Glutton for Punishment

Evidently, I have a knack for showing up for big games, sporting my LA colors, when the home teams decide to stage awesome come-from-behind wins... Los Angeles NOT BEING THE HOME TEAM. See, I don't mind traveling alone... enjoy it, actually. However, when you are the only guy in a Lakers jersey in a Boston bar and the Celtics come back from a 30-point deficit, or you are the only guy among a silent 48,000 clapping for a Dodger home run, it gets a little lonely. Whoever said, "it's lonely at the top" should try going to a playoff game with me. Well, since I have chosen to explore minority status in highly charged sporting atmospheres as part my quest for international tranquility, I have found that a strong smile, a sense of humor, and some humility go a very long way. For instance, the girl to my left at the game last night in Philadelphia told me, in my blue cap, that I couldn't sit next to her because she had the swine flu. I told her I did too and offered her some of my garlic fries. Also, there were two rabid fans in standing room behind me who were intent on telling every Dodger - and the umpire - that they "suck!"... one at a time... all night long. In the silence that ensued after an inning-ending shoestring Manny Ramirez catch, I yelled satirically, "You suck Manny!" That got a few chuckles. 

 [Aside] So, Mr. President, (because of course he is a big fan of my blog) I have made no apologies for my home teams. In my experience, it has been more important to show people who you are rather than who you are not. Next stop - Mexico City with my US soccer jersey! Mmm... maybe not.

Risky Business

Traveling is a risky business. Life... is a risky business. But even if fishing is a risky business, you probably shouldn't name your seafood market... "Risky Business." Just a thought. 

North Carolina is home to the serene and captivating Outer Banks. Think of long islands, in some parts the width of a city block: fishing, families, and an odd fascination with pirates. I quickly decided that, unlike other travels wherein I have sought out every possible opportunity to indulge in the local creative culinary fare, I would be looking for the freshest seafood to prepare myself. There was also plenty of opportunity, day and night, for beach, although as a native Californian, I still feel like I'm in an M. Night Shyamalan movie when I see sunbathers sprawled out in the late afternoon with their backs to the water. It's just weird, man! 

Now I started with the theme of risky business. No, I didn't do any lip syncing in my underwear. There was karaoke involved at the local tavern, but I for the most part adhered to the implied, if not explicitly stated, dress code. I had some time on the drive home to evaluate this birthday week endeavor. Life, government, weather, and sometimes Roman taxi drivers with questionable motives and/or sexual proclivities will constantly throw obstacles, challenges, and diversions in your path. Change is a part of life and a part of travel. Sometimes the current will make it difficult to swim ashore. Sometimes an unforeseen police officer will put a damper on your day of driving. Certainly there are changes we seek and move to attain. However, also in the businesses of travel and life, the changes are all part of the risk, and our outcome may just be measured by how we weather that which was neither expected nor wished.

We Can't Drive 55

For some reason, Sammy Hagar didn't get the memo that I would be in NORTH Carolina for my birthday, as he booked a show in South Carolina for that evening. So I went. Quite a somber day in that both Senator Ted Kennedy and Michael Jackson were laid to rest, the latter of whom on what would have been his 51st birthday. John McCain (his birthday too) attended the funeral for the former. We're used to celebrating separately since Neverland is no longer an option. Waffle House was an easy choice for the first meal of the day - best hash browns I've had - and then I made my way to Myrtle Beach. 

 

 Sammy Hagar now plays with the band Chickenfoot, having enlisted Joe Satriani on guitar, bassist Michael Anthony from Van Halen, and the drummer from the Red Hot Chili Peppers. After a few involuntary detours, I found my way to House of Blues for the show a bit late. However, all was right with the world when I got inside and was about 20 yards from the band. They rocked... no Van Halen tunes, but still a great show. If you've forgotten what good solid new hard rock sounds like, check them out. Oh, and thanks to Google Maps, my hotel that was supposedly right next to the club is actually seven miles away. One of these days I'll actually see what this Myrtle Beach is all about. Trip Day Two took me through northern South Carolina. Just inches from escaping to I-95, the local po-lice tried to shake me down. Nothing quite ruins your day of driving like a speeding ticket, but I did manage to evade capture.

