Category: Travel

Hipsters on a plane

/ Matt Talley / 2 Comments

I was fortunate enough to share a seat row on a flight from Chicago to Seattle with a young female member of the hipster mafia.  She had all the proper accessories: skinny-jeans, a Mac book, plaid, roughed up messenger bag, an ironic tattoo, bed-hair and of course big goofy Steve Urkel glasses that had no lenses in the frames.  There were affirmative grunts to the flight attendant and 4 tiny (under 3oz for the TSA – thank you very much asshole London liquid bombers for making us all know what 3oz looks like…) bottles of hooch in Listerine containers to mix with her tomato juice.  The aroma of sweat, cheap booze, and stale pot smoke lingered faintly in the background – all while the aforementioned macbook placed a cheesy 1970’s horror flick – after which she cracked open “Dont Hassel the Hoff” and read with gusto – Not making any of this up!

There was no sharing of the seat arm.  No ‘excuse me’ for repeatedly bumping into me while arranging the contents of her bag or when reaching across my face and over my book for another clandestined drink mixer.  Nope, I was sitting next to a late 20 something 15 year old.  It was not awesome.

So this is what we have wrought?  All our blog posts about nerd culture, bikes, beer snobbery, bluegrass, how amazing old vinyl is, and laments for the way things were back in the days when Kevin Bacon’s Footloose was cool and before we got real jobs working for the man.  We caused this – you and I with our own smugness.  Our own blathering on and on about bike polo and hot nerdy girls.  Our fault.

This girl and maybe millions like her are the worker bees that will fund the twilight of SSI and try to figure out how to clean up the mess we, our parents, and our grand parents have made of things here on terra firma.  We’re fucked.  How in the bejesus is all that going to happen when The League of Hipster Youth is trying, this very minute, to figure out how to extend their stay in mom’s basement indefinantly so they can use “their” money for music, handmade bikes, Apple products, PBR, and primo hindukush?!  Again, we’re fucked.

Spring in Belfast, Northern Ireland

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One of the reasons my J-O-B pays me the medium bucks is because I will travel anywhere in the world with little to zero notice.  I again proved that last week when, with two hours notice, I hopped on a plane from Seattle to Northern Ireland two days before the Memorial Day weekend.  Stamps-With-Foot was none too happy.  I bought her shiny objects while there to quell the violence in her heart.  Man, she really likes shinny stuff because I haven’t heard one more cross word from her about my trip and I am starting to wonder if she relishes when I travel so that she can display annoyance and mock anger to receive sparkly bobbles and guilt-heavy jewelry.

Some rough initial, unedited opinions of Belfast:

