“What do you feel like eating for dinner?” “Something cheap” “Lobster?” A town where lobsters are not only plentiful, but also cheap street fare is like a foodie version of … Continue reading A Town Where Lobster is Cheaper Than Pizza
Where do Russians go when they don’t want to escape Russians, but they need a break from Russia? The beachfront town of Nha Trang, Vietnam. Transported by over six hundred … Continue reading “Russians Seeking Sun,” a Title Suggestion for Light Hearted Documentary
After a slight respite, I’m back on The Road. Welcome to Vietnam, a country of 91M people. Current location: Ho Chi Minh City, population, approximately 8M, number of scooters and … Continue reading How to Cross the Street in Asia: A Step by Step Guide
One of modern life’s great moments of anticipation: the luggage carousel, that familiar, “will they, or won’t they?” game your brain plays with you as you wait for your bags. You watch everyone else pluck their intended from the line and move on, to carry on with their lives. Sometimes, you’re one of them – one of the Lucky Ones.
And sometimes, you stand alone, beside nothing, pre-mourning your stuff. An Unlucky One.
Yesterday, I was an Unlucky One. I waited patiently, at a carousel that was unloading two flights. I watched everyone from my flight leave.
Head down in remorse, I went to the Baggage Claim Office.
My luggage, in it’s desire to see the world, had decided not to disembark the plane. It decided to carry on to the next destination.
Customer Service assured that me, if, someone at the next destination read the report she just issued, my bag would get back to me around 10pm. If not, definitely the next day.
“I’m travelling to Sydney tomorrow, if the bag doesn’t make it by then, what happens?”
“We can send it to Sydney, you would just have to pick it up at the airport.”
Okay. She handed me a WhatsApp number and told me they would text me if they heard anything.
Problem was, my bag was a bag without a name. The systems were down in Mulu, so, unable to print luggage tags, they just wrote on the destination (Miri) on a piece of paper, “MYY”. So, my bag was untrackable. It was basically single and ready to mingle.
I, on the other hand, was single and ready for a shower. My brain immediately went to thoughts of “how long will these smelly, dried-sweat filled clothes last – will they make it 24hrs?”, “Will they make it onto the next plane? And if they do, will the people next to me start to complain about holding their nose for eight hours?” Without my luggage I was a stinky-time bomb that no one would want on a plane.
Like most things, you don’t realize what you had, till it’s gone. But, like a good relationship, a break doesn’t necessarily mean a break-up.
At 10pm my bag showed up, looking a little naughty – but hey, what happens in Cargo Hold, stays in Cargo Hold.
Most hair salons in Malaysia are conveniently located in the air conditioned malls. Most of them are not busy, you just walk in.
For what is about to happen, not only would you pay through the nose in the US, but the line would also be a week long.
First, for about thirty minutes your hair gets a bubble bath where the bubbles get whipped into meringues, your head gets kneaded like it was the winning dough in The Great British Bake Off, and your scalp gets scratched as though you were a cat’s favorite post.
Then, your shoulders get a little massage.
And then, after you’ve been lulled into a state of relaxation where you couldn’t care if you were there for a haircut or a lobotomy – the procedure begins.
Best use of $15.
*joke courtesy of my father. I’ve spent the last couple of days hiking through rainforest and climbing about some caves – with monks. They had road tripped for two days, … Continue reading Monkeying Around with Some Monks*
Three lucky things happened to me today:
1. I (accidentally) laundered some (luckily) very sturdy money – but not so much that the authorities would notice.
2. While taking clothes out of the dryer, I left behind a sock and a pair of unattractive underwear. When I went back, two hours later – still in the dryer!
3. A very nice anonymous person paid for my (as of yet, not poisoned) dinner.
It’s like I’m Irish.
The question is – what happens next?