Since my lack of funds has kept me from traveling to places that excite my interest, such as Southeast Asia, I must resort to what is called “armchair travel.” While I was growing up in Cleveland, I had this incredible desire to travel. Unfortunately, our travel destinations were Detroit, Passaic NJ, Schoenbrunn Village OH, and (once) Lake Worth FL. It was not until 1975 when I broke free and went to Yucatán to visit Maya ruins.
On Friday, I got together with several friends for lunch at a local Indonesian restaurant, Simpang Asia, in the Palms neighborhood, where I had a delicious Nasi Goreng.
Each Thursday, when I visit the Central Library downtown, I wait for the return of the Lonely Planet guide to Indonesia so that I can check it out for a few weeks. I remember reading Joseph Conrad’s Almayers Folly and The Outcast of the Islands several times.
So I find myself endlessly preparing for journeys which I may never take. But then, it makes life more interesting by adding to my store of knowledge.
Last year, I got my hands on a copy of a recent Lonely Planet guide to Thailand. Every morning during breakfast, I read about that fascinating country. Of late, during my trips to the Central Library downtown, I have also borrowed guides to Singapore, Malaysia, Brunei, Sri Lanka, and Laos. Tomorrow, I plan to see if they have any guides available to Indonesia, Vietnam, and Cambodia. I am particularly interested in Indonesia.
If I had the money, I think I would love to fly to Singapore, take the train through Malaysia, stopping in Penang, and continue on to Bangkok, Ayuthaya, and Chiang Mai. I rather doubt I could get Martine interested in such a trip, but there is a possibility that she would accept Singapore as a destination.
It might be in the tropics, but it’s small, rich, and largely air-conditioned. And there are numerous museums, a world-class zoo and botanical garden, and a fascinating mixture of cultures and cuisines—particularly Malayan, Straits Chinese (Peranakan), South Chinese, and Indian.
Tao Yuanming (365-427) is one of the great poets of China. I have been reading a translation of his poems by Bill Porter (under his pseudonym Red Pine) and came across this unnamed poem. It talks about the hardships of travel in China around the year 400 AD. I, who yearn to have the money to allow me to travel and find myself stuck in Southern California, am in a slightly different situation.
People sigh about the hardships of travel I’m just learning about them now about the size of mountains and rivers and the unexpected dangers of both about crashing waves that echo across the sky and relentless winds that never cease the more I travel the more I long for home why am I stuck where I am I’ve been thinking about how much I love my garden and why haven’t I said goodbye to the world how long will my good years last and why did I ever question my heart
Today, as Paraguay sent Germany packing by its World Cup victory, I mused about poor Paraguay, one of only two landlocked countries in South America (the other one is Bolivia). Most of this post is from a March 22, 2022 post entitled “At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig,”
Definitely on my travel bucket list is one of South America’s two landlocked countries (the other one is Bolivia, which had a seaport on the Pacific until they lost it in an 1870s war with Chile). I am speaking, of course, of Paraguay, which is surrounded by Argentina, Brazil, and Bolivia. I personally know no one who has been to Paraguay, yet I am yearning to visit it.
What piqued my interest was John Gimlette’s At the Tomb of the Inflatable Pig, which captures the insane history of this little known country, which is known for:
The Paraguayan War (1864-1870) against, simultaneously, Argentina, Brazil, and Uruguay, in which 50% of the population lost their lives.
The Chaco War (1930s) against Bolivia, in which two armies confronted each other in a waterless desert and which, surprisingly, Paraguay won despite horrendous casualty rates.
The dictatorship of Alfredo Stroessner (1954-1989) in which the country welcomes fleeing Nazis.
While it is theoretically possible to fly into the capital, Asunción, I would rather enter by bus from Argentina. When I visited Iguazu Falls in 2015, I was only a few miles from Ciudad del Este, which is a known hangout of smugglers and Hezbollah terrorists—but I chose not to visit it at that time. (Actually, probably never would suit me.)
If I went to Paraguay, I would be interested in visiting the old Jesuit missions that were destroyed by the Brazilians. At one time, in the 18th century, Paraguay was controlled by the Jesuits and was considered a paradise on earth. To corroborate, read Voltaire’s Candide and see Roland Joffe’s 1986 film The Mission with Robert De Niro and Jeremy Irons. But after the missions were destroyed, things went bad.
And I would like to stay in Asunción sipping Tereré, a cold preparation made with Yerba Mate. If I had time, I would like to see a little bit (a very little bit) of the Chaco region in the northwest.
