit to one of the world’s “best” natural tea plantations. I didn’t know this, but green tea, black tea, and white tea all come from the same plant, the variations all depend on how many leaves and how much of the stem you clip. So,,, we tasted, dabbled and bought the purveyed goods to take home as gifts; but end of the day, my lipton tea taste buds were pathetic.

Walking on a 200-acre tea plantation inspecting the various types of teas and pesticide free produce, we came across a lot of sound. Apparently the workers on the tea plantation are really into their hi-fi sets, spending all their salaries and using credit to buy sound systems. And that’s not all, these workers pit their hi-fi sets against each other and jack up the music, dancing after a long day at the plantation. Although I was taken back by the 100 year old machines used to process the tea leaves to the stuff we drink every morning, I couldn’t help but wonder how crazy the ear blasting dancehall parties got on a tea plantation in south west Sri Lanka.

Tourism, Tsunami and the Tamil Tigers
Galle was affected by the Tsunami, but unlike the other destinations like Thailand and the Maldives, tourism has suffered because of the safety concerns with the Tamil Tigers. And because of these troubles, Sri Lanka has been neglected as a popular tourist destination. A lot of people promised to help and restore the country, but those were empty promises like the ones of Shane Warne (silly twit of an Australian bowler), who pledged to restore the Galle cricket ground to its pre-tsunami charm. Well, to this very day, only 20% of that money promised has made its way, and the people have given up on him, tsk tsk Shane, you just can’t seem to get a break can you?

The locals are super friendly and really appreciate visitors, so no worries about people ripping you off or wanting to rip you off – maybe a little, but nothing too bad. And yes, there are troubles with the Tamil Tigers, but that shouldn’t deter you from going, the situation is between them with the government and not tourists.. Obviously, stay away from crowds, try not to get stuck in the thick of a busy location, keep your head down and no one will bother you at all. Some of the architecture was absolutely beautiful there with Geoffrey Bawa (Sri Lanka’s favorite architect) putting up some gorgeous buildings (I hear Kandalama on the lake is supposed to be stunning).

Goin back? mosdef
All in all, good food, beautiful scenery, nice people, and laid back life made Galle perfect for me. Being islanders, the Lankans are the coolest of the subcontinent with a definite hippie hakuna matata outlook on life. The Galle Fort, is a beautiful UNESCO world heritage site, and is also the hangout littered with young lovers courting each other. The beaches and their fishermen catching sear fish and other varieties were a beautiful sight to see. Apart from the romance, one of the better memories for me, is going for a swim in a protected bay with pishi and watching a Sri Lankan father take his toddler into the water to teach him how to swim. Having a beautiful traveling companion also helps, she makes the pictures look good..

Not for nothing but...
I don’t want to gloat, but,,, there is a certain cool factor when you’re flipping through this month’s wallpaper and find them talking about your hotel. Tres hip. And yes it was dedoned out, we enjoyed the leaf.

Kuwait and its Kiwis

Random tripping with D..

A couple of hours were spent in the Mubarakiya souk where D and I traversed through the various streets and dusty alleys trying to find something interesting to buy or take pictures of.... We left with a tetris puzzle, some shape shifting toys, an oversized foam puck that hovers (battery operated), and some interesting shots.. Killing off some time till lunch, I then ended up taking a picture of a gun shop and got yelled at by the owner, who thought I was a journalist. He eventually laughed off my slightly tense Bahraini accent and let me go my way (you would be tense if you saw all the rifles and scary looking employees). Mental note to self, the customer is always right, except in a gun store.

Booze and Big Squeeze..

The number one conversation of my weekend in Kuwait centered on an article in the local papers that mentioned an imminent alcohol ban in Bahrain. After going into a detailed analysis and providing my personal opinion over 10 ten times, I got tired and began truncating my reply with a “don’t worry about it”. I still haven’t figured out if the people I spoke to were happy alcohol might be banned or whether they were worried about their own weekend excursions. The thought of having to find a dealer for booze is a little funny, not trying to rub it in, it’s just funny, I laugh at the Doobyians about this one too..

Drinking in restaurants james bondishly was an interesting experience, bringing out a level of sneakiness I haven’t felt since I was in high school or at a party my parents were throwing. I did end up forgetting where I was a couple of times and ordered a vodka from the uninterested waitress. My no no was quickly laughed off as a joke and I continued to drink my friends’ stash and merrily talked the night away. In house boozing was fun as hell and the convos and chilled out atmo is what really makes it, or maybe I was just happy to be in Kuwait doing the dirty.. The party scene is pretty happening and i was impressed with everyone's fun vibe. You gotta be on the list otherwise Bu'Francois wont let you through the private villa velvet ropes..

With Great Friends:

Nothing changes... 7 years ago, we were 5 or so lads hanging about an apartment on a Friday afternoon pondering our plans for the evening and discussing matters of no relevance.. Some on the computer downloading something crass, some playing video games, some ordering food and one particular person hanging out in his undershirt.. 7 years later, the same 5 guys, a little older, but back to hanging out, our discussions of hot Colombians and super models were replaced with more adult talk. Some grey hairs, some gained weight, but for the most part we still played video games and that same guy was still in his undershirt.. It’s nice to pick up exactly where you all left off. Also, leave it to my old amigo to discover a great hole in the wall Thai restaurant for a nice masaman curry.. Pataya Beach Restaurant – good, cheap, and dangerous - typical..

