I suspect the following dialogue between myself and the attendant at the local Liddil's will only make sense to a Kiwi.
* * *
Toast: Is this a drug store?
Man (indignant): No. Absolutely not. It's a chemist.
Toast (looking around at the makeup,vitamins, over the counter pharmaceuticals, not to mention the busy professionals bottling pills behind the counter): Hunh. Okay. Chemist. Right. A new word. Got any hydrogen peroxide?
Man (even more indignant): No. It's illegal.
Toast (startled): Really? You're kidding. Why?
Man: It is a key component in making drugs.
Toast: Wow. I didn't know that. We use it for road rash.
Man: Road rash? Is that a drug?
Toast (laughs): Uh no. You know... a scrape, like rubbing your knee on a road.
Man (looking a bit relieved): Ah.... no. No … road... rash... We do have plasters.
Toast: Huh? For walls?
Man: No. For wounds.
Toast: Plasters. Okay. So no hydrogen peroxide. How about sudafed?
Man: Sue duh fed? What's that?
Toast: Pseudoephedrine.
Man (immediately returning to state of offense and suspicion): Do you make pee?
Toast: Of course I make pee. All the plumbing works fine. What does that have to do with it?
Man (moving to push some magic button behind the counter): No pee. PEE! The drug?
Toast: People take pee? What?! What on earth does this have to do with my cold?
Man: A cold?
Toast: Well... yes. Why else would I need pseudoephedrine?
Man (now equally confused): To make pee?
Toast: It's a diuretic? I didn't know that! No, I just need to clear up my sinuses. I've got a cold. Need a decongestant. I usually take either pseudoephedrine or guaifenesin.
Man (enlightened and reaching behind the counter for a package): Oooohh! Of course! We have that in combination. Here you go.
Toast (reads the package and gasps): Fenfen! Holy cow! This stuff is illegal!
Man (baffled): Why?
Toast: Teenage girls OD on this stuff, pop it like candy as a diet drug. Hot damn! How much will you sell me? Fantastic for colds.
Man (reluctantly): Well... it's available over the counter, but we have to be sure you aren't using it to make pee...
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Monday, March 01, 2010
A Long Way Down the Road
"Are we there yet?"
This isn't the first time I've been asked this question during our long journey from La Paz to Auckland. The journey started at 08:30 Wednesday and concludes 17:00 Friday somewhere south of New Zealand's capital. Even though this family has been able to literally travel 1,000s of nautical miles without getting bored, you can't expect everyone to display the same creative thought processes while sitting on their ass in an airplane.
"No," I reply. "We are not there yet."
It feels like we are never going to arrive. We left Casa Buena in La Paz with Dario of Ballena early after a quick breakfast. It was almost heartbreaking listening to the morning net for the last time. It was more wrenching to chase kitty down and stuff her into her box. Box life, however, didn't last long. We climbed into the truck and headed off jammed cheek by jowl by whisker for a four hour drive to Cabo San Lucas Airport. It should have taken just under three, but we got lost. DrC detoured us briefly to Bahia de Los Muertos.
"I'm bored."
The plane left almost immediately from Cabo… since obviously we were late. We only paid an extra $USD300 for the bags and the cat. All in all, a bit less than I had anticipated. The first flight was a three hour American Airlines cattle call during which we were provided with absolutely no amenities. AA now charges $3 for a bag of airplane peanuts. While everyone was friendly at the airport, our stewardess was a first class snippy bitch, and it really sucks to not even get a pretzel for our troubles.
"Of course you are bored. Read a book."
"I read my book."
LAX would have been a five hour exercise in twiddling our thumbs except we had to take care of Dulci. We gave her a chance to do her kitty business first. Don't let anyone tell you LA doesn't have any grass. There is a lovely patch of fake Dog Park grass next to the terminal. Dulci didn't particularly like it, however, and chose to cross her legs until we walked her over to the scrabbly bushes away from the dog smell. I then hustled her off in a cab to Alaska Airlines cargo where I said a tearful goodbye. Then it was back to the terminal… two miles on foot. The walking actually felt good, but as I was a bit pressed for time and starving, it made me more than a little bit cranky.
"Read another one."
"I don't have another one."
We had a really nice but absurdly expensive dinner at the airport in Los Angeles. The food was expensive… the beers were $9.40 each. What the pho? Unbelievable. Fortunately, we were paying in miscellaneous US change that we'd somehow accumulated over the years. Nearly 20 pounds and $70 of it. I'm sure the waitstaff were cursing us as we left, but there you go. It was time to climb on to our VAustralia Airbus where we were finally treated like customers rather than cargo. We were fed and watered… the first alcoholic beverage is free… and made as comfortable as possible for the 13 hour flight.