Now that I am (1) retired and (2) living on a fixed income, my fantasies of travel become ever more vivid. Some months ago, I found a copy of the Lonely Planet Guide to Thailand in one of those take a book/leave a book stands. Ever since then, my mind has traveled to Bangkok, Chang Mai, Pattaya, and Ko Samui and points in between.
I know that if the money for travel should drop into my lap, most of my fantasy travel destinations would involve my going by myself. Martine wants no part of the Third World, let alone closer destinations like Yucatán or the Alaska Panhandle.
No matter: Even armchair travel can be a rewarding experience. I am currently reading Alex Garland’s The Beach about a visit to a strange island near Ko Samui. And I continue to pore over my Lonely Planet Guide, even if it is a year or two out of date. And I will look for more of those Bangkok crime novels featuring Sonchai Jitpleecheep written by John Burdett. It should make for a fun summer.
Of course, if I went to Thailand, I probably would not spend much time on the beach. To be sure, I would visit museums and Buddhist temples and spend hours at various Thai “Walking Streets” and night markets. The food would be fantastic. And, being the type of person I am, I would get a ton of reading done. Not for me the full moon parties on the beach and the girlie bars of Soi Cowboy and Patpong.
And when I have read my fill of Thailand, there are other places that I could explore from my armchair.
As for real, non-armchair travel, I am looking forward to going with Martine to Arizona sometime in the not too distant future.
An Influencer Couple Takes On Caye Caulker, Belize
Planning a vacation will never be the same again, now that influencers have weighed in. As usual, the results are both good and bad.
Recently, I have been researching vacations in Isla Mujeres, Mexico, and Caye Caulker, Belize. The good thing is that I have seen enough images of the two islands to feel confident that there are interesting sights to see, good places to eat, and decent accommodations. Now that everybody and his brother has a video camera and a drone and professional underwater equipment, there is no lack of images promoting a large variety of vacation destinations.
On the minus side, many of the producers of these videos insist on highlighting themselves, sometimes in every shot. My interest is in seeing what Isla Mujeres and Caye Caulker are like, not in the drinking habits of these influencers. Of course, now I know that an inordinate number of visitors to Isla Mujeres are serious alkies. There are times that, on seeing these videos, I wonder how the influencers are still on their feet and not face-planting in a puddle somewhere.
There is also a lot of mispronounced names of places and misinformation. It is obvious that most travel influencers don’t do their homework when visiting another country.
Another point is that some influencers have received free products and services to promote destinations, hotels, and restaurants. As such, one has to take their recommendations with a grain of salt. Of course, the viewer gets a chance to see the accommodations and the food and get some idea of what to expect.
The important thing is balance one influencer off against another and use one’s judgment to make good decisions. But then, you knew that, didn’t you?
If you’ve used the Google search engine today, you will have been reminded that this is the one hundredth anniversary of U.S. Route 66, the “Mother Road” that stretched from Chicago to the Santa Monica Pier two miles from where I live. Of course, now it’s California Route 2 between Centinela Boulevard and State Route 138 near Wrightwood.
As John Steinbeck wrote in Grapes of Wrath:
66 is the path of a people in flight, refugees from dust and shrinking land, from the thunder of tractors and shrinking ownership, from the desert’s slow northward invasion, from the twisting winds that howl up out of Texas, from the floods that bring no richness to the land and steal what little richness is there.
I have ridden three segments of the Mother Road. My favorite is in Arizona between Seligman and Oatman, where I visited Grand Canyon Caverns, which is run by the Hualapai Indian nation. The first time I took that road, I picked up a Hualapai hitchhiker who needed a lift to the Greyhound Bus Station in Kingman. We had a pleasant ride there until I discovered that the tribal police were waiting for him there to take him into custody. Apparently he had been to a wild party the previous night and did something to put him afoul of the law. I never did find out.
The other two segments were thus:
A short stretch in California between the Amboy Road and Kelbaker Road through the now deserted crossroads of Amboy
A very desolate stretch in New Mexico between Laguna Pueblo and I-25.
I don’t count the stretches of Route 66 that are coterminous with the Interstate system. It’s an entirely different feeling on the Interstate.
Now that I am living on a fixed income, I daydream incessantly about travel. My latest pipe dream is about visiting Belize with Martine. She has decided she doesn’t like Mexico, so maybe Central America is more her style. I would love to spend a week on Caye Caulker in Belize, which is a 45-minute boat ride (or 10-minute flight by Cessna) from Belize City.
