The good, the bad, and the ugly of travel, Part 2

As the second component of the good, the bad, and the ugly, I must share a trip to meet my in-laws.

Nearly ten years ago and after only six months of dating, my now husband and I made plans to visit his family in Minas Gerais, an interior agricultural state of Brazil.

Upon my arrival, my handsome Admilson, was awaiting me outside the gate. Having very few options in arriving to his small town, we left the Belo Horizonte airport in a cab for a very lengthy ride, approximately 3 hours if uneventful.

The scenery was lush, mountainous and of course pleasant as I was in good hands. However, after a long flight in an exit row without the option of reclining, all I wanted was a couch, shower, and well something other than the somehow always tasteless food you get on planes.

As we approached his hometown of Fernandez Torinho, the paved roads changed to dirt roads. The ride became rather bumpy with large ruts from the rainy season causing the small taxi to bottom out upon occasion. Unfortunately, it happened one too many times as we lost the oil pan and could not continue with the cab. Only one mile from the house, we contemplated waiting for assistance. However, after almost twenty-four hours of travel, I was getting hungry and thus impatient. For those of you that know me, when hungry I can be rather nasty.

We settled the tab, took my bags in tote, and arrived at his mother’s home on foot. It was a small, whitewashed home surrounded by hundreds of acres of tropical plants many of which I had not seen; plus, there were chickens, a pony and cart, cats, a lazy dog, and a brother’s dirt bike. From a large family, the introduction was like a casting call Elaine, Ezelaine, Elzamar, Edna, Adnilson, Ailson for a total of nine (almost all of which have now moved to the states). His mother, Ideir, was very quiet and reserved, but probably just protective of her son who just brought home an American; probably not what she was praying for.

The following day is where the good, the bad, and the ugly come into play. That morning, Admilson took me to explore their house and surrounding lands. I believe the first very plant I found was a guanabana tree (or soursop in English). Growing up in Wisconsin, this would never be something you would encounter in the supermarket or in the wild. Curiosity killed the cat as they say and a “moribundo” or wasp stung me right on the nose. I, of course, started dancing around; swatting the damn wasp, but it was too late. As reference, I am not allergic to wasp or bee stings to the point of near death, but to a level that I would call, “death warmed over.”

Despite the ice, aspirin, and elevation of my head, I, the newly introduced wife-to-be, had a swollen face as round as a ball. Admilson tried various times to take a picture, but it was made very clear that he would find an early death for any documentation of my misery and frightening appearance. The brothers and sisters already shy and skittish disappeared that is except the youngest girl, Edna. Maybe she wasn’t afraid or she too was curious.

After two days of living like a monster, being judged only on my ugly appearance since my Portuguese was limited, I was living a nightmare. Finally, I couldn’t be stoic any more. I needed medicine. I knew that if someone went into town, which was a fifteen minute ride on the dirt bike, they could get some good anti-inflammatory drugs....only the kind you get outside of the U.S. without a prescription. And after two and a half days of suffering as “ballface," I was transformed back to the lovely, American who was still stealing one of my mother-in-law’s sons.

So the good, the bad, and in this case UGLY was the cause of yet another fruit...this time not a lime but by my curiosity to know more about guanabana.

The good, the bad and the ugly of travel, Part 1

When one thinks of travel, you smile of the new places, sounds, smells, tastes and adventure. The truth is that many aspects of travel can be the bad and ugly that I reference in the title. I plan on giving you a small series of some of those experiences to give you a taste of the quote I live by that, "Every experience in life can either be classified as a good time or good story."

The good, the bad, and the ugly of travel.....Part 1

I must have been mid to late high school and lucky enough to have a father that was a college professor; thus, we had similar Spring breaks. Depending on the year, we traveled to Cancun, Zihautanejo (my favorite), Isla de las Mujeres and others. Regardless of where we went this particular year, it was always tradition to go beaching and by lunch it was time for margaritas.

Having little experience with alcohol at the time, one Mexican margarita prepared by the "hopeful bartender" made the place even more paradise. The so called siesta that was rumored about was definitely called for. One day upon returning to the hotel, I noticed that I had a large red area on my leg. I had done a little walking through paths around the beach, but nothing out of the ordinary. However, it appeared to be as if I had ran into a poisonous plant but in the shape of a hand print.

