THE BIG SHIT
There I was on a small island in Indonesia.
The island is right where the very point of the arrow is - it doesn't show up well on this map but if I show just the island it gives no context.
It was pretty primitive there. With only one five watt light bulb to light the room (really? Who buys five watt light bulbs) it was twilight all the time inside the room. Sure, it was nice outside but you can only take so much of the great outdoors before feeling 'stabby'.
Not that the outdoors stayed outside. Monkeys enjoyed giving a wake up call early in the morning by jumping up and down on the corrugated steel roof. That will wake you right the hell up.
When you sleep under a mosquito net, the one ancient under powered fan loses most of it's cooling power. After nearly dying from Dengue Fever, I was grateful to sweat myself to sleep under the netting.
While part of me felt that the primitive huts would be best decorated with fire, the other part knew if they were to build them properly I couldn't afford to stay there.
As to exploring the island, you have three choices - rent a motorbike, walk or hire someone to drive you around it. I'd tried a quick test drive atop the motorbike and felt like a clown trying to ride a miniature bike. Not secure. If you wreck it, you pretty much bought it. And the hospital. Hiring someone to take you to see different dilapidated huts with corrugated steel
rooves is pricey so I walked.
The longer I live on a jungle island...
...the more I start to become Colonel Kurtz...
One way had hills and eventually led to a different shitty village. The other way of the one long road island had even larger hills and may have eventually led somewhere else.
For three weeks I walked the same six or seven kilometer round trip, ate a very small lunch, floundered around the ocean then sat in my hut until dinner time. The dinner at Norma's was home style and amazing every time. After dinner, back to my five watt bulb and computer with usually no internet until sleep overcame the slapping of bugs who had made it through the netting.
Obviously, I couldn't wait to leave.
Until a buddy of mine who had invited me to Belgium confirmed the trip I didn't know if I'd be heading west to Europe or sweating it out in Asia.
Will we get to meet the amazing Belgium detective Hercule Poirot? No. He's dead. And fictional.
After getting the word that the trip was indeed on, I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
"I want the guy at my hut at six AM."
"Oh, he don't coming till six thirty."
"If he comes then, he won't find me there because I want to leave at six."
"I call him."
I mistakenly thought this would be the most nerve wracking part of the trip. Oh, the innocence!
There are only two ferries per day off of the island. If you miss one, you need to wait until the afternoon for the next. And that would be after your flight to Kuala Lumpur Malaysia had already left so you'd then miss the flight to Istanbul Turkey.
Because I am paranoid of someone even less competent screwing things up, I like to check things. Turkish Airways had indeed sent me a confirmation e-mail for my ticket but they'd cancelled the payment and my flight without bothering to send an e-mail about that.
And they wouldn't let me buy a new ticket.
Super. Thanks so much.
So pissed.
Kuala Lumpur is a major airline hub so I figured I could go see someone and sort out that mess when I got there since it would be many hours until my flight.
The ferry back to Banda Aceh (Aceh is pronounced 'Ah-cha'. Why isn't it spelled like that? Who the fuck knows.) was smooth and noisy with the locals blasting music and children and smoking incessantly. I would like to note that if women smoke, they do so at home and in private. I'd asked why since the men smoke like they're practicing it for the Olympics. "It is not polite" for a woman to be seen smoking. Wow.
When the ferry docked and I disembarked I heard someone call my name. It was a very clever local who had learned it from me when I first got there weeks ago and somehow remembered it.
This is a clever guy. Of course I will ride on his wildly unsafe tuk tuk to the airport. Note that the tuk tuks here are like motorcycles side car with you a bit higher than the driver. Think 'catapult in case of accident'.
I can fly! I can fly! I can (splat)!
"How much to the airport?"
"How much you want to pay me?"
"Eighty!"
(Looking hurt) "Hundred!"
"OK."
I knew the price was a hundred. Bargaining skill.
Once in the Banda Aceh airport, I discovered they were implementing what I call a 'sting in the tail' for departing travelers - a 100,000 IDR 'airport tax'. Fortunately, I'd purchased my ticket before. For one time travelers, these shenanigans are always a double fuck. You'd carefully gotten rid of your local currency only to be told you need more to leave. In addition to getting fucked by the airport, you can again get fucked by the currency exchange people.
There was no Turkish Airways office in this tiny airport.
They did have a restaurant that sold spaghetti. Since I'd not eaten all day, I decided on a small meal to tide me over until the major airport of Kuala Lumpur and their expensive American fast food. Remember, I'd been eating nothing but healthy Indonesian food for weeks and that might kill an American.
