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Tuesday, 13 April 2010 |
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A Titanic Dive.
A small town wrapped around a rocky coastline, Dahab is a place where weary backpackers can relax, and where divers can hone their skills in the Red Sea. It is a special little place that is near and dear to my traveling heart. It was here that I found a safe haven far away from the chaos of Cairo, met my Egyptian friends, climbed Mt. Sinai, and completed an advanced diving course. Six months later I find myself here once more. There was unfinished business at hand, and it has now been completed. As of yesterday, diving through a sunken ship has been marked off life's checklist.
This particular wreck dive is one of the top 10 dives in the world. It rests 30 meters under the Red Sea off the coast of Sharm El Sheik, another coastal resort town. We departed Dahab at 3 a.m. and contorted ourselves into an old Korean microbus. The glistening yacht awaiting us wiped away all unpleasant memories of the previous 2 hour bus ride. The mountains surrounding us made for incredible vistas and the experience would have been quite perfect had the air been more "Egypt like" ; it felt like an Alaskan cruise. One hour into the journey we were fed a delicious breakfast of eggs, honey, bread, and cheese; 2 hours into the trip, and we were being debriefed on the dive site; 3 hours into journey we were cramming ourselves into wetsuits, strapping on fins, and checking regulators. Here we go.
I jumped off the boat into the sea and found the anchor line. As I deflated the BCD and slowly slipped under the waves, my brain panicked. "You're drowning." It had been nearly 6 months since my last dive and I suppose the feeling of taking that first breath under the surface was not as familiar as it should have been on such a dive. I was sucking in air from the regulator as quickly as it would allow which only furthered the freakout. To describe the water as choppy would be an understatement. It was an aquatic chainsaw tearing at my limbs. My buddy was steadily descending and becoming fuzzier with each meter. "Get a grip." I forced myself into a breathing rythem and continued the descent. 5 meters, 10 meters, 20 meters... I was nervous, but I was breathing. Wreck dives can be quite dangerous as a number of people had recently pointed out. This was not the time for such thoughts. As we reached 23 meters, a huge silhouette emereged from the all-encompassing blueness. Panick subsided as I looked awstruck onto the SS Thistlegorm. This British armed Merchant Navy ship sank in 1941 when a German plane bombed it during WWII. It sits today in some of he clearest water in the world, a museum of sorts, proudly sitting high in the top ten list of dive sites around the world. The ship was in amazing condition for its age... and being bombed into oblivion. The first dive we swam around the massive ship looking.... everywhere. There was an overturned tank, torpedo cases, and a steam locomotive... yes, that's right; a train. At the front of the ship there was a gigantic anti-aircraft weapon pointed towards the sea bed. My parter posed behind it as if he were a gunman ready to shoot down a plane. He couldn't have done any worse than the real one did... I was feasting on the air so we made our way back to the boat a few mintues before planned.
A fearful excitement pulsed through my veins as we descended for the second dive. This was the penetration dive, and easily the most rewarding, yet dangerous one I've done. We entered the massive holds through the bomb site and swam through a few corridors so small that we had to pass through them one at a time. I looked in amazement as old trucks sat lined up just inces in front of my mask. There was another hold full of motorbikes. Everything unused, everything slowly decaying in a distinguishably creepy manner. I was so focused on not screwing up that I missed the girl in front of me and accidentally swam into her. Her eyes were full of a panicked fear and then I noticed that her tank had become entangled in some rusty wire hanging from a beam in one of the hallways. I unwrapped the wire and we made our way to the captain's deck where we looked upon what was left of his bathroom. Exiting through an old window, we made our way back to surface... safe and sound. For more info and some awesome pictures of the Thistlegorm, please visit: http://www.aquatours.com/wrecks/thistlegorm.htm
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Last Updated ( Tuesday, 13 April 2010 )
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Tuesday, 06 April 2010 |
Arrival in Cairo
My first trip to Cairo back in October was something of a disaster. Losing my guidebook within 20 minutes of arriving, I overpaid for just about everything, remained lost, and got sucked into just about every tourist trap imaginable. This trip is a chance to right previous wrongs; This time I booked a room in advance. This time I have friends living in the city. This time I know what to expect. This time I'll be bulletproof... 
