Without Reservations

Because you never know how things are gonna go.

Day before yesterday, Liz and I motored on over to the Indian Consulate to get our visas. In the car on the way over, I formed a specific intent to park in the lot near my bank's row of shiny ATMs, withdraw the visa fees, cross the street to the consulate and drop off said monies and paperwork.

I was so certain that the errand would take just a few minutes, I thought our business could be transacted in less than 32 minutes. That's what I was hoping for, anyway. I only had a quarter and a nickel for the meter.

As it turned out, the universe had other plans. After we pulled into our parking space, I noticed that the signals in the intersection were out, and DPT crews were directing vehicles. A glance indicated that my bank was dark, the parking lot largely empty.

An ample woman who was goose-pimply in her tank top frowned at us when we got out of our car.

"Power's out! They just locked up the Wells Fargo and left, just now!" She squinted down Geary Boulevard, looking generally peeved. "My boyfriend just left me here and drove down to the peninsula, and now I don't know what I'm going to do.

He's at the racetrack. Everything's closed, even the Office Depot or whatever 'cross the street!"

Without being judgemental, I tried to speculate about what she might need from Office Depot.

Liz and I thanked her for the information and hotfooted it across to the consulate, a nondescript building on a residential block near my favorite sushi place.

A security guard directed us to take a number, and herded us out of the service area where the workers were, and into a cramped waiting room where folks in saris, Dockers, turbans and bindis sat glumly watching their children, reading their newspaper, playing with their cell phones. The place was in disrepair, and signs apologized, noting the ongoing renovation.

"I'm going out to get cash," said I, handing Liz my numbered ticket. The consulate wouldn't take checks or credit cards, and we cut it close to their morning closing time when we left the house. If I didn't return before they broke for lunch with our visa fees in hand, we'd have to come back the next day and do it all over again.

Couldn't have that. Liz went over her visa application and sorted her regulation photos. We may have been tardy, but we were hella organized. I'd plotted the house/FedEx Kinko's/consulate route with the help of Google Maps.

I left, walking quickly down Geary, hopeful that the blackout only extended a few blocks. My new Keen sport sandals were a source of great comfort as I hustled down the street, stopping at three! markets that lacked cash dispensers before finding a Cala Foods a few blocks away that showed signs of life.

I withdrew $60 from the machine, then I realized that I couldn't recall whether the $60 was per person, or whether each visa was only $30. I called Liz on her cell, which of course, was out of audio range in the noisy waiting area.

Hoping for the best, I walked back to the consulate, finding that most of the stores along the way were dark, save the farmer's market, which was still doing a bustling business. I stopped in for a moment to see that how clerks weighed produce with a dial scale, and rounded purchases up or down to make simple change in the register.

Back at the consulate, I joined Liz and caught my breath as she reminded me patiently that the visa fee was, indeed, $60 per person. I did my best impression of a person with a stiff upper lip and hustled back out, got more cash, and returned.

Liz had intelligently traded our numbers to others in the waiting room to keep our places in the queue. My number came up and I stepped up to present my forms and passport. The consulate worker, a woman in her forties, looked me up and down. I'd taken off my hat and sunglasses in an effort to mainstream myself.

"You're a writer? Are you going to India to write?" I couldn't tell if she was incredulous or or suspicious.

"I write, but i'm not going to India as a journalist, or to write about it. I mean, no one's paying me -- I'll just have a blog." Silence. "Sorry, a journal on the Internet that my friends can read. We'll add text and photos, and --"

"You'll have to fill out a waiver!" She pushed away from the counter and moved about opening binders and shifting stacks to find the appropriate form. After a bit of conversation with a colleague, she returned with a sixth-generation photocopy of a form which said something to the effect, "I promise not to practice my profession as a writer during my visit to India."

I barely had time to read it, and she took it back as soon as it was signed. She gave me a receipt, letting me know we were to come back to Window 1 at 4 p.m. to retreive our visas.

I thanked her, stepped out of line and waited for Liz by the door. We walked back to the car. The whole time, I craned my neck, stood on tiptoe and squinted to see if we'd gotten a ticket before we got there, as if I could wish it away. We'd definitely exceeded our alotted 32 minutes, but I was hoping DPT was occupied with making sure traffic rules weren't replaced by Darwinstic shenanigans that would call out the KRON News Copter.

My contortions proved successful -- there was no ticket on the car when we arrived. Liz suggested sushi, and I couldn't think of a reason to disagree. I moved the car to a 2-hour zone around the corner, and we enjoyed some quiet time at Nagano Sushi.

I was warming my hands on a mug of green tea when it occurred to me that the Indian government takes me more seriously as a writer than I do. I was enjoying a tempura roll when it occurred to me that I had successfully navigated an unexpected blackout, a lack of funds, and a temporary separation from my travel partner. Our lack of communication caused some stress, but it all had a beginning, middle and end, so we were quite satisfied with ourselves and the nigiri.