"Watch a movie."
"I've already watched three movies. I don't want to watch a movie."
This is a plausible claim. The international Airbus trips offer modern interactive entertainment systems which are really quite amazing. There were literally 100s of movies, TV shows and documentaries to choose from. I started with intellectually stimulating bits about the oceans, New Zealand, and international relations then moved on to a nicely acted chick flick. Then, as my brains leaked out my ears and my soul trailed increasingly far behind the plane, I switched to Harry Potter. This proved too intellectually challenging so I switched to the hopelessly nonsensical and plotless Transformers 2.
I take a deep breath, "Play a game."
"Will you play chess with me?"
We transferred in Sydney from VAustralia to Emirates. Emirates perks are even more pleasant and thorough than VAustralia. I can recommend without any reservation Emirates and will actively try to get booked on Virgin, Virgin affiliates and Emirates flights in the future. If at all possible, I will never take another US carrier anywhere in the world again. On our giganormous Airbus 380 Emirates, the food was outstanding, the service friendly and helpful, and the liquor altogether free. I know you are not supposed to drink, but we had a nice red wine with our chicken korma anyway. Screw it.
"I can't play chess. My brain is numb. Challenge Jaime to game of Pong, why don't you?" Having absolutely had it, I turn to look my seatmate directly in the eye and say in my most matronly, unequivocal mommy voice, "Now shut up. I mean it, Dean. Just shut up. Your boredom is not my problem."
This isn't the first time I've been asked this question during our long journey from La Paz to Auckland. The journey started at 08:30 Wednesday and concludes 17:00 Friday somewhere south of New Zealand's capital. Even though this family has been able to literally travel 1,000s of nautical miles without getting bored, you can't expect everyone to display the same creative thought processes while sitting on their ass in an airplane.
"No," I reply. "We are not there yet."
It feels like we are never going to arrive. We left Casa Buena in La Paz with Dario of Ballena early after a quick breakfast. It was almost heartbreaking listening to the morning net for the last time. It was more wrenching to chase kitty down and stuff her into her box. Box life, however, didn't last long. We climbed into the truck and headed off jammed cheek by jowl by whisker for a four hour drive to Cabo San Lucas Airport. It should have taken just under three, but we got lost. DrC detoured us briefly to Bahia de Los Muertos.
"I'm bored."
The plane left almost immediately from Cabo… since obviously we were late. We only paid an extra $USD300 for the bags and the cat. All in all, a bit less than I had anticipated. The first flight was a three hour American Airlines cattle call during which we were provided with absolutely no amenities. AA now charges $3 for a bag of airplane peanuts. While everyone was friendly at the airport, our stewardess was a first class snippy bitch, and it really sucks to not even get a pretzel for our troubles.
"Of course you are bored. Read a book."
"I read my book."
LAX would have been a five hour exercise in twiddling our thumbs except we had to take care of Dulci. We gave her a chance to do her kitty business first. Don't let anyone tell you LA doesn't have any grass. There is a lovely patch of fake Dog Park grass next to the terminal. Dulci didn't particularly like it, however, and chose to cross her legs until we walked her over to the scrabbly bushes away from the dog smell. I then hustled her off in a cab to Alaska Airlines cargo where I said a tearful goodbye. Then it was back to the terminal… two miles on foot. The walking actually felt good, but as I was a bit pressed for time and starving, it made me more than a little bit cranky.
"Read another one."
"I don't have another one."
We had a really nice but absurdly expensive dinner at the airport in Los Angeles. The food was expensive… the beers were $9.40 each. What the pho? Unbelievable. Fortunately, we were paying in miscellaneous US change that we'd somehow accumulated over the years. Nearly 20 pounds and $70 of it. I'm sure the waitstaff were cursing us as we left, but there you go. It was time to climb on to our VAustralia Airbus where we were finally treated like customers rather than cargo. We were fed and watered… the first alcoholic beverage is free… and made as comfortable as possible for the 13 hour flight.
"Watch a movie."
"I've already watched three movies. I don't want to watch a movie."
This is a plausible claim. The international Airbus trips offer modern interactive entertainment systems which are really quite amazing. There were literally 100s of movies, TV shows and documentaries to choose from. I started with intellectually stimulating bits about the oceans, New Zealand, and international relations then moved on to a nicely acted chick flick. Then, as my brains leaked out my ears and my soul trailed increasingly far behind the plane, I switched to Harry Potter. This proved too intellectually challenging so I switched to the hopelessly nonsensical and plotless Transformers 2.
I take a deep breath, "Play a game."
"Will you play chess with me?"