This post to you was brought by:

The location in Hawali might be a little bothersome, but GO NUTS DONUTS has to be one of the best donuts I’ve tried in a really long time.. Although I do like the brand that we do not speak of but begins with K and ends with a rispy Kreme, Go Nuts Donuts does stand as a delicious donut. I got to sample quite a few of their products and I must say, it was the first time I have a chocolate donut that had real Belgian chocolate drizzled on it - unreal.. If you’re looking for fresh Donuts from a brand that really puts an emphasis on quality, look them up, you wont be sorry.. This might seem as barefaced endorsement, it is important to note that I personally don’t eat donuts, but loved these.. Call and order some delivered to your office..

Thoughts:

KDD gold ice cream (vanilla ice cream cone with chocolate and nuts) is the holy grail of gold ice creams, Danish dairy wide -BDD you’ve lost your appeal. I was amazed really.. Lorenzo’s pies are overrated, come to Bahrain and try Luigi’s and then decide – ummhmm.. Sandstorms there are pretty nasty, and when I mean nasty all that was left was me exhaling dust rings.. They take caffeine to another level – if you think your coffee consumption is bad, head to Kuwait and you’ll see real caffeine consumption.. Kuwait Airways have the most inept staff I’ve ever seen, why have a self-check in machine if there’s no one to show you how to use it? And you guys need to work on your attitude… Villa Moda is a seriously beautiful department store, hats off..

It’s always fantastic seeing your old posse, and when your conversations involve talking shop, music, future directions, ex-girlfriends, media, and robot genatilia, you can be sure it’s a good time..

A ginormous thanks for the great time to my old friends and a nice to meet you to my new friends in Kuwait.. except you wehbee, I still hate you..

Sawadee Siam

Back to Asia we ventured into Siam for encounters and adventures with the Phuketians and Bangkokers. Looking for some sun, sand, sea and the sound of sweet love – we characterized laissez faire on Phuket. While we found the dining, metro, one off shopping, hustle and bustle you’ll need from a big city in Bankgkok. Another page from our book of adventures..

Capping off “Island Tour 2006”, Phuket was all about relaxation, a just right new years celebration, great fun with Joony and fun with friends. There is nothing finer than the lackadaisical routine of island nonchalance, and when you slip right into it, you really slip right into it. We woke up, shuffled in for breakfast, flipflopped back to the room, hit the beach, took a dip in the Andaman sea, read, drank rose in the sunshine, hung out under the parasols snickering at the baking French and Swedes, ate lunch barefoot, ogled the sex tourists and wondered with grief, lounged with afternoon rays at the pool, napped, watched fake dvds, dinner, and slept in amongst other things. lather rinse repeat – marvelous.

Unable to wheedle our way into an illegal fight with buckets of broken glass to cover your fists, we settled for ringside tickets at the Ratchadamnern boxing stadium for a big night of Muy Thai. Our fashionably late arrival into the 3^rd fight was timed perfectly as the punters and touts walked in with us setting the stage for an electrifying evening. The first round would start off easy, a couple of jabs with some kicks here and there. With the sound of the bell signaling the end of the round, the grumble began to rumble from the crowds as they located the bookies to start placing bets. As the fight roared up in intensity, every break pushed the gambling up a notch with hands waving and money floating its way down to the floor. It’s so easy to start getting carried away with the crowd with their taunts and cheers as they have a sound for every different strike, lots of fun.. After a couple of Singhas, a TKO, some hunger pangs, a couple of really good fights and much involvement from the crowd, we decide to head back home but not before being mildly threatened by a cabdriver over a “fare haggle”, meter my ass..

A craving for big city public transportation was put to the test as we followed a magazine clipping to the Wang Lang market – think a much smaller Camden market but much less touristy and with much more strange food stalls. We decided to find something a little more off the beaten path than the famous markets, and we really did find "off the beaten path". Making a habit out of this sore thumb sticking out policy, we took the BTS sky train (which is unbelievably easy to use) to the last stop, got on the pier, boarded a longboat river taxi and traversed across the muddy waters to the other side for some very hardcore local yokel market strolling. The two of us, aimlessly wandering around a place where no one speaks English, the only foreigners in sight, and following ambiguous directions off a magazine clipping searching for unbelievably cool vintage sneakers, all in all, interesting excursion. Picking up some cool t-shirts, Joony comes out the winner, I fared well with the architect turned t-shirter, so we chalked up the experience and made our trek back.

You’ll never go hungry in Bangkok. A major aspect of the Thai culture that really kept the hustle and bustle going is how well and active their retail economy operates, and I’m not talking about the tourists. I have never been to a city where the local community is so keen on shopping and eating out that you see shops and food stalls everywhere you look. Everyone shops, and they do it till they drop - we couldn’t keep up and applauded their constitution. The other interesting observation about street food in thailand, it's stick oriented. you have your chicken, meat, or pork sates on a stick; you then have your fruit on a stick, your sausages on a stick; candy on a stick, the list just goes on and on..