To this day I am surprised that I hadn't put two and two together. It turns out that one or two margaritas and the juice of the limes I wiped on my leg had accelerated the sunbathing process. Thinking back on this, as a brunette from Wisconsin, I had used Sun-In, a hair lightener made with lemon juice or something like it,with my friends to appear blond. Why did I not remember that citrus juices do that?

The following day the areas were burnt and upon return to the States, the areas had gone through a scary color change; the smudged hand print on my right upper thigh was the color of milk chocolate. Very concerned about the rash, we went to the local clinic in La Crosse. The reaction of the doctors was unforgettable. You would have thought it was a holiday. "I have never seen something like this before. Get the others" said my doctor. And in came a handful of students and cameras. They questioned me, took various shots with the camera, told me that my photos would be in the next dermatologists reference book, and then said that this was the best case of lime juice stain they had ever seen.

I guess I didn't care if they had seen it or not, I was a high schooler concerned about looking different. I just wanted them to help me get back to my regular color. So, they prescribed something called skin bleach. Now you have to remember that this was also around the time of Michael Jackson and his continual lightening of his skin. I couldn't believe that I was doing something similar to the King of Pop.

Word to the wise. Not all travel is fun. There are times that are bad or in this case ugly. Beware of lime juice or any citrus for that matter in the sun. And when in Mexico, be safe...just drink beer.

Scaling the Coliseum Walls....

When you go to Rome there are certain sights that just cannot be missed: the Sistine Chapel, Vatican, Spanish steps, many of the gelato stores, and of course the Coliseum.

My first and only time to Rome was on a very quick 2 day visit in late December about ten years ago. I remember it being a absolutely beautiful city to walk enjoying the architecture, historical ruins, gelato (did I mention that already), and of course art. However, the mobs of tourists made it rather unpleasant. Traveling with my trusty companions from the night in the Turkish Brothel, we all loved Rome, but were amazed at how long the lines were for the Vatican, Sistine Chapel, and the hordes of people amongst the Pantheon ruins.

On our last night, we all said that we regretted that we did not have the opportunity to see the Coliseum. How could one visit Rome without visiting the Coliseum? It would be an embarrassment, right?

It was already nightfall, the Coliseum was closed, the streets were rather empty, and it was just about time to find a good take out place for pasta and a bottle of Chianti to share. I don't know exactly which one of us had the idea, but we came up with a mischievous plan. We were going to break into the Coliseum. From the picture above you can see that there are iron gates to the right that are rather high, but they do have two crossbars that make scaling the gate doable.

So with hearts jumping out of our chests and risking time in an Italian jail, all four of us jumped the gate. With a lift up from Chandra, the 1st over was Katia, a very thin and spry woman, then Nadia, I went 3rd figuring I better go because without the help of Chandra, I didn't know if I could have lanced my short body over.

All in, we mazed through the dark hallways to get to the center of the Coliseum. It was absolutely majestic with the light from the moon. The shadows playfully created a more accurate picture of what it was in its day...I could imagine it filled with water with boats engaging in war or gladiators and chariots fighting for their lives in front of cheering spectators and the emperor.

Of course, we did this all in complete silence as to not alert the guards that were walking around frequently with flashlights. However, our luck ran out after about 15 minutes, when one of us (who will remain nameless) took a picture with flash and alerted one of the guards to investigate. We hurried to get back to our escape route trying to be as quiet as possible. This time we were all so scared and hurried that there was no need for Chandra. We all made it over the gate without the help of a boost; the adrenaline was enough.

So just by a fraction of a moment, we could have been spending a night in a Roman prison. I guess it would have been a good compliment to Christmas Eve in a Turkish Brothel, but I am glad it didn't happen that way.

I wouldn't suggest breaking into the Coliseum, but definitely don't leave Rome without seeing it. However, if you must scale the walls or jump the gate, it is unforgettable and without the hordes of other tourists. As a recommendation, wear dark clothes, running shoes, and do not take flash photography.

Riding a Camel

There are certain things that you just don’t forget how to do like tying your shoe or riding a bike. Well, I have to say that riding a camel is certainly not one of those skills, but it is definitely unforgettable.