Took a picture because they gave you so little. Sure, it was only 25,000 IDR but four fork fulls (say that five times fast) does not a meal make. Had another after this one.
The only thing the airport had in abundance was brief power outages. Thinking those might not be so great for the whole 'airport thing'. Quite a professional confidence booster.
After several hours of waiting, the plane eventually managed to fly me to Kuala Lumpur.
Kuala Lumpur (AKA "KL") is a major hub. If you come to this part of the world, you will probably either be flying into KL or Bangkok.
Most airports have easy to find ticket counters staffed with happy (well, not entirely miserable) people who can fix you up with tickets.
Not KL.
Their offices are hidden upstairs behind the food court and only staffed sometimes. Naturally, Turkish Airlines wasn't when I got there.
So I went to find my American fast food injection. Wendy's isn't nearly as good as back in the USA so I went for Burger King and was content.
Most people eat fast food because "you know what you're getting". And that tells you everything you need to know about how adventurous most people actually are.
I ate it because I really, really, really wanted some dead cow without bits of jagged bones in it.
While waiting for Turkish Airways office to maybe open, I went to check out two other airlines who go to Istanbul - Malaysian Air and Emirates Airways. Their prices were a bit more than the $460 of Turkish Airways weighing in at an amazing $750 and $1000 respectively. Holy shit.
Despite having been told that it would be hours until Turkish Airways office maybe opened, I went back there to camp out. Worse come to worse, they might find me dead just like Kenny from South Park.
"I don't want to go into too much detail but... you choke yourself with a belt around your neck while masturbating dressed up like Batman or something, then you pass out from lack of air and apparently it makes your orgasm super awesome." - South Park
But surprise! They were actually in!
After explaining my problem and showing them the confirmation I'd been e-mailed, they said they could fix it. I gave them my credit card and discovered they (and the website) don't accept debit cards.
What the ever loving fuck.
This is the first place I've ever run in to that doesn't treat a debit card exactly the same as a credit card!
The ATM gave me the majority of the money but of course not enough.
So I got to dig into my emergency cash.
Note that neither Captain Jack Sparrow nor a treasure chest were in my emergency cash. Not much treasure either.
After going downstairs to a bank and playing the "Can I exchange this bank note here" and "Sir, we do not nor do I even know what country that is from" game I managed to scrape together enough cash into Turkish Lira to go back and buy the ticket. The price had gone up by nineteen dollars but I just put that down in my mind as a very small reasonable bribe and a lot cheaper than the other airlines.
Everything that day was a lot harder than normal. Not just the big stuff but strange little things too.
Like when the escalator I was on stopped leaving me halfway up. "Great, now I'm stuck here!" Oh, the looks I get when I say these things.
The Turkish Airlines flight was the best one yet. By requesting it, I got the escape hatch seat (no extra charge) and nobody was sitting next to me. Which is probably pretty good for them because I was pretty damned ripe by then with the stink of Asia sweat still on me.
Just that dirty.
After an eleven hour flight, Istanbul.
Wow, does this picture make it look super awesome. I've not yet found the stuff I like there.
When you are tired, you make stupid mistakes. Like using an ATM that doesn't have an open bank attached to it. Which ate my mutherfucking card.
The culprit. Fuck ING Bank. Fuck it right in it's goat ass.
Whenever I talk to other travelers and the subject of plastic comes up, I always tell them "The more you have, the better." When they tell me "One is enough for me!" I hope they don't run into this situation.
Of course I need to call ING Bank but I have no Turkish sim card. Nor money to buy one. Because the fucking machine ate my card. And you really don't want to buy a card for a country you will be in for a few hours.
The information desk (isn't) was of no real help. "Go to the post office in the airport. They have a phone you can use." And perhaps it will magically translate the automated menu as well. Because you know they don't have a 'Press 2 for English' option.
So I went to a different bank that I should have used the card at and talked to the lady. She was very kind and helpful and called the evil ING Bank for me, navigating through their unhelpful automated call response blockades.
She discovered that it wasn't a matter of simply sending a technician out to unlock the machine, check my ID and return my card. Nope! They wanted me to contact my bank (Paypal) and have them send paper work to them. They will then eventually maybe give back my card.
After hearing that load of shit, I really really wanted a crowbar.
Damned crowbar store.
Then, I wondered 'how could this possibly get worse?'
And that's when the zipper popped right off my bag. I shit you not.
