John Milito's Amazing Adventures

St. Michael's Mount: Castles, Cockles, and More

2011-12-08T02:15:00.004-06:00

We joined forces with Mike's friend Keeble who I had the pleasure of meeting back in the Ashikaga, Japan days. And then it was road trip time.

Jammie Dodgers really are Jamtastic.

For Mike, St. Michael's Mount was one of those tourist locations that you live close to but never get around to checking out. Basically it is a castle sitting atop a little island. It has a great view and a lot of good history.

There was a beach, but the wind was cold enough that people set up these little shelters while they laid in the sand. I'm so glad we decided not to go surfing. Hehe

On a couple of occasions I tried to do that thing where you take a picture mid jump and it looks super cool. Mike managed to always take the picture too early though, so I have several of these "me taking a dump" shots in lovely settings.

One thing that was really cool about this place was the walk to the castle. There was a man-made stone walkway that was barely above water. I had a bit of a walking on the ocean feeling after getting a little ways from shore.

This was low tide, so now it just looks like a big mud pit.

There were lots of weird plants around that really looked out of place on dry land.

Mike and Keeble exploring up a storm.

The black field with the white cross is the flag of Cornwall.

While the outside of the place looked awesome, the inside was less compelling at times. Coats of arms, sets of armor, and other pretty standard fare covered many of the interior walls.

The history of St. Michael's Mount was way cooler. According to the website, in 1588 the mount was where the first "beacon was lit to warn of the arrival of the Spanish Armada".

Even earlier than that, the fortress was under siege during the Wars of the Roses. I recently watched the crap out of The Tudors on Netflix and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It gave me a deeper understanding of British history than I had accumulated in my life previously(although it's probably a bit embellished for TV). Some completely awesome characters belonged to the Tudor dynasty such as Henry VIII, Mary I(aka Bloody Mary), and Elizabeth I. In summary the Wars of the Roses were fought between the houses of Lancaster and York over the throne. Their symbols were the red and white rose, respectively. When Henry Tudor scratched his way to the top and married Elizabeth of York from the opposing house, he created the House of Tudor which ruled for 117 years. Because of this the badge for the house became a double rose, combining the symbols of the two previous houses. Pretty cool.

The Tudor rose has been used as the "traditional floral heraldic emblem of England" ever since. Bang.

Former Nazi foreign minister Joachim von Ribbentrop is rumored to having wished to retire at St. Michael's Mount after wrapping up world domination, and the castle can be seen in 1983 James Bond film Never Say Never Again. What the heck else could you ask for?

There were some interesting pieces of art here and there as well.

Drinking enough wine to then make a scale model of your own house from the corks is the sort of multi-layered accomplishment that really impresses people.

A little chapel in the compound had a couple of my favorite pieces.

I'd like to entitle this work either: "St. Michael says "BOOM"" or "Demons be Trippin'".

I'm not sure this picture does it justice, but this was my favorite thing in the whole place.

The Lantern Cross

This fifteenth-century cross is believed to have been made for the Mount. The good condition of the carvings suggest it was kept indoors, perhaps in the Lady Chapel(now the Blue Drawing Room). It was moved to the balustrade outside the Church door in the nineteenth century, where it stood until 2008.

It is carved from a single piece of stone, probably from Padstow. The pinnacles date from a nineteenth century restoration.

A king, probably Edward the Confessor, who is said to have founded the monastery here (before it was given to Mont St. Michel). He is wearing a crown, and holds a staff and charter or book.

We were finishing up a very thorough tour of this great place, and I'm thinking it's time to check out the gift shops we ignored on the way in, or take a little rest and do some people watching. One of my gallant guides asks a random employee what time it is, and we all started jogging to the exit. Why I couldn't tell you.

Well that awesome walk way we used to cross the bay the first time is above a mud pit at low tide, and completely under the damn ocean at high tide. And the ocean clock was ticking. There were other ways to get back to shore, but they all cost money. And money is for beer. The water wasn't such a big problem when we began our return trip, but before it was over I had to take off my shoes and socks and roll up my pant legs to avoid a squishy afternoon. It's amazing to me how fast the water rises.

The whole thing turned into this epic tourist evacuation, with parents carrying children. Towards the end the waves made keeping my feet on the slippery stones much more difficult. Once we were safely ashore, we turned and watched people deal with the rising water. The last stragglers pretty much had to swim.

Even the damn roof moss here was cool. Bright orange!

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Next we drove across the thin tip of the island and walked along the pier in touristy St. Ives.

There were lots of seafoods available, and I saw cockles for sale, which I had to try. Not much different than really tiny clams. They seemed to be about half sand though. They were so sandy I was forced to donate them to Keeble, who didn't seem to mind one bit.

Here's a better understanding of the wide range of pasty flavors available.

We ended the night at this super old school pub back in Callington. It was a lot like I imagined a neighborhood pub would be like. Everyone seemed real familiar with each other, and we were the only two under probably mid-fifties. The owner of the places was serving us drinks, and it seemed half the reason he opened the place was so that he would have people to drink with. He was really slurry, but he would constantly refer to the both of us as "my sons" which I can't relate how much I loved. There was a lot of old school Cornish accent happening here which I hadn't heard much of previously. If there's ever been a form of English that I understood less clearly than Japanese, this was it.

So we were having a few and talking about something that I'm sure was profound when closing time approached. Rather than announce "last call" or do something else to induce us to leave, they simply turned most of the lights out and locked the doors, continuing in pretty much the same fashion otherwise. Mike explained that this was pretty standard in small towns, that at official closing time they would have a little "lock in", and that was enough to satisfy the local authorities that they were closed. Closed or not, sitting in close to darkness with a bunch of drunk old locals was plenty uncomfortable, and we soon walked on home.

Plymouth!

2011-09-05T09:19:00.015-05:00

When I returned back from my Euro-trip in late August, I began an internship and three classes in my marketing research program. I went from Mr. Freetime to candidate for busiest man in the world overnight. That's my current life update, and also my excuse for being so slow posting everything. This trip was completely awesome and I will properly document it if it kills me.

I don't think I even realized Plymouth was in the area until we drove past it. Even then it didn't interest me until Mike explained it was that Plymouth. The one the Mayflower left from and then named a rock after. Then I was very much excited to check it out. I think Mike instantly regretted telling me. He was initially interested in doing outdoorsy things like surfing and camping. Well it was chilly and rainy a good portion of the time and we ended up doing touristy things and having a good time on the town instead. It all worked out in the end.

Our morning began at Mike's parents' lovely home. Their neighborhood was really idyllic, little streets with little shops. A really old stone church. A couple of old timey pubs. If I was rich I would have seasonal homes in the coolest places ever. This is the view from their back porch.

And then we drove to Plymouth. While Mike lives in Cornwall county, Plymouth lies just over the border in the county of Devon. I think Devonshire tea is the only instance I've heard this name before, but it was a really scenic place with a lot of fun history.

Plymouth Barbican on the waterfront was where our journey began.

The Mayflower Steps is the traditional leaving point of the Pilgrims on their most excellent voyage. The English are not a people in fear of misnomers, though, as this is likely not really the true historical spot they left from nor are there any steps. Good story anyway.

This area really identifies with its dairy products, so when I saw the classic ice cream truck I was already in. Then I saw that a little twist was available: for an additional 30p I could have my ice cream topped with clotted cream. As I mentioned a couple posts earlier, clotted cream is a butter like spread. So I'm conversing with Mike about whether getting butter smeared all over ice cream is something a human should really do, when a nearby person overhears our conversation and interjects. That nearby person just so happened to be Spangles the Clown! Spangles removes his bright red nose and begins what is hands down the most serious conversation anyone has ever had with a clown. He explains all about the ice cream, even going as far as asking the storekeep what brand of clotted cream they are serving. Talk about random.