What i learned: the disco tuktuks with the light and sound systems are very very cool - too bad we didn't get to ride one, it just never rolled by. chin pet medai (spelled phonetically) "hot and spicy makes me cry"- useful in someplaces but i have come to the conclusions that Thai cooks are as guarded over their chilis as French cooks are with butter. Muslim tourists in a hot beach climate: him, dressed in shorts & tank top; her, covered from head to toe looking uncomfortable in the humidity - there's something wrong there right? or is just me? After a while, i got tired of eating the local food, thank god Italians travel all over the world setting up restaurants and pizzerias everywhere, bless them..

An ode to companionship: breakfast orders always complimenting mine, damsel in distress when it came to opening jars, the end all be all of image consulting, hater of Chablis, getting the nod from random strollers, extra basil on her margarita, indirect sunlight worshipping, hopeless haggler, wandering photographer, much admired and appreciated patience, beautiful beautiful hair, polka dotted, enchanting and loving woman.

It began in Africa

While sipping on a Ramadany after futoor pick me up, a mutual thought stemming from a brainstorming conversation, leading to a communal conclusion on our destination: Zanzibar it shall be.. We needed some adventure, we needed some spice, and I needed to get jabbed a couple of times in the arm to fight off yellow fever, meningitis, and the flu… the following excerpts of wisdom are what I brought back with me..


Touching down in Dar es Salaam airport, our goal was to get our visas, get though passport control, pull our luggage, pay for and catch our connecting flight all within a somewhat reasonable time frame. I was a little hesitant we’d be able to pull all this off, and in hindsight, my anxiety was warranted. After an exhaustive and confusing muddle getting our visas, we arrive at the transfer desk only to find out that we have been barred from making our flight. Thinking I’ll use some of my college education and airline email confirmation logic, I am soon standing outside the window talking to an apathetic airline sales rep who’d rather tear off the appendages of her dot matrix printout than listen to me. My pleading and attempts to push my normally well-received US dollars through the window slot was of no use. The combination of flashing US dollars and disheartening situation was drawing attention from some very unwanted tick-like conmen. One of these enterprising peddling gentlemen interrupts my negotiations to inform me that we will not make this flight, but,, he knows of another flight at another airport which is taking off very soon,, but,, we don’t have much time and that me and my very beautiful companion needed to follow and leave with him.. Angrily brushing the papasi off, I find out that we can take a flight in 3 hours and resign myself to waiting it out in the Flamingo Café at the airport. 3 Kilimanjaro beers later, I accept my defeat and wait for my flight, cursing my luck. Arriving in Zanzibar, we are exhausted and just looking to get to our hotel, flirting with rain once more, our car barely makes it to our destination. She tells me that after keeping her cool the entire time, if the car broke down on that dusty road in the middle of the night on the way to the hotel, she would’ve completely lost it. I finally learn to chill the fuck out and just enjoy my time - hakuna matata, it really means no worries..



Public figures and taking coffee.. Although Zanzibar is much better off than other parts of Africa, they still take coffee there (gifts, bribes, bakhsheesh).. people need to survive, and anyplace you can find it you take it.. a lesson quickly learned is that you will hemorrhage cash for the stupidest of reasons, and sometimes you’ll hate the way it’s sucked out of you (not the fact that it’s sucked out, the way).. Qassim, our guide, and local public figure brings a flask of coffee with him on his drives for when he gets stopped by the police – when they ask to sit down for some coffee he can always offer them a cup..


I never thought I was a Safari kinda guy, turns out I am.. Being in an environment in which there are so many incredible animals moving around really picks at your curiosity.. whether it was carefully trying not to make eye contact with the primates jumping about on my walk to get some breakfast, the lizards and salamanders on my stroll down to the beach, incredible white crabs on the beach, barracudas freaking the schools of fish out, or the bountiful urchins and lovely starfish, I was fascinated by all the creatures that came across my way.. There was something very strange about being right next to a bunch of monkeys and realizing that there is no cage, there is no one to help you out, and that I am the one invading their space. Coming from an arid climate, that’s somewhat of a concrete jungle, you don’t really see much for animals except alley cats, stray dogs, and some desert geckos. Dreamt about elephants duking it out, she discussed the weirdness of giraffes as animals. Need to satisfy this new felt hunger for a Safari.. it could happen to you too..


In a place where so much pain has been felt, people still find the time to smile.. Zanzibar was the trade port of East Africa, with traffic in, spices, ivory and humans. The Europeans may have pillaged the western coast of Africa for slaves, but it was the Arabs that did East Africa in. Recounting the horror stories would truly shake you to your core, with the air about the cells and chains hanging heavy on your conscience… The atrocities were shameful with painful scars as reminders of a painful past, yet amidst all this traumatizing history, the people have moved on and have chosen to educate rather than castigate about their past. Another eye opener was the devastating effect AIDS has had on people’s lives and touching acts of humanity.. A six year old girl orphaned because of the disease and her adoption by a family that could afford to give her a loving household but not much else.. Really makes our life of lattes and internet connections seem like a meaningless sack of horseshit..


Although we had to eventually return to our lives, it was on Zanzibar that we purposefully left our hearts. With a promise to return, Africa remains where it all began..

terima kasih

After an extensive and lonely sojourn from you, I’ve come back from my vacation reinvigorated and ready to write again.. On my travels with a tulip, we encountered many new faces, familiar faces and each other’s faces. The stories, events, meals, conversations, and experiences were fantastic. We got to see so much, do so much, and still find time to party the right parties.. Just some thoughts scribbled down..