Even though British Airways employees were still striking, there were no replacements on my flight to Cairo, and there was hot food. They made up for these normalities by arriving unacceptably late. My friends were not at the airport, I had no working phone, and there was no wifi to message my friends on facebook; maybe I wasn't so bulletproof afterall. I waited an hour and finally let the taxi driver, who had been hounding me every 5 minutes, take me to my hotel. The room was small, but it had a pretty good view. I got in touch with my friends, got a shower, and got some sleep. It was 4:00 am. I slept until 5pm the next day. There was a phone shop across from the hostel and a really cool Egyptian guy working there peppered me with questions about America while setting up the sim card for my phone. I love getting sims from countries I visit. One more step off the tourist trail and into the everyday lives of the locals... Stupid sentimentality over a phone, I know. I also felt this way about my rent receipts the first year in Bangkok, althought those actually proved I was "local". I spent the rest of the afternoon millling around the plaza. Cairo really is a fascinating place to just observe.
I met my friends near Talat Harb, a huge roundabout in the middle of the city. There's no parking there, so one of my buddies tried to find me in the crowd of people while everyone else drove around in the car. I was still feeling pretty down about leaving home, so it was great to see familiar faces again. After making a mad dash for the car through insane traffic, we drove about 30 minutes to an awesome restaurant for some of the best Egyptian food I've ever had. On the way we passed by the Great Pyramids, which looked incredible lit up against a black desert night. My friends nonchalantly pointed them out as we passed by. How lucky to live in such a cool place and have such an incredibly rich heritage.
My friends took my back to my hostel and Adham graciously allowed me to store my luggage (essentially a minature Best Buy) in his car, so I wouldn't have to haul it all over the place while I traveled. Good friends, good food, good day.
I woke up the next morning and went to the reception desk with the intention of buying a bus ticket to Dahab- an awesome dive city by the Red Sea. Instead, this older lady with moviestar looks asked me for help setting up her phone's wifi. I dunno what it was about the situation, but something about it reminded me of Cassablanca... must have been the looks/and continent. Anyway, the longer the conversation went, the crazier it got. She started talking about secret agents, and this man who follows her all over the world taking secret pictures of her. At one point she also mentioned military planes forming the Star of David in the air to intimidate her. This lady's nuts! I tried escaping, but she kept repeating the same things with a sense of desperation in her voice that made it impossible to just walk away with a clear conscious. I took a page from her book and decided to just repeat the same response until she finally shut up... "Interesting" I repeated 10, 15, 20-something times to no avail. Screw Cassablanca, this was a scene from "A Beautiful Mind". Amusement faded after nearly an hour and I found my escape when a guy wearing a T-shirt in Thai walked in. I blurted out "Sewadee Krup" and we had a small conversation in Thai. The confused look on the lady's face was priceless, and she never spoke to me again. The way I see it, this did us both a favor; I got to quit listening to her, and she was able to peg me as today's secret agent. |
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Sunday, 04 April 2010 |
Leaving Your Town . . . Again.
I haven't finished updating my blog about Europe, but it is a rather uninspiring task as that trip was finished nearly 6 months ago. The here and now seems far more relevant and "real" to me, so pardon the interruption as I recap recent events for a change.
The past 6 months living in the U.S. have been incredible. Travel is amazing in its own right, but there truly is nothing like being "home" and spending time with close friends and family. I'm not sure if distance really does make the heart grow fonder, or if leaving again forces people to appreciate things more, but the 'boro definitely seemed less boring this time around. That being said, I'm trading in my cowboy boots and Titans jerseys in for sandals and turbans... at least for the next two weeks. I am returning to Bangkok for another year of English teaching and will also take some online courses for a Masters degree in Education. My return to Thailand includes a two-week stint in Egypt and an 8 hour layover in London.