We transferred in Sydney from VAustralia to Emirates. Emirates perks are even more pleasant and thorough than VAustralia. I can recommend without any reservation Emirates and will actively try to get booked on Virgin, Virgin affiliates and Emirates flights in the future. If at all possible, I will never take another US carrier anywhere in the world again. On our giganormous Airbus 380 Emirates, the food was outstanding, the service friendly and helpful, and the liquor altogether free. I know you are not supposed to drink, but we had a nice red wine with our chicken korma anyway. Screw it.
"I can't play chess. My brain is numb. Challenge Jaime to game of Pong, why don't you?" Having absolutely had it, I turn to look my seatmate directly in the eye and say in my most matronly, unequivocal mommy voice, "Now shut up. I mean it, Dean. Just shut up. Your boredom is not my problem."
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
Fake Mexico
As we pull into the Las Hadas anchorage, the girls standing on the bow let out a delighted cry, “Fake Mexico!” Aeron comes running back to the cockpit, “Mommy! I think it's fake Mexico!”
Fake Mexico is a relief after months on the hook in Zihuatanejo and traveling for over a week through remote parts of real Mexico. What fake Mexico means to the girls is swimming pools, air conditioning, and white, slightly pouchy, North American kids on winter break with their parents. What it means to DrC and I is unlimited fresh water to wash the boat in the morning followed by drinks at a swhttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=38495401im up bar in the afternoon. Fake Mexico has green lawns, obsequious waiters who quietly tolerate obnoxious drunks, and no graffiti. The groceries stores go by names like C.C.C. (pronounced say-say-say) and Sorianas, and they all look precisely like WalMart. In fact, the stores are so familiar they even go by names all would recognize such as... yes... WalMart. And Costco, Domino's Pizza, and Burger King.
There are many reasons we do not spend a great deal of time in fake Mexico, though I'll admit that probably the most important is financial. Fake Mexico costs about the same as Real United States. We had heard about this phenomena even before leaving. Apparently, fake Mexico used to be considerably cheaper but – perhaps because of NAFTA, perhaps because the Mexicans have just figured it all out – goods in fake Mexico are basically the same price as your average bar, mall or hotel up North. Now if you are one of those folks who can afford to live at a hotel 24/7, then pricing in fake Mexico won't pose a problem. Cruisers on a budget, however, need to be more frugal with the cruising kitty and so spend more time in real Mexico where the food and fuel budget drop by at least half.
Another problem with fake Mexico is that it misses the entire point of traveling aboard. You can't really tell the difference between a bar in fake Mexico and one in San Diego or Miami. I say those cities deliberately because I sometimes think more Spanish is spoken in Miami or San Diego than in Nuevo Vallarta or Las Hadas. You could spend a week in Ixtapa and never go to a taco stand or mercado. You can pull up to the dock in Mazatlan, spend a month in El Cid, and never experience the zocolo, see the cow carcasses hanging from the rafters of a carneceria or browse through a fabric warehouse. Even the décor feels more like a Disneyland interpretation of ancient Mexico then anything you would find in the villages, towns, and incredibly busy cities of the real country.
One of the more surreal aspects of fake Mexico are the licensed street vendors selling tchotkies and mementos along the water front. If you spend any time in real Mexico, a quick browse of the wares at the hotels reveals both their very low quality and premium pricing. Real Mexican markets involve haggling, competition, and cacophony. Contrasted with sun burnt visitors quietly picking over the goods of one or two sellers, it feels as though all the energy and vitality has been bled out of the system leaving only a pale, hollow echo.
I want to shout at these travelers, “Get out of the hotel! Go to town!” A 5 peso bus ride and 20 minutes will put you in the heart of Manzanillo, Mazatlan, or Zihuatanejo. The goods you see here are pathetic, limited, and expensive. In town, you'll find literally hundreds of shops and vendors, the streets so full of commerce and a spirit of entrepreneurial energy, the money will just leap out of your pocket in exchange for incredibly fresh fruit, large glasses of cold jugo, vibrant shirts, plates, and rugs.
But despite our scorn for fake Mexico, sometimes we flee into it as a vacation from our cruising life. Real Mexico is dirty, hot, and hard work. The streets are cobblestone or dirt, graffiti covers the walls, and it's hard to make ourselves understood. It's loud and smoky, busy and crowded, and it often smells. Probably most significantly, all the marinas are in fake Mexico. So if we want to dock up for water, provisioning, or simply a night of not moving, we have to step out of reality. We're forced to compromise, spend the money for a tie up, and slip into the creations of Singlar and Fontanur.
Terrible compromise that is... sometimes we just have to swim up to the bar if we want a beer.