The advantages of Caye Caulker are beguiling to a traveler like me:
The island is made of coral and is very near the Belize Barrier Reef, second only to Great Barrier Reef of Australia in size.
It is a relatively inexpensive destination with few of the all-inclusive resorts that suck dollars from U.S. tourists in places like Cancún.
There are no cars, just bicycles and battery-powered golf carts.
The whole island is walkable.
At both the northern and southern extremes, there are interesting wooded areas for hiking.
There is an intriguing mix of places to stay, eat, and drink—with the main drinks being Belikin Beer and local rum.
On the minus side—though not really from my point of view:
There are no sandy beaches as the island is made of coral.
One must protect against ankle-biting sand flies in the hour just before sunset.
The water close to shore is full of irritating sea grass, necessitating water shoes for comfort.
It can be really hot and humid. (Hey, it’s the tropics!)
Most people who go to Caye Caulker go for the diving, snorkeling, and other water sports. None of these are interesting to me because I am too old for that sort of thing. It would be fun. however, to relax with a good book; splash around a bit in the water; try Belizian, Mayan, and Caribbean food; and take walks. If it’s too pokey for Martine, we could even spend a day or two in more heavily populated Ambergris Caye, which is 30-45 minutes north by water taxi.
I couldn’t find the owner’s last name on the Internet. His first name I know, however: It’s David. Supposedly, in 1974 he founded a hotel called the Gringo Perdido, “The Lost Gringo.” At some point, he sold it to its present Guatemalan owners and opened La Casa de Don David, much closer to the intersection with the road to the Maya ruins at Tikal.
If you want to visit Tikal, you can stay just outside the ruins, or hang out with the tourist throngs on the island of Flores. My choice was the village of El Remate, roughly midway between Flores with its airport and the ruins at Tikal. And what a choice it was! My 2019 stay was restful and in every way delightful. The Casa was on the eastern shore of the Lago Petén Itza, the site of the final defeat of the Maya to the Spanish conquistadors in 1697, over a century after Cortés defeated the Aztecs several hundred miles to the north.
Here is the front of the informational handout I received in 2019:
The website listed is still current, in both Spanish and English.
I spent a couple hours talking with David and liked him and his hotel immensely. In fact, I hired a guide to the ruins through the hotel who was extremely knowledgeable.
One of the things I hate about a hotel when I’m traveling is a party atmosphere. I don’t mind conviviality, but it seems that the majority of American travelers particularly travel to get drunk. Me, I like places that are restful and quiet. It helped that the food was excellent and the owner and staff friendly and helpful. If I were to return to Tikal (next time I’d like to access it through Belize, some 25 miles (40 kilometers) to the east.
On my kitchen table right where I sit to eat my meals are ten travel guides by Lonely Planet and Moon Travel Guides. Now that I’ve canceled my newspaper subscription, I spend a lot more time fantasizing about possible future trips. Since I am 81 years old and living on a fixed income, am I kidding myself? Maybe, but dreaming about travel is almost as much fun as travel itself.
My latest fantasy itinerary starts in the northernmost seaport in Chile, Arica, known for its surfing. The city used to belong to Bolivia, which at the time had access to the Pacific; however, in the 1880s, there was a bird poo war involving Chile, Bolivia, and Peru. It literally was about access to bird droppings for use as agricultural fertilizer. (It’s amazing sometimes how so much warfare is due to lust for various types of shit.) Peru and Bolivia lost, probably due to naval help for Chile from Britain.
From Arica, I would take a La Paloma bus to the village of Putre, which woulkd take me from sea level to an elevation of 11,060 feet (3,371 meters) within a couple of hours. There I would adjust myself to the altitude by reading a good book for a day or two while I felt slightly ill from soroche (altitude sickness).
I would hire a tour guide in Putre to take me to the Parque Nacional Lauca, which is a region of snowcapped volcanoes and alpine lakes with wild vicunas and alpacas. Nearby are other high-altitude Andean parks.
From Putre, I could take a bus to La Paz, Bolivia, where I could rest a day or two before making my way to the ruins of Tihuanacu and the city of Copacabana on the eastern shore of Lake Titicaca. From there it is a quick bus trip to Puno in Peru, where I spent several days in 2014 on the western shore of Titicaca. If I am so minded, I can easily get from Puno to Cuzco and Machu Picchu and ultimately to Lima.
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