As luck would have it, British Airlines went on strike the day before my flight and resulted in some very enjoyable last minute panic. Somehow they made it work (as trained monkeys probably flew the planes.) Leaving my parents at the airport is one of the worst feelings in the world, but I was able to shift my emotional effort towards the horrible meal being served on board the plane. It seems like serving small portions of cold food was the airline's response to striking employees... It's a shame the American airlines don't have this excuse for the quality of their on board meals. In anticipation of the strike, British Airways recently hired on new, non-union employees. These stewardesses were easily identifiable by their young age and confused mannerisms. It's a pretty remarkable strategy on BA's part, however, as it's much easier to accept disgusting food and poor service from a cute British girl with an awesome accent. "More sugar for your tea, anyone?"
Let me make it clear that I have obviously learned to deal with my fear of flying. I don't dwell on crashing anymore, take anxiety medicine, or display any other obvious signs of being an "airwuss". That being said, it's a phobia that must be deeply ingrained within my mind because we hit several patches of turbulence throughout the night that resulted in me waking up gasping for breath. I laughed at myself the first time, but the novelty transformed into irritation after this became an hourly event. I suppose this is what happens when those monkeys fly planes.
I took advantage of an 8-hour layover in London to run around the city like a madman. I scoped out the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace, and Piccadilly Circus before heading back to the airport with $50 less in my wallet. It's a good thing I didn't eat or drink anything while out. I thought America was pricey... these Europeans have us beat! 
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Last Updated ( Sunday, 04 April 2010 )
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Tuesday, 23 March 2010 |
MUSE Berlin. (Oct. 29, 2009)
Tonight I saw Muse in Berlin. Every European knows them, and has known them for quite some time. Unfortunately, most Americans know them only as the band that sings the song from Twilight when the vampires are playing baseball during a lightning storm. It’s quite embarrassing for any guy to be forced into making Twilight references, so I’ve stopped trying to “share” this band with American friends. Anyway, I've liked MUSE for a few years now and had tickets to their Bangkok show, which was sadly canceled. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance to see them in Berlin, and by jumped, I mean I changed a plane ticket. Since I had a general admission standing ticket, I arrived embarrassingly early and waited in the freezing cold weather for the doors to open. I was not alone in this sad display of fandom. To justify this teenish behavior, I should point out that the ENTIRE European tour sold out in minutes, and I had no clue how crazy German fans are with their queuing habits. There were a few of the “creepy” super fans, but most of the people were really cool.
I spent most of my time talking to two girls from Sweden, and let me just say that Swedish and Finnish girls have got to be some of the nicest people in the world. Well, them and the Canadians. That's a total stereotype I know, but from my observations it's true almost 80% of the time. Anyway, as the time drew nearer, I decided it would be a good idea to use the bathroom before they let us in so that I wouldn't lose my spot in front of the stage. The girls held my place in line while I ran to the nearest train station in search of a toilet. There was no bathroom sight so I bought a bratwurst and hightailed it back to the line before the doors opened. I returned to my spot in the front of a huge line and discovered that I had lost my ticket in the process of not finding a place to pee. I ran back to the train station, I asked the police if they had found it, I asked the ticket lady if they had any more tickets for sale, and in the end, I reluctantly bought a new ticket for 50 Euros. I made it back to the line only seconds before the doors opened. I rushed into the building, sights set on the stage in front of me when a manager pulled me to the side. They talked on their radios in German as I watched hundreds of people pass by me on their way to the stage. I don't know German, but I picked out the work “fake” and my day got worse. “Way to waste 6 hours and 110 Euros,” I thought to myself. People shifted into the arena like sand in an hourglass… my time was running out.
