Stop And Stare

I finally bought the video The Darjeeling Limited. It's so funny without being funny -my kind of comedy. One quotable quote towards the end by the run-away mother : We're not expressing ourselves fully, why don't we say it without words. And I love the soundtrack of this movie.
Video courtesy -techman05

This town is colder now,
I think it's sick of us
It's time to make our move,
I'm shaking off the rust
I've got my heart set on anywhere but here
I'm staring down myself, counting up the years
Steady hands, just take the wheel...And every glance is killing me
Time to make one last appeal... for the life I lead
Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be,
ohStop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fair
But fair ain't what you really need
Oh, can you see what I see
They're trying to come back, all my senses push
Untie the weight bags, I never thought I could...
Steady feet, don't fail me now
Gonna run till you can't walk
Something pulls my focus out
And I'm standing down...
Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be,
oh Stop and stare
You start to wonder why you're here not there
And you'd give anything to get what's fairBut fair ain't what you really need
Oh, you don't need
What you need, what you need...
Stop and stare
I think I'm moving but I go nowhere
Yeah I know that everyone gets scared
But I've become what I can't be
Oh, do you see what I see...

Kodak Moments

The 2 boys are fishing right next to the "No Fishing" sign in front of the restaurant where I was eating. I asked the waiters to let them fish just long enough for me to take their pictures but they allowed these boys to fish as long as I was there anyway. They were pulling in fishes just as fast as they lower the line, no pole, just dropping the line with the bait.

This is in Isla Mujeres and there are plenty of European backpackers like these young people above. I took this picture because of the little "tienda" -just click on the pictures. I used to not like the tacky colors that you normally see in the Carribean, but now, I just love them!!!

Kodak Me

I hate asking people to take my pictures but when I do, it just don't come out right. Here's what I'm talking about. I think the waiter was in a hurry.

Travelling Solo

After my husband died, I started traveling heavily. I was practicing how to become a vagabond. But Chat kept telling me that I am ‘running away’ from something. I don’t really care what she or anyone calls it; I get very restless so I just go. I read books about women traveling solo and in the last 2 years I have been to 5 different countries. And today I just got back from a 4-day trip to Cancun. When the shuttle driver picked me up from my apartment at 330 a.m. last Thursday he got nosy when I told him I was going to Cancun alone. “I always travel by myself, that way I can just do whatever I want to do. That’s why.” He seemed satisfied with that answer.

After I cleared security I got some coffee and headed to my gate and looking at the people I can immediately tell that everyone has someone with them. I like to ‘people watch’ and eavesdrop on people’s conversation so I sat close to everyone. Just then the ticket agent was calling out for “anyone traveling alone” she has a first class seat that she was giving away. I was the only one who raised a hand. Did I feel sorry for being alone? At other times maybe, but not then.
Here’s more reason why I love to travel alone.

1.When I’m alone, people (men or women) tend to help me more than they would if I had company.

2.I don’t have to wake up at a certain time to eat breakfast and no one will be knocking at my door or ringing my room number telling me “Breakfast time!!” as if I don’t know that a morning meal is called breakfast.

3.If all I want to do is hole up in my room and watch the European channel and the Mexican channel no one will be interrogating me “You understand all that?”

4.I don’t have to read my book under the palm tree at the beach; I can enjoy it just as well sitting at the lobby close to the buffet restaurant. And no one reminds me that I paid all these money “to come to the beach”.

5.And when I get to the airport late and the line is two States long and I’m about to miss my flight, I don’t panic. I just sidle up next to a lone man closest to the ticket counter and start talking to him like he had been waiting for me (preferably the ones who look like no woman could want him). You can’t do this if you’re not traveling alone.

Today, I did just that - sidle up next to a “lone man.” I did not arrive late, but being Sunday in Cancun airport, the line was scary long. The man I approached did not speak a single word of English but I accomplished my purpose plus more because in front of him was a Castillian good-looking young man. His name is Isidro Martin Gonzalez Guerra, a medical student from Guadalajara. He was on his way to Austria for a 2-week vacation with his girlfriend Merrina but the girlfriend was on another flight. We talked for over an hour and he gave me a free hug just as we hurriedly parted to our different gates. We exchanged email addresses and he invited me to come visit him in Guadalajara.
Guadalajara, here I come.

Panic Attack Abroad

Two months ago I went to the Bahamas. That same week before my flight, I was already anxious I could feel a full blown panic attack coming on. Normal people would be excited (to say the least) about an impending vacation. But not me. The silent torment and fear I felt was all I could bear, I contemplated on cancelling the whole thing. But I kept telling myself -I will never be able to do anything outside of my daily routine if I let this fear control me.