  1. Strong northern winds blowing when I arrived brought in the smell of cattle and pastures – the sweet decay of manure and decomposing grass.
  2. Road right-of-way here is on the left side of the road.  This makes me a hazard to curbs, rental cars and living beings.  I also noticed after repeatedly walking against the flow of foot traffic on the street that people here walk on the left of sidewalk and escalators are left-flow as well.  It’s the little things one notices.
  3. There exists a weird pocket version of adolescence rebellion Northern Ireland: lily-white 12-18 year old boys who are overly groomed, cell phone to ear with hip-hop blaring, trying to look tough – Impossible when one is wearing his collar popped and has his feet shod in white leather slip-ons.
  4. I went on a hop-on hop-off city tour that included drives down the Falls Road and Shankill Road areas of town were 40’ high barriers, blast walls, bullet scarred bricks, and where victims’ and martyrs’ murals take up the entire sides of buildings and.  There is not an inch of street in those neighborhoods that doesn’t hold some palpable sad memory for some.  It was spooky and sad and made me say a prayer of thanks for my lower-middle class childhood.  Growing up in Belfast during The Troubles, in a constant state of fear and vengeance would have probably led me to a very angry and short life.
  5. This land is a sea of red hair. Most of it real, some from a bottle, one 20-something lass walked into view with natural ginger roots and pink/red tips. An Asian teen and a black girl with red dos also strolled by my people-watching perch – Were they red-headed just to blend…?
  6. I happened to stop in at a mass at St. Mary’s (walked out of Kelly’s Bar and there was a church, what do you do?) and police had to be called because of drunk/high/ crazy lady (maybe she was all three) interrupted mass and tried to take over the microphone at the pulpit.  – High drama.
  7. Traveling without my wife is lonely and sucky.  The sharing of things and people seen, food eaten, and the smell of the flower and grocery markets is a thing not to be trivialized.
  8. Every third word I here is “fock” or “focking.”  Spoken with gusto by men, women, teens and kids (one lad with spiky hair, maybe ten, at an international food market said today: “Ah fock this ma, I wanta go home”). It seems that the Northern Irish have such a great affinity for this word and use it as much as possible in an apparent attempt to claim it as their own.
  9. I went to Madden’s Bar to drink a pint and listen to the advertised Irish trad music. Walked in for the last 30 minutes of the Champions League final between FC Barcelona and Manchester United. As I sat down, Barcelona scored (final was 3-1 Barcelona) and the crowd cheered.  Apparently, I was in a Nationalist/Republican Pub…  I kept my United love to my focking self and drank my focking Guinness as focking quietly as focking possible. Music was great though.
  10. For some reason biking in Belfast is not wide spread. It can’t be due to a northern Irish aversion to 2 wheels:  I arrived on a Thursday afternoon and the roadways between villages were packed with road bikers all kitted up in multi-colored spandex.  Really, hundreds of them, but in the city it seems like almost no one rides.  I went out walking on a mostly sunny afternoon in the central part of downtown and saw maybe 15 people riding all day.  There was only one fixed speed wonder and only 1 guy on a trials bike (Danny MacAskill fan I would bet) out hopping on to park benches, walls, and planters.  It is not the weather – London and Hamburg are full of bikes. The Belfast streets are broad and flat.  It must be something left over from The Troubles, I don’t know and didn’t get a chance to ask.
  11. As discovered when Stamps-With-Foot and I were in Dublin – Guinness is better in Ireland!

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Bad Luck or Karma Boomerang?

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When you open up your travel toiletries kit and you find that your toothbrush is broken in half after 20+ hours of flight-time and after arriving at your hotel just as all the local shops close, you have two choices:  Use the nub or go to bed with fuzzy teeth.  I chose the former and as I made a mess of things, I couldn’t help think that I must have set my karma on fire at some point in my recent travels in order to deserve the splotch of toothpaste that somehow landed in my right eye.  Did one of the ferns I took out of the yard have a Secret of NIMH expansion colony under it?  Did I cause a bride-to-be in transit to miss her wedding by taking a specific parking spot?  Was the taxi I took from the airport destined for more worthy/needy passengers?  Did I drink the last beer in the last keg of Guinness at a pub on St. Paddy’s Day and did violence ensue? 

Biological Clocks and Mad Travel

/ Matt Talley / 1 Comment

In the last nine days, I have been in three States, have held three new babies, and have watched my wife’s baby-clock go from tick…tick….tick… to BOOM!BOOM!BOOM!  There were three pregnant bridesmaids at our wedding and one of the groomsmen had a very pregnant wife.  In Portland, we met Trystan: A handsome 3-week old little man that is the spitting image of his father.  In Orange County, CA I met Valiant:  a 5-week old heart breaker that looks like his Mommy.  In San Francisco I met Valentina for the first time – Stamps-With-Foot was there for the birth.  Valentina is 6 weeks old and also looks like her daddy.

