Category Archives: travel

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

There’s a reason “lost in translation” is more than a movie, its a cliche. Phrases that make sense to a native speaker may not impart the message they intended. The fun starts when you make your own interpretations; this is a collection of some of my favorites.

In Norway, motorcycles are not allowed to jump over cars. Not on this street anyway.

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IMG_4853 This cafe sells ridiculously huge hot dogs. Are they the biggest in the world? Probably.

This is something I found at the market while looking for gloves for doggy clean-up duty. Not sure what their intended use is, and I didn’t want to take any chances that the check-out guys would make fun of me, so I didn’t buy them.

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I think this next one is a travel brochure for spring break in Mexico:

 

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Reminds me of college.

Speaking of liver damage, this was an unfortunately ironic sign in the New Orleans airport:

IMG_2502New Orleans is probably also #1 in tattoo removal and nicotine patches. At least in Turkey they warn you when things are bad for your health (this is a carton of cigarettes):

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On the topic of nannyish signs, we were protected from all types of dangerous behavior while staying at a hotel in Oman:

IMG_4129I can see how you might hurt yourself with hand sanitizer. But a phone? And the restroom?

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My wife the risk-taker.

And really, is this some type of tourist-eating Venus flytrap?

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And lastly, on the juvenile side, here a few of my kids’ favorites.IMG_5107IMG_4331IMG_4297They particularly like the “historical diarrhea” sign. Gets a laugh every time.

 

 

London, Old and New

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London is the ultimate international city; everyone is drawn there, and everyone is welcome. (Well, everyone with a credit card.) Perhaps more than any other metropolis, London lays bare the schizophrenic effort required to balance the history and future of a place and a people. Walking through London is an exercise in choosing culture or couture, past or present. Every neighborhood is a young city trying to push aside the shell of the old.

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Do we really think Churchill would want to be immortalized next to a delicate tree in full bloom? I think he might’ve preferred his name on a cask of Scotch, with cigar smoke obscuring any other perspective of history.

Lord Nelson keeps a vigilant eye on the coast; never mind that you can ride a train from France, no matter the weather in the channel. He doesn’t seem to notice the even more archaic creature sneaking up behind him, distracted as he is by the Eye of London.

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Give the brits credit for trying to integrate the past with the future. Where else can you find a phone booth like this- with Wi-Fi?

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Some buildings look to the past, but many more just gleam into the future, without any granite or gargoyles, and no apologies.

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In places, the old and new are blended, with a beautiful harmony:IMG_5448

 

There is a tragic abundance of war memorials; seems such a pity that some are for wars against France, others to liberate France, and still others yet for places nobody cares about any more.

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The only “peace memorials” were statues of Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Ghandi. I liked that they were not up on grand pedestals, and were humbly life-size; I think they would’ve wanted it that way. Or maybe we are just making their humility as grandiose as Admiral Nelson’s military brilliance or Queen Victoria’s nobility,

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because that’s what we want them to be. That’s how we want to remember them.

I shouldn’t be too critical,  I like being able to buy a hot dog and an ice cream at Westminster Abbey…

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… but it does seem to detract just a little from the holiness of the place.

Once you escape the watering holes where the tourist herds gather under the watchful eye of various lions, there is a genuine vibrance in London. I found the entrance to this place of worship much more welcoming than any of the cathedrals in my guidebook:

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I also found it ironic that one of my favorite Banksy street paintings has been defaced:

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Every memory and its memorial fades eventually. London taught me that.

 

The Ozark Special

When you are stressed, tired, or just have nothing left to give, there’s nothing quite like comfort food. After trying edgy reimaginations of the classics, restaurants that try to fuse anything and everything with Asian, and international mystery plates, sometimes you crave some homemade goodness.

This past week we indulged in the travel equivalent of momma’s cookin’. For several years we have been spending a long weekend in the Ozark mountains along the Missouri/Arkansas border, and decided to go back for another helping this summer. To spice up a classic, we sent the kids off to camp and rented a cabin at Table Rock Lake. After our recent adventures, it was nice to visit someplace where the native language was (a version of) English, the food was familiar, and there was no rush to ingest every exotic moment before it faded back into the haze of “someday”.