I kept asking God for a sign to stop me from going. No answer, So I went. Once inside the new DFW terminal I started to feel better. Nice restaurants serving a good choice of breakfast foods! This was my first time to fly out of the new terminal, it reminded me of the Hongkong airport-huge and nice but not quiet.

I was leisurely eating my ham and egg and sipping on my capuccino while talking to my friend in New Jersey. After we hang up I made a concentrated effort to convince myself that it is ok for myself to have fun--to enjoy this trip! I don't know when I picked up this baggage of feeling guilty everytime I am having fun. But lately, I discovered that my panic disorder came with a bonus--I just could not enjoy anything (whatever it is) without feeling guilty. I need someone to slap me over the head and tell me softly or loudly --it's ok, you have my permission to enjoy yourself. Why is that? My psychiatrist didn't get to answer this question because after our first meeting and he told me that I need to see him once a week at least for the first 2 months, I decided I was not that screwed up after all. Eighty dollars a week so he can look at me cross-eyed and pronounce me crazy?

On the flight to our stop-over in Fort Lauderdale, I was "normal" again and I wanted to preserve the feeling by watching a documentary about China, narrated by this solo traveler named Justine. See, she's a solo traveler too! I tried to encourage myself. I found that my portable dvd player can rescue me from pesty seatmates and/or upcoming panic attacks.

When we landed, I went to buy lunch. Why is it that it is either food or pills before I can feel comfortable in any given situation. I was not hungry, I just felt that it was time to take my food. I paced back and forth by the gate because I could see that the airplane taking me to the Bahamas was smaller than what I have been used to. This was my first time to fly on a small airplane. There were two flight attendants; a white woman and a male who looked Middle Eastern but his accent betrayed his looks. This also being my first time to go to the Bahamas, I was unfamiliar of a Bahamian accent. I was in a mix of frustration from trying to understand what he was saying and fear thinking he was Isaac's militant fanatical cousin. Oh, dear God, he's going to blow up this plane and I could not be identified by my dental records because as my stepson once told me he has more college degrees than I have teeth.

The sound of the airplanes' engine trying to get off the ground and act like it could not, made me pray more seriously. Lord, in between the choices of this plane crashing because of engine failure and being blown off by a terrorist, let it be the latter. At least, I will have the chance to try and have a scene with the hijacker then I can call and tell my daughter Chat some stories that she can relay to the news media. And knowing her, she would make up real good ones. Though posthumously, someone will see my name in print since I have been unlucky with publishing companies to get my book published. Lord, I am not asking for much, If I have to go down in flames, I want to make it loud too.

I was so focused in my prayer I did not notice the man seated next to me was drooling on my shoulder. Nor did I hear him snore. It made sense why his wife sat 2 rows away from him.

When we landed at Nassau, all I could think of was run to the counter of American airlines and see if I could get back on the plane and fly back to Dallas. I was by then not only very sad, but very anxious- I could feel I was about to black out. But I pressed on. I tried the breathing technique, I applied mind manipulation. Neither one worked. I got to the hotel and went to look for a restaurant - time to take my food. But the rice and the fried conch did not have power over my pounding and racing heartbeat. I held out taking my pill - telling myself instead, I can do this. I called my daughter and made her promise me that the next time I plan on another trip to make sure and tie me to a post and leave me there for dead.

With Gods' providence I managed my panic attack to a comfortable level. Also with Gods providence I got on the wrong bus. I was going to the botanical garden, instead I got on a bus going the opposite direction. (One thing about travelling alone, you can do just whatever you want to do.) The bus driver asked me if I wanted to go with Ava, his sister in-law who was also on the bus, after all, this was a Sunday. Thank God my shorts were not that short because Ava introduced me to the Pastor and he introduced me to the whole congregation. Look what Ava drag in here. I spent the whole day worshipping (and mostly eating) with them.

Needless to say, I managed to enjoy my weekend stay there even without anyone's permission. But Chat and I concluded that I don't have to spend all that money to have a panic attack abroad; for a lot less I could do it here locally. As often as I don't want it.

Lost and Found

I just came back from Costa Rica and I am still buoyed up by the experience I had. I don’t bother with maps because I am not good at reading them anyway, so on my second day in San Jose, I was lost like a needle in a haystack. I did not know how to get back to my hotel. Don’t ask me, but yes, I did not have the phone number or the street name of my hotel. And by the way it was not a hotel but a dungeon… I mean a hostel. It’s not like I can just tell the driver to take me to the Hyatt or the Holiday Inn.