Yes I am a weirdo, and yes I googled Spangles, and yes he has a website. It's right here. Don't judge me. His homepage informs that he possesses £10 million Public Liability Insurance. If I was a terminally ill child and had to make a wish, it would be: to be involved in some sort of incident with a British clown that causes £10 million worth of damage. That is all.

At this point I am pretty much committed. So against my better judgement I purchase a good sized ice cream cone with butter all over it.

The butter and the ice cream were nearly the same color, making each bite a surprise. It was actually quite good.

We did plenty of walking in this nice little area. There were lots of little bakeries and shops. That little smokestack looking guy in the middle is the Plymouth Gin Distillery. Heck yes I went in there.

The distillery had a tour of the facility available but it cost some forgotten amount more than free, which I disapproved of highly. It's interesting to me how decisions are made in different places about pricing. In the US a tour of a factory, brewery, or any other place where they make things you can buy is always always free in my experience. The place is going to be one big advertisement for whatever it is they are selling. Not a complaint by any means, but an observation. They did have a cool little area in the store where they talked about the history of Plymouth Gin. A couple of the stories were pretty damn awesome.

New Drinks were invented for this new style gin, notably by the British in India who created the Gin and Tonic when they mixed their daily dose of quinine, given to prevent malaria, with soda, ice, and gin. When the servants of the Raj came home they brought the taste for this exotic combination with them.

Plymouth Gin is still made at Naval Strength - 57% abv or 100 English Proof; as such because if gin is spilt on gunpowder at this strength, the powder would still light, a throwback to the days when the gin and gunpowder were stored side by side. Proof is a system of measuring alcohol invented by the Royal Navy originating from testing sailor's daily rations. A mixture of gunpowder and alcohol would be placed on deck and lit. If it burnt with a clear blue flame this was 'proof' that no water had been added. Eventually 'proof' was defined as 100 degrees.

I had no choice to but to buy some combustible Naval Strength gin. And that's the story of why you don't charge for tours.

It's hard to look tough while sipping tea and eating scones, but I did my very best. I once again had to borrow a jacket. I have some sort of mental block preventing me from packing anything other than short sleeved shirts when I travel.

Chips were an often talked about part of our collective diet. The funny part is Mike is deathly scared of eating fish, so we only ever got the chips. These were small, limp, and wet, exactly how Mike liked them. They tasted fine but an emergency trip to the restroom never seemed long afterward. Mike lamented that American style "fries" were infringing on the chip's rightful place in English society.

Said emergency "toilets". They really were "clean". I feel that in this "situation" that quotation marks are "unnecessary".

We met the parents later that evening for dinner. When I heard we were going to have Mexican food my first thoughts were not pleasant ones. It ended up being great though. I hope I'm not turning into a snob.

The local specialty drink was scrumpy. Once that word hit my lips I could not stop saying it. Scrumpy. Magical. Scrumping means to forage or steal fruit from the countryside. Mike's stepdad mentioned that he used to do it back in the day.

A sign for another local cider made by the same company.

Mike's fam has a British Bulldog. It was a great dog but the poor thing was dumb as a post. It spent so much time up at night barking at shadows and potted plants that they had to fit it with a shock collar. I don't remember his name, I alternated between calling him Scrumpy, Scrum, or the more respectful Mr. Scrumperton.

Cornwall

2011-09-02T13:39:00.000-05:00

Mike was kind enough to use a couple of his vacation days while I was in country, and we took the opportunity to drive to his hometown, Callington. He even had a work related meeting in the area, so his employer was covering the gas. Can't hardly beat that. He is a solicitor, which I humorously assumed meant that he was some kind of salesman. The only time we use that word in the US is usually the "No Soliciting" signs in the parking lots of businesses. Well there it means lawyer of some type. It's really complicated, but the practice of law there is divided between solicitors and barristers. I'm not going to go further into it here, but the solicitor wikipedia page explains it in detail.

Anyway, back on topic. Callington is in Cornwall county, and it was a nice change from the noise of London.

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The clothing company Lands' End is named after the western most point of the English mainland, where... the land ends. It happens to be located in Cornwall.

So we packed up the car and hit the road. Just getting out of London seemed to take forever.

St. Pancras railway station

When I told Mike our signs simply read "yield" he thought that sounded too bossy.

The traffic on the highway ground to a halt, and we were a bit hungry by this point, so we decided to take a country road detour and rustle up some food while we were at it. It was at this point I learned that people in these parts had really strict eating schedules. It was around 3, and we likely tried four restaurants and tea houses. All of them were open, and not one of them would serve us hot food. Mike kept calling it "the lacuna" which I assumed meant Twilight Zone, but it means "the gap". Like the hungry, hungry few hours that occur between lunch and dinner. So we had an elegant meal procured from a gas station.

Rarely does a untried flavor of candy bar escape my grasp.

England seems to have completely ditched the old magnetic strip type of credit card in favor of cards with a chip in them that have a matching pin code. At first I was annoyed by my lack of this type of card, but I began to enjoy confounding the locals with my ancient credit card. Most stores had the hardware to accept standard credit cards but on several occasions the staff didn't know how to use it! While trying to buy a sandwich and a candy bar at this gas station I signed my receipt, waited while the attendant compared the signature to that on the back of my card, asked for picture ID, then called her manager over to confirm. "It looks enough like him, he's just shaved his head." OK.

I really enjoyed the scenery on the drive. Cities are one thing, but the country is where real culture is hiding. We stayed on the back roads so long that this trip took longer than flying from Chicago to London.

I was rewarded for my endurance with a delicious Cornish Pasty. It's basically a hot pocket that doesn't make your stomach sad. The traditional ones have steak and potatoes, but there were tons of other flavors. It's hard to say if the pasty has won out over my love of Australian meat pies, but they were damn good anyway.

Seoul Taco Food Truck

2011-09-01T11:54:00.000-05:00

I had my first food truck lunch yesterday! It's a big life milestone indeed. The Seoul Taco truck(website) was at 8th and Market, but it moves all around town bringing Korean cheer. You can keep abreast of this delicious mobile restaurant on twitter here.

I went for the Bulgolgi tacos @ $2.50 a piece. They had a lot of flavor.

I Rocked Down to Electric Avenue

2011-08-25T05:35:00.010-05:00

I hadn't been to a museum yet and I was starting to feel the itch. I chose the Imperial War Museum. Who doesn't like a good war museum now and then?

The museum is housed in the old building of the infamous Bethlem Royal Hospital. It was the definition of a madhouse, and the short version of its name, bedlam, came to mean mass panic and confusion.

The museum was great, but it was also very large. I probably made a mistake trying to see everything in chronological order, because I was more interested in the museum's treatment of modern wars but I was pretty beat by the time I finished WWII.

Funny little carrier pigeon delivery system.

There was a cool Trench Experience where visitors can maneuver around through some dark trenches and listen to British mannequins talk about the war. Spooky stuff.

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From the museum I headed over to Brixton. I was especially interested in the market there.

Brixton is the unofficial capital of the British African-Caribbean community. My guidebook pointed out a couple of song references to Brixton that I found interesting. One was "The Guns of Brixton" by The Clash.

The song is a response to the heavy handed force used by police in the area. It was released about a year and a half before the first Brixton Riot. I thought this was really cool, because I've been listening to the Clash for years, and especially liked this song, but I had no idea what its lyrics meant.

The other song mentioned was "Electric Avenue" by Eddy Grant. The actual Electric Avenue was called such because it was the first street in the UK to be lit with electricity.

I could post the music video, but where's the fun in that? Here's the opening scene to Pineapple Express.

The markets were really cool, though I didn't feel the need to buy anything. Lots of Caribbean accents floated through the stalls selling fresh produce and meats.

Here's a shot of Mike's apartment.