“Malaria’s not so bad” he tells me, in a “tumbler with some ice cubes, soda and a squeeze of lime.” I hesitantly laugh while my fingers continue to scratch away at the welts pussing mosquito puss from my skin. I have been in Bali for three days and have already invited the burgeoning insect populace to feast on my blood, skin, scent, whatever it is those bastards find so appealing in me.. The tulip accompanying me swears in her sweet sounding language, cursing their antennas, legs, pincers and whatever makes them, them.. Rubbing me down in Citronella she consoles me to brave the tropical air and enjoy my time.. I reign in my anxiety, polish off the glass of ethyl and ice, bid our conversation goodbye and thank modern medicine for the soothing effects of anti-anxiety medication.



Although pleased with our neighborhood eateries and nightlife, we take a shabby recommendation from a shabby cab driver, and saunter over to inspect the harassing vendors, taxi drivers, questionable warungs, pushers and pimps by Kuta beach.. The economy is recovering from the recent tragic events but the numbers are still hurting – a fact evident in the aggressiveness of the vendors we stroll by.. “psst hey, somesit?” we continue to walk, a little shocked at how beautiful parts of this island are and how crowded and toursitically depressing this bit is.. You do what you have to do, and if it’s roping in the dumb tourists and making 5 times profit on a sale, then so be it. “Yes?? Transport? Taxi? Somesit?” what the hell is he saying? Ibu heads into stores and by touch distinguishes the cotton sarongs from the blends, but our bargaining skills have not yet developed. “Hello you buy? Sarong? T-shirt? Dvd? You come you look you buy, I give very special price, you come, you handsome, you come and look, you buy pretty girl pretty sarong, only 250 thousand rupiah”. Getting frustrated by the congested streets we soldier on looking for something to attract our eyes.. “heycoolguy, somesit?” I stop and turn, what the hell is he saying? Finally it dawns upon me, this shady looking fellow is trying to see if I’d like to procure some (“some shit”) in this dark and dodgy alley he’s directing me to.. Politely turning down his offer i march on. We were not happy being lumped in with the same category of tourists snapping their photos standing on streets and getting eyed by the local sellers – however, we never once felt our safety being compromised in any way or form.. Thankfully, finding a recognizable internationally branded star bucks did make the trip worthwhile; Gulping our afternoon pickmeups in our cab ride back, we were very pleased with our quaint and hip Seminyak.



After our flirtations with a Batik factory, stalls of “justloooking,” shot in the dark lunches, and feastings on the strangest of nuts - crackers – seeds – legumes - drupes and capsules, we make our way to the mountain village of Sidemen. The drive moved us away from the more developed towns through little townships and then farm country. Through the windiest of roads, stomach curling ups and downs and narrow paths Mr. Putu gets us to our little hotel, a charming little project blessed with breathtaking views of the valley, rice paddies, the mountains and the sea on a clear day. I lament the lack of air conditioning or fan in our room, worry continuously over the abundance of insects in here and yet still enjoy the view, the fresh air and where I am. Our traveling companions (2 New Yorkers harboring the same apprehensions about insect bites as me), ibu and myself embark on a trek with a guide through the rice paddies in which I get my entire foot stuck in a muddy paddy. Trying not to think on what I just stepped in, the guide led me down to the river where I washed my foot… Coming from an arid climate, it felt good standing on some rocks, submerging my foot in the rushing waters of the Unda river. The whole experience just reminded me of a lot of different scenarios of washing by the river, mainly a story my dad used to tell us when we were kids. Waking up the morning after a couple of bintangs, a vegetarian dinner and a whole lot of mosquito coil smoke filling the room felt even groggier than your traditional hangover – mosquito coil smoke is tough on the noggin.



Traveling with a photographer was an experience and a lesson.. Ibu whipped out her 8 mega-pixel monster and shoved it in the faces of the locals happily snapping away. In an attempt to ease my fears, she would contest “They are extremely camera friendly, don’t worry” to which my reply would be molded around a possible scenario of some very agrarian locals living in the most basic of huts on a rice paddy wielding their machetes because some foreigner got in their faces.. Breaking away from our hike I would have to trek back and onto someone’s farm while she stood their taking national geographic photos of farmers going about their day.. or when I’d have to give the school teacher an apologetic nod because ibu was being mobbed by all these school kids who wanted their photo taken “HELLO!!PHOTO!!” Although I did share some of the photo taking duties, I was constantly reprimanded for my misuse of light.. All that aside, without her incessant searching for the perfect picture or possible future project, I don’t think I would’ve come home with so many great shots, and for the record, I did take some nice pictures – especially the ruins at the Ujung palace – I manipulated the light and bitch slapped it into the perfect shot...