After asking 7 policemen who could not even say -No English, and 3 attempts to get a taxi to take me, I soon realized my only help is Jesus. I scanned the place for people who looked “white” and or dressed like they were going to their offices --with the hope or assumption, that they would be able to help me in English. None of them was able to help me. I walked and walked hoping to find a familiar building only to find myself feeling more confused. If only I could find that corner store called “El Kiosko,” that would be my reference point. I was almost hysterical because I started to question myself. Maybe it is not the direction that’s the problem, maybe it’s me. Maybe I am losing my mind. Then I came up with an idea to call a big hotel in town and get their English- speaking receptionist to help me. I crossed the street where I saw a young woman on a pay phone. “ Do you speak English?” She looked at me with the same look everyone has been giving me the last 3 hours.

Then suddenly, a young man appeared to my left in perfect English – “what do you need, I speak English.” “Can you help me dial a number?” “You have to have a phone card.” I didn’t have a phone card. He saw the paper in my hand with my hotel name that I scribbled earlier for the useless policemen. I now started to notice his disheveled look. On non-emergency situation, I would run away from this guy, but his English was so valuable to me at this time. His left eye was very red, hair matted and a big crater on the right corner of his parched and cracked lips. “I can’t find my way back to my hotel and I don’t speak Spanish to direct the taxi drivers.” He glanced at the paper in my hand again – “ Are you staying at Pangea?” Yes.

He knew how the hotel looks like and he gave me directions. I could not believe my ears. “Would you walk with me please?” I was almost begging, I just could not take the chance of getting lost again. “ I can’t, I have to meet my mother at the bus station.” He was walking away as he was saying this. I headed in the direction that he gave me and tears started to well up. I kept flickering my lashes so people won’t notice me crying. I was so grateful to Jesus for providing the man to help me but I also wanted to do something for the man. But no way in the world I would try and find him.

From a distance I could already see the gate to the hostel. I am home, I thought, but my heart was heavy for that man. I wanted to do something for him; he looked like he could use some food. I got back to my room, laid in bed for a while then went up to the roof deck restaurant and swore I am not leaving the hostel until I leave for the airport to come home. That’s how traumatized I was. Two hours went by and I gathered enough courage to get myself out of the building and venture out in another direction. Maybe this other part of town won’t be so difficult to navigate, I encouraged myself. I needed to go find a bookstore and buy some books. I decided to walk since I can’t communicate with taxi drivers.

After a few blocks I sat down to a cup of cappuccino in one of the nicer cafes’ and found a waitress who spoke enough English to give me directions to a bookstore. This time I wrote every street landmark to guide me back to the hostel. I found 7th Street Books. Browsed around for 30 minutes, bought a cookbook and headed back, but I passed by the plaza and thought I could get some sun while I read my cookbook. I had my head buried in my reading when a man approached me in Spanish; all I could understand was the word “Senyora” but I gathered he was trying to sell me some odds and ends.

I noticed the book in Spanish was almost dilapidated, 2 coasters made of cardboard and a green box of dental floss in his hand. “No Espanol” I cut him off right away. He reverted to English, “ I just need to buy bread and coffee, I have AIDS and I have been living on the street for 29 days now because my mom thinks I am gay. I am not gay and I don’t do drugs. She is ashamed of me.” I was staring at him and tears just started streaming down my cheeks, I could not believe it. “ Don’t you recognize me?” “Senyora, I am sorry, my memory is bad because I am very sick.”

“You were the one who helped me at noontime, I was lost for 3 hours and you don’t understand how distraught I was. I wanted to look for you to thank you.” I asked him to sit down but he shook his head and pulled his shirtsleeve and showed me the lesions on his arm and stomach. I insisted and had him sat down next to me because I wanted to hear more of his story.

He used to live in America a long time ago, he does not know who gave him the AIDS virus because he had sex with several different women. I asked him if he was sad or bitter, he said no. He does not feel sorry for himself either because he knows that when his body finally give out, the worms will feast on him in the ground, but his spirit will go back to God who gave it. He just wants his mother to accept him and believe that he is not gay or a drug user. His mother promised so many times to see him but has yet to show up. She was not at the bus station. I thought of taking him to a restaurant to eat but instead I just handed him the money. As he turned to walk away, he said, “ I don’t know if I will see you again, but I will not forget you.” I will not forget you either Eric, and yes, we will see each other again. When Jesus comes back.