This is probably my favorite place in his neighborhood. Everywhere there are kebabs, food advertised as Halal, and foreign tongues and dress. No one told the owners of this old school pub, though.

Afternoon Tea in London

2011-08-20T14:38:00.000-05:00

Afternoon tea was an Englishy thing that I wanted to do so we hit that early. Mike wasn't incredibly excited about it, but he was nice enough to make a reservation at a nice looking hotel near a work meeting he had that day. I had some time to kill before our 4pm tea time, so I headed over to the Buckingham Palace area to battle the tourist hoards. I really walked all over town.

The day's travels began as they usually do, with a trip on the underground. Right off the plane I was smart enough to buy an oyster card, which is a rechargeable way to pay for train and bus fare. Not only is it convenient, but a significant discount is given over those who buy a ticket every time with cash. To top it off, the card keeps track of how many trips I take and caps the amount I spend at a certain point, making any additional rides free. I have hit that limit more than one time already.

Some tourists poking their cameras through the gates of Buckingham Palace. I just walked around the outside, as standard adult admission to this place converts to almost 30 dollars. The queen really needs to have a roller-coaster or something in there to command that sort of cash.

Victoria Memorial

The Mall is the big ceremonial road that stretches between the palace and Admiralty Arch.

Admiralty Arch

The Canada Gate

I popped in to the Burlington Arcade for just a second. The stores were way too high end for me, but one cool thing about this little place are the beadles patrolling the area. They keep order in top hats and tails.

I wandered around in the National Gallery a little, but by this time I was pretty beat, and it was about time to go meet Mike for tea, which of course required some more undergrounding.

The place we chose was the Hotel Russel, which is located practically next door to Russel Square station. The two lifts that were available had a ton of people waiting on them. I noticed a set of stairs and figured I'd just hop on those to escape to the outside world. The stairs were winding, and going up meant that I was relegated to the thin part of the spiral staircase. While trudging along a recorded voice began speaking on the intercom and it went something like this: "There are 950 stairs on this staircase which equals about 15 stories. Use these stairs in an emergency only." I probably flubbed the numbers, but I thought it was funny to listen to over and over while I was huffing and puffing my way up the stairs. By the end I really wanted to show that discouraging voice who was boss. I didn't realize the tube was that far underground. No wonder they were used as bomb shelters.

The Hotel Russel looked really cool from the outside.

We split a tea, and it was still difficult for the two of us to finish all of the food that came with it. Here was the spread:

"High Tea £19.50
Finger Sandwiches, fine pastries, scones with clotted cream and jam
Smoked salmon, cream cheese and tomato, roast beef and horseradish, glazed ham and mustard, cucumber, prawn Marie rose, egg and mustard cress. (four fillings of your choice)"
I'm not really sure which of these sandwiches we received, but they were all really good. The number of dishes necessary for tea was impressive, and the table was soon crowded with food and drink. The pastries and sandwiches came on this tri-level tray all neatly arranged. The clotted cream is a bit difficult to describe, it's like butter but a bit creamier maybe? It's made by boiling fresh milk.

We picked this place because it looked nice but was on the cheaper side. The place to really splurge on tea in London seems to be The Ritz. It runs £40 a person, plus a jacket and tie are required for the gentlemen. Tea at the Russel was nice, but one thing we noticed was that they didn't give us a choice of teas, which is sort of standard in my understanding.

I take my tea with milk and a spoon of sugar.

A quick trip to check out Harrods filled out the day.

The place was full of really gaudy Egyptian statues and other decor. It brought to mind the Luxor in Las Vegas.

I've been all over the place lately and have hardly had any time to post anything. It's a good problem to have!

Oh, Mr. Milito, Your Money's No Good Here

2011-08-10T04:18:00.006-05:00

I've been in London about a day now. The majority of that time was spent getting to Mike and Clarence's place and taking a jetlagged nap on their couch. I know both of these guys from teaching English in Japan, and I imagine there's about a hundred pictures of each of them throughout this blog already. I'm about to go to afternoon tea with Mike at a fancy looking hotel, so I will be brief.

After getting off the plane I had the pleasure of standing in the immigration line for a long time. The whole thing is really silly to me. I realize they have a job to do, but the questions they ask remind me of interrogating Japanese students during "conversation tests" in my teaching days.

"What's your job?" "Student"
"What are you studying?" "Marketing"
"Where are you staying?" "My friend's house"
"What's the purpose of your visit?" "Sightseeing"
"What sights do you want to see?" "All of them."

His story checks out.

Mike's place is in Islington, and I took the underground as it was the cheapest option.

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So I'm sitting on the tube, the ride must have been an hour, when the train stops, and everyone gets off, and it doesn't start up again. Great. A train worker pokes his head in the door and says that the Picadilly Line is now closed in both directions because a train is "smoldering" on the tracks. I don't know if this was riot related or not (I doubt it) but it was unsettling regardless. Luckily I was able to take another line the rest of the way and Clarence was kind enough to meet me at Finsbury Park station.

Clarence was hungry, and I was still pretty groggy and couldn't say if I was hungry or not, so we went to a cafe after dropping off my luggage.

I'm pretty much obsessed with doing local things, so I had the full English breakfast. It was giant. Highlights included a slice of black pudding and a giant pile of beans. It was enough food for like four people.

I finished my meal, paid for the food, and even put a pound in the tip dish even though Clarence said it was unnecessary. What a great guy I am. We are about a block away when the cafe's cashier catches up with us, holding the damn £20 note I'd just given him. He said he couldn't accept it because it was too old. What!? I handed him a different one. Nope that was too old too. So we walked all the way back and had a chat with the manager(we really should have just said tough crumpets and walked away; sometimes I think I'm too polite for my own good). Back at the cafe they were all really rude about it. I finally found a note in my pile that was to their liking. Another customer in line was also getting huffy, explaining that on new bills the watermark of the queen faces the picture of the queen. Really, do I look or sound like I care what you are talking about, when I have a pile of money that is evidently not suitable to buy things? How old the damn things could have even been when they had holograms on them is still confusing. At this point I'm a bit worried that I am holding a pile of fake money, bringing to mind my Peruvian counterfeit run-in. There was a bank across the street that luckily was willing to exchange these totally unacceptable notes for slightly differently shaded notes that all the looked the same to me. Crisis averted, day is saved. Mike told me not to embarrass him by saying "the queen faces the queen" at opportune moments all day. I won't be stopped.

Mike and I went to Camden market after he got off of work. Thing is, there were riots all over the place yesterday, so now all of the shops are closed, the streets are sparsely populated save for the packs of police patrolling the streets, and sirens were frequent. It seemed to me that the action in London was mostly over, but I've read that there have been riots in other cities as well. I'm not a huge shopper, so honestly I thought the area was cooler in its current state anyway.

I picked a pub that I thought sounded cool out of my guide book, and Mike was kind enough to accompany me there. At one point we sat in the front row on top of a double decker bus, which was a pretty darn cool view.

The pub I picked was The Spaniards Inn, which sounded cool because it had a lot of history. It dates to around 1585. They mentioned several cool people who liked to hang out there, but I got the hint some of it was advertisingly convenient "legend". Dick Turpin the highwayman lurked here, Dickens visited and mentioned the place in Pickwick Papers.

It was mentioned in Bram Stoker's Dracula.

The place was definitely cool, but I wouldn't say you could sense its ridiculous age by looking inside. We got a couple pints and chatted, but the food was too expensive so that was the extent of it. We had some awesome Indian food then went home. Mission Accomplished.

Calhoun County

2011-08-10T02:16:00.007-05:00

It's August 8, 11:30pm real people time. There was a 3 hour delay to our flight due to some issue with the cockpit window. I thought I would stay ahead of the game and just sleep the whole way, but going to bed at 8 is a lot harder than anticipated. I'm going to be dragging serious ass all day when we land, but until then that's just more time for adventure scribin'!