I rode my first and only camel while on a visit to Morocco. At the time, I was traveling with one of my girlfriends from school. We had already taken the ferry from Southern Spain to Tangiers, haggled in the markets for tea and spices and toured the many souks to experience (smell) where the dying takes place for all of the infamous rugs and tapestries. Then this led us to Casablanca to visit the picturesque mosque and on to Marrakesh.

In what seemed like a day long bus ride from Marrakesh through the mountains, we finally arrived in a small town on the line of the Sahara desert. We asked for a guide that would be able to take us for a journey into the desert. We were led to a clay, earthen building at the edge of town where a Moroccan man, father, and owner of various camels spoke to us and one other tourist from Belgium, Jurin (pronounced urine). Within moments, the price was set and all three of us were to leave shortly on pre-selected, temperamental camels with one guide with little to no English skills and food and tea for four.

The owner and guide loaded our backpacks and supplies strategically on the camels, which did not seem at all happy to be taken out of their stables. My friend and Jurin were the first on the camels. I was entirely pleased that I waited to observe. Having ridden horses as a child, I never liked riding, but I was an average rider with enough skill and time around animals to not fall off. Well, if you have never ridden or seen someone get on a camel, it is rather different that just jumping in the stirrups and throwing your leg over.

To ride a camel, first there is a very wide saddle-like seat that is placed and secured on the camel. With the owner or trainer holding the reins and the camel, you sit on the saddle unable to lower your legs around the camel like you would with a horse then putting your feet in the stirrups. You sit rather spread eagle with nothing to hold onto except the front of a saddle. Then, the camel is instructed to rise. It gets up with both of its back legs first, throwing the rider to a face down position while holding on for dear life until the front legs catch up.

All three of us, successfully in uncomfortable riding position, departed for the desert with our guide on foot. To add to the complete camel riding experience, I must explain a little about the gate of the camel. The horse has a stride that one can get used to it is almost like a forward and backward motion that the rider emanates; however, the camel’s gate is not one that is easy to compliment or survive. A camel walks with one of its front legs and the back leg of the opposite side at the same time; thus, providing a very jerking, unpredictable gate, front to back and side to side motion.

The ride of my other two companions ended very shortly out of the compound. They said they wanted to save their behinds. Well, I was stoic and stayed on, but also I stayed as I feared the dismount needed to get down from that damn camel. After what must have been an hour and a half, we could no longer see the compound; we were in the middle of the desert; and my butt was hurtin’. The sun was down, the moon was rising, stars began to explode through the dark sky, and we made camp.

I have never camped without a tent; so, once again this was a first. We laid out blankets from the guide and then arranged our sleeping bags on top. The guide prepared a tangine (typical dish prepared in Morocco with a terracotta dome shaped cooking vessel). It was made with various vegetables and a mixture of chicken and lamb which was cooked over an open fire with plenty of tea to drink. The food was great and only complimented by the incredible sky. Although I grew up much removed from the city lights, I had never and have never since seen the sky so bright with millions of stars. Like most camping evenings, once you have eaten, there isn’t a TV or radio to turn on, so it was goodnight.

I have to admit I felt a little scared knowing that desert bandits could come and take us for ransom, but it didn’t happen that night and we awoke to the most glorious of mornings. I have always loved water and have gravitated towards the ocean and the beach; so, I was surprised to witness that the desert is indeed gorgeous. It is not the water, but the sky that produces that contrast of blue and tan that is similar to the beach.

Needlesstosay, we returned early in the morning, all on foot. No one was willing to torture their bottoms again on those cranky camels. Upon arrival at the compound, we gathered our things, but not before the owner talked with Jurin. We later departed heading back into town, when Jurin shared with us that he was asked by the owner to trade two camels for the green-eyed one (me). I guess I should have been flattered as camels are expensive and I have since inquired that two camels is a very generous price for a young-twenty something green-eyed woman. Luckily, Jurin understood that just because he was in our company, it did not mean that either myself or my friend were his property.

So, it was an evening to remember filled with many firsts whether riding camels or being bartered for a pair of camels where we gained a travel partner for the rest of our Morocco trip, even if his name did sound like urine.