I became the proud father of two frogs that lived in our outdoor bathroom.. I even named them, Hamzah and Mamdooh.. We had such a great time together, greeting me every time I went to take a leak or shower, those two swimming around, croaking about – I even sang to them while I took a shower and for the most part they liked my voice. Then when the weekend came around I cut them some slack and extended their curfew, but Hamza never came home, I started getting really worried by Saturday evening.. Then come Sunday morning and Mamdooh was nowhere to be seen either, his favorite spot was bare.. Let me tell you, trying to raise two frogs right is a full time job.. you do your best, then one day you wake up and find out that they never came home from the night before probably out drinking with the frogs from the cale villa, I never liked that bunch to begin with. I knew they would eventually outgrow the peeing on the lillypads and tadpole insecurities, but it was just so sudden, just so sudden,,, sigh..


snippets: Learning the requisite lingo before you go really helps with the locals, don’t worry if you don’t remember much, end of the day, we all speak the same language: futbol. The best way to eat strange fruit is to have a local show you how to cut it up and what to eat and what not to eat. The best way to overcome the shyness of traveling with someone you’re intimately involved with but haven’t really crossed that line, you both need to experience a little Bali Belly together. You should never feel too bad about wanting something familiar while you’re on holiday, especially if it’s from an overpriced global coffee chain. When you learn how to say I don’t want chili in my food in the local language, they actually listen (“Saya Tidak Mau Cabe”), most of the time.

all in all, a wonderful time

Adventures in Bremen, Maine

Whitmore Cottage
After three and a half hours driving up 95 North through to Route 1 Coastal and finally ending up somewhere in the mid-coast region, we get to Damariscotta, the last brush with civilization before we head up to our little getaway by the sea. Stopping off at the local supermarket, we cruise down the aisles planning out meals for the next 5 days or so – Leah grabs a ticket at the deli section, while I start getting overwhelmed by the amount of fruits and vegetables in front of me. Burgers, Steak, Chicken, Kielbasa (thank you Poland), Cereal, Eggs, Milk, Cheese, Burger buns, Tomatoes, Lettuce, Cola, pancake mix, Juice, Ice Cream (best enjoyed in the summer), the list just keeps on growing... Just before we get to the register, a quick mental note of our provisions is taken – do we need anything else? Babe, it's a 15-20 minute drive back to the supermarket – I am not driving back to fetch you anything. The closest thing you‘d remotely consider commercial civilization is a 15 minute trip away (one way) - but fresh lobster and clams, 2 minutes, tops… The barcode scanner is exhausted at checkout, money is exchanged, and back on the road to our final stop: the video store – Spending your holiday in a cottage on the coast in the middle of "no one can hear you scream" country, means that you do need something to keep you busy at night…

I've been doing the trip up to Whitmore Cottage with Leah for 4 years now.. A place that once seemed so foreign and amusingly rural is now like a dream-home to me, a getaway… The Cottage has been in her family almost 100 years & has come a long way since the days of the outhouse and eyes in the darkness... This is everything you'd picture a quaint cottage to be, wooden beams, creaky floorboards, fireplace, a lot of forest, and a path leading to a dock that leads to the Atlantic Ocean.

I don't even know where to begin… On a dirt country road that looks like a picture from a Credence Clearwater Revival vinyl album cover, your first reaction when you pull up to the cottage is "I am so done with being cooped up in a car" – then it's soon switched for a smile and a sense of really being on holiday - a place where you can do anything and nothing, you decide… the lobster traps set out at the entrance, the barrel filled with impatience (flowers, I shit you not) – the gas grill: my territory. A screened in porch with rocking chairs facing a path that leads to the ocean, a hammock for lounging around and enjoying the cool sea air while you read or just think…

Inside: Imagine an isolated house with enough things to keep you amused indoors for all sorts of people and all sorts of groups of people and all sorts of bad weather days (very important). Cards, Backgammon, Chess, Board Games, Movies, all types of Puzzles, Books Books and more Books - Leah‘s Granny has read more books than anyone I‘ve ever met, her entire library is spread over 3 delightful abodes - with a book for anyone at anytime (I‘m currently reading Noble House by James Clavell, see what I mean?)… The antiques present are true representations of American history: different tools and instruments giving you a visual understanding of the chronological order of life in America. Flags, signs, rugs, light fixtures, pictures, glass eye washes, heated bed warmers, all sorts of things that that instill the history, feelings and everyday life of America. Of how young it is compared to Europe, or different it is from the rest of the world - but still unbelievably awing..

Running down the path through the brush to your own personal dock and link to the sea when you first get there is awesome, often leaving you lightheaded… your lungs haven't enjoyed air this clean in so long that your brain does a little jiggle cause the oxygen is so good... the water, I don't have to tell you is cold, very very cold - It‘s the Atlantic Ocean, what do you expect… Dive in and swim back to the dock to let your heart get over the shock of that freezing water.. and then dive in again. Cannonballs and Jacknifes into the water work just as well... Talk about jumpstarting your heart.. you can feel the icy cold water keep your lungs fresh and your heart pounding (but a very healthy pounding)… There’s a little dingy with a little-engine-that-can and would probably just take you to the islands out in the distance where you can see the Puffins. 3 tiny uninhabited islands within rowing distance, with one of them home to an old wooden fort with rope ladders and all.. Great Pirate Rumbistifications relived once more.