I visited my friend Brittany in Calhoun this weekend. Now, when she first told me she lived in Calhoun, I of course looked it up on Google Maps because I hadn't heard of it. I had a hard time finding it because Calhoun isn't the name of a town, its the name of the whole county. I think its kinda cool that the place is so sparsely populated that they don't bother to be more specific.

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Calhoun is nestled between where the Mississippi and Illinois Rivers meet, creating a little peninsula. Which brings me to what is possibly both the coolest and most annoying aspect of the place: the ferry. There are several ferries that connect Calhoun to the outside world. Its a classy way to get around, but it makes Calhoun ridiculously sensitive to rainfall. A big rain shuts various ferries down until the river subsides, making getting in and out a big pain. This scenario really reminds me of racing to the dock in Jurassic Park only to get lost and eaten by various monsters. I take the Golden Eagle Ferry because its the most convenient, and it's a $15 round trip. A couple of the others are run by the state and are free. If you'd like to hear a country love song written about the Winfield Ferry in particular (and who doesn't?) you can jam out here.

Another thing that sets this place apart from the Illinois that I am familiar with is the shape of the land. It's really really hilly. Its an uncommon sight driving on a road cut through hills with corn growing on them. The Calhoun area apparently escaped being scraped flat by glaciers like the rest of the state. Being in the country in Illinois usually gives me a bad case of the yawns, but this place is different. There's a romantic quality to the hills and the rivers. Both times I've been I've seen large groups of cyclists and motorcycle gangs roaming around enjoying the scenery.

I always need help getting around in Calhoun. The roads are hilly and there's so much tall corn that its exceedingly easy to get lost. This latest time I was following a car, it was super foggy, and the road was really curvy. I ended up nailing a raccoon. That may be the first animal I've ever killed with my car.

Brittany works at the Cedar Hill Resort right on the Mississippi. It has its own dock so people playing in their boats on the river can stop by for refreshment. The food is pretty killer. I especially like the egg rolls and crab rangoon.

The kebabs are excellent as well.

Most of these pictures were taken through my moving car window, so forgive their crappiness. I'll write a little something about London in a bit. Boom.

Kansas City with the Fam Day 2

2011-07-26T23:59:00.011-05:00

We woke up, ate some bagels and tiny little yogurt packages at the hotel's free breakfast, and hit the road. Our destination was Independence, MO.

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Independence has a few things going on. It was a point of departure on the Oregon Trail, it serves as headquarters to some Mormon denominations, and President Harry S. Truman grew up here. It is now the site of the Truman Library and Museum. We were here primarily for the museum, but we saw a few other things along the way.

The Truman museum was quality. I don' t think that it was quite as technologically advanced as the Lincoln museum in terms of movies and other multimedia, but it did seem quite a bit larger. Truman was president through all sorts of American milestones: the dropping of the atomic bombs on Japan, the end of WWII, the creation of the UN and NATO, the Marshall Plan and the Berlin Airlift, the beginning of the Cold War and McCarthyism, and the Korean War.

Room devoted to the Berlin Airlift.

I'd like to see this one. I'm sure its a real gem.

This is a really biting letter a dead soldier's family sent to Truman when they returned his Purple Heart.

I thought it was interesting that Truman was alive to see his museum. The place certainly has more of his influence in it as a result. There was a little audio intro in the room that featured a replica of his oval office's trappings. It began something like "I'm President Truman, and this is my office". It had a bit of an eery, beyond the grave sort of feel to it. I think I'm just so used to the idea of the Lincoln Presidential Museum in Springfield, where the man had been deceased over a hundred years before the place was built.

Another theme the exhibit brought up a few times (how true it is I don't know) was that Truman hadn't really wanted to be Vice President, let alone President, and there's a picture of him at Eisenhower's inauguration with his feet propped up and a big smile on his face, as if he was glad to let the burden of the presidency pass to some other poor sap's shoulders. Shortly after his term he returned to his little Missouri home and lived out his days. I thought that was a nice contrast to the millionaire's club national office seems to be today.

Once we were finished reliving the Truman era we headed to Independence's small town square area. There were a few more Truman related places around, his house, his wife's house and so on, but we felt like we had a satisfactory understanding of the situation by this point.

Old-timey courthouse in the center of the square: check.

We stopped in to have a quick ice cream treat before hitting the road back to Kansas City. The menu had a couple of Truman related flavors, like the Buck Stop Sundae.

I had Harry's Favorite, chocolate ice cream with butterscotch topping.

On our way out we passed a Mormon church, The Temple, which is straight out of the Land of Oz.

Back in Kansas City, the last stop of consequence was another journey into the land of barbecue.

Arthur Bryant's

Judging by Arthur Bryant's restaurant interior alone it seemed like the food would be better than at Oklahoma Joe's. It's unassuming and cozy, you can see some of of the firey magic happening just from the ordering counter, and the wall is lined with pictures of famous people eating there. We had plenty of time to examine all of these features while we waited in a very long line.

In addition to another full rack of ribs that we shared, we ordered an open faced burnt ends sandwich, which was awesome.

While Arthur Bryant's was better than Oklahoma Joe's in my humble opinion, I am forced to point out, right in the face of Kansas City's hyped up barbecue fame, that Pappy's Smokehouse in St. Louis is better than the both of them. I hate to be the bringer of bad news, but there it is.

Kansas City with the Fam Day 1

2011-07-21T16:46:00.013-05:00

July 8-10 my family went on a little road trip down to Kansas City.

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Being an Illinois boy, my understanding is that a US state ends where the river tells it to. One minute you are in Illinois, then you cross a bridge, and you're in Missouri. Easy to grasp. Kansas City was interesting to me geographically because it sits on an imaginary line between Missouri and Kansas. We would be driving around and realize we had inadvertently changed states. "Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore" was uttered more times than I can divulge with pride intact. I thought that was interesting. I'm sure that has all sorts of fun legal implications.

Kansas City barbecue's siren call had been pulling on Tom's soul from both the food channel and history channel for many a moon, so that was something we went for early.

Boom. Oklahoma Joe's. Supposed to be the best barbecue ever, ever.

And the restaurant shares its building with a gas station.

Opening the door and seeing the long line to order and the limited seating had us conversing over how and where we would eat our messy food. Everything moved rather quickly though, and the staff was great about getting people up off their butts and out the door when they finished eating, so seating wasn't a problem.

In order to keep things fair, I chose full rack of ribs as my benchmark for BBQ deliciousness. It was good, but best in the state it was not, I'm afraid. Another thing I've learned is to avoid the sides at a place like this. Legendary meat searing skills do not translate to potato salad.

Anthony Bordain christened this one of the 13 places to eat before you die, which strikes me as a random list, but he is the man so I'll let it slide. A 98.9 The Rock's Johnny Dare radio interview he did about Oklahoma Joe's can be found here(the audio clip begins automatically). They also talk a bit about eating guinea pigs in Peru. You can read about me rocking that delicacy here. What now, Bordain?

After a long drive and a big meal, the rest of our energy was spent on a bit of driving around downtown and exploring. The Country Club Plaza came recommended, so we headed down there. It's a really classy shopping area that covers several blocks. The shops themselves were too expensive for me (Tiffany & Co., a Rolex dealer) but it was still really enjoyable to window shop.

My favorite part was the faux European architecture. There were lots of tall spires, statues, and fountains all around us, and they looked good. I remember walking toward the first tower thinking there must be something awesome or historical underneath only to find it attached to a North Face retailer or something. Take surroundings like that, add people strolling and a street band playing on a corner, and you've got something called atmosphere.

Not too shabby for our first day.

Kentucky Times Day 3

2011-05-30T00:24:00.008-05:00

After two long and fun filled days in Kentucky, we were both pretty beat. We did manage to do some touristy stuff before hitting the dusty trail, though.