Alexandra, Virginia

Since this is a journal of discoveries, I will share one with you - in the Commonwealth of Virginia. She is sweet, and full of life, and musically inclined (thanks, no doubt, to my early lessons in Van Halen and Mozart). I am happy today to have been her uncle for three years.

Happy Birthday Alexandra.

Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

Thank God for the coconut guys on the streets; this place is HOT!  The coconut guys work the streets with their carts and cut open coconuts with machetes for refreshing beverages.  Aaahhh, the fresh juices... I guess I had forgotten what a ripe pineapple tastes like.  

In Santo Domingo, merengue dancing is popular too. Friends will be happy to know I resisted the urge on nearly all occasions to dance; good thing it was dark when I did. Last night, I took a stroll out for some entertainment. A dark cobblestone street took me past a magnificent cigar shop to a cafe that spilled out dancers and diners. I cannot remember a more joyous recent event. It seemed that they had no other relevant care in the world. One particularly well-dressed elderly man rose from his chair and walked over with some intent to a beautiful young woman. I thought for sure she would decline his advance, but she rose with a shining smile and took his hand. To my astonishment, they danced the merengue, and the unlikely duo stole the show. I would say that it was that moment when I decided to learn to dance. Well, if I do learn to dance, that may be the reason.

I took the opportunity to take some photos on Monday.  Here are some of what I found:

Other than the fresh juices, the food here was not overwhelmingly great. After disappointment with an overpriced goat osso bucco, and a few other dishes, I did have a delicious ceviche at a Peruvian place (couldn't resist) and a barbeque bacon cheeseburger at Hard Rock Cafe while I watched the World Series. Presidente seems to be the beer of choice, and you can get one at Hard Rock for $4 or at the park with a small plastic cup for $1. Rum and Cigars are big here too (NO, I DIDN'T BUY ANY CUBANS). Watch out in the streets and markets because people are very pushy!  "No, thank you, I don't need you to polish my rubber sandals." Taxi drivers, shoe shiners, tour guides, jewelers... all follow you around like puppies. My inner Obama told me I was being selfish and should spread the wealth, but I realized that's government's job and not mine.  

Chew Softly and Carry a Wicked Flashlight

 Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic

Country number 19! Yesterday, I arrived safely in Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. It was a very long bus trip, but luckily we had air conditioning and J-Lo in concert on video. You know, I think I like her better as an actress, but whatever. From just before the border, I noticed a couple of yellow butterflies that followed me for miles, kind of like the way that bird followed Eddie Murphy in Tibet. Therefore, I am certain I will be challenged to find another Golden Child somewhere in the Caribbean. I want the kniiiiife... pleeeeease. On the Haiti/DR border there is a rope, men with machine guns, aggressive children selling stuff you do not want, and a vicious mutant backhoe that nearly demolished an unwitting motorcyclist and company. Pretty effective, I must say. Homeland Security Sec. Chertoff and I are going to have a sit-down soon to mull this over. That is all I have to say about that.

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

Finally a city that makes Napoli look sanitary. Port-au-Prince is very dirty, not very charming, and smells of urine. It is a place where dogs and pigs live in perfect harmony rummaging through burning garbage on the street for food. People make strange noises at you and call you "blanc," ("whitey") as they look at you very peculiarly. Public transportation is a transformed pickup truck that seats twelve. At least you can sleep well at night, because the UN is the police.

Now that I have got you ready to hit up Priceline for your ticket to come for a visit, you should also know that there are some bright lights in this country (although not outside at nighttime). I was privileged to meet some great people, mostly Americans, who are in Haiti trying to make it a better place. I met a doctor who works to get people medicine and help in rural areas. There is a man who works to expose injustice, not to the corrupt authorities, but to the rest of the world. At St. Joseph's, where I stayed, Michael runs a home for boys. My group Hands On Disaster Response performs back-breaking work (ha-ha, yeah) moving mud to get people back into their homes and schools. Food-wise, I really enjoyed the fresh fruit, and I had a great Creole conch dish yesterday. So, if you want to be a do-gooder, Haiti may be for you. How is that for change you can believe in! I may have more thoughts on that later.