Year after year, Leah and I have trekked up from Boston to enjoy our solitude in this beautiful place. strolls in different coastal towns - dinner on the dock with the sunset - getting sick from too much butter on our lobsters - enjoying your coffee on the porch and enjoying the Ocean view - heading to the beach - cooking our meals together - sun worshipping on the dock - Moody’s Diner - getting pushed into the water - watching the dog go nuts in the open - chain-sawing the hell out of an old picnic table - fishing - tin roofs and rainy days - just a place to be alone together… heavenly…

Country Folk Versus City Folk
People’s attitudes are completely different in the country… There’s a sense of trust and honor… Take my German Pie Lady for example.. She lives on Waldoboro Road and has a little bake stand outside her house where she has homemade pies, cakes, breads, cookies, and fresh eggs for sale everyday - and there’s no cashier, no till, no one to make sure you‘re paying the right amount, just a slot for you to put your money in and it’s all based on the honor system… I thought this was the most incredible thing I had ever seen, well until someone pointed out that her husband could very well be waiting in the window chugging his 6 pack and loading his shotgun to shoot anyone who didn‘t pay… That said, it’s thanks to my German Pie Lady that I’ve gotten turned on Blueberry Pie - in a very serious fatal attraction kind of way… thank you German Pie Lady…

Those extremely rough and tough lobster fishermen and Haggard-y Sea Captains keep excellent conversation over a single malt or a pint of whatevers yer pouring at the local. The people here are much friendlier than i had expected..

Wilderness Survival Instincts
Whatever skills or talents you have acquired to survive an urban jungle are worthless in the country… A bat once managed to escape into the house through the rafters and made its way for my bushy bird’s nest hair… After a quick panic attack and images of the bat going straight for my neck, Leah and I came up with an elaborate scheme involving a piece of string, a bowling ball, a match, a bottle rocket, a fisherman‘s hat, a paper bag, some cheese, and a shotgun.. Just before our far fetched plan was executed, she gets an anxiety attack and I’m left in the room with a bat flying circles around my head. I did what any neurotic city person would have done: I grabbed whatever resembled a racket and tried to whack the bat through the sliding doors and out of the cottage - returning service style… The attempt worked and the bat was sent back to the wilderness without receiving a single whack - directed him out quite peacefully.. (After our incident, a bat house was put up and we’ve had no problems since)…

You’ve got to be on your toes when you‘re not in your element: quickly learning to distinguish Poison Ivy from the herb garden variety - learning how to start up a gas grill with nothing but a piece of twig, and 4 gallons of paint thinner - learning it is always best to check with the authorities if it's red tide and if it’s ok to cook n eat the mussels that just wash up on your shore - how to properly apply and reapply insect repellent..

I'm just saying that there's a lot you can learn from mother nature - unfortunately, a lot of it happens through trial and error - unless you were a boyscout or even remembered anything about being a boyscout...

Meeting all things that move
The beauty of putting yourself in a different environment, you get to meet the many other animals that live with you… It’s like living in your own little nature reserve with all sorts of different birds, beavers at the pond, a red tail fox, snapping turtles, turkeys, dragonflies, insects, spiders, and all sorts of creepy crawlies, dogs, bats, fish, and humming birds…

meeting a hummingbird face to face is a pretty cool experience… because they flap their wings so quickly they can hover right across from you, letting you get a really good look at them in mid-air.. They just come out of nowhere, surprising you and making it an encounter where you feel the need to introduce yourself and say something like: “hello, my name is banzo.” (does it ever make sense?).

Insects and me do not get along… I really don’t know why, it’s not like I want to kill them, but they always come to bite me… and I really don’t know what it is with my blood, maybe it tastes like a ‘95 Valandraud Saint-Emilion, but these bugs just get a kick out of me plasma.. It’s a constant battle with the insect repellent - I’ve tried everything, I’ve been made invisible to bugs, made impervious to bug bites, unappealing to them, tried to keep them off with super quiet sonic waves, I've even considered taking the juice from dead bugs and rubbing it all over my body: warding them off as a walking cemetary for bugs - but I still manage to get at least 3-5 bites.. I wouldn’t mind the bites if they didn’t swell up into little welts… one time outside, I was grilling up some meat and exposing my feet wearing flip flops - I felt a little bite on my toe and just shrugged it off in a “I feel no pain“ manly fashion - three hours later, the venom from the spider bite makes my big toe swell up to the size of a mini kiwi - ridiculous - I couldn’t get my foot into my sneaker till the swelling came down…


In Closing..
Pulling yourself out of civilization for a while - spending time with your loved one but still enjoying solitude and peace is a real vacation… After spending all this time in beautiful and tranquil Maine - it’s time to rock the city…

all my blogs are packed, I'm ready to go

me and the blog are takin' a holiday.. 5 weeks of absolutely nothing....
stay tuned for updates...

I'll try to post regularly ... hell, I don't think I ever posted regularly..

don't you hate the recirculated air on airplanes? makes you feel like your skin was getting exposed to everyone's germs... think of all the airborne bacteria floating around... sheeeeeaaaaat... why do all airport toilets stink?

hamama noody noody - the effect of a double jw black on the rocks with soda... can't believe my flight got delayed....