Note that I'm not telling you all this to say 'woe is me'. But when you are tired - as you often are while in transit - you do stupid shit. And sometimes, the universe just feels like taking a big shit on you.
I hate drama but suppose it does make for a better blog.
After exchanging yet more of my emergency money with the nice helpful lady (she is happy) I sought out the metro rail system.
This is a great thing. It hooks right up to the airport, only costs 4 TRY (Turkish Lira) to use and allows you to bypass all of the taxi drivers.
These guys have such a bad reputation that entire articles are written about their evil.
The train was easy to use, fast and clean. Fuck the taxis. If you don't have coins, the machine takes a 5 TRY note. It gives you 1 TRY change and a plastic token you use to get past the barricade. There are even route maps inside the car and the destinations given in both Turkish and English.
Otogar is the main bus station in Turkey. It is pretty much a town within Istanbul. Big, dirty, crowded.
Picture taken by some slick professional. Who seems very tall.
Fortunately, I knew to seek out Metro Bus. They have an excellent reputation, decent buses and are arguably the cheapest. They have two offices and I made the mistake of going to the smaller one. Which gave me a ticket and sent me to the larger one where the bus would go anyway. The offices are only fifty meters or so apart but apparently the company is doing really well.
The larger place also has a phone charger which is great because the battery goes down really fast. Asia makes shitty batteries. I have a small battery charger but it was out of juice. Again, Asia - shitty batteries.
So after my eleven hour flight, I got to wait a couple more hours for the six (actually turned out to be eight or so) hour bus ride.
I used the bus wifi (it kind of worked, I was happy) to tell Georgi (my contact in Bulgaria and grandson of the owner of the apartment) all that had happened.
Felt so sorry for the old guy who sat next to me for the entire bus ride. I stank. Bad. Close to thirty hours of non stop travel after leaving the sweat capital of the world.
In good news, I left a place where the temperature was in the mid thirties and went to a place where it might get up to the low twenties.
CELSIUS FOR DUMMIES
You know why Americans dislike Celsius? Because they are always trying to convert. Remember, "Math is the devil, Bobby." No, I don't know who Bobby is. That's just the saying.
C What it actually means
0 You are really cold. Water freezes at this temperature and you are mostly water. Get out!
10 It is chilly. If there is wind, it gets really cold.
20 It is warm enough for a t-shirt. Hence, for Logan, the ideal temperature is somewhere between
ten and twenty, closer to twenty.
30 You are sweating balls. In SE Asia the locals are complaining about how hot it is.
40 You are in a desert. Not the edible kind - that is a 'dessert'. This is the one where shit dies.
50 If you aren't dead, you may soon be.
I don't know a lot about the negative numbers because hey, fuck cold. In Siberia, I've been told (by people insane enough to live there) it gets down to negative forty. Fuck that.
So now you know how to do temperatures in pretty much every place else in the world.
AND NOW BACK TO OUR STORY
Last we left our intrepid hero, he was totally grossing out some nice old man by simply sitting next to him and stinking. Just nasty.
The bus only left fifteen minutes late which counts as a win in Turkey. It all seemed to be going really well until we got to the border.
A lot of the people who smuggle stuff just aren't very bright. They do things like 'line backing' (where they have other people go first) and they dress in ways that tip off the guards. Like the girl dressed in what I call 'whore sheek'. Bottle blond, revealing clothes, badly painted pink toenails sticking out of high heeled sandals and fake eyelashes I've not seen outside of a bad porn movie.
Not sure who considers these eyelashes sexy. Aside from people who make porn. Note, this is not the actual girl - just wanted to show the length of the eyelashes.
She stood out from the regular crowd.
And obviously something went wrong.
A guard brought her to the bus and wanted to see her bag. No bags. Where are the bags. Here, you wander around un-escorted and un-watched while I go find out what to do.
After a couple hours everyone - including the lady - get back on the bus and off we go. I was very curious as to what the fuck happened but I don't speak any Bulgarian.
Ah well.
After the exiting Turkey side, the bus immediately stopped at the 'duty free' shop so that people could stock up on things that really didn't strike me as that great of a deal.
Not that great of a deal unless you want high end stuff slightly cheaper.
More waiting.
Then to the Bulgarian side. Where the Turkish side had been fairly quick checking people through you might want to allow a lot of extra time on the Bulgarian side. They obviously need to hire a lot more people.
After we crossed in to Bulgaria, we got to see several kilometers of parked trucks waiting to go through the border.
I had been extremely concerned about 'is Bulgaria within the Schengen area'.