Fake Mexico is a relief after months on the hook in Zihuatanejo and traveling for over a week through remote parts of real Mexico. What fake Mexico means to the girls is swimming pools, air conditioning, and white, slightly pouchy, North American kids on winter break with their parents. What it means to DrC and I is unlimited fresh water to wash the boat in the morning followed by drinks at a swhttp://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=38495401im up bar in the afternoon. Fake Mexico has green lawns, obsequious waiters who quietly tolerate obnoxious drunks, and no graffiti. The groceries stores go by names like C.C.C. (pronounced say-say-say) and Sorianas, and they all look precisely like WalMart. In fact, the stores are so familiar they even go by names all would recognize such as... yes... WalMart. And Costco, Domino's Pizza, and Burger King.
There are many reasons we do not spend a great deal of time in fake Mexico, though I'll admit that probably the most important is financial. Fake Mexico costs about the same as Real United States. We had heard about this phenomena even before leaving. Apparently, fake Mexico used to be considerably cheaper but – perhaps because of NAFTA, perhaps because the Mexicans have just figured it all out – goods in fake Mexico are basically the same price as your average bar, mall or hotel up North. Now if you are one of those folks who can afford to live at a hotel 24/7, then pricing in fake Mexico won't pose a problem. Cruisers on a budget, however, need to be more frugal with the cruising kitty and so spend more time in real Mexico where the food and fuel budget drop by at least half.
Another problem with fake Mexico is that it misses the entire point of traveling aboard. You can't really tell the difference between a bar in fake Mexico and one in San Diego or Miami. I say those cities deliberately because I sometimes think more Spanish is spoken in Miami or San Diego than in Nuevo Vallarta or Las Hadas. You could spend a week in Ixtapa and never go to a taco stand or mercado. You can pull up to the dock in Mazatlan, spend a month in El Cid, and never experience the zocolo, see the cow carcasses hanging from the rafters of a carneceria or browse through a fabric warehouse. Even the décor feels more like a Disneyland interpretation of ancient Mexico then anything you would find in the villages, towns, and incredibly busy cities of the real country.
One of the more surreal aspects of fake Mexico are the licensed street vendors selling tchotkies and mementos along the water front. If you spend any time in real Mexico, a quick browse of the wares at the hotels reveals both their very low quality and premium pricing. Real Mexican markets involve haggling, competition, and cacophony. Contrasted with sun burnt visitors quietly picking over the goods of one or two sellers, it feels as though all the energy and vitality has been bled out of the system leaving only a pale, hollow echo.
I want to shout at these travelers, “Get out of the hotel! Go to town!” A 5 peso bus ride and 20 minutes will put you in the heart of Manzanillo, Mazatlan, or Zihuatanejo. The goods you see here are pathetic, limited, and expensive. In town, you'll find literally hundreds of shops and vendors, the streets so full of commerce and a spirit of entrepreneurial energy, the money will just leap out of your pocket in exchange for incredibly fresh fruit, large glasses of cold jugo, vibrant shirts, plates, and rugs.
But despite our scorn for fake Mexico, sometimes we flee into it as a vacation from our cruising life. Real Mexico is dirty, hot, and hard work. The streets are cobblestone or dirt, graffiti covers the walls, and it's hard to make ourselves understood. It's loud and smoky, busy and crowded, and it often smells. Probably most significantly, all the marinas are in fake Mexico. So if we want to dock up for water, provisioning, or simply a night of not moving, we have to step out of reality. We're forced to compromise, spend the money for a tie up, and slip into the creations of Singlar and Fontanur.
Terrible compromise that is... sometimes we just have to swim up to the bar if we want a beer.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Pick Your Pleasure
“I think I like it here,” says DrC one evening over pina coladas. We're looking out over the Las Hadas anchorage, watching the white walls turn pink and purple in the setting sun.
I blink, “Really? What brought on this effusive display, husband mine?”
He looks around, sips thoughtfully at his drink, “The pineapple juice really improves it.”
I am reasonably certain he's changed the topic, but with DrC you never can tell. It is within the realm of possibility that his entire interpretation of his experience of Manzanillo Bay is filtered the golden tinted goggles of pina colada fog. I wait a beat, just in case, because the best possible course of action with my husband is to let him think for awhile.
My patience is rewarded with a casual wave of his tumbler at the anchorage, the bay, and the lights on the horizon, “I could live here.” Not the drink, then. “Not too big or busy, hardware stores, spread out, not as polluted.”
Our criteria for favorite place in Mexico varies with each member of the crew. DrC focuses on convenience and accessibility of hardware stores, bait and tackle shops, and large grocery outlets. He likes where the cabbies are indulgent with his many stops, and the local cruiser network is full of pithy advise on how to fix boat gear.