"Also," said Liz, swirling her salmon in soy and wasabi, "we now know to always get twice as much cash as we think we might need."

It's all a matter of degrees, I'm starting to see. The "unforseen circumstances" of traffic tie-ups, power outages and unreliable ATMs are things we'll need to be prepared for while travelling. At some point, our luck's bound to run out, and we'll just be at the mercy of happenstance, or whichever middle manager can book us standby, get us a last seating in a busy restaurant, etc.

Luckily, she's charming and motivated, and I can be somewhat persistent when I set my mind to things.

We went back later, stood in line for a half hour, and got our passports back, the visas installed. They're very festive-looking.

The very 1st travel piece I ever wrote.

With an intro like that, you might surmise that this next entry was composed after a special summer vacation before third grade began. Now, that would have been interesting. Until I unearth that gem, we'll have to make do with this piece instead. I wrote this in 1996, so expect a few "404 Not Found" messages if you click through the links. I've grown as a writer, so I'll republish the untouched original here, warts and all.

Eeew. Warts.

The whole thing was a lark, really. I was complaining about the fallow state of my life with a friend, and she came up with a strange suggestion:

"Why don't you go to Las Vegas?"

I hemmed and hawed for all of a moment, and then I realized it was a question worth asking. Why don't I go to Las Vegas? I bought a ticket that would get me there at 9 Sunday evening, and return me before breakfast on Monday.

I flew out on a packed flight from Oakland to McCarran International Airport. As I came out of the jetway, I noticed that many of the other passengers were rushing up the ramp, transformed from weary tourists into Big Shots.

They poured out like coal miners at the end of a Friday shift, luggage light in their hands, fast-stepping to the casino shuttle buses. Before I went to Vegas, I'd never gotten off of an airplane before without seeing people gathered to meet someone. At McCarran, there was no one waiting at the gate, unless you count the passengers waiting to connect to Phoenix.

It sounds corny, but Las Vegas is still a city of dreams. Not the American dream, perhaps, but one more attainable -- loose slots, a $2 steak, and cleavage, cleavage, cleavage. I managed to make eye contact with most of the hostesses, but it's hard not to objectify someone whose breasts are pushed together tighter than the contents of Roseanne's fifth pocket.

Most of the men paid no mind to the women in leotards who hustled drinks -- they were far too engrossed in their next bet to notice a nice set of boobs. Whatever consideration I earned for not leering was quickly replaced with scorn, since I consistently forgot to tip, and that's the sole measure of a man in this town.

The first casino I hit was the Luxor, a 30-story black glass pyramid with a beacon at the top that shoots a column of light into the sky. When the hotel first opened, airline pilots reportedly complained that the light was a major distraction, a complaint that seems to have been swept aside in the name of industry

I started off with quarter slots, ignoring my father's advice to stick to the nickel machines. To win big, you gotta play big. I got four rolls of quarters from a cashier, and scouted the floor for a good machine. I'd never gambled in my life, but I read someplace that the slots most likely to pay off are away from major traffic areas. I located one in a dark corner, the last one in its row.

After pumping in quarters for 30 minutes, I hit the machine for 200 bucks. I quickly traded the coins in for bills, the bills for chips, and I headed over to the blackjack table.

Now, Vingt et Un, as we Continental types call it, is a game of many nuances, none of which I can explain. I was quite nervous for most of the evening, but the card dealers must cope with soulless addicts, newbies like me, and drunken cowboys. Needless to say, the dealers have become very patient. I watched the other players, used my common sense, and before I knew it, I was placing $20 bets at the $5 table.

When I walked across the Strip to the MGM Grand, I was chagrined to discover that their tables were $10 and up. I headed for the slots to muster up some courage. And so it went for the entire evening -- when 21 kicked my ass, I'd cash in my last few chips for some quarters, wait for a sizable payoff, then head back to the blackjack table, full of confidence.

I was on a streak for a while, and it was exhilarating. My dealer, Supatra, was an Indonesian woman filled with infectious good cheer. I'm sure I was a wreck at times, constantly playing the wrong card and wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. I started getting serious looks from one of the pit bosses, but Supatra was like a doctor; she'd seen everything, and nothing could faze her.

After a few hours, I devolved into a Vegas Gambler, cigarette stuck to my lower lip, a drink growing warm in my hand, and all the time, my eyes on the cards. I sure as hell had no system for breaking the bank. I hadn't even bought the two-dollar gambling pamphlet at the airport.

Before I left, I skimmed some gambling FAQs over the Web, and hoped for the best. Imagine my surprise when I looked down at my chips around 2 a.m. and saw that I had nearly $500.