Budget Travel

1. The dorm room at Hangout 2. The Trekker Lodge 3. Hangout Hostel

On my recent trip to Singapore and Kuala Lumpur, I was determined that I would have to go "budget" in order to be able to stay longer and see more places. In addition to my latest copy of the Lonely Planet, I searched the web for different places to consider as my place for lodging. I also read several review sites on several different lodges and hostels. When travelling in the US, I don't even feel comfortable staying at Best Western. So the thought of staying at hostels and budget lodging kind of made we wary. Arriving after midnite to any foreign country is bad enough, but knowing also that Singapore is clean and a safe City State, it helped alleviate my anxiety about the hostel I was about to lodge in. I decided to stay at Hangout at Mt. Emily. Not having stayed at hostels before, I did not know what to expect, or if I expected anything it was for the worst. After the taxi driver dropped me off at the front door, I noticed that the young lady at the front desk had a big smile and acted like she was expecting me, and was really glad to see me. After I signed for my room she handed me the key and showed me the elevator. This is definitely not the Peninsula, I thought. I reserved a "private room with attached bathroom." These are new terms for me, because I always thought that bathrooms comes standard in every hotel room. But this is "hostel" mind you, so I was anxious to see what my room would actually look like. The website implied that even though it says private, the charges are per bed. This hostel, has private rooms and a dorm room. I could not wait to stick my card key in the door to see what lies behind it. And wow, the room was very neat, crispy white linen, a window and the bathroom was clean and the water pressure, like a waterfall. I was told check out time is 10 a.m. another new for me. I had reserved for 3 nights but the second nite I had to be in a dorm room because the private rooms were booked that day. I always made it a rule not to stay at friends' houses while on vacation, now a dorm room? So the second night would be a test of my resolve. But I was determined that this trip was going to be an adventure all the way for me. This is the first time I travelled alone and the first time I am going budget hostels. So I checked out of the private room and moved to a different door but still on the same floor. I walked in and there it was, 4 women scampering around the bathroom and another one still sleeping. None of them acknowledged me except for the one who smiled back at me when I did. The room had 6 beds. I like the set up of the beds but the mess I was not prepared to take. The garbage can in the corner was spilling over, moist towels on the floor and underwears hanging everywhere. I put my backpack on the bed and got out of the room. I had to step back out of the situation in order to think. Something inside me felt at home, but not quiet. I went to the second floor where the computers were. This floor is called the Veg Out floor. There was a billiard table, some bean bags, a big screen tv, a cubicle for reading and a coffee machine that spits out free drinks. I immediately felt at home, coffee and internet...wow. After 2 hours, I went back to the room and all the other ladies have checked out already. I was told I will be the only one left in the room. The maid came to spruce up the room and that made me feel good then. I learned another thing; towels and beddings are not changed everyday, oh well, I laid in the bed and thought " hostelling is not bad after all."

During the 3 days that I was there, I learned my way around on the train, when I can walk to it, I just walked. The first day, I stumbled into a wet market with food stalls next door. But in Singapore, there's hardly any building without a food stall in it, I learned that later. I thought I died and went to heaven. I did not know what to do first, I was like a child in a candy store. In the US or anywhere I go, I always go for the local market or the grocery store, because I want to know what they have that I have not seen or eaten. But true to myself, when faced with a lot of choices I end up not choosing anything. So I end up not eating because I could not make up my mind on what to eat. I wanted all of them. I think I circled the place 3 times only to go away more hungry. I took the train and went to Chinatown and sat down at the first restaurant I saw. The waitress came to take my order and I started to vacillate again, so I pointed to the lemak laksa and waited. I was introduced to this dish in Labuan,Malaysia and it stayed in my mind how a boyfriend stays in your heart. Lemak laksa is a curried soup with coconut cream with toppings of chicken and or seafood. I find this dish on the top of my favorite foods in Singapore and Malaysia. I was told that Katong laksa in Singapore is a good one if not the best. I have decided that on my return trip there, I will be exploring on different laksa and write about it. That is how much I love this dish.

I could have flown to Malaysia from Singapore, but since I was determined to stay on budget, I opted to take the bus to Kuala Lumpur. It would be a 5 and 1/2 hour ride, but I wanted to see the countryside and experience everything in slow motion. The bus fares varies, I learned the hard way. At the Golden Mile complex, there are various travel counters that sells bus tickets. Look around and compare for the best rate. Being my first time, I did not know that there are several bus companies that leaves at different times and at different prices. Don't ask me why.

The ride was very comfortable. I sat next to an Indonesian family who did not speak any English. The lady who I assume was the mother would hand me whatever they were eating and I tried to say no but she won't take it away, so I ate them. It seemed like it was every hour that they would eat something and here she comes again, hand them to me first. I did not know what they were but they were good. On the 3rd time, I pretended to be asleep because I just can't take them anymore.