All these little ones have, seemingly overnight, turned my sweet little “puppies-are-better-than-babies” wife into one of those crazy ladies who talks of nothing but nurseries, baby clothes, water births, talcum powder smells, and the merits of cloth vs. disposal…  All the diaper talk mania is taking its toll on me:  I had a dream a couple nights ago in which Stamp-With-Foot locked me in a room and made me perform till there were babies.  By the time I woke up (I should saw was jolted awake, sweating), there were like 20 of them at all different ages and sizes as well as 4 rabbits.  Some jars of my grandmother Talley’s plum jelly also made an appearance (WTF?!)…

Weekend in Portland

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Stamps-With-Foot and I went down to Portland for Easter weekend… as if we had all the freetime in the world – no projects looming over us – and a pot of money.  We have some dear friends there that have just had a baby and we went down to meet him and hang out with them.  Holy Pork Chop on a Stick!!  The weather was AWESOME!!  I am talking 65 degrees, blue skies, sunshine – the works.  Saturday found us in a green city park, sitting under a tree, having a picnic, and swigging mimosas!  It was a really laid back day and just what the doctor ordered.  We spent Easter Sunday with an old family friend who happens to be Jewish – I always imagined the Easter bunny as having Hasidic roots…  After a lazy morning, yummy coffee, and a terriffic breakfast, we drove into downtown and went to the Portland Chinese Garden.  Our friend is on the Board of Directors there and we got in for free.  Although the rain came back, we had a phenomal time walking the paths, finding nooks and alternate views.  There was a late lunch at the tea house and the ladies partook of sake and plum wine.

Abu Dhabi is not exacty a vacation destination.

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I spent almost 5 days in Abu Dhabi and I wouldn’t exactly call it a vacation destination…  Did I mention that is is 22 hours of flight time?  It is a very expensive city ($100 dinner for one) that is full of heat, sand, and construction.  No old souks, lots of strip malls, Rolex watches on wrists as far as the eye can see, construction workers wearing flip-flops while wielding in the high steel…  I find that the place has very little soul compared to places like Morocco, Egypt, and Lebanon.   My magazines were censored with a black marker (really, really!) and I found that even some Wikipedia entries were censored.  Not a huge fan.

On a positive note, I will say that the architecture in the UAE is fantastic.  Serious aesthetic lessons could be learned by western students taking a semester to look at the body of work there – Office and apartment buildings with color, striking lines, curving details.  Really beautiful buildings!

So, I got there and the sun was pouring down and it was 90 degrees out.  I had no sunscreen and I stopped by the hotel store to pick up a bottle.  The small Asian clerk had her back to me when I asked and she started telling me that they had 5,7,10, 15 SPF and turns to look at me.  She gave me the once over and reached all the way left and grabs the 50SPF for babies and says, “you chubby and very white.  You burn easy.  Better you have this one.”  Son of a…  I know I am pale, but did she have to throw chubby in there?!?  I find that middle aged ladies of the Asian persuasion are brutally honest.  The next night I am eating Thai food and my waitress asks if I want some sort of pudding for desert and as I am saying ‘no thank you’, she smiles and says, “Better you don’t have it anyway.”  I guess I gave her a puzzled look and the shoots back with, “You have desert a lot, missing this one will be good for you.”  I am 5’8″ tall and weigh 173 pounds!!  I wear a size 43/44 coat and 32 pants.  It is not like they rolled me into the place on a cart.  I do have 10 pounds of cookie weigh from the holidays that I still cannot shake – 10 pounds!!  Man, run away from any tiny Thai/Viet/Chinese/etc… women in Abu Dhabi if your ego is teetering on fragile. 

Going to Abu Dhabi next week… At least it is not summer there yet

/ Matt Talley

Abu Dhabi ( أبو ظبي‎ ), literally Father of gazelle, is the capital and the second largest city in the United Arab Emirates.  My J-O-B is sending me there to look at some fiber optic issues on a commercial passenger jet.   I will be armed with a digital microscope, a satchel full of wire drawings, and bright shinny new passport as my old one was both full to the brim with stamps, visas, work permits and set to expire in less than 6 months.  I will have some time to kill waiting for access to the aircraft and for my flight out, so I am going shopping for nick-nacks to outfit our Moroccan-themed living room.  Maybe a small metal lantern or three and some brass.  Abu Dhabi is a shopping mecca, not the dusty souk kind, more like the 19 shopping malls in a five block radius kind of shopping…   But there are a couple of blocks where one can paruse store shelves filled with dusty stuff and not have to carry a sack of cash.

I cannot say that I am the happiest of campers to be traveling tho the Middle East while there are revolutions and air strikes afoot though…

Throwing Vonnegut Quotes About.

/ Matt Talley / 1 Comment

On a trip to the UK just before Christmas, I had an early morning bid’ness meeting near Cardiff, Wales and stopped on the way back to London in the pedestrian town of Castle Combs – pronounced “Cwms” – for lunch.  A co-worker suggested the stop and once a again, “Peculiar travel suggestions are like dancing lessons from God”

I ate a fantastic meat pie and had a ½ pint of local cider at The White Hart.  The place, staff, and food were all top-notch!  It was a nice little lull in the midst of a hectic, pressure-filled trip.

Castle Combs is a time capsule of 15th century buildings, streets & houses and seems to be a popular place for filming.  It was used a location for the 1967 film Doctor Dolittle, an episode of Agatha Christie’s Poirot, the 2010 version of The Wolfman, and for the coming Steven Spielberg production War Horse. Who would have thunk it?

German Christmas Markets and My Ornament Fetish

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I had to take a quick trip back to Hamburg, Germany for work just before Christmas this year.  Aside from all our close friends there, the thing that Stamps-With-Foot and I miss most about Germany are the Christmas markets.  This is how Christmas should be done everywhere: booths selling hand-made small gifts, warm candied peanuts, hand-blown glass ornaments, hot mulled wine for sale on every corner, hand-painted pewter ornaments, Christmas music, grilled sausage, happy people holding hands, groups caroling, smiling kids, young lovers sneaking a kiss behind the huts…

I had about 3 hours between getting off work and having to drive to the airport, so I walked through the ice and snow to a couple of the larger markets, bought ~$400 in ornaments (we/I have a Christmas tree decorating fetish…) and small gifts for my lovely wife and the kids., then I took some pictures of all the wreathed ambiance.

The City of Light

/ Matt Talley / 3 Comments

Just before Christmas the news was filled with people stuck in the major European airports for days due to weather delays.  I was one of those souls.  I, however, made lemonade out of lemons and spent an afternoon roaming central Paris, the city of light!

I was bumped from two flights and told to come back to the gate for the next available flight – in 12.5 hours! Uhhh… OK….  I have been to Paris enough times over the last 10 years to have a pretty good handle on the transport system.  From Charles de Gaulle Airport there is a RER train that, for $10, will take you into the heart of the city, a trip that takes around 35 minutes.  It had been snowing like mad that morning, but when I stepped off the train at the Saint Michel Metro stop, the grey skis parted and the sky turned a brilliant blue.  It stayed that way for three hours before the clouds and snow moved back in.

I rushed over to Notre-Dame because in the 20-odd times that I have been to Paris, I have never been inside.  It always seems to be summer and the line to get in is normally oppressively long so I skip it.  Being a COLD winter day there was no line at all!  I removed my hat, opened the door walked into the naïve, kneeled, crossed myself, and proceeded to tear up like a little girl.  It was stunning!!  I walked around the church for almost two hours, exploring every corner.  There was so much beauty and a glossy magazine worthy picture opertunity at every turn.  I just wish Laurel and the kids could have been there to see it!  We will be back.

I reluctantly left Norte-Dame and headed over the Seine to Shakespeare & Co. bookstore.  It crowded dusty shelves make me oh so happy.  I browsed, listened to the proprietress’s sweet voice laugh and chit-chat in both French and English, I took a few pictures and bought a couple of books.  From there I walked to a Crepe stand in the Latin Quarter and ate my savory crepe in the shadow of the “oldest” tree in Paris.

At 4:00 I headed over for the Catacombs tour.  6+ million of Paris’s former residents now reside in former quarry tunnels under the city.  In a word, spooky!  I left the hour long tour is a pensive, reflective mood.  I took the RER back to the airport, my “scheduled” flight was still active and I settled in for a wait.  After a few more delays, I flew out just before all flights were cancelled and an hour before Terminal #2 was evacuated because of the weight of snow on the roof.