For those who don't know, here's a map:
Here is Logan's interpretation of this.
You have the European Union. Some countries are members, some are not.
You have the Schengen Area. Some countries are in it, some are not. Some are sort of in it.
Really - sort of.
Bulgaria is in this classification. For other countries within the Schengen area, they are. For outsiders they aren't.
Confused yet? Imagine if the issue mattered very deeply to where you traveled. What a pain.
For normal tourists, the Schengen area agreement is wonderful. It means that when you visit Europe, you can go where ever the fuck you want and not have any border controls. It is like getting to visit the fifty states without needing to go through a border control station between Nebraska and Iowa. It use not to be like that. Every country you had to do the whole border song and dance. (Editor: Not a literal song and dance - usually.)
An excellent song and dance.
For anyone who wants to be in Europe for more than three months this sucks ass. You can be in the Schengen area for three months out of six. Then, you can fuck right off.
Considering I need to be in Belgium at the end of September (it is June at the time of this story) it makes a big big difference.
Everyone had different opinions as to whether Bulgaria is or isn't. The internet also has different opinions. Really.
I have two things in my favor:
a) the border guard I questioned about it said that Bulgaria is NOT.
b) the stamp he put onto my passport was so light I'm thinking it may not be legible. This may come back to bite me in the ass later but he apparently had run out of ink awhile ago and didn't care.
Hence, I get to hang out in Bulgaria for a month and a half then wander around eastern and central Europe before putting a toe into western Europe.
[For those wondering how Logan is able to afford even a week in Belgium, simple answer, someone else is paying for it. Food, drinks (including alcohol) and lodging. I just have to get there. Note that if you want Logan somewhere, paying for all those things is a pretty good way to get him there. Pretty damned good. Plus, in this case I get to hang out with an old friend. Epic. Dry humping statues may be involved. If so, pictures will be posted.]
Even before the border, the wifi left the bus. I'd read about this when doing research in the past so I managed to send off all my panicked rambling messages early on the ride.
Within these messages, Georgi sent me several cab numbers that were trustworthy. In Bulgaria it is important to get a cab that works for a company rather than an independent cab. The company ones charge very reasonable rates, the independents will fuck you.
By 'cab numbers' I mean the numbers on the sides of the actual cabs. Not sure if these are the company names - as opposed to an actual name. For anyone traveling here, the numbers suggested are: 6665, 9199, 6155, 6160.
The first cabby was lurking near the bus station and followed me to the currency exchange where yet more emergency money went away. When I tried to find out approximately how much for the trip, he was very vague and wouldn't give an answer. I tuned him out and ignored him. Found a cab with 6665 on the door and asked him. Though he didn't speak English he signaled, "I don't know, I use the meter, probably 2.5 or 3 LEV."
Got in that cab. It was 2.5 LEV, I just gave him 4 LEV. That's a bit over two dollars. Done.
It was a lot further than I would have wanted to walk even if I didn't have all my worldly possessions with me.
After traveling for a bit over thirty five hours, I was finally at the apartment. Georgi's father immediately offered a beer. I refused but accepted water. Felt so rough.
Did I immediately go upstairs and have a shower? Hell no - needed supplies.
Off to a restaurant to get food for the evening and to a store to get some necessities.
Then shower, food and sixty percent of a bottle of whiskey.
Fell asleep before I could finish it. Dammit.
The next day, something which had been held back for the entire thirty five hour trip came forth. I had to take the big shit. Most people's scream "Daddy! Daddy!" and they have to kick it back into the toilet. Mine instead said
this.
And that is the story of the Big Shit. Turkish Airways unexpectedly cancelling the ticket, Big Shit. The machine that ate the card, Big Shit. And of course the Big Shit was the Big Shit.
For those only paying attention to the bad, I would leave you with the these: The helpful lady at Turkish Airlines who got me a new ticket in an amazing seat. The helpful lady who used her personal phone to call the evil bank on my behalf. The fact that I would have soon needed a new Paypal card as that one was going to expire in about four more months. People are really super nice and I appreciate it every day.
THE ROUTE
For those who haven't carefully studied the blog (what are you thinking?) here is the route I've taken thus far:
Trip begun 1/4/11 (note, I use European style dates which makes so much more sense than US style.)