We returned to the scene of the crime and visited the Kentucky Derby Museum. Jim had a friend or two he still wanted to buy souvenirs for, so that was something we hoped to take care of at the museum. Usually tours of Churchill Downs are offered but today the tour was understandably unavailable while the facilities we had just helped trash the day before were being cleaned.

Statue of the ill-fated Barbaro out front. What continues to amaze me is how young these animals are. Horses that race the Kentucky Derby are only three years old.

It was interesting how the museum treated the whole event. It all seemed to be much more about the culture of the Derby and the events that lead up to it than the race itself.

At times the museum became much more technical than I was interested in. This is about how different kinds of dirt affect a race. Yawn.

Jimbo having the time of his life on the horse simulator. What I learned from this game is that even if you beat your horse continuously you will still get last place.

The museum was worth the peek. The Derby really is a unique event.

Next we checked out the Louisville Slugger Museum & Factory. The first thing a visitor sees is this multistory baseball bat propped up against the museum's building.

This place was pretty cool. They had a ton on the process of contracts the players sign which I thought was interesting. They can't get their signature on a bat until they sign a contract to exclusively use Louisville Slugger bats.

One thing that was different was the Hold a Piece of History area. After putting on a pair of white cotton gloves, you could get your picture taken while holding a famous player's bat. I chose Mickey Mantle.

The company made rifle stocks during wartime.

Then came the factory tour. The whole process was interesting. They showed the way they spin the bats through this cutting machine. The machine that made the bats for professional players was even fancier. They burned the logo into the bats by hand, which seemed like it would take a really long time. Pretty cool.

So that's that. My three days in Kentucky were a ton of fun. Maybe I'll go again next year.

Kentucky Times Day 2

2011-05-11T16:04:00.000-05:00

After tossing and turning on the gravely sand all night I crawled out of my tent on "the beach" and greeted my first Kentucky morning. We wanted to get to the track as soon as possible, as it was 10 am or so and the races were already in progress. I didn't know it beforehand, but there are actually 13 races on derby day, and the Kentucky Derby is #11.

The campsite guys had said there would be a shuttle that would take us to the race and wherever else we wanted to go. The "shuttle" meeting spot was really just a line of random people with random vehicles who were willing to drive us wherever we wanted to go for tips. The two of us rode to the derby in random older dude Paul's pickup truck. As usual I tried to make small talk with the driver on the way to Churchill Downs. I made the terrible mistake of asking Pickup Paul if he worked at the campsite all year round, or just during derby season. This opened the floodgates to the worst story ever. He was unemployed. He had a family but he didn't get any government assistance. He pointed at his throat and said he had to pawn his necklace for the money to fix the truck we were currently riding in. At this point I noticed he only had nine fingers. He then went into how there was no set price to the ride but we should pay him whatever we thought it was worth, and so on. After dropping us off he gave us a card with his number on it for the return trip. We quickly agreed that we weren't going to be calling him on the way back. I realize I am a terrible person, but that was too much to deal with twice.

The scene in the few blocks around Churchill Downs was a unique one. It was crowded, sure. But the people present seemed to all be from three equal sized groups: the super well dressed, the grungy people with coolers and lawn chairs, and the police and military.

Getting into the gate took some time. We were entering with the people with lawn chairs and even some tent bags. Security moved at a snail's pace. Not only were they checking bags, but they would just ask you if you had a phone or a camera, and then they would ask you to turn it on to make sure it wasn't a bomb or something. Kinda weak.

It was 40 dollars to get in, by the way.

At least there was some entertainment. At first it was just one awkward looking kid with a bible, gibbering about accepting the lord and whatnot. Everyone pretty much just ignored him. The group secretly blossomed into 6ish. They were serious. To loosely quote them, "drinking, gambling, fornicating, and dressing provocatively will end you up in hell. Catholics are all going to hell." One quote that I liked a lot and continued to ask Jim throughout the day was simply "why do you love sin?" He still hasn't given me a good answer. The guy with the megaphone had a great southern accent which made it even better. The signs they were carrying were also a great time. There were such gems as "hell hotline inquire here", "ask me why Michael Jackson deserved hell", "ladies, if its not for sale, why are you advertising?", and the crowd favorite "Women should be 1. Quiet 2. Keepers at home (doing dishes, laundry, ironing etc.) 3. Submissive to husbands 4. Silent in church 5. Care-takers of the church 6. Modestly dressed".

I wish I had more video. I only took 30 seconds. You get the idea anyway.

Once past the gate we took a long tunnel that ran under the track, and we were in!. I recently read Hunter S. Thompson's The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved(here), and he described the scene this way.

To get there we had to pass through many gates, each one a step down in status, then through a tunnel under the track. Emerging from the tunnel was such a culture shock that it took us a while to adjust. "God almighty!" Steadman muttered. "This is a...Jesus!" He plunged ahead with his tiny camera, stepping over bodies, and I followed, trying to take notes.

Total chaos, no way to see the race, not even the track...nobody cares. Big lines at the outdoor betting windows, then stand back to watch winning numbers flash on the big board, like a giant bingo game.

........

"Hell, this clubhouse scene right below us will be almost as bad as the infield. Thousands of raving, stumbling drunks, getting angrier and angrier as they lose more and more money. By midafternoon they'll be guzzling mint juleps with both hands and vomitting on each other between races. The whole place will be jammed with bodies, shoulder to shoulder. It's hard to move around. The aisles will be slick with vomit; people falling down and grabbing at your legs to keep from being stomped. Drunks pissing on themselves in the betting lines. Dropping handfuls of money and fighting to stoop over and pick it up."

With a picture like that in your head, anything looks good in comparison! It was kinda like being in a county fair with no rides and lots of alcohol. There were tents for different foods, drinks, and souvenirs. The Goodyear Blimp and little planes with fluttering banner ads buzzed overhead. We had arrived decently early in the day, and so had beaten most of the crowds. People's clothes were awesome. Even though we were in the po' folk seats, quite a few of the ladies were dressed fancy and had giant hats on. Another common sight were stylish galoshes, anticipating a giant mud pit if the rains came. There was also the odd horse costume, or horse hat. Many took the opportunity to be funny, and instead of dressing up, they wore the hillbilliest clothes they could find. Tight, self-cut jean shorts, referred to by me as "dem jorts", were also a pretty funny addition.

The lines to the betting windows ranged from short to nonexistent, and we could actually see a couple of the races through the fence. We got there just in time for me to lose on my bum of a bartender's lazy horse. I bet similarly on the next couple races, and just picked horses based on how cool their name sounded.

We got to see the horses burst out of the gate for this race. Another little fact I didn't know was some of the races were on the dirt track and others were on the grass.

By the 4th or 5th race, the lines at the window had ballooned. I was tired of waiting in lines every half an hour, so I simply bet on number 7 for six races all at once. I didn't do half bad with that approach.

By this point we had to watch the races on one of several giant screens. Its a bit hard to see, but the guy in the red and white shirt has shaved his head except for a "137". It's the 137th Kentucky Derby. Bro is classy.

My "bet on 7 everytime" rule was still in effect. Number 7 in the derby was named Pants on Fire. That horse broke my damn heart. I bet across the board again, and he was fluttering around in 2nd and 3rd place before turning into a pumpkin at the last turn. It was the most exciting 2 minute letdown in sports.

I saw a fight or two, and one or two people puke, but all in all it wasn't too bad. There were police and military people everywhere so trouble makers didn't last long. I think drinks were expensive enough to limit people's consumption. I of course wanted to drink the classic mint juleps, but they were ten bucks a piece. Even one of those an hour for the 6 hours we were there would have been economically painful.

The juleps came in cool souvenir glasses. They had the names of all the winning horses on the back since 1875.