That should have been my cue to split, but you know how gamblers are:

"Just two -- three more hands ..."

"Ah, the house has gotta start losing soon ..."

"I can't leave until I win back the money for Jimmy's orthodontics ..."

Well, that last one wasn't me, but it was sure all over the face of the tool-and-die salesman from Portland.

Heading into the early morning hours, it was clear that Lady Luck had ditched the guy that she came in with, and I was on my own, $200 in the hole. It was more than I'd intended to spend, and for a moment or two, I beat myself up because I didn't put some of my winnings aside.

And then, I shook myself out of it. Everyone tries to be good in Las Vegas, but no one really is. Everyone goes over their limit, drinks too much, overeats at the complimentary shrimp buffet, and yells at their children in Clark County, Nevada.

What made me think that I was above it all? At one point I had had enough chips to pay for this entire junket, and then I lost it. That's right -- I got greedy, and that's exactly what the house was counting on.

I know the Chamber of Commerce wants Vegas to be your family entertainment destination, so consider yourself warned:

Once you've doubled down on 11 and won, you no longer have a family. All that matters to you in the world is a short stack of plastic that desperately wants to be bigger, and it needs your help. Eventually, the back of your neck begins to itch, like you're starting to figure this whole thing out ...

But I had no system, and what's worse, no money. I was depressed and feeling foolish when I found myself standing by the roulette table, the game smart gamblers avoid. I guess it's hard for even the most compulsive person to conjure up a system that beats a spinning wheel. My father warned me away from roulette, advising me that I'd be better off just standing on a street corner, giving away dollar bills with a smile.

Playing $10 bets on red or black, odd or even, I won back nearly half of the money I'd lost. I took my winnings back to the blackjack table, where I recovered the other half. All told, I'd gambled for nine hours straight, spent $220, and won $200. I can't remember when I last had such fun for two bucks and change per hour. You can't even bowl that cheaply anymore.

That's right, America! "Gambling -- your best entertainment bargain!"

The Strip was less populated at 5 in the morning when I hailed a cab, but plenty of people were still going about their business, staring at the cartoon architecture of the Excalibur, or marveling at the mini-Manhattan skyline that comprises the New York New York casino.

At the airport, I was among the last to board the flight. As I milled around the gate, I noticed a stressed-out woman in a wheelchair with two kids.

"Go look for him again," she said wearily. The kids sighed, and went off to look for their errant father as Mom stared at the clock, her watch, then at the jetway. They returned in a few minutes with a sheepish-looking Dad, who looked like he'd pulled this before. Wheelchair Mom just sighed, and rolled herself down the ramp, ignoring his apologies.

On the plane, the passengers who weren't drunk seemed ill at ease, and it wasn't just the turbulence. I was sitting on a plane full of losers. Most of the people leaving Las Vegas didn't have a night like mine, and how many ever would? They'd never know the thrill of winning big, losing big, and then getting some of it back. They would just spend and lose, year after year. I had discovered the new American dream:

I damn near broke even.

Posted by Walter at 09:42 AM |

Packing Light

Light bags — and lighter wallets. We've got all our stuff ready. The essential things, anyhow...

Thing one: Victorinox packs from REI. They're tough, carry-on size, and they convert to regular bags. Mine has wheels, Walter's does not. No doubt one of us will regret our decision.

Thing two: Keen Sandals. Absolutely the most comfortable shoes either of us has ever worn. W has deep-green ones, I have black with red stitching. Or, rather, black with stitching newly colored black with a sharpie. They RULE! We even wore them to the gym in Phoenix this week. I spent 75 minutes on the elliptical and 65 minutes on the treadmill (in the same session) and my feet still felt great.

Thing three: prepaid SIM cards from Telestial to go with our GSM phone. We need our SMS!

Thing four: Lightweight pants from REI and Junonia, respectively. Cuz who wants jeans that won't dry overnight?

Thing five: Advice from India Mike, Rick Steves, our travel tribes and Lonely Planet.

Thing six: Travel insurance from World Nomads.

Add some shirts, underwear, and toiletries — plus assorted electronics — and we're packed.

Hurry, Hurry!

Finally, some post-modern nostalgia that's relevant to the matter at hand.

This dates me, but I've had this bit of fluff from my youth rattling around my head for months now. Might as well get it out of my mind and into yours:

See ya all in Persia, or maybe France.
We could be India or perchance
Be with us in Bangkok make no difference --
Everywhere the action's at
We’re involved with this or that...

Come along now!

If you recall it (without googling, cheaters), feel free to point out your cultural awareness in the comments.

Here, there be dragons -- and a few Lonely Planet guides.

There's an episode of "Absolutely Fabulous" in which the main characters get their addled selves together long enough to plan a weekend in the French countryside.

