London, Paris, and Somewhere in Switzerland
Amsterdam Coffee Shops and Dutch High Life

We're back... and boy are the Chinese happy about that
We're back... and boy are the Thai People happy about that
We're back... and boy is Colorado happy about that

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We're back... and boy are the French people happy about that. Whenever we couldn't understand something in France we'd say "Je ne suis pas Einstein"... (I'm no Einstein.) Between that and knocking over some statue every time we parked the rent-a-car, those folks are very happy to have us outta their country. We're not kidding, you can't turn around in France without knocking over some historical monument or another. But we've now got a bag of handy tips and tricks that will help you in your travels.

Well, no sooner had we gotten to Paris than everybody was talking funny. One pleasant fellow, well at least when compared to the rest of them, walked us to a bookstore and helped us buy a phrase book. That was the trick...

We looked up "Vous etes une nana super" (You are a fabulous babe,) "Vous etes le roi" (You're the King) and "notre appelles etes Oof et Voof"... we figured this was enough to get us by, so we grabbed a rent-a-car and promptly backed into a statue of Louis the XIV. The damn thing tipped over and landed on the roof rack. No problemo Pierre... we're headed to the Louvre, so we'll drop it off there. They'll know what to do with it.

We pulled in at the Musee (To speak French you have to skip the last syllable of most words), and everyone there was making noise and waving their arms. Arm flapping must be the French national pastime. Calmly we walked up to the chief arm-flapper and said "Vous etes le roi." He pointed to Louis XIV and said "Le Roi!" Okay... so we pointed back to him and said "Okay, Vous etes Elvis". This seemed to work, although we are not sure why. They got the statue off the rent-a-car in about the time it took us to find the bathroom (located in the modern wing, and with good reason.) Outside we ran into some old drunk named Heidegger who tried to sell us a real Van Gogh. Hah! we could tell it was fake, it looked like it was painted yesterday.

We got outta Paris (total score: three Napoleons, two Jeans de'Arc, a Voltaire and all of the Louis' up to XVI) and headed for Switzerland where it's harder to knock stuff over. In Switzerland, it turns out, they talk funny in about four languages so we left immediately and drove to Italy.

Talk about bad driving, wow... you'd think they kept grapes under the brake pedal. ("Okay dear, I'll stomp these grapes on the way to work.") At least the Italians didn't mind us knocking over statues(six Caesers, two Apollo's, and some church in Assisi). Italy tired us out, only one language but they wave their arms more than the French. So we drove to England where they don't talk funny.

We had a lovely drive through Normandy which is the part of France you're in when you make a wrong turn at Calais, and soon pulled up at the entrance to the Channel Tunnel. Here all the French waved madly at us as we departed. Boy, I've never seen people so mad about speaking French badly.

Well, the Tunnel may be a great engineering success but the ride is pretty rough... it's like you're driving on railroad tracks. In about twenty minutes we were in merry old England and we thought things would be fine... but we're just two minutes out of the tunnel and some guy is driving on the wrong side of the road... whammo! we had to veer off the road and crash into a pub. This was, of course, good news and bad news.

The rent-a-car company showed some reluctance here, but after we reminded them of the relative size of the car and Stonehenge, they figured it was safe to give us a new car. Stonehenge was almost safe; you have to park a long way from the site. But we brought the bumper jack with us and that worked fine. Don't worry, we didn't tip any stones over. It was that some of them were laying about already down on the ground, so we stood 'em back up. The English were about as appreciative as the French, and asked us to go home ahead of schedule.

On arrival at JFK we jumped into the nearest New York cab. The driver said something like "Furtlebosh gozo towat?" Boy it's good to be back home... So we started speaking French to the guy, "Pardonez moi, mais avez vous une porc-epic coince entre les fesses?" Well the guy starts flapping his arms all over, loses control and crashes through the wall of a computer room somewhere on Wall Street.

We don't know what the French are so mad about; according to news reports the worst crash was at the stock exchange. Oui, Oui.

Well we're back and boy are the Dutch people happy about that. It all started the first morning in Amsterdam; our plan was a quick coffee and then tour the country. The Dutch were not impressed when we expected this to take "all day." We had only a week to see Europe so we chose the Benelux countries; and Andorra, San Marino and Liechtenstein.

Holland is windmills, canals, wooden shoes and old cities. And more. It turns out that a coffee shop in Amsterdam is more than you might expect. Sure there's a big sign that says "Coffee Shop" and you step inside to tables and a bar. Sitting down one might notice the unusual decor, except that it's early and your sleepy eyes can't focus.

A waitress, she seems strangely diffident, hands you a menu and says Ja Ja when you order Koffee Ahl-stu-bleeft. No that's not some crazy concoction, it's how you say please in Dutch. Any how the words on the menu seemed to float around, familiar yet foreign. Hell, we're in Holland, they talk funny here. No problem. A little coffee and we'll figure this menu out.

The shop was aromatic, and with more than java. It was a sweet smell and as it came to us what it was that it was, the words on the menu wound into crisp focus. "Super Skunk-15G; Northern Lights-20G; Nepalese Temple Ball-20G." What in Hellizick is going on here? It was what it was and all quite legal here in Holland.

We ordered a la carte from the menu, basically all the carte, along with rolling papers and a pipe, and proceeded to inhale breakfast. After a lengthy repast and we stepped outside and into the nearest canal.

This is a travel tip, Amsterdam Objective #1: Do not fall into the canals. We would still be swimming if it were not for the large and legal Red-Light District in Amsterdam. Things turned out fine as beautiful women were instantly on the spot with towels and blankets. Though it did cost 50 guilders each half hour, the towel-off was very professional.