If I was to do it all over again I would have brought a lawn chair, and if I had a large enough group to deal with it, a tent of some sort. There was not one public place to sit down, so we pretty much trail of tears wandered around in circles the whole time, and occasionally sat in the grass.

There were two races after the actual derby, but no one cared. The masses decided to leave at the same time, and the bottle neck was the tunnel. The sound of smashed beer cans being kicked echoed all around. Several chants of U-S-A erupted while in the darkness of the tunnel, an aftershock of Bin Laden taking his medicine a few days prior. Several people were wearing Osama related t-shirts.

Once out we decided we would walk back to camp, because it wasn't really that far. My smart phone was dead, and Jim apparently bought his phone at an Amish outlet mall, so we got super lost. The neighborhoods surrounding Churchill Downs are a bit economically depressed, and everyone seemed to be selling things. Laws were either lax or just different in the area, because people were selling beer straight out of their coolers. I saw one group offer a random woman 30 dollars to ride home in her truck, and she surprisingly accepted. We randomly met another group from our same campsite, and together we rode in yet another random guy's truck bed for 20 bucks. It was a fun tour of the city.

Kentucky Times Day 1

2011-05-09T23:32:00.019-05:00

My buddy Jim and I drove over to Kentucky on Friday, May 6. The main reason for our trip was to witness the grandeur of the Kentucky Derby, but the other days we were in Louisville were eventful as well. We agreed the night before that we needed to leave early (which to us meant 10 am) but for reasons I won't get into we didn't leave until noon. From St. Louis, Louisville is about 4 hours away.

When we got close to Expo Five, the camp site where we had made a reservation, it became apparent that the neighborhood was very... colorful. Liquor stores, strip clubs, and adult entertainment shops vied for control of the main drag. Apparently Kentucky is one of those states where grocery stores can't sell hard alcohol, so there were way more liquor stores than are usual. Most of them had drive-thru's as well.

Many of the little places had funny names. The sky was a bit overcast, but luckily this strip club is "open rain or shine". This place sparked a short conversation between the two of us over the correct spelling of "thoroughbred". I'm a nerd, I know.

Because we arrived a bit tardy, we couldn't get a tent spot on the grass, and instead got a spot on "the beach". I could tell by the way the campsite greeters were referring to it that it wasn't such a great place. It could as well be called "the quick sand pit" or "tent stakes won't help you".

Jim enjoying life on "the beach". Our Walmart tents were both so gross after the rain that we threw them away.

Expo Five is like part campsite, part bar and venue, part flea market.

The stuff they were selling was pretty random. Like wedding cake toppers and cowboy boots in the same stall random.

Here was the little venue bar. They called it the Expo Dome, but it reminded me of one of those military surplus buildings.

Once we were settled we headed to downtown Louisville, hoping for a change of scenery.

The dome topped AEGON Center is the most distinctive building in the Louisville skyline.

Busy putting the Louis in Louisville.

While driving around looking for parking, we just happened to pass by the Brown Hotel and popped in. The streets of downtown Louisville were heavily populated with the well dressed, and the hotel seemed a bit on the fancy side. Jim and I were in t-shirts and were both half expecting ourselves to be stopped by the top-hatted doormen. Luckily the hotel was kind enough to overlook our clothing long enough to take our money. The hotel is famous for a local specialty, the Hot Brown. So, of course, I had one.

The menu describes the dish as: "Roasted Turkey Breast on Toast Points, Sauce Mornay, Parmesan Cheese, Tomatoes and Bacon, Baked to Perfection!" It was really good. It reminded me of a upscale version of a horseshoe.

We apparently made a good impression on our bartender, who gave us a couple free drinks on the house. Being in Kentucky we naturally asked for the most expensive bourbons they had. I also had my first Kentucky-made mint julep at the hotel.

For dessert it was Derby Pie. It's like a chocolate version of pecan pie.

I was just trying to be funny and make a little small talk, so I asked our bartender if he had any hot horse tips for me. He got really serious and lowered his voice as he spoke. He told us something like "bet on the 2nd horse in the 3rd race, and bet 5 across the board". He even added some of that classic "it's a sure thing" sort of crap you always hear in the movies. Now I've never bet on a horse before, so I hadn't the slightest idea what "across the board" even meant. Now that I have had my expensive education on the subject, it means that you bet on a particular horse 3 times: one on it making 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place. Plus if the horse wins, you get the winnings from all three. And the five was five dollars on each. Long story short, that horse didn't even make it to 3rd place, and my beloved 15 dollars now belongs to someone else. But hey, that's a low price for a memorable story.

After a bit of strolling we arrived at Fourth Street Live!, a little outdoor entertainment complex. They had a ton of bars and restaurants and what have you. This isn't really my type of place. It all looked pretty cool, but I like off the beaten path, and I like local culture when I travel. Hard Rock Cafe and T.G.I. Friday's are neither of those things. We lingered a bit to listen to a free Bare Naked Ladies concert that was in progress, but then returned to the camp site. We were hitting the race track in the morning, and surviving the Kentucky Derby requires a good night's sleep.

Bob Saget

2011-05-05T13:59:00.003-05:00

Bob Saget came to SIUE campus for a stand up comedy show on April 21. Saget is of course from Full House and America's Funniest Home Videos fame. Tickets for students were only 10 bucks, and I saw Dave Coulier do stand up about a year ago, so I figured I should complete the Full House set. The two have starkly different ideas on comedy. Coulier is still super clean. He did all kinds voice impressions and cutesy stuff like that. Saget on the other hand, has embraced the dark side. I'd say a good 20 percent of his show consisted of accusing various audience members of bestiality.

My iPhone takes pretty terrible pictures in the dark, but I feel obligated to include one.

Saget's segment of the movie The Aristocrats gives one a good understanding of what to expect. The movie's tagline is "No nudity, no violence, unspeakable obscenity". I'd say that sums up Bob Saget's stand up quite nicely.

A Couple of St. Louis Blues Games

2011-04-12T12:16:00.007-05:00

I have a new interest in sports: hockey. I still don't watch it on TV, but I really like going to the games. I've been twice now.

The first match I went to was so awesome that I'll likely never be able to best it. On February 19 the St. Louis Blues played the Anaheim Ducks and stomped them thoroughly 9-3. With such a high scoring game, plus a couple of solid fights, I really enjoyed myself. My friend Seago had managed to get Club Seats, which include food and drinks, and that really topped off the awesome experience.

According to this I could have been enjoying my free stuff for a whole hour before the game started. I'll remember that next time.

The second game I attended was April 1st against the Calgary Flames. This time they lost 3-2, and food actually cost money. In spite of these setbacks there were some redeeming qualities to the game. The game happened to fall on April Fool's Day, and they played a joke on a couple of guys wearing Flames jerseys. They were told on camera that they had won amazing tickets, then when they showed up to claim them they we laughed at. There was also a pretty large pile up sort of fight that I enjoyed. Good times.

This game we were closer to the action and at a bit different angle than the previous game.

Charlie Chaplin in St. Louis

2011-01-08T15:38:00.012-06:00

This Christmas, instead of buying my parents something that would most likely gather dust in a closet somewhere, I bought them tickets to a show in St. Louis. We all went to a showing of Charlie Chaplin's silent movie City Lights along with the St. Louis Symphony playing the music. The show was at Powell Hall.

The lobby was very nice. I think they even allowed patrons to bring food and drinks they bought here into the theater, which is rare.

The movie was so awesome. That was my first time seeing a silent film, let alone one from the great Charlie Chaplin. I'd like to see his other stuff now. Apparently Chaplin was one of the victims of McCarthyism. He had his visa revoked during a trip abroad, and decided he had been harassed enough and didn't want to return to the United States(cite). Very interesting.