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The verdant hills of the Ozark range are not as impressive as those farther west, but have an attainable beauty that is more apple pie, less caviar and pate’.

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Of course, any barrel has a few bad apples. We weren’t impressed with the guy driving a $400 pickup with a 4’x5′ confederate flag trailing behind, but you can find bigots and scared people with small minds anywhere. Like every place we’ve visited, people are generally kind and generous…

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The best part was a hiking trail behind our cabin that was virtually unused by anyone else; it’s like finding that hole-in-the-wall cafe where the waitress knows your name, and you can sit with your coffee for hours and feel right at home. It might not make the Michelin list, but it is special all the same.

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Comfort is the standard by which we judge newer experiences; just like momma’s cookin’, sometimes the standard is hard to beat.

Norwhere?

There should be a way to discover the places that should’ve been on the top of your list of places to visit, but weren’t. Norway is now at the top of my retroactive “I should’ve known I have to go there someday” list.

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Sure, I suspected it was cold there, and from my experience watching the Swedish chef on the Muppets, knew that the language would be easy to make fun of, but that was about it. I know, they don’t speak Swedish, but I can’t tell the difference. Anyway, I also knew that Norway has trolls, because Trollhunter was an awesome movie, and it was one of those “lost footage” pseudo-documentaries, so it must be true.

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So what could Norway reveal to earn the top spot on the Greatest-places-you-didn’t-know-you-wanted-to-go list? Like any European city, it has beautiful old churches and a sense of history that’s hard to imagine in the US.

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There is ample weird food. We ordered a hot dog and a hamburger for the kids, and got this:

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Our kids were not impressed. They ate the fries.

Culinary wrong-turns aside, the train from Oslo to Bergen was vacation travel at its best. Unlimited pizza and hot chocolate for the kids (OK I had pizza and hot chocolate too), beautiful scenery, and no security shaming/screening like you endure at the airport.

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In the middle of May, there are places in Norway still buried in snow. People were skiing on the glaciers! Of course, even Scandinavian public transportation has to submit to mother nature; a rock slide blocked the train tracks, and we were then re-routed via bus then ferry then train again. This involved 30 minutes of standing in the rain next to a stack of tires at a dubious looking dock.

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Good times!

Bergen was our final destination; this small sea-side city has loads of charm.

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I caught the biggest fish ever!

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We were fortunate enough to be in town during Norway’s Independence Day celebration. This seemed to consist of wearing traditional clothes, standing in the rain watching a parade, and drinking beer. Norway was starting to grow on me.

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Evidently Bergen has burned down a few times over the past 500 years, which isn’t surprising when you look at this fire-marshal’s nightmare arrangement of wooden buildings:

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It would probably burn down more frequently, but it does seem to rain every day. Combined with the melting glaciers, Norway must have the highest concentration of waterfalls anywhere.

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The Norwegian culture seems to embrace the strange combination of their Viking heritage and quirky troll-loving liberal modern state. On a hike to Mt Floyen, we discovered a garden of tree stumps that had been carved by chainsaw into cute (and a little creepy) sculptures.

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For a change, we didn’t stumble into this hidden glade because I was lost. My wife had been looking forward to this hike for weeks, and we had finally made it into the wild (you could almost not quite see our hotel). We were following the well-marked and thoroughly-mapped trails, when suddenly she leads us off onto a seldom-used path into the woods. Very Robert Frost. “And I, I took the one less Googled-by“.

For anyone who read JRR Tolkein before seeing the movies, you probably have a mental image of the Misty Mountains; I think Norway was the inspiration. Lonely, glacier-capped peaks shrouded in icy clouds:

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Isolated fishing villages from another time:

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Deep fjords whose depths harbor lost viking ships and cold runoff from glaciers that were old before humans set foot in Scandinavia:

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One thing that is found in Europe but missing in the suburbs of the US is the way cemeteries are integrated into the church and community in general. As morbid as it might be, Heather says there is something powerful about being reminded of your own mortality when thinking about spiritual things. I think she’s right.

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Anyone who fantasizes about living in an isolated cabin in the wilderness will be over-stimulated in Norway, especially if your fetish includes homesteads next to a waterfall, the ocean, or a mountain. You can have all 3 at once here!