Ptown, Massachusetts

A fishing village comprising of Portuguese immigrants, a rest stop for Pirates, a famous art colony with it’s picturesque landscapes, and today’s Gay summer capital of America. Located at the tip of Cape Code in Massachusetts, Provincetown retains its place as a major part of American history – from every single aspect…

You’re probably wondering why the hell is he writing about a gay town? Well let me tell you, I have a close relationship with this gay town starting off with a trip down with my family many years ago and continuing almost every summer till I left to come back here… Vacationing one summer with my family, we ended up on Massachusetts’ summer getaway: Cape Cod… This is just a beautiful cape that extends into the Atlantic Ocean, filled with beach towns, summer life, ice cream parlors, just like it is in the movies… You’ve got little cottages spread out, the Kennedy’s and their summer compound in Hyannis, antiquing expeditions that could go on for days, mouthwatering seafood, sand dunes, beaches, and that coastal region feel to the place. The Cape has its year round inhabitants, but the summer months is when the seasonal dwellers come, businesses thrive off tourists, and life is busy… Anyways, back to my story: Bahraini family on Cape Cod, sticking out like a sore thumb, mom’s busy visiting antique stores, buying woman’s suffrage plates and memorabilia (you rock mami)… My dad’s checking out artwork, antiques and pocket watches to add to his collection. And there we were: 4 kids ranging from grade school to college student, just enjoying being on holiday… Asking around, some tourist center tells us we need to check out Provincetown, so we pile up into our rented van (I told you we stuck out like a sore thumb) and off we go… driving up to Ptown, you can actually see the coastline and get a feel of the “map view” of the place, sand dunes and little cottages adorning the coastline. Driving up to a public parking lot, we encounter two men holding hands and strolling by.. My mother, being the slightly traditional person she is, and for being a Bahraini woman never to have visited gaytown USA, wonders why they’re holding hands (Mind you, this is all happening sometime in the very early 90s – very early, when homosexuality wasn’t as publicly tolerated as it is now)… My brother then reassures her that “this is America, it’s not Bahrain – you will see men acting affectionate towards each other, it’s normal”… We park the car, and start making our way to the town center… Along the walk, we encountered more men holding hands, women holding hands, groups of people together, men wearing sarongs coming from the beach, kisses being exchanged… We apprehensively made our way to the town center, cursing the tourist center guide that recommended Ptown to us...

The cozy feel of Commercial street is unrivalled, small narrow streets with shops of all kinds with people walking in and out of trendy designer shops, galleries, fetish-o-ramas, bakeries, everything… We soon find out that not only are we sticking out like sore thumbs, we’re a minority in a minority’s safe haven.. Arab family in a Gay town? The next 30 minutes of lost wanderings were filled with moments of “What the hell are we doing here? Why are those two men kissing? SO MANY GAY PEOPLE! Is that a man or a woman in the evening gown?” After our initial freak out and with a little help from the tourist guidebook, we soon discover we have entered Provincetown, where Gaydom reigns… Not to have wasted an hour in driving up here, my parents decide to tromp along the streets of Ptown and see what all this fuss is about… It wasn’t long before the ‘rents discovered a bunch of starving artists and the wonderful world of extremely beautiful and very affordable artwork… Galleries galore, street performers, weird shops, restaurants, we ended up having the best time a straight family could possibly have… Heading back to our rented holiday abode, my parents made a pledge that they will visit Ptown every year to purchase their paintings, dine at the most delicious restaurants, and be around the insanity and the fun…

Soon after that, every summer we made our way to Boston, my parents would rent a car just to drive 3 hours each way to Provincetown to enjoy their little gay gem in the western hemisphere… We went on whale watches, learned about the pirates, my mother would buy bags and bags of saltwater taffy, walks on the beaches, taking in the quaintness of it all, strolls on their narrow streets, taking pictures of the beautiful cottages, visiting the different monuments… everything… I’m not saying we didn’t see some weird shit, because every single member of my family can tell you of something totally weird they saw in that little town – but it was all about the experience, not about infringing on someone’s personal space or freedom… We all built a lasting relationship with that town, and it really helped us with accepting people for who they are… My parents were so in love with Ptown, that they actually started inviting their friends from Bahrain who were visiting in the area… (Having had a couple of their kids study in Massachusetts, my parents have become seasoned New Englanders, they know where to take you for this and that, shopping, sight seeing, good Vermont Cheddar, everything)… The mistake they made is sometimes insisting on bringing their friends (and sometimes, less open minded friends) with them to Ptown… I don’t have to tell you that it wasn’t that enjoyable…

We weren’t the only people to fall in love with Ptown… Apart from the fact that some of the greatest artists in the 20th century used to hang out there, Khalil Gibran used to party there during the 50s, Al Jafee (a cartoonist from mad magazine) lived there, and so many more that I can’t seem to recollect right now… The year round residents may have totaled a couple of thousand, but during the summer, that town had over 50 thousand residents. This was the Gay capital of the East coast: you had some of the most successful and talented people living in this one little town in the summer… Artists, musicians, chefs, Thespians (got ya), so many people living there every summer… Think about it, the best clothes you wear, the most interesting food you eat, the artwork you admire: the people that made that possible for you to experience have their own little getaway… Now imagine visiting that cultural center. Now imagine that cultural center is a beach town…

The other side to Ptown that I didn’t know if I liked or not was the looks you sometimes got from the gay community… It was like, “Hey you straight asshole, you’ve got the entire world to go stomping around, can’t we have our own space?” My reply to that was, “Fuck you Nancy, I’ve had a relationship with this town too. I’ve seen stores open and shut down over the years, I’ve swam in these waters, I’ve taken pictures and enjoyed these streets, I’ve done your afternoon tea parties that go on till dawn… we’ve made friends with residents only to find out they’ve died of AIDS the following year when we’ve come to visit. You sit here and don’t want discrimination, but now that the tables are turned you have to discriminate?” Sometimes I don’t blame some of them for feeling that way, but that’s not going to stop me from enjoying that place...