Vampire Weekend in St. Louis

2010-10-18T01:09:00.006-05:00

I recently went to a Vampire Weekend show at the Chaifetz Arena on St. Louis University campus. I had only first heard of the band a week before going to the show, so I didn't have much background information. They have a very unique sound and the show was entertaining. A review of the show in the St. Louis weekly paper Riverfront Times begins "It's extremely difficult to write about a band that does everything right", so that is some indication that it was liked by those with tastes more refined than my own.

At a point early in the show someone in the back of the crowd started whipping glow sticks in big bunches through the air. I assumed that this was part of the show (the reviewer thought it was just a generous fan). Either way the effect of everyone waving them around was cool.

After the show I acquired the band's two albums at a little known place called "the Internet". They also have a few music videos, with "Giving up the Gun" being by far the nicest. It's the best video I've seen in some time, and I've watched it several times already. The song has some cool Japanese influences and has an all-star cast, including Jake Gyllenhaal, Joe Jonas, and Lil John.

This one has nowhere near the production value of that previous, but it does have a good energy to it.

Going to Washington, D.C.

2010-05-05T23:35:00.004-05:00

I haven't been doing too much that I think is worth writing about lately. Currently two part time jobs and applying to MBA schools is taking up the majority of my time, but tomorrow I'm finally doing something exciting! I'll be in Washington, D.C. for about a week.

This is my third time over there and I've already got many of the monuments and museums out of the way, so maybe this time I can experience a bit more of the city proper. I'm looking forward to some ethnic cuisine and some quality exploring. The description of DC on wikitravel is pretty awesome: "[DC] has a collection of free, public museums unparalleled in size and scope throughout the history of mankind, and the lion's share of the nation's most treasured monuments and memorials. The vistas on the National Mall between the Capitol, Washington Monument, White House, and Lincoln Memorial are famous throughout the world as icons of the world's wealthiest and most powerful nation." Sounds pretty epic. Stay tuned.

Next Level Beats

2010-03-04T00:04:00.005-06:00

My friend Seago has introduced me to some interesting music videos. A couple of them are rap videos with the requisite bad language and sexual themes, so don't watch them at work or you will probably have to go to jail for blowing your coworkers' minds. The main theme that strings the following four videos together is that it's hard to tell if the artists are serious.

The first group I present is Die Antwoord, which apparently means "the answer" in Afrikaans (google translate thinks it means "the reply", but whatever. These guys hail from South Africa. I'm not going to try to describe them or compare these people to anything. There's no point.

This video has some dancing in it that I wish I could emulate.

Another video from Die Antwoord.

I'm pretty sure that Jack Parow here is also South African. He raps while switching between English and Afrikaans, and his way of speaking makes it hard to sometimes tell which is which. His little gimmick is a hat with a cartoonishly long bill. Is he serious? I'll let you decide. He sounds good though.

This is some weird 80's synth pop group called Bronski Beat. I include them only because this song is referenced in the first video I posted by Die Antwoord.

Enjoy.

Beware the Prickly Pear

2010-02-13T18:16:00.006-06:00

I was recently browsing in the produce section of my local Meijer store, and after grabbing the usual grapes and oranges I had a quick peak at the "weird" stuff section. You know, the little area with the odd coconut, pomegranate, or starfruit; the stuff you may have heard of but still don't buy too often. Well they had something I'd never tried before: prickly pears!

I've never even seen these things sold anywhere, so I just jumped right in. Didn't know how they are eaten, or what a good one looks like, so I just started squeezing them and giving them a good looking over. They were 3 for $2, so I did a good amount of fruit moving around. I put the three winners in a provided plastic bag and that was that.

But, these little guys aren't called prickly pears because they used to be prickly. This diabolical plant has two types of spines. The big mean ones are removed by the pear technicians, but there are also very fine, transparent, hairlike spines to deal with. These detach and become embedded in the skin. So after touching countless of the little things, my hands were covered in little bits of pain. It was like having 15 or so splinters at the same time. I definitely looked like someone to avoid, walking around a supermarket, staring intently at my own contorted hands and mumbling painful expressions to myself. I got most of them out, but I'm typing this with a band-aid on one finger. Shouldn't those things have a warning label or something?

Well in case anyone would like have a little taste test at home, if you avoid hurting yourself you've won most of the battle. Peeling and eating the fruit is pretty straightforward.

How to eat a prickly pear:

The culprit. Use a rag or gloves or something while cutting to avoid being poked a bunch by invisible pricklies.

First cut off either end of the fruit to get rid of the stem and other inedibles.

Then make a slight cut towards the center, and simply peel the rind off of the fruit with your hand. It separates easily.

Ta-Da!

The fruit is nice and juicy. There are seeds throughout but they are edible. It has a bit of a watermelon sort of taste.

Prickly pear fun fact: the eagle eating a snake on the flag of Mexico is perched on a prickly pear cactus. The legend is that the Aztecs built their capital city of Tenochtitlan at its location because they were told to look for the eagle by the god Huitzilopochtli(whose name is hereby declared unpronounceable). Tenochtitlan(present day Mexico City) literally means "the place of the cactus fruit" (source here).

Colombian Candy Bars

2010-02-09T21:13:00.005-06:00

While I write a bit more on Colombia, I thought this was worth sharing by itself.

The name of this delicious Nestle treat is Beso de Negra, or "Black Kiss" according to Google Translate. The African American woman pictured blowing a kiss on the wrapper is a bit risque by American standards. I think it's a nice little illustration of how race is treated differently in other countries. The treat is like a chocolate covered marshmallow atop a cookie. The tagline is "delicious chocolate flavor... delicious cookie".

Here is a much more attractively named ripoff of Baby Ruth sold in Colombia: Baby Johnny's!

Rail Line to Machu Picchu Destroyed by Floods

2010-02-03T14:30:00.003-06:00

There aren't a lot of pictures to show of my current adventures, which include job hunting and MBA night classes, but I've still got a few little things up my sleeve.

In the mean time, I've been following the dramatic events in Peru. Haiti is obviously where the world's attention is rightly focused at the moment, but many of the areas I visited just a few months ago have been destroyed by heaving rains and mudslides. The PeruRail line I traveled on from Cusco to Aguas Calientes was damaged to the point that the nearly 1,300 tourists that had come to see Machu Picchu needed to be airlifted out.

As the train is the only way for tourists to get to Machu Picchu aside from mountain hiking, the city of Aguas Calientes is being evacuated of its residents as well. With tourism at zero for the near future, there's no money coming in and no reason to stay.

BBC News reported that "some tourists had to rely on locals for food after cash machines dried up and prices for some goods soared."

An MSNBC blurb on the evacuations.

Moray and My Last Days in Peru

2010-01-04T17:48:00.003-06:00

The latest installment of my month in South America.

I last left off while enjoying the view from the top of Inca ruins in Ollaytantambo. I trod back down the numerous stone stairs and explored a bit more of the city below. The patchwork of souvenir stands looked pretty basic from above with rusted metal coverings exposed to the sky, but on ground level there was some fun stuff to look at.

Its funny because I love markets to death, but I don't ever buy very much. For me, it's the colors and sounds, the fast paced atmosphere, and the people watching that necessitates a trip to the market.

I was very tempted to pick up one of these dancing terrorist clown masks, but I knew there was no possible way I would ever wear it in public.

My least favorite souvenir from the trip. The bites weren't from mosquitoes because whatever it was left an open wound that then scabbed up. Not only did it look awful but it was quite scratchy.

Here I walked into an amusing scene. Someone apparently saw a big fish swimming through some sort of a drainage ditch. A group of locals was very interested in catching this fish, but the little guy was too smart so he stopped swimming while in a part of the ditch that was covered by pavement. With 5-8 people excitedly talking about the fish and holding a bucket or something to catch it in, a little girl threw rocks into the large ditch opening to scare the fish towards the waiting group. It was great entertainment.