I arrived Kuala Lumpur feeling pretty upbeat until I saw the neighborhood of the lodge I was supposed to be staying at. It was dirty, garbage strewn everywhere and the buildings were old and looked almost abandoned.

I was freaking out by the time I reached the lodge called Trekker Lodge. I tried to cancel out but I still would have to pay the full amount because I did not have the 72 hour cancellation notice. I tried explaining to Ashman, the clerk that I am not used to hostelling and the place was just not suitable for me. He was very consoling and hospitable that I calmed down. I reserved for 2 nights, but I told him I will be moving out the next day to stay at a a friends house. He agreed not to charge me for the 2nd day. After I have settled down, I noticed that the place was really neat and very homey. There was a tv room and 2 small table to eat at. Four European men and 2 American women were lounging around so I joined them for some small talk. Ashman said that this is like a "homestay", but I won't know because again, this was my first time. The next morning around 6am, I went to the computer to do my email. Sebastian, the clerk for the night was asleep on the couch. He got up and made coffee and tea and put out some bread in the kitchen. That really made me feel at home and I began to feel fondness for the place. As I was leaving, I knew in my heart that hostelling will be it for me from now on.

Travel tips/ ASK

So many times we hear wives complaining about their husbands getting lost while on a trip somewhere because he just won't ask for directions. But I always wondered - why won't the women do the asking if she is sitting right next to him anyway? Make him stop, roll the window down and ask, well, that's assuming he is man enough to stop though. I could not relate to this predicament because my late husband was the opposite. In fact, he asked too much.

I don't mind asking for directions or asking someone what they think of this and that restaurant when I am in a foreign country. People like to be asked because basically most people like to help and in particular likes to give directions. But you have to be sensitive to the other persons body language though. You can't approach someone who is in the middle of an intimate conversation or someone who is about to alight the train. I was in Singapore 2 weeks ago, and the taxi driver who took me to my hotel at 130 a.m. was very chatty. I told him I was going to Kuala Lumpur in a day or two. He then picked up his cell phone, dialed a fellow taxi driver and proceeded to tell me what bus station to go to and why I should not buy a round trip ticket. From Singapore you pay Singapore dollars, Ringgits in Kuala lumpur. During the 20 minute ride, I learned some details my Lonely Planet guidebook forgot to mention.
The next day, I asked the hotel clerk, a young Chinese guy named Desmond for some places to go to that is not a tourist trail. He gave me names of a few places plus directions on how to get there by train. Then after a 15 minute conversation, his eyes lit up - "hey, I get off work at 330pm, from here I go to the temple to pray, would you like to come see what we Chinese do in the temple?" "Of course, I will come down and wait for you then." I felt like I hit a jackpot.
On the way to the temple I was telling him how much I like the foods in Singapore. We decided we should stop at some food stalls where the locals eat. He asked me if I will eat anything, I said yes. But after I said yes, I thought to myself " Oh dear God, why did I say that?" I told him he can order and I will eat it whatever it is, as long as it is not a lot because I am still full from lunch. He came back with a peanut soup. It was the first time I have seen or eat that. There were 4 glutinous balls in the somewhat creamy looking hot liquid. The balls had each different fillings, meat, peanut or red bean paste. It was quite delicious. The place was full of people so a man and a woman asked if they could sit with us in our table. When Desmond left to get me a cold drink, I started a conversation with the woman and found out she was Filipino and he was Malay. I asked him about Hari Raya, the holiday that Singapore had been celebrating for a few days before I got there. I gathered it means " a day of celebration" for Muslims in Malaysia and Singapore. They offered me a beer, " No, I don't drink." He winked and pouted his lips " Come on, it's my Hari Raya." I lifted the mug to my lips and I cringed at the Tiger (the national beer).
" I just can't drink all of this" I apologized. Desmond offered to down it for me, "bottoms up"he said, and off we go to pray. Or he did. He picked up some joss sticks from some container, held it with both hands and placed it on his forehead while he faced towards the east and mumbled silently with his eyes closed. He explained about the goddess of Mercy that he prayed to , I explained to him the simplicity of Christs' offer of salvation through His blood.
I got more than I could ask for because we continued on to get more snacks and this time it was a fresh coconut from Thailand. The water and the meat was the sweetest and tastiest coconut I have ever put in my mouth. The size of the coconut is about the size of a mans fist I did not know what it was when I saw it in Chinatown the day before. And by the way, he paid too. You know what I mean, people just want to help.