Anger grew with each passing person, and when there were no more people left I just wanted to cry. They sent me to the police and just as they had finished rounding up their posse to find the evil guys selling counterfeit tickets, the two guys who sold me the fake ticket turned up with two fakes of their own. Turns out the real “evil people” selling fake tickets was actually a legitimate online ticket outlet. The guys had bought the tickets in England and the company (for some horrible reason) sent them these “vouchers” that needed to be exchanged for the real tickets before the date of the show. This was all explained very clearly on the ticket . . . in German! But English folks, like Americans, usually only know one language unless they’re cursing. Eventually they did let us in and I impolitely pushed my way up to the front (a cultural lesson on rude American concert habits). The concert was awesome and worth every bit of the money (and most of the effort) I put into seeing MUSE live.
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Last Updated ( Tuesday, 23 March 2010 )
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Wednesday, 10 March 2010 |
5-star Berlin. (Oct. 28, 2009)
I've been looking forward to this day in particular for the past 2 months. I have traveled quite a bit in the past three years, never spending more than $30 (and usually significantly less) on accommodation. The point of traveling should be to experience the city, therefore spending a minimal amount of time and money on a place to sleep only makes sense. Well, today that all changed; tonight I will rest my weary head on the pillows of a 5-star European hotel. The reason for my sudden change of heart is a long story that makes for a boring read. The short story is that a month or so ago I needed a secure and reliable place to send concert tickets to. I didn't trust a hostel or guesthouse, so I found a pretty good deal on priceline.com. Of course the Holiday Inn was cheaper, but I've stayed in one of those before. My fellow foodie friend, Anita once said, “Joey, you really seem to enjoy fru fru things.” I was pretty insulted at first, but I'm ashamed to admit she is probably right (Even though she said this after the chocolate buffet- which was her idea!). I would, however, like to change “fru fru” to something less gay sounding, like “nice”. I enjoy nice things... and doesn't everyone? Anyway, the plan took a nosedive yesterday when I called the hotel to make sure they had received my ticket. They hadn't. This set off a terrible chain of events that consumed an entire day. I called the ticket agency to see if they had even sent the ticket. “Sorry sir, we have no record of your order,” they said. “Well my credit card company has a record of it,” I replied. “Please give me your email and our service department will respond to your call.” “Today?” “Maybe.” I got the email around noon. It was in German. Fantastic! I called them again, spending about 6 Euros in the process, for someone to tell me no English operators were available and that I should call back later. I did call back and finally got someone speaking to me in English, unfortunately I was using Skype in a coffee shop, and a big noisy tourist group (probably Americans) came in. I was shouting moronically at my computer and trying my best to decipher what the man was saying. Come to find out, I had been calling the wrong ticket agency. He gave me the wrong number to the correct company, but when I finally got through to them, they informed me that someone at my hotel had, in fact, signed for the tickets. He faxed me a copy of the signature and I booked it across town to the hotel. The conversation there was polite and entirely not helpful. They didn't know whose signature it was, or where my mail could be. “Give me your email and I will let you know if we find it,” she said with a smile. “Make sure it's in English,” I thought. I gave her a skeptical smile and spent the night (at my $15 hostel) wondering about different scenarios and what my response to each one would be if they played out. There was no email this morning, I swam through the maze of beds and slumbering backpackers nursing hangovers and checked out. I reluctantly made my way across town in the rain dreading the horrible news I was about to get, but instead of “Sorry sir . . . ,” I was handed an envelope with my ticket inside. I had been trying to fit in as best as possible in this place, but my five-star facade faded and I let an “awesome!” slip out when the concierge handed me the parcel. I was then taken to my room where I probably, once again, let it be known just how out-of-place I truly was. The suite was incredible! It has the biggest bed I've ever seen, an Ipod deck, and original art adorning the walls. The bathroom has movable walls that allow guests to watch TV from the huge bathtub. It also has many things with uses unbeknown to me, and for some reason I like that. There's also a pool and gym. That reminds me, I never blogged about the gym I joined in Bangkok. Basically it was going to be a blog about how often I went (3-4 times a week for nearly a year) without seeing any results whatsoever. I hope this motivates you. Okay, this blog is already far too long (sorry). I will go enjoy my room now. 
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 11 March 2010 )
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