UK, Netherlands, Germany, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary, Bosnia, Serbia, Romania, Moldova, Ukraine, (ship across Black Sea), Georgia, Turkey, Jordan, Israel, Egypt, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, India, Nepal, India, Thailand, Malaysia, Indonesia, Cambodia, Thailand, Cambodia, Thailand, Turkey, Georgia, Latvia, Lithuana, Poland, Germany, Spain, Morocco, Germany, USA, Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, you aren't even reading still, Costa Rica, Panama, sailded to Columbia, Columbia, Ecuador, Perus, Panama, Dominican Republic, Germany, your eyes have glazed over, Turkey, Ukraine,, Moldova, Romania, Bulgaria, Macedonia, Albania, Greece, Italy, Tunisia, you are growing sleepy, United Arab Emirates, South Africa, United Arab Emirates, Thailand, you are now hypnotized, Cambodia, Thailand, Malaysia, Thailand, send money, Malaysia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Indonesia, Malaysia, Turkey, Bulgaria.
ENGRISH
In much of the world, English is spelled like it sounds. You know, logically. Spaghetti becomes 'spagetty'. Since English is no longer the language of America (or the UK for those who know some history) but the world, I've noticed it is beginning to change in much of the world.
Sure, tourists may roll their eyes at the way 'inferior primitive non-English speakers' they look down their noses at spell but personally, I don't mind the words changing.
Fuck spelling bees.
DID YOU KNOW?
Did you know that at the bottom of the blog (the whole thing, not just this posting) are a bunch of cities and countries. If you click on those links, it takes you to pictures from all those places.
My youtube channel name is Logan9a - there are over six hundred short videos from around the world showing a lot of different stuff.
THE TRANSITORY NATURE OF THINGS
As I watch my gear slowly (sometimes quickly) fall apart, it causes me to ponder the transitory nature of things. Everything is temporary. Perhaps that is why some people take on crippling debt to attempt to 'build equity' in a home. It is a 'permanent' abode. It always seems to come back to fear of mortality. While I personally look forward to my own eventual ending, it won't be something I'm going to be able to blog about.
...And speaking of transitory...
SELF EXAMINATION
Going to share something personal. Apologies if it is too personal.
No, it's not about my latest bowel movement. I don't consider those personal.
Two days ago, my mother died.
First thing I did was to sit down and analyze my feelings about it.
Emotions weren't really involved - they simply weren't there.
She had been living for the last couple months in a hospice home and in a considerable amount of pain. So, I'm sure that death was a release from this pain.
My father yet lives and for him I am sure that it is a crushing blow. He's been married to my mother for something like fifty years. You can't just shake that sort of thing off. It will burden him for the rest of his life. That's the negative part.
I'm glad that on the LHI (Logan's Home Invasion) tour I had gotten to spend a couple days with them. I told my father then that I wouldn't be back for any funerals. Simply, I don't have the money to jet back to the USA to attend a funeral then jet back to where I live (Eastern Europe and Asia). "I came to visit you guys while you are both alive."
Normally, males have a very strong bond with their mother. Yet, I'd never really gotten along - or even 'clicked' with my parents. At the age of sixteen I'd moved out of the house and begun to work. Never asked my parents for nor expected anything from them. It was not a very emotionally tight knit family. Even tonight (via Skype) I'd asked my father "How are you doing?" and he talked about the paperwork and preparations he needed to make for the funeral.
Discussing emotions is not within our family dynamic.
Yet, a decade or two ago when I had heard that a childhood friend had taken his own life I was literally stunned for an entire day.
Hence, I find my emotional reaction to this situation curious.
Edit: Please don't say 'our prayers are with you'. That is as useful as 'raising awareness' and I don't believe in a 'sky daddy'. I'm putting this up not to garner some sort of sympathy but just to examine my feelings on the matter and share them. I do hope others are closer to their parents.
And now, to leave you with something to lighten the mood.
FROM THE INTERNET...
Right sign but I'm thinking she wouldn't be smiling like that if she was reading my blog. OK, maybe she would. Is this about my blog? Don't even start with that "You know, there are other things out there people find offensive..." crap.
COSTS
Taxi driver, comes to your door (supposedly) and takes your luggage (well, the backpack anyway) to the car and drives you to the ferry - 100,000 IDR
Slow ferry (not much slower than the fast ferry at tripple the price), 27,000 IDR
Metro Bus ticket from Istanbul to Plovdiv Bulgaria, 60 TRY
Phone charger in Metro Bus station, 1 TRY, got about 15% battery back for that. Slow.
Bulgaria shopping trip: Hand full of cherries. Hand full of strawberries. Bigger than a fist block of Feta cheese. Two bottles of inexpensive wine. Three candy bars. A banana. 26 LEV. (About 15 USD). Nice.