As I recall it, Edina rushes about theatrically to demonstrate her ability to anticipate every detail, then bolts out the door when the limo driver honks.

She bursts back in 10 seconds later, chattering the mantra, "Tickets, money, passport! Tickets, money, passport." She collects the items and dashes back out the door.

Thankfully, I'm not a hapless sitcom character, but I am a bit concerned about forgetting the elemental as we travel around the world.

"Travel around the world." Now there's a phrase chock-full of expectation, hope and fantasy. The stuff of Jules Verne and Ernest Hemingway.

Jerry Bruckheimer, even.

We haven't discussed it explicitly, but I don't think we'll be running with bulls this time out, racing camels with Bedouin or chewing betel with Hmong villagers, although we will stray off the beaten path. How far off remains to be seen.

Right now, Liz sits beside me comparing travel insurance carriers. The camphone doesn't lie: we have our yellow immunization cards, plane tickets and Eurail passes. We've visited REI to stock up on the basics, then to take advantage of their annual sale, and then again, just to make sure we had everything.

"I love REI," she said sweetly before pausing to add, "and so do -- 1,510 other people." I glanced at her PowerBook to see that she'd literally googled her declaration of affection for a recreational gear co-operative.

She's very enthusiastic, this woman with whom I'll circle the globe.

"Circumnavidate" is the word I coined. It was deemed too cute to stand as the URL for this blog, which is a fair cop. I'd sound like a chirpy twit from LA if I told folks, "hey, check our our travel blog at Circumnavidate.com!" So, we agreed on the current title/URL instead.

Liz is extremely agreeable and validating, however -- without telling me, she recently registered circumnavidate.com, which points back here. Maybe we can pitch it to Fox as a new reality show.

Her thoughtful gesture bodes well for a trip that will include 33,347 miles spent together just aboard aircraft. That distance only accounts for the flight segments between major destinations. We'll travel by train, tuk-tuk, automobile, riverboat, and who knows what other means of conveyance before we're through. For those keeping score at home, the circumference of this particular planet is 24,092 miles.

Here's the touch I like best so far: we don't literally circle the globe until we drive back into San Francisco after visiting my parents in Arizona.

I suspect Sir Francis Drake would pee himself laughing at the thought of me completing our circumnavigation in a rental car, driving home from my parents' with souvenirs, gifts, and surprises mailed to myself from far-flung destinations.

SMS Update - 14:20:57 PST

News from our mobile:
If we were anywhere interesting, you would be reading about it right now. But this is about as long as an SMS post can get.

Tickets! Holy cow, we have tickets!

After easily 30 hours of online and telephone research, I think I really truly found the cheapest itinerary. It's better by far than the airlines' round-the world tickets, since it lets us backtrack like crazy, exceed the usual segment and stopover limits, and stop exactly where we want — without being more expensive. If you're planning travel and want to benefit from my frustration, drop me a line. (Liz @ any domain you see on this page will work.)

So what's the deal, you ask? (Or maybe "who cares — I want funny stories and travel pictures" ... in which case... skip this entry and wait a few weeks.)

Itinerary:

• San Francisco to Bombay, June 5th (via Seoul... what we will do with the Korea Air miles is beyond me)
• Train (and maybe cheap local flights) all over India
• Calcutta to Bangkok (surprisingly cheap for 1k miles) on June 30th
• Bop around Thailand until the 12th
• Leave for Cambodia
• Leave Cambodia for Vietnam July 18th
• Vietnam to Hong Kong July 25th
• Hong Kong to Brussels July 28th (HK is too expensive to stay long.)
• Eurail pass (padded on both ends in Portugal and Benelux).. hopefully we'll get to see a few friends in Europe.
• Lisbon to New York September 7th (cheapest flight, for some reason)
• New York to Montego Bay, Jamaica September 10th (because that's how many free nights we could swing using hotel points)
• Jamaica!
• Montego Bay to Tegucigalpa, Honduras (via Miami) on Sept. 17th.
• Lovely Honduras. Plus hopefully we'll have money left to go to Roatan.
• Tegucigalpa to LAX on September 26th
• A day or so of flopping around Ocean beach in San Diego, plus basic maintenance (hair, nails, whatever) in preparation for...
• The Fabulous Wedding Cruise. No, not ours. My sister's getting married on a 10-day cruise in Mexico.
• After FWC, use frequent-flyer miles or rental car to hop to Phoenix to see Walter's folks.
• October 13 or so... Coast Starlight train back from Southern Cali to San Francisco. By then our fearless house-sitter will have moved on.
• October 16th. Walter's birthday in our fair city.

Wanna meet us anywhere? We're entirely serious. Pick your destination, and come hang out for a few days.