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My sophisticated european friends dismissed my trip to Norway- “it’s outrageously expensive” (soda is $5 a bottle, so they have a point), “there’s nothing to do there” (if a lifetime worth of hiking, skiing, fishing, and boating doesn’t appeal to you, you probably would be bored there), “it’s cold and rainy” (no argument there).  I may never get to go back, but for next few months I’ll be annoying anyone who listens with stories about how amazing Norway is.

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Oman- California of the Middle East

There is a certain cultural undercurrent that you can sense in almost every seaside community. Living next to the ocean must instill a sense of patience, and an understanding of how small we really are. The waves have a rhythm of their own, and the pace of the tides changes for no one.

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Muscat, Oman, is one of those pearls. It sits on the southeastern coast of the arabian peninsula, and draws the fortunate triple of sun, mountains, and warm seas. When we (after a lengthy delay- for rain of all things!) finally arrived at the modest airport, the friendly customs and immigration officer was concerned that it was so late at night, and made sure we found a taxi to take us to our hotel. Upon leaving the airport, we noticed an immediate change in atmosphere- there was a salty ocean breeze, and courteous drivers were using turn signals!

The next two days were devoted to lounging on the beach, letting the sun melt away our stress and worries.

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However, the true beauty of Muscat wasn’t apparent until we left the hotel. The Omani people were as warm and inviting as the beaches, and we were constantly amazed at their desire to share their country with us. Our tour guide, Yousuf, took us to the Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, which is simply amazing.

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The people of Oman adore their Sultan. He had been out of the country for medical treatment, and just returned during our visit.

DSC_0802The streets were filled with people honking and celebrating; I never thought I’d see a woman standing up through the sunroof of a Hummer dancing- while wearing an Abaya! This brings us to the title of this post. I’m convinced that Oman is the California of the Middle East. In fact, if you turn the map just right, it even looks like California:

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Muscat is right around where Santa Monica would be. The crazy people who live in communes are found towards the top of the map (Yemen/Oregon). Dubai is a few hours’ drive through the desert away, allowing Las Vegas-like escapades. Iran is like Mexico, if the drug cartels had nuclear weapons.

The mountains of Oman are a must-see. Once again, following the SUVs into the wild:

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Jebel Shams is the “Grand Canyon of Oman”. I think our kids will mostly remember feeding dates to the goats.

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To celebrate our successful trek through the mountains, we headed out to sea. A traditional Dhow cruise comes with a new-traditional serving of Pepsi.

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To summarize the rest of the trip: souq shopping, snorkeling on a coral reef, eating a traditional Omani meal on a boat while looking for dolphins, and getting a Henna tattoo.

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On that note, one of my children exhibited his lack of impulse control when my wife suggested she get a face tattoo; he immediately, enthusiastically says “that’s a great idea!”. I’m not looking forward to the teenage years..

Another great Omani moment was when our taxi driver asked if he could take a detour. I didn’t really understand what he was saying, but agreed anyway. That habit will probably get me in trouble one day, but it paid off this time. He drove us to a point above town to watch the sunset, and showed us his home and the best places to fish. The view was worth the detour:

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I will never forget the beautiful people and scenery of Oman. Maybe after a month or a year it would all seem normal, but for one week every moment was worthy of a post-card.

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Going Native

I was hoping my children would have a mind-expanding experience (without the mushrooms typically involved back in the states) moving overseas. It might’ve worked too well. We had a fantastic Saudi weekend in the desert, complete with dune-sliding,DSC_0169

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and khabsa-eating. DSC_0241

The views were simply stunning:

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And we got to get a little more mileage out of the “Humpdaaaayyyyyyyy” camel jokes:

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The most memorable moment came in two parts; it began when our 4×4 lost the license plate after plowing into a sand dune. That became relevant later as we were passing through a check-point, and the guys with assault rifles decided we looked like incognito smugglers- since we had no license plate. It all worked out.

To my wife and daughter back in the states: we are really having a rough time here, barely getting by without you. Hope you won’t mind all the sand in the sheets! See you soon 🙂