Ollantaytambo was the starting point of the most interesting little journey of my time in Peru. If I had been alone, I most definitely would have simply hired a ride from one of the many cabbies constantly harassing me. Angelica's Spanish ability really shined at this point. She asked around and got us a ride on the public transportation of the area, a cramped little van.

This was super cool. Until this point I was in places that, while interesting, were pretty usual places for tourists to go. Here we rode on several little buses and vans to get to our destination, and it really started to feel like an adventure. There were no other tourists around, and a ride cost (if I recall correctly) like 25 cents. I love sort of seeing a small peak in the lives of average people from other places, and this was it.

It was funny, because I had only been out of Japan less than a month. In Japan, I experienced many instances where locals would avoid sitting next to "foreigners" on the train. In Peru it was pretty close to the opposite. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like people I met on my little expedition here had no issue squeezing into the seat next to me. One person on a jam-packed bus was practically sitting on my lap.

One time I will never forget was sitting next to an older man with a worn face. He talked to me in high speed Spanish until the van came to his stop. I understood maybe one out of 50 words that he said, but that didn't seem to bother him. He would pause, I would say something so painfully basic like "Do you live in Cusco?", and he would start back up again, probably giving some philosophical excellent answer to my question. Angelica, who had previously interjected in moments like this, didn't say a word. I'm sure she was laughing to herself.

Our game of musical vans brought us to this little bus station. I bought a Gatorade from a couple of very cute kids running a snack stall. They were very good salesmen.

Many of the sodas sold in Peru still use returnable bottles. These dead soldiers are a couple of my favorites, Fanta and Inca Kola, which is a fruity Peruvian soda.

This Gran Mustafa chocolate covered marshmallow bar is made by the Peruvian candy company Winter's. I think it's interesting that although Colombia and Peru border each other and are both small relative to the US, their candy, beer, and snack selection seemed like it didn't overlap much at all. There were certain industries that felt pretty nationalistic down there, but whether that is due to consumer preference or some sort of government intervention I don't know.

This little ad on the side of an ice cream freezer is a good example. It reads "experience the Peruvian flavor". I think it's interesting because I don't often see these sorts of patriotic appeals in American food advertising.

Our public transporting took us to this little three walled, bus stop in the middle of nowhere, also known as Maras. Here Angelica's bargaining skills were put to the test.

There were only two cars nearby. This really felt like swinging from one vine before we could see the next. What if there hadn't been anyone waiting here to pick people up? My cellphone didn't work, and there was no other evidence of the presence of humanity in sight. And we still got a good price. Baller.

We stopped as the road was engulfed by a funeral procession. Notice many of the women wearing the tall hats. No one in the city wore this sort of dress. An excellent reason to go to the country.

As we drove, the road became more basic, and the scenery more beautiful.

We were forced to a stop by livestock crossing the road several times.

Our destination was Moray, an Inca ruin thought to be an agricultural testing ground. "A series of inscrutable ringed terraces sculpted in the earth, the deep-set bowls formed an experimental agricultural center to test new crops and conditions. The different levels produce microclimates, with remarkable differences in temperature from top to bottom," reads an article in the New York Times.

We walked down into the rings to check things out, although honestly it all looked much cooler from above. I haven't been able to find a reliable reference, but Moray's wikitravel page hypothesizes that the Inca might have used their superior knowledge of seed technology to entice neighbors into peacefully joining the empire. A bit of Inca imperial soft power.

There wasn't much in terms of amenities at the site, but who cares?

We hired the same guy that drove us from the bus stop to drive us back to civilization. Not only was that probably an excellent bit of work for him, but his family could ride in to town on the gas I was paying for.

So we stopped at his house and picked up his wife and daughter.

Somewhere during my numerous transactions I was passed a Peruvian nuevo sol note that had a bit of tape on it. It was worth a significant amount, because I bought Angelica and I some last snacks with it the night before we were due to leave the country. We were out of the store and in another store several doors down when the shopkeeper found us. He was holding that nasty bill and asking for different payment, because he was sure that one was fake. Fake? Wow. I'd never had that happen before. I futiley tried to get rid of the crumbled paper once more before heading back to the hotel. Dirty taped bill in hand, I decided that Peru had given me this fake money, and before I left Peru was going to take it back.

But we had an early flight back to Colombia, and few chances to buy anything along the way. The next morning Angelica and I packed up our bags and paused at the front desk for check out and payment. Most people pay for hotels with credit cards, but today I was paying in cash. I handed the man at the front desk a small stack of money for the hotel, a mixture of both soles and dollars. He counted the money slowly, probably calculating the exchange rate simultaneously. Angelica and I both glanced at eachother nervously. Was this going to work? "Wait a minute. This one won't do. I need a different note," said the man at the desk. I thought the ruse had failed, but no! The man was holding one of the US twenties I had given him. "The bank won't take them if the edges are torn," pointing to a tiny little ruffle in the paper. I quickly retrieved the newest, crispest 20 I could find. He said that were settled, and Angelica and I quickly and quietly walked out the door.

Amusingly, according to this Reuters video, Colombia once accounted for 70% of the world's counterfeit US currency, but crackdowns there have caused the printing business to move to Peru.

Go check out Peru. It's a nice place.

Wendy's Gives Up on Japan

2009-12-21T16:16:00.008-06:00

America's No. 3 burger chain has ended it's 29-year presence in Japan. Zensho Co. Ltd., which operates the restaurants in Japan, will end it's agreement with Wendy's/Arby's Group Inc. and close its 71 locations by the end of the month. I couldn't find the exact reason for the decision, but in an AP article(here), a Zensho spokesman gave a canned response to reporters. "[We] will focus our resources on beef bowl restaurants and others." An article in Newsweek points out that Japan is going through a bit of a food crisis: it imports 60% of its yearly caloric intake, 90% of its corn comes from the United States, and 70% of its farmers are over 60 years of age. Those are all interesting figures, but Japan would do well to consider that 100% of Wendy's hamburgers are square and juicy. Surely that could solve a problem or two.

In Ashikaga, the smallish city where I lived, McDonald's and KFC were the only American fast food places available. My frequent trips to Tokyo were my only chance to see other familiar fast-food chains from home. I ate at the restaurant near Ebisu station lots of times on the way to and from parties and whatnot. It's the only place in the whole country I knew of where I could eat chili, so on a cold day that was the place to be. Add in frosties and those spicy chicken sandwiches, and you had gold. Gold! Why does Japan hate deliciousness?

Tokyo Vice: An American Reporter on the Police Beat in Japan

2009-12-16T13:27:00.003-06:00

Jake Adelstein, author of Tokyo Vice, has popped up in a couple of my favorite places to get news. His life story appeals to me as being both very entertaining and inspirational. He picked up and moved to Japan, living for three years in a Buddhist temple, then working as an English teacher and part time as a Swedish massage therapist, then eventually becoming a reporter for the Yomiuri Shimbun, credited as having the largest circulation in the world. At Yomiuri he worked as a crime reporter and his book reveals the depth of his knowledge on the Yakuza, or Japanese mafia.

His little interview on the Daily Show was my introduction to his work. The interview is a bit offbeat and has a few amusing bits. My favorite quote is "[Liver Damage] is the number one cause of death for yakuza.... other than being shot or beheaded."

One of my favorite newsy podcasts is NPR's Planet Money. Here Adelstein "talks about how the business of the yakuza groups has changed over time and how tighter government restrictions have pushed the Japanese mob into more "traditional" investments." You can listen to or download the podcast here. My favorite part of this one is the story of how the Yakuza hired actors to pose as Japanese bank execs in order to trick Lehman Brothers into loaning a front company $300 million. It's pretty golden. Fresh Air has another longer program with him as well as an excerpt from his book here.

And finally, Jake edits the blog www.japansubculture.com. A notable recent post here is entitled "Eating sushi off a naked girl: yay or yuck?"

I'll be putting his book on my Christmas list.