The next day found us in Belgium where the coffee shops are more like Dunkin' Donuts and we held our own until afternoon when we ran into their local brews; these beers are about four times as potent as Americano beer. We then stepped outside and, of course, into the canal. Here we observed that the Red-Light District in Brussels was much smaller than in Amsterdam and apparently some distance away. We were left to swim for it and decided that we would be happy to leave Brussels and be in Luxembourg in the morning.

Luxembourg turned out to be bad news and good news. It turns out everyone was on vacation; but they left the key under the mat. There are no canals here but plenty of castles and by late afternoon we'd stumbled into a moat.

The next morning we stopped at a French tourist bureau to get info and directions to Andorra, San Marino and Liechtenstein. The French acted as only French can act; they were rude, inhospitable, snobby and made like they couldn't speak the language; even when we spoke French. We argued with them for the final four days of our vacation and got nowhere. Nowhere except when we asked "If you are going to insult us, could you please do it in our native language."

To this they were quick to comply. Ja Ja.

Well, we're back and boy are the Chinese happy about that. China, teeming cities and looming mountains, groaning trains and foaming beer. Yes, pretty good beer. The Germans were in Ching Dao long enough to impart some secrets before the Chinese kicked their butt off the continent. Slow trains and good beer makes for bad tourists... But the Chinese didn't mind. They are fabulous folks, so nice and kind and humorous that you really want to help kick their government's butt off the continent.

Strange alphabet though, about 15,000 characters long. You just know there's some Chinese kid out there in the middle of his ABC's knowing he's gonna die before he gets to the bathroom. But having been to Scranton, Elmira and Muncie we considered ourselves seasoned travelers. This means we expected them to talk funny. No problems here.

The first thing to do in China is say "Knee How." It means hello and you can say it like a Texan, give 'em a hearty slap on the back, and they'll know what you mean. You often hear the phrase as "Knee How, Knee How Ma?" This means something like "Hello, How's your mother?"

The second thing to do is go to the train station and wait. Wait for tickets, not the train. The Chinese government is some kind of monument to inactivity, sort of dedicated to concrete. The government is basically in charge of everything because it's a people's democracy and nothing will happen about your train tickets until the "top guy" gives his go ahead. As of this writing the "Big Honcho" is still Mao; although he is horizontal and looking pretty waxy on public display at a mausoleum in the middle of Beijing; but we think they still go to him for every ticket approval.

Dead and horizontal dictators on public display are like stars in the Michelin Guide. The more the better. Any way, if your rail request is in Chinese it seems to be pre-approved. The best way to write Chinese for this is get a phrasebook and ink out, in Chinese characters, "two tickets, Beijing to Shanghai, second class, date and time." When you've finished writing don't bother to try and proofread it 'cause it will look like Greek to you. You will have no idea what it says. But when you quietly hand it to the ticket person they will give you great service, providing you haven't confused it with the other note you carry which says "Your food is very excellent, where is the bathroom?"

The third thing to do in China is get out of the big cities and into the country where you get a sense of something else and you can use Monopoly money to save on expenses.

Fourth is to practice saying "Lou PeeJoe." This roughly translates to six-pack and don't worry about the funny look you get. They don't have six-packs of beer in China and the salesperson is wondering why absolutely every Americano always orders six beers at a time. There are towns that haven't seen an Americano in their lifetime and when you come walking down the street they know you're going to come in and ask for six beers. Don't bother stocking up for the train ride. The trains are so slow you can jump off near a town, buy a "Lou PeeJoe" and grab a taxi back to the train after a little sightseeing.

Now any guidebook worth a "Fen" will tell you what it is the Chinese won't tell you. Basically this is anything bad. If the boat to Yang Suo is not going to go all the way to Yang Suo the Boat Captain will not say "River too low." He will say "Better to take the bus." Actually I don't tell the exact truth here. When you get halfway to Yang Suo and the boat turns around to head back, you can gently hold the Captain over the railing above the churning propeller and steel your gaze into his eyes.

He will then say "River too low." Then you will both straighten up and as you realize your plans are now all screwed up and it's time to figure another path through this crazy-quilt of wherever you are. Then the captain will shrug his shoulders, give you a sheepish look and say "Better to take the bus." Now you have enough info for a quick (meaning slow) gallivant around China.

Beijing has big broad boulevards filled with bicycles and maybe a car or two. Watch out at night because the auto's have the lights off as some kind of government conservation measure. Funny-looking bicycle and motorized roto-tiller kind of things are available to give you a lift. Pay extra and insist on driving because it's fun to see the scared look in their eyes. Beijing is also home to the slowest bureaucrats on earth. Many restaurants are government-run so bring a note written in Chinese and show them your stopwatch.

Shanghai is an international city so watch your swearing. It's not like other parts of China where you can compliment the bureaucrats with smiling English phrases like "You look like American movie star, either Beavis or Butthead" and "You move so slow you I confused you with the horizontal Mao in that big square in Beijing."

The Yangtse River cruises are great but remember that they may forget to mention the construction of an amazingly gargantuan and world-famous dam that is blocking the river traffic. Down south it is capitalism run amok led by Hong Kong. People think the question is "How much will China change Hong Kong?" The question should be "How much will Hong Kong change China?" But in the middle, the middle of the "Middle Kingdom," is Heaven On Earth. China is the Middle Kingdom of course. It used to be the "Land of the Rising Sun" till they discovered the Japanese Islands way back when. This resulