Ornoth

Since my March trip to Southeast Asia wasn’t enough travel, in May I spent a week in Tuscany, just outside Florence, Italy.

Long before Inna accepted a six-month work assignment in Malaysia, her not-too-far-flung immediate family held a small reunion in Washington DC. They enjoyed that gathering so much that they decided the only way to improve upon it would be to repeat it… in Italy! Thus plans were laid.

The villa driveway, lined with olive trees

Our villa and grapevines seen from the road

The south side of our villa, with backdrop

Arches and patio on the south side

I’m in a Tuscan villa!

West side villa entrance

North side patio & our bedroom

Inna & Ornoth on the north patio

Tuscan daybreak

View from our villa bedroom door

More farm villas northwest of us

To the northeast: hillsides

Villa east of us

Eastern villa framed

View south, toward the road

Italian cypress cones

Pottery gravel

A poppy in the road

Tuscan flowery

Stray felis has something to say!

Understanding that I’m very much not a family person, Inna offered me the option of staying home. However, the closest I’ve ever gotten to Europe was a 2002 trip to Scotland, and it was also a chance for us to spend more time together in the middle of her long work assignment in Malaysia. Furthermore, Tuscany has a well-advertised reputation as a cycling paradise.

It even seemed like the right thing to do financially! I’d just closed my mother’s estate and received my share of her residual assets. She would have wanted me to use the money for something fun, rather than simply socking it away, and my using some of it on a trip to Europe would have pleased her. Though she would have raised a forbearing eyebrow at my earlier trip to Malaysia, Thailand, and Singapore!

Booking our flights was challenging. Back in March, Inna had obtained her tickets through her employer, piggy-backing an Italy stopover onto the end of a company-paid visit home from Kuala Lumpur. I purchased my flights separately a month later, which made it very difficult for us to travel together; more on that below.

When May rolled around, Inna came back to Pittsburgh for a brief but welcome stay at home before our departure for Florence.

Friday, May 11 2018

We had a relaxed day, with oddly-timed evening departures. I was booked on United 6015 from Pittsburgh to Dulles, leaving at 7:30pm. Inna’s Lufthansa flight 8797—also from Pittsburgh to Dulles—was scheduled to leave just ten minutes later.

Although convenient, having two flights ten minutes apart to the same destination seemed bizarre. So I looked into it when I checked in, and discovered that LH 8797 was just a codeshare with UA 6015. So although we were on different flight numbers, on different airlines, with different departure and arrival times, we were actually on the same flight!

Although Inna was out shopping at that time, I signed into the Lufthansa site under her name and changed her seat assignment so that we could sit together, which was a pleasant surprise.

We had dinner at an airport restaurant, where Inna had a veggie burger with real bacon: something she can’t get in Muslim Malaysia. I had pulled pork with jalapenos over french fries and two colas, which caused a lot of inopportune cramping on the brief flight to DC. Fortunately, I was distracted from my gastric distress by a Debbie Harry-lookalike stewardess, complete with platinum blonde hair, stiletto heels, and drugged-out demeanor. Once I had a love, and it was a gas…

We enjoyed the traditional people-crawler transfer at Dulles and noted the stark, outdated architecture, recalling that our friend Sheela’s father had helped construct the terminal buildings. Then it was time for the big intercontinental redeye from DC to Munich.

I’d known from the start that we would be together on this flight, and had booked myself a seat just across the aisle from Inna. However once we boarded, our goal was for me to swap seats with the person next to her. The guy was cheerfully willing, so we happily got to be together once more! It made the travel much easier for both of us.

Neither of us sleep well on planes, and that proved true again this time. And while we were in the air, not sleeping, we crossed over into:

Saturday, May 12 2018

A little after noon local time, we arrived in Munich. It was my first-ever landfall in continental Europe, and my new record for farthest travel to the east (having set new high-water marks south- and westward six weeks earlier). And upon entering the European Union, we each got a new piece of German “cheese” at immigration. I should mention that we call passport stamps “cheese” because it’s the little reward we traveling rodents seek at the end of the rat-maze of stanchions and rope cords.

The Munich airport was a wonderful experience. No televisions, no crowd-control music… even the people were quiet! So refreshing!

However, here Inna and I finally had to go separate ways. When I’d booked my travel, her 2:40pm flight had been full, so I was relegated to the subsequent flight, four hours later. At her gate, we learned that the guy I’d swapped seats with on our last flight was also headed to Florence. He and Inna struck up a conversation and boarded the bus to their flight; meanwhile I had something to take care of…

When we’d arrived in Munich, it hadn’t been clear whether we had to do the baggage claim-and-recheck shuffle upon entering the EU. We’d just skipped it, but having received “baggage exception” warnings by text message at both Dulles and Munich, I decided to ask an attendant what we should do. He said to exit the terminal and go to baggage claim, which I did. When our bags weren’t there, I went to the lost baggage counter, where a helpful woman told me that our bags would automatically be sent on to Florence. This was happily confirmed an hour later, when Inna landed and retrieved her bag.

Meanwhile, I went back through a security checkpoint into the terminal for my 7:05 departure. At the far end of an hour and a half flight to Florence, my bag jauntily popped out of the carousel, and I went outside to catch the rental car shuttle. I got no Italian “cheese” for travel within the EU.

I was a little wary of the car rental agency, since Inna’s sister and her boyfriend had just been declined by theirs. However, with my international driving permit in hand, my experience went smoothly. In a few minutes I was piloting a sizeable manual-transmission diesel Peugeot SUV onto the notoriously challenging streets of Italy, in the dark!

Fortunately, I’d downloaded offline data for Google Maps, and its directions were unambiguous and accurate. I made my way to the highway, negotiated an interchange onto the toll Autostrada, got to my local exit, and paid the toll in Euros I’d converted in Munich. But then I discovered the challenges of the Italian street network.

Oh my gawd! Ridiculously steep hillsides, blind turns every 300 meters, and roads rarely wide enough for a car and bicycle to pass, never mind two cars. In many places it’s so narrow that only one car can pass, and there are signs indicating whether cars approaching the bottleneck from one direction or the other have right of way! It reminded me of driving on Caribbean islands like St. John and St. Thomas. Although frequently maligned, I found Italian drivers predictable and safe; it’s the roads that are insane!

Eventually I found the right unmarked gate on the right tiny back road that led to the villa that Inna’s family had rented in Mezzomonte, halfway between the suburban towns of Impruneta and Grassina. At the end of a long gravel driveway between olive trees, I parked to find Inna, her mother, her father, her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend sitting outside on a terrace enjoying the evening.

After suitable greetings, I found the bedroom, unpacked, and settled in for a good night of sleep.

Sunday, May 13 2018

Everyone’s primary goal Sunday morning was to sleep off their jet lag, get settled, and stock up on groceries. That suited me, especially since I wanted my own cache of food and couldn’t rent a bike on Sunday.

When I got up, I noticed text messages from Inna’s sister, saying she and her father were leaving for the grocery. I quickly messaged back that I wanted to go with them, and wound up climbing up the hill to the gate to meet them as they waited.

They’d found a substantial grocery store in Grassina, where—after briefly trying to shop collaboratively with Inna’s foodie relatives—I strode off on my own and expeditiously got the things I needed for the week.

Back at the villa, Inna gave me a tour of the 15th century farm, which included a pool, several patios, two kitchens, a tower loft bedroom, and wood-fired bread oven. With a view over the olive trees and grape vines to the cascade of distant ridges and valleys beyond, it was picturesque and idyllic. Inna and I also appreciated the eclectic collection of foreign-language books, and the framed artwork mounted at cat’s-eye level!

We had an informal group lunch of pasta, accompanied by lots of linguistics talk that switched between Russian, Italian, English, and Spanish, with a little French, German, and Hebrew thrown in. Supper was boiled chickpeas and a tomato salad, thankfully accompanied by meatballs.

All told, a quiet day of getting settled and exploring the villa. The weather was surprisingly cool for Tuscany and partly cloudy.

Monday, May 13 2018

I got up and gathered some early-morning photos in a heavy overcast. I discovered that in such an ancient place, the gravel roads are nearly half comprised of old shards of broken pottery, so I collected a few interesting bits to take home as mementos.

Having purchased 72-hour tourist passes, the family all left for the first of three days in Florence. Having other plans, I made myself breakfast, then drove to a bike shop in nearby Falciani and rented a bike. I brought it home and took a short but effort-ful six-mile spin as a shakedown ride.

Rather than going into it here, I’ve put all the details about my cycling exploits into my Tuscany cycling blogpost on my cycling blog. Read that if you want more detail about my rental bike, rides, and impressions of Tuscany as a cycling destination.

While the family had dinner in Florence, I enjoyed having the villa to myself and making my own supper. When the family returned later that evening, they retreated directly to their respective rooms and climbed into bed.

Tuesday, May 15 2018

Inna decided to stay at the villa and spend Tuesday with me, while the others returned for another day in Florence. It was a quiet day with very English/European weather: heavy overcast, cool and breezy, with about 10 percent sun and 20 percent rain.

Inna and I made an afternoon trip to Impruneta, then off to neighboring Tavarnuzze to hit a small grocery, since Inna hadn’t come with us on Sunday. Pulling out of the parking spot, I scraped the side of the car against a plastic bollard. The barely-noticeable marks were just enough to evoke some added anxiety for the rest of the week, having heard rumors of Italian rental places aggressively charging foreigners for damages both new and pre-existing.

Wednesday, May 16 2018

Woke up to another day of cool rain and overcast. I had to agree with our friend Noah, who compared it to Oregon. Tho to be honest, my numerous trips to the Pacific Northwest have all been graced by better weather than we had in Tuscany.

Everyone set off for a final day in Florence. Although I had little faith in the weather, I decided to attempt a modest 27-mile ride. I experienced missed turns, pouring rain, closed roads, and the route I’d downloaded from the bike shop went off-road onto impassable farm paths. I abandoned the bike shop’s route and proceeded on busier but well-paved primary roads. You can read more about the ride in my Tuscany cycling blogpost.

After returning to the villa, I made myself another chicken dinner, making best use of the villa’s limited spice selection. The family, after having difficulty with their car’s headlights the night before, got home early and made pasta carbonara for dinner, which I sampled and enjoyed, despite having eaten already.

Thursday, May 17 2018

Having exhausted their tourist passes, Inna’s sister and father took off and explored historic San Gimignano, while the others stayed at home and rested.

One of the things I’d most looked forward to was spending a day at the Giro d’Italia, a major three-week professional cycling stage race, the Italian sister event to the Tour de France. Stage 12 finished in Imola on Thursday, two hours’ drive each way, which was as close as it would come to Florence.

However, at the exact same time as the Giro stage finish in Imola, online registration was going to open for a meditation retreat that I absolutely wanted to get into. Ironically, while meditation retreats are a haven of silence and peace, they’re also in high demand, so the registration process can be as competitive and frenetic as trying to secure tickets to a Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin concert. If I wanted to get in, I had to be online when registration opened.

There was no way to do both, and in the end I stayed home and registered for the retreat, missing the Giro in much the same way as I’d missed the Tour de Langkawi professional bike race during my recent visit to Malaysia.

In addition, I wanted to get one last bike ride in on Thursday, because I had to return the rental the next morning. Although I’d hoped to get at least one long ride in, I had to be back at the villa by 3pm to register for the retreat.

So I set out for a short ride down into the Chianti region and back, this time following only primary roads. When the clouds opened up and poured on me again, I was glad I hadn’t planned anything more ambitious. Again, more details in the Tuscany cycling blogpost.

Supper was more pasta with the family, then a round of an Italian “spaghetti western” game called “Bang!”, followed by a silly Russian game called “Privyet Valyet”.

Friday, May 18 2018

After breakfast and a group photo, the family set off to visit Siena. I would have eagerly tagged along and checked out the Torre del Mangia—the inspiration for Boston’s Pine Street Inn and Provincetown’s Pilgrim Monument—but I had to return the bike to the rental shop. While out, I saw numerous cyclists out on the roads, enjoying what wound up being the first warm, sunny day since we’d arrived.

Back at the villa, I ran a load of laundry, checked into my flights back to Pittsburgh, and tried to eat as many of the leftover groceries as I could.

When everyone came home, a stray tuxedo cat who’d been hanging around the neighborhood showed up, so I hustled Inna outside, where she made a new friend.

The villa’s guest book advertised lots of local sights and services, and Inna’s father and sister had secretly contracted to have a recommended local chef come to the villa and prepare dinner on our last night at the villa as a surprise offering for Inna’s imminent birthday.

The menu included eggplant, gnocchi, chicken, zucchini, and ricotta. The more culinarily adventurous enjoyed it, although it was difficult for me. I would rather have selected my own food, especially right before a 21-hour journey.

Saturday, May 19 2018

For the first time in a week, the morning of our departure provided a sunny, cloudless sky, and temperatures well into the 70s.

After final packing and loading up the car, we went downstairs to the owner’s patio for a light breakfast. Inna and I had to leave for the airport at 10am, so we said our goodbyes to everyone else, as they would later drive up to Venice to spend another day or two.

Despite missing the on-ramp for the Autostrade, Inna and I got into town, returned the rental car, hopped the shuttle, and got to the airport in reasonable time. At baggage check, I got stuck behind five American girls (exchange students) and their 15 pieces of luggage, and noted that in the line and throughout the airport the population was a solid 75 percent female.

My flight (to Pittsburgh via Frankfurt and Chicago) was at 1pm, but Inna’s (to Kuala Lumpur via Amsterdam) wasn’t until 5. Because it was too early to check her bag, she was unable go through security to see me off, so we said our goodbyes and I continued to my gate, while she killed time on her own. It’ll be another 2-3 months before I see her again.

After another bus-to-the-plane and boarding, I was seated in the middle of thirty of those American girls heading home. But I did enjoy when the Lufthansa stewardess offered, “Haben sie ein schön und schnell pflug.”

90 minutes to Frankfurt, where I got my EU exit visa stamp and boarded the long 9-hour flight to O’Hare. I think it was my first time in a 747, and I wasn’t looking forward to it, since I’d had to take an internal middle seat, rather than my usual window. I was surprised to find that I was seated in a bulkhead row, and that I’d booked a “premium economy” seat, which was a noticeable upgrade from cattle car. So although I couldn’t sleep, the flight was tolerably uncomfortable…

… except for landing behind schedule, which was the beginning of O’Hare Airport Hell. Our late arrival ate 30 minutes out of my 2-hour layover, followed by an extended delay getting off the 747. I fast-walked to customs only to see a line of people waiting. Huh, a long line. No, a fucking unbelievable line! A line—with no exaggeration— two or three people wide, the length of two football fields. So much for my connection!

Somehow, the line started moving, and I eventually got through customs and immigration. From there it was all lightning-sprint through baggage claim, baggage re-check, the inter-terminal tram, through Concourse B, and the underground moving walks to Concourse C. As I reached my gate, they were boarding the last stragglers of Boarding Group 4, and I was the fourth-to-last person to board.

It was ironic that with a two-hour layover I’d barely made my connection, while we’d been very concerned about Inna having less than 90 minutes to make her connection in Amsterdam, which she made quite comfortably. But at least I made it!

The short flight to Pittsburgh was my 16th flight in the past 6 weeks, and six of those flights have been longer than 7 hours; so I was extremely happy to finally be headed home! The only remaining question was whether my checked bag was coming home, too.

To my relief, my bag was the second one out of the baggage claim carousel, proudly bearing a big orange and black “Express Connection” sticker. It being shortly after midnight local time, I was eager to get home and crash. I hopped in the car, blitzed home, greeted a very affectionate house tiger, and climbed into bed at 1am. Inna was still in the air, with 2 hours left before landing on the opposite side of the planet, followed by an hour cab ride.

Overall

With certain caveats, it was a nice trip. Our villa was exquisite and serene, with a beautiful view overlooking vineyards, fields of olive trees, and wooded Apennine ridges. The villages were full of character and charm, and the roads scenic and pleasant. I got to spend more time with Inna, while also doing the things I preferred, like exploring the area by bike. Rather than hustling through museums and restaurants and tourist meccas, I prefer luxuriating in the natural environment and intimately experiencing the countryside.

Tuscany: whether you are into cycling, art, history, architecture, or food, it’s supposed to be amazing. But with such a lofty reputation preceding it, I expected a lot, and wound up disappointed in ways that are important to me.

The weather obviously wasn’t what I’d been led to expect from Italy. The days of cold rain—which the bike shop owner described as “terrible”—severely curtailed how much I could ride, and diminished my enjoyment of what riding I did do. That might not seem like a big loss to some people, but as a cyclist it was a primary goal of my trip, which I reserved several days for.

The other cause of disappointment was the coincidental timing of the nearest Giro d’Itala stage, the opening of registration for my meditation retreat, my desire to do a long ride, the family’s expedition to Siena, and having to return the bike early on Friday. Sadly, registering for the retreat and returning the bike on time were the least interesting but most important options in that list.

While Tuscany didn’t live up to its reputation or my own expectations, it was still a worthwhile and enjoyable trip, especially for Inna, whose perspective you can get here. Despite Tuscany’s allure and reputation as a cycling paradise, after a succession of cold, wet rides, I was glad to get back home to Pittsburgh, where it’s warm and sunny at least part of the time!

Panorama of our villa, looking north over the hills

Just twenty-four hours after I landed in Kuala Lumpur, Inna turned me around and we flew out of KL for a weekend expedition to Singapore.

This blogpost covers just that weekend side-trip. You can read about the rest of my two weeks in Malaysia here, and our other weekend side-trip to Thailand in another separate post, here.

Saturday, 17 March 2018

We got up early Saturday morning for an hour-long cab ride back to the airport. After being dropped at KLIA’s main terminal, we discovered that our airline, Scoot, flew out of the separate KLIA2 terminal. We had some stress and confusion finding the train between terminals, but eventually got there and passed through customs, where I added a Malaysian exit stamp to my passport. Along the way, we passed a saffron-robed Buddhist monk, which delighted me to no end.

Singapore at Night from Dragonfly Bridge

Sands & Helix Bridge

Supertrees at Night

Inna Posed at the Merlion

Selfie with Supertrees

Rocking Out to the Bear Necessities

The Flowers & The Trees

Cloud Forest Dome

Sands Framed

Sakura in the Flower Dome

Enjoying the Roof Pool Skyline

Singapore Roof Pool Panorama

Full Singapore Photoset

As we’d find at other airports, there was no central security checkpoint at KLIA2. Instead, you go through security screening at the entrance to each gate. That meant waiting in the airport hallways until the checkpoint was manned an hour before the flight, and until then you couldn’t get through to the copious seating at the gate. It seemed inefficient and inconvenient.

After a 90-minute flight—which felt trivial to me!—we were on final approach when I noticed the dozens of cargo ships moored in Singapore’s harbor. We landed, passed through customs to get our passports stamped, changed money, and stepped aside for a casual breakfast at a place called Paris Baguette.

At less than two degrees north latitude, Singapore is only 85 miles north of the Equator. That’s farther south than some parts of Brazil! And also a new record for the furthest south I’ve ever traveled. Yay!

We picked up some MRT tourist passes and hopped a train into town. We successfully made a couple transfers, while Inna marveled at the changing indicator LEDS on the train’s subway map, and I “marveled” at the natives’ indifference toward body odor; Singapore may be clean, but its citizens still stink! We exited into a strange semi-outdoor shopping plaza (South Beach Avenue) and dragged our bags a few blocks in the ultra-humid heat to our hotel: Naumi.

Naumi is one of those chic boutique hotels, and its interiors are an interesting example of trend-conscious but user-unfriendly design. There’s an immense glass foot (sculpture, apparently) in the lobby. The room numbers were hidden, lighting controls were unintuitive, and the electric windowshades were difficult to control. Both the shower and bathroom had glass windows into the living area, which only turned opaque at the flip of a switch… and the switch was eerily located on the *outside* of those rooms, rather than the inside! Having set out early that morning and lugged our belongings around all day, Inna and I both collapsed and siestaed from 2 to 6pm.

When dinnertime sneaked up upon us, we faced our first decision, and a difference of philosophies. I figured we should consult a map and decide where to eat before leaving; Inna wanted to walk toward the Singapore Flyer ferris wheel and pick something up at random along the way. I skeptically gave in, and off we plodded, down the street, through two malls, all the way to the Flyer, without seeing anything to eat that we could agree on.

Although the Flyer—the second tallest ferris wheel in the world—had been Inna’s destination, there weren’t any people around, and it appeared idle. There was no obvious indication, but we’d later learn that a couple weeks earlier they had shut it down due to “technical issues”, and it would re-open two weeks after we left. Disappointing, but not the end of the world.

A bit grumpy from flying, humidity, walking, and lack of dinner, we regrouped along the Marine Promenade and made our way slowly across the Helix Bridge toward the famous Marina Bay Sands hotel and Inna’s main objective for the weekend: the Gardens By The Bay.

There we faced more confusion as we tried to navigate toward the Gardens. We walked around the Sands, then back through it, then around again, and finally found ourselves at a landing across a small lagoon from the Gardens, whose man-made 165-foot Supertrees were captivatingly lit up in their regular evening light show. We sat down and rested our weary feet and watched the end of the show, then fought against the flow of a huge crowd across the Dragonfly Bridge to a tall platform that offered a closer view of the Supertrees and the walkway—suspended in mid-air 75 feet off the ground—that encircles them.

By then it was after 9pm and the walkway had closed, so we reluctantly turned back toward the Sands, which was still a chore to get around. Eventually we gave up and hopped a cab back to the hotel. Still hungry, we arived just before the restaurant’s 10:30pm closing time. I had a tasty rogan josh, but Inna was sickened by the acrid smell of the chemical air freshener the hotel used, so she ate quickly and headed straight upstairs. While the Trees were nice, it had been a tiring and trying evening for both of us.

That night I could only sleep from about midnight to 4am. Inna woke up and we had a nice conversation before she fell back asleep, and I used the early morning time for my daily meditation.

Sunday, 18 March 2018

Sunday—our only full day in Singapore—we headed out early to try to beat the heat. The plan was to walk to a quick photo op at the nearby Merlion statue, then hop a cab and spend the balance of the day exploring the Gardens By The Bay in detail. However, barely a block into our walk, Inna announced that she was already getting cooked by the heat and humidity.

I convinced her to carry on, and we kept to what shade we could find as we walked through the WW2 War Memorial Park, past the Theatres On The Bay, and down some stairs to the Waterfront Promenade, a short way from the Merlion.

Visiting the Merlion was my idea: the one thing I wanted to see in Singapore. Not because it’s particularly impressive; rather the opposite. It’s a bit of a story…

Although I’m not much of a mass media maven, one of my side interests is anime. One show that was running at that time was called “A Place Further than the Universe”, wherein four Japanese high school girls join a scientific expedition to Antarctica. In Episode 6, which aired a couple weeks before my trip, they spend a couple days in Singapore, which is depicted in realistic detail, including the Sands, the Flyer, the Theatres, the Gardens, and much more.

At 6:15 into the episode, one of the girls expresses particular interest in taking a posed shot in front of the Merlion statue, which is famous in Japan for being one of the “Three Major Disappointments of the World”. While getting their shot, the girls express chagrin that it’s just not as disappointing as they had heard. With that as background, the one thing I wanted to be sure to do in Singapore was recreate their photo.

When we arrived, I just about spewed myself because the Esplanade, the footbridge across the harbor, and the platforms around the Merlion were all absolutely jammed to overflowing with—who would have guessed it?—Japanese tourists!

Between the walk, the heat, and the crowds, Inna wanted absolutely nothing but to find a cab and go somewhere else. Trying to be sensitive to that, I quickly positioned her, got something close to the image I wanted, and got out. It’s unfortunate that we couldn’t enjoy it in the moment because it was all so rushed in our desperation to leave.

A quick cab ride later, we arrived at the Gardens By The Bay and found a little cafe for breakfast. I had a raspberry donut while Inna regained her spirits thanks to their air conditioning.

From there, we went back out into the hotness to walk around and explore the grounds. I spent some time exploring the cactus section, while Inna danced along to the sound of Disney’s “Bear Necessities” song being played at their kiddie splash fountain. We took our time and did a full circuit of the park, which included an immense sculpture of a floating baby, some interesting topiary, a mushroom den, and lots more. Leaving aside the obscene giant baby, the plantings and displays were satisfying and creatively done.

We bought tickets for the two massive greenhouse exhibits: the Cloud Forest and the Flower Dome. The former was absolutely breathtaking, beginning with a 115-foot waterfall, climbing up a 140-foot forested mountain, then descending down a suspended walkway encircling the mountain… all man-made and within the greenhouse dome! It deserves a much longer writeup, but the photos will convey the experience far better than I could describe.

After successfully exiting through the gift shop, we secured a table and had lunch at a nearby restaurant. I had a spaghetti carbonara, which seems to be a staple tourist dish in Southeast Asia. By the time we finished, some taiko performers (Japanese ritual drummers from the local group Hibikiya) had begun performing, which amused me because I was already signed up to take a four-week taiko class myself beginning four days after I got back to Pittsburgh (which you can read about here)!

The taiko group were part of the Gardens’ spring sakura matsuri (the Japanese cherry blossom festival). Inna and I made our way into the second greenhouse—the Flower Dome—where a chorus was singing amidst dozens of cherry trees, with an incongruous bonus anime cosplay demonstration taking up a far corner.

Besides the sakura, and as compared to the Cloud Forest, the Flower Dome’s displays were somewhat mundane: simple regional collections from succulents to baobabs to a “California garden” featuring such exotic plants as thyme, beets, pumpkin, and carrots!

With heavy legs after a long day of wandering, and tired of fighting the increasing crowds, Inna and I decided to bolt, walking back through the Sands hotel and taking another cab back to our hotel, where we rested and downloaded our pictures.

Instead of wandering around at random looking for food, I made an executive decision, choosing a nearby Swensons, an American franchise ice cream shop. We’d walked past one in the Singapore airport, which had brought back memories of being taken to a Swensons in NYC’s Greenwich Village on one of my first dates with my ex-wife. The dinner was mediocre, and very expensive for what we got.

Completely spent, we walked back to the hotel and crashed.

Monday, 19 March 2018

After my first lengthy sleep since arriving in Asia, we had the morning to kill before our late-afternoon flight back to Kuala Lumpur. I decided to mosey up to the 10th floor to spend some time in the hotel’s rooftop infinity pool. There was a wonderful view of the Singapore skyline, and in the distance you could clearly make out the profile of the Merlion statue and the jet of water he spews out into the harbor. Eventually I was joined by a couple Japanese girls taking selfies, and Inna came by and hung out for a while. I was surprised to see a tall high-rise where people had long poles projecting outward with clothes hanging from them like clotheslines.

As I air-dried, I suddenly realized that after leaving a snowy Pittsburgh, I was sunbathing, at the Equator, on the day before the vernal equinox, when the sun passes directly above the Equator. I took a few minutes to appreciate that fact and catch a few extra sunbeams before rejoining Inna downstairs.

After packing, we checked out and walked back through the shops at South Beach Avenue, opting to have lunch at an Italian place called Atmastel, where I had a delicious ziti in tomato cream sauce with sweet sausage. Between the call of nature and my curiosity about Singapore’s reputed fastidiousness, I stepped outside to a public bathroom and found it had a push-button electric sliding door, heavy HVAC and scenting, and was of course spotlessly clean.

We took the train back to the airport, returned our MRT passes, then killed some time at a Krispy Kreme (egad!) before making our way through the computerized immigration stations. Having gotten through first, I watched as Inna navigated the automatic stalls and unintuitive fingerprint scanner. Sadly, no exit stamps from Singapore for my passport. Hanging around outside our gate (due to the at-gate security checkpoints), Inna decided to try one of those free leg-massage chairs, making the most diverse set of faces I’ve seen in ages, ranging from pleasure to confusion to horror!

On the flight back to KL, I did my daily meditation, which garnered me two “achievements”: 60 consecutive days of sitting, and 1,200 days total. Arriving at KLIA2 and getting another Malaysian entry stamp, I exchanged my Singapore dollars while Inna hit a convenience store, then we cabbed back to her hotel. I had my first Malaysian dish at the hotel restaurant: nasi lemak (aka chicken drumstick in curry gravy with coconut rice). Then we went back upstairs and turned in.

My overall impression of Singapore is that it’s attractive, comfortable, artsy, and very expensive. For the most part, I felt at home, since English is the primary language. Surprisingly, the widely-publicized police state wasn’t visible, and seems to have succeeded at making the place cleaner and nicer than anywhere else I’ve been. I particularly noted the lack of sirens being heard, as compared to other large cities I’ve visited.

Despite a lot of fatigue and some irritability, we both enjoyed Singapore, and are glad we went. The architecture was a constant highlight, and the Gardens By The Bay were amazing.

While I’ve shared a few good photos here, be sure to check out my full Singapore photoset. Then get Inna’s perspective in her own Singapore Day 1 and Day 2 blogposts.

As mentioned above, you can continue reading about the rest of my trip in my separate Malaysia blogpost, as well as the side trip we made to Phuket the following weekend in my Thailand blogpost.

Despite this being Boston’s second least snowiest year on record, Inna and I had planned a week at a resort between Cancún and Playa del Carmen.

This was my first trip to Mexico, and it was perfectly timed. Two weeks before we left, the State Department issued a major travel advisory which greatly expanded an earlier warning about travel in Mexico.

The trip was planned a week and a half after a date I had for jury duty. As you can imagine, I was immediately empaneled on a trial considering 11 counts of indecent contact with a minor. Cutting an *extremely* long story short, after spending two days in the empanelment process, the judge asked the jurors whether anyone had issues with a trial lasting a week or so, and I informed him about my trip. He eventually dismissed me, much to my relief.

And a few days before the trip, I came down with a head cold. Fortunately it didn’t seem to bad, but it was perfectly timed to peak on the travel day.

And as if those omens weren’t bad enough… My alarm went off at 4:50am so that I could make my flight to Cancún. On one final check of the internet I learned that there had been a fire less than a mile from the airport. Coincidentally, the alarm had come in at 4:47am, just three minutes before my phone woke me up. Better still, it was in a small restaurant named “Rosticeria Cancún”!

After a quick flight to Charlotte, NC, I met up with Inna, who had just arrived from Pittsburgh. Waiting in the international departures area, we considered flights to St. Thomas or Montego Bay before finally boarding our flight. Fortunately, the dry atmosphere of the cabins allowed me to travel without too much discomfort from my cold.

Arriving in Cancún, we snaked through the immigration and customs mazes and received our “cheese”: the first stamp in my renewed passport. We stepped out into the warm sunlight and hopped the van that drove us 24 miles south to Punta Maroma and down the long, bumpy dirt road to our hotel: the Catalonia Playa Maroma.

Full Photoset

The nice thing about Punta Maroma is that it’s small and somewhat isolated. There are only three or four small resorts, rather than the tourist hell that is Cancún. Although it’s only a few miles from Playa del Carmen, we never did get off the tourist reservation and into town.

Having let Inna plan the trip, she’d opted to go the all-inclusive resort route. Although since neither of us drink, we really weren’t able to maximize the value for the all-inclusive price. Normally I prefer to go independent and not be stuck on a tourist reservation, but I was willing to give it a try, since I wasn’t real comfortable as a gringo wandering around Mexico alone.

One reason why I don’t like the resort experience is that I feel very uncomfortable in the role of the privileged white foreigner. I don’t like being waited on, I don’t like haute couture, and I dislike the impression of being the elite, with the locals there only as servants. It’s really distasteful to me.

On the other hand, it also afforded me a uniquely multicultural experience. Naturally, I picked up a lot of Spanish, which I’d never studied before. Since most of the guests were French or Quebecois, we heard a lot of French, and used some ourselves, since we’ve both studied it. We also heard a lot of Italian, plus some Russian and German as well.

Inna and I both enjoyed the more relaxed relationship Europeans seem to have with their bodies: her because of the diversity of body shapes and swimwear, and me for the occasional topless sunbather.

We checked in and settled into our room. The grounds were very nice and generally not too noisy except around the beach and the pool. The decor was very attractive and the room thoroughly clean and comfortable. We had a very large balcony that overlooked the building’s courtyard. The beach was very nice, and supplied with ample chaises, palapas, and hammocks.

The weather remained the same all week: sunny and mid-80s, with an occasional puffy cloud to decorate the sky. There was a constant wind, which contributed to much larger than expected breakers. I’d estimate the swells at 3-8 feet, which were fun to float in (initially).

The main negative about the resort was the food. Since we’d already paid for our meals, there was no pretense of serving quality fare. While there was a wide selection, the fare was usually comprised of a few mediocre-grade raw materials. Basically, we could eat there, but by the end of the week the low quality and lack of diversity had us longing for something else.

Another annoyance for me… I had planned to spend a bunch of my “Where’s George” marked dollar bills down there, as well as some bills from other folks, just to spend them somewhere interesting. And I’d brought a handful of bills to enter down there, as well. Well, as it turns out, the guy who owns Where’s George has blocked pretty much the entire country of Mexico from using the site, so there’s virtually no chance that any of those bills will ever be entered again, and certainly not in Mexico. Thanks, Hank. Way to ruin the whole point of WG?.

On the positive side, we had some awesome animal companions. The long, jungle-lined walkway between the buffet and the beach was the home to a couple dozen coatis (video), whose presence and antics were the highlight of each day. In the evening, the little plaza with shops was the abode of a rough-looking but quite outgoing grey and white cat whom we befriended. And we enjoyed seeing the pelicans diving into the sea and the frigatebirds soaring above the beach.

My cold quickly melted away, and we settled into a daily pattern which involved getting up pretty early to reserve our spot on the beach. We’d hang out there until the sun grew strong in the late morning, when we’d have a snack and retreat to the room to relax and maybe snooze. We’d return to the beach mid afternoon, and stay there until the sun fell behind the coconut palms lining the beach. Then we’d go to the room to shower and visit the buffet or one of the “restaurants” for dinner before turning in.

One of my goals for the trip was to help Inna learn to snorkel. She’d never done it due to wearing glasses, but her lasik ended that excuse. After days of postponing it, we took her to the resort’s pool and she donned my mask and snokel. After months of protest, I’d expected to have to handhold her through getting used to breathing through the snorkel and putting her face in the water, but within three minutes she was floating around exploring the pool and its “ecosystem”, much to her own amusement.

After about ten minutes, she proclaimed herself ready to try snorking the reef that was about a half mile offshore. We booked a time we thought was for snorkelers only, but wound up being a mixed group of six snorkers and another eight or so SCUBA divers.

However, because of the divers, we were dropped off on the ocean-side of the reef, rather than the lee-side. That meant rougher seas, which forced us to stay in deeper water to avoid being thrown onto the reef by the surf. So we never got shallower than about 20 feet. We saw a few fish, but really nothing interesting. Furthermore, our guide kept us moving, giving us no rest and exhausting some folks as he dragged us into ever deeper water with less and less stuff to see. Overall, I found it a very disappointing experience.

The high seas also made for a lot of up-and-down motion, which wasn’t a good choice for Inna’s first snork. She wound up being nauseous and aborted her swim, climbing back up onto the boat, whose up-and-down action wasn’t any better. She was pretty green until we finally picked up the divers and got her back to shore.

Basically, it had been a very unpleasant experience for her, but she hadn’t complained at all. While I felt really bad for her, I was also incredibly proud of her for being game to try it, for bravely jumping off the boat a half mile from land, and for sticking it out despite being sick, all without a single complaint. She really surprised me and showed a reservoir of hidden strength I hadn’t known before.

Fortunately, that happened when we only had two days left, because after that experience Inna (understandably) had absolutely no interest in swimming in the ocean. At the same time, she was studiously avoiding exposure to the sun, since she’d gotten a serious sunburn on our first day. A seaside resort really isn’t much fun if you can’t stand either the sun or the ocean, and mediocre food on top of it all, so after that our vacation kind of lost energy and trailed off.

The flight home was a bit of a challenge. The leg from Charlotte to Boston was delayed by an hour, then we dealt with constant turbulence due to a large storm. Although Boston’s forecast predicted about 5 inches of snow, we really only got a dusting, but it certainly was cold, wet, and dark, and stayed that way for several days.

Although we were pretty much ready to leave at the end of the week, it was a very good vacation. It was great seeing Inna and creating some new shared memories. It was fabulous being away from work, back in the Caribbean again, and having nothing to do but enjoy the warmth and strong sunlight and our animal friends. Aside from a couple minor annoyances, it was pretty damned nice.

I’ve already mentioned how ironic it was that work assigned me to a two-month project in the US Virgin Islands shortly after Inna and I scheduled a tropical vacation to Grand Cayman Island, so I won’t belabor that again.

That vacation took place this past week, and it was really enjoyable. Despite having been in St. Thomas for four weeks, I’d only had one weekend there, and that was the only opportunity I had to do anything recreational down there. So having a week on Grand Cayman, with no work obligations, was still quite a treat.

The only snafu we had getting there was when Inna had to sprint from her arrival gate and just barely made our connecting flight out of Charlotte. During our descent into GCM, it was delightful to see Seven Mile Beach and the cruise ships in George Town harbor. After so many fruitless trips to St. Thomas, I finally got a new stamp in my passport at immigration, which was quick and painless.

The rental car presented some challenges, tho. I’d gotten used to the oddity of driving on the left side of the road during my time in St. Thomas, but Grand Cayman added two new elements. The first was the presence—absolutely everywhere!—of clockwise-flowing rotaries / traffic circles / roundabouts. I think there were seven in the couple miles between the airport and our hotel. The other was that the driver sits on the right side of the vehicle. That made passing easier than in St. Thomas, since the driver was toward the middle of the road, and thus able to see ahead around slower traffic, but it also meant all the controls were reversed. It took a while for me to get used to using my right hand for the turn signal, rather than my left, which was the wipers. And I never really got used to having the gear selector on the left. But I caught on well enough, and didn’t smash into anything, unlike in St. Thomas…

It wasn’t until later that we sat on a second floor porch in George Town and took an inventory of the cars passing by that we realized that about 60 percent of the cars had the driver’s side on the left (US-style), while only 40 percent had it on the right (UK-style).

The hotel—Sunshine Suites—turned out to be much better than expected. It was clean, bug-free, had both hot water and towels. It was, as advertised, across a very busy street from the beach, but that saved us about $200 per night, and with food and gas and everything else at ridiculous Cayman prices ($150 for a two-person dinner wasn’t uncommon), that mattered.

Immediately upon arriving, we fell into a daily routine that never varied. We’d get up around 8am, get a light breakfast at the hotel’s poolside bar/restaurant, and make our way across the street to Seven Mile Beach, which was really quite spectacular, and not overly crowded. We’d soak up the sun and do a little swimming, which included getting out to the 200 yard buoy: a good achievement for Inna, who is a better swimmer than she thinks. The only problem we had was on our last morning, when we seem to have both been stung by some kind of no-see-um in the water.

Around 11am we’d head back to the hotel room to shower. I’d make bacon and eggs, and then maybe a little web surfing and a nap. This allowed us to avoid being out during the height of the day, which was a serious consideration given Inna’s fair skin.

After our siesta, we’d go out and do some late afternoon activity before dinner and bed. We really didn’t chase any nightlife, preferring instead to get ample sleep.

Grand Cayman’s main attraction is the diving, but since Inna isn’t a snorkeler, and neither of us SCUBA, that limited our range of afternoon activities. Still, we managed a few interesting expeditions. On Wednesday we drove around the entire island, taking in the surf at Breakers, the quaint little East End, and the vast mangrove swamps that constitute the majority of the island. We ended up at Rum Point, where Inna found her first hammock; she quickly developed an affinity for them. After that we joined in on the island’s huge Mardi Gras celebration at the beachside Kaibo bar. It was quite a press, and we managed to find a good spot to see a reggae band called Locomotion that was playing there.

On Thursday we went to a butterfly farm, which was moderately interesting. Since there were no cruise ships on Friday, we went into the capital of George Town and took in the soul-sucking tourist shopping scene, which was about as disappointing as one would expect.

Saturday we took it easy and ran a few errands, but on Sunday we had a special plan: we rented Waverunner personal watercraft. That set us back $95 for a half hour, but it was worth it, because neither of us had ridden one before, and it was something I’ve dreamed of doing for many years. Within minutes I was doing power-slide 180s through my own roostertail, and Inna was tearing up and down the beach with the throttle wide open. What a rush!

Monday afternoon I convinced a reluctant Inna to take in the Queen Elizabeth II Botanic Park in the centre of the island, which turned into a big hit. We saw the alien-looking ironshore coral that the island is based on, stood underneath an extremely toxic manchineel tree, sniffed aromatic lime tree leaves, saw some shy agouti rodents, and taunted the incredibly blasé iguanas. It was pretty cool.

As for meals… they were really mixed. We started out with the island’s one Indian place, which—after the lousy food in St. Thomas—suited me perfectly, but was nothing special for Inna. After that, things went downhill. We had very average experiences at local joints Champion House, Chicken Chicken (which proved to be about 30 meters further than we’d walked), the hotel’s barbecue buffet, and Breezes, where we saw the islands two official pirate ships and watched the sun set (despite arriving an hour too early thanks to my camera being on St. Thomas time). But we ended the week strong, with delicious meals at two nearby restaurants: Yoshi Sushi (where I had teppanyaki pork) and Deckers British pub (where I had Strongbow cider and the most amazing pork evar).

By the end of the week, there wasn’t anything left on our “must-see” list, and we felt we’d gotten everything a non-diver could get out of the island. Our routine was a perfect balance of restfulness, beach fun in the sun, and a little light tourism. And, of course, I got a whole boatload of photos, some of which you can see using the Grand Cayman tag or the 2008 Caribbean set on my Flickr account.