Jaime, on the other hand, focuses exclusively on friends. Hanging out with friends. La Paz, for example, is heaven because she spent the entire time with her friend Isobel. She's driving hard to get us back to Mazatlan solely to meet up with 4-P.A.C.K. and her good friend Casey. Mazatlan? For gods sake child, are you insane? Mazatlan of the stinky sewage anchorage, the smoky horizon and the daily visits by cruise ships?
Aeron selects destinations solely for their swimmability. Pool swimming is good, ocean swimming is great. Any swimming is critical. My little fish. Her partner in all things creative and playful, Mera, also seeks clean water – preferably fresh. However, of all of us Mera is most interested in the remote anchorage. She likes the water calm, the air and water clear, the evenings quiet and peaceful.
I would like to say that I care about the mercadas, clean water for swimming, and the company of fellow cruisers. But when I ask my family what they think is important to me, they tell me that the only really critical feature necessary for my sanity and happiness is a good Internet connection to the boat. I thought I'd broken that umbilical cord. I can stop any time I want to! Really! And they say, “Um... not so much Mom.” DrC just shakes his head.
It is hard to find a place where all of us are happy. Las Hadas has the pool, market, hardware stores, and cruisers, but there are no kid boats here for Jaime. Zihua's water was frequently disgusting, and we rarely got to swim in fresh; There were boat kids, but we didn't have quiet. In Santiago, it's quiet and clean and full of friendly cruisers, but the hardware stores are miles away. Tenacatita? No stores at all. Chamela? No Internet. Ipala? Oh please... just do not even bother dropping hook. La Cruz? Too rolly. Nuevo Vallarta? Too expensive. Mazatlan? You either die of the smell or you live in a boat parking lot. La Paz? Well...
Now La Paz might just do the trick. If we could find a swimming pool...
I blink, “Really? What brought on this effusive display, husband mine?”
He looks around, sips thoughtfully at his drink, “The pineapple juice really improves it.”
I am reasonably certain he's changed the topic, but with DrC you never can tell. It is within the realm of possibility that his entire interpretation of his experience of Manzanillo Bay is filtered the golden tinted goggles of pina colada fog. I wait a beat, just in case, because the best possible course of action with my husband is to let him think for awhile.
My patience is rewarded with a casual wave of his tumbler at the anchorage, the bay, and the lights on the horizon, “I could live here.” Not the drink, then. “Not too big or busy, hardware stores, spread out, not as polluted.”
Our criteria for favorite place in Mexico varies with each member of the crew. DrC focuses on convenience and accessibility of hardware stores, bait and tackle shops, and large grocery outlets. He likes where the cabbies are indulgent with his many stops, and the local cruiser network is full of pithy advise on how to fix boat gear.
Jaime, on the other hand, focuses exclusively on friends. Hanging out with friends. La Paz, for example, is heaven because she spent the entire time with her friend Isobel. She's driving hard to get us back to Mazatlan solely to meet up with 4-P.A.C.K. and her good friend Casey. Mazatlan? For gods sake child, are you insane? Mazatlan of the stinky sewage anchorage, the smoky horizon and the daily visits by cruise ships?
Aeron selects destinations solely for their swimmability. Pool swimming is good, ocean swimming is great. Any swimming is critical. My little fish. Her partner in all things creative and playful, Mera, also seeks clean water – preferably fresh. However, of all of us Mera is most interested in the remote anchorage. She likes the water calm, the air and water clear, the evenings quiet and peaceful.
I would like to say that I care about the mercadas, clean water for swimming, and the company of fellow cruisers. But when I ask my family what they think is important to me, they tell me that the only really critical feature necessary for my sanity and happiness is a good Internet connection to the boat. I thought I'd broken that umbilical cord. I can stop any time I want to! Really! And they say, “Um... not so much Mom.” DrC just shakes his head.
It is hard to find a place where all of us are happy. Las Hadas has the pool, market, hardware stores, and cruisers, but there are no kid boats here for Jaime. Zihua's water was frequently disgusting, and we rarely got to swim in fresh; There were boat kids, but we didn't have quiet. In Santiago, it's quiet and clean and full of friendly cruisers, but the hardware stores are miles away. Tenacatita? No stores at all. Chamela? No Internet. Ipala? Oh please... just do not even bother dropping hook. La Cruz? Too rolly. Nuevo Vallarta? Too expensive. Mazatlan? You either die of the smell or you live in a boat parking lot. La Paz? Well...
Now La Paz might just do the trick. If we could find a swimming pool...
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