For those of you comfortable with your sexuality and are not fazed out by people doing whatever they want to do, I highly recommend Ptown… it’s a wonderful little summer town, with a great vibe rivaling some of the best cities on this planet…

bawston

Here’s what I miss… listening to my pirated digital music while waiting for the bus, T, commuter rail, Fung wah bus. Dennis Dyer and his wonderful liquor store in Watertown. Twin donuts croissant breakfast sandwiches. Walking down mass ave in Central Square and feeling the diversity amongst the MIT students, crack addicts, yuppies and bums. Newbury Street on a pretty day and the witch that roamed the Back Bay. The burbs and the quietness of it all. Walking into a video store and renting any movie that’s out. Saturday hangover lunches at Bottega Fiorentina and their daily specials “Penne Fedora – of course!”. Harvard square and all its nooks and crannies. Leah. Sweating at the door over your fake id. Live music at the Middle East. Being the only Arab at the Field, and drinking de guinessh wit de oirish. Storrow Drive. Complaining about paying a dollar in tolls on the Pike and how they’ve raised the prices. Learning to distinguish the real people from the fake ones, but still loving them all. Trio – only for lulu. Walking from Avalon to Axis to listen to some real music. Reminding Yankees fans that they suck the big one. Live shows at the paradise. Greasy spoons and my artery clogging breakfasts. Getting thanked for holding the door open. The steak at the Franklin café and my desire to be the only straight regular there among all the other south enders. The model café, the world’s greatest dive. The museum of science. Fenway Pahk and the 7th inning stretch. Breaking parking meters with a dime wrapped in paper. The 24hour CVS in Watertown. Taking my time eating my bagel and reading the Sunday paper. Supermarkets and mind boggling wholesale clubs. Sangria, Serrano y mis amigos. Explaining where Bahrain is on the map. Reading the Improper Bostonian for the upcoming events – yes it’s even cooler than timeout. Sunday brunch at the Charles hotel. My quest for the best cheeseburgers in Boston. Wednesday nights at M80 – reserved only for real party animals. Jarritos and steak Quesadillas at Anna’s Taqueria. Waking up at 8AM on a Saturday to watch the English footie. Being the only English footie fan amongst Pats fans. Movie Nazi on Saturday afternoons at the cinema. Real clam chowdah and oyster shots uughh. “Couch patrol” at the Enormous room. Really fast Internet connections. Making friends with all the Arab gas station clerks. Getting the shit kicked out of me for talking my mouth off – and learning to talk less. Bribing my landlord with cigars (thanks J). Becoming a regular at the comic books store and the anime store. Horrible karaoke at Maluken. Learning to grease palms well. Road Trips. Maine and getting sick from too much butter on my lobster. The cape. Driving out to dinner/ club /lounge /bar in shitty shitty weather. After parties in 1008, 303, 711, 275, wherever. Underground, ultrahip t-shirts. The Kebab Factory. Always discovering. Meeting celebrities and realizing that meeting celebrities is such a letdown. Watching my roommate hit on a drag queen and letting him continue until it was almost too late. Falco’s “comatose couches” at 199 Coolidge. Decent driving – compared to here. Knowing the city like the back of my hand. Drinking my chocolate milk in the morning, no matter where I was. Dancing on tables or chilling out at the bar or both – why not. Learning about people and what makes them tick. Opie and Anthony and Whip’em out Wednesdays. Falling in love with Afghani food. Overcoming my fear of snakes as I sent 4 mice to their impending doom. Deep Sea Fishing – and the bar on the boat. South American Accents – Colombians sound the nicest. Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, 4rth of July, and all the other holidays I would have never celebrated. Wiffle ball. Water balloon launchers from my dorm window freshman year. The family of Neighbors I had at Spring Street. Videogames and Kozmo.com while ordering wings at Mohi & D’s place at union. cooking with lulu. Great drives along the river. Shoveling snow and waiting till the car warms up. THE INTENSE COLD… Swearing at the ref in Arabic while watching Italian footie in the north end cafes with the Italianos, and being totally accepted. my sister's morning coffee-run - thanks for always buying me nesquick sis. Knowing the free parking spots in the city. The pizza place between aria and venu, whoa… Great Music… “cold tea” at Ginza in Chinatown after 2AM. Sneaking little nips into the Olson’s residence. Ararat restaurant, and being the only person the “mother” would speak to, it’s cause I was the most polite – I miss their Yalanji. Walking… laying out on the grass at the common on a nice day… walking around Beacon Hill… Curious Liquids before they shutdown… The Dominicans playing their baseball on Sunday in front of Douglas Park. Hustling people for dinner playing fifa on the playstation. Getting invited to nice dinners when someone’s parents are in town. Learning the fine art of turning cup of noodles soup, into a satisfying meal. Baulking at Lulu’s super expensive shampoo and conditioner and stylist – I was happy with hong kong hairplace cut your hair very very good. Buying tobacco from Levitt & Pierce in Harvard Square. Rud d? thai food with Ahmed, and then dealing with the aftermath. Working and learning what it feels like to be independent & loving it. Flyers being passed around. Omar’s sets on the decks. Always getting to pick the wine. Never liking anything from Dunkin Donuts – but still loving it. Falling in love with lulu.

I’m sure there’s more, but I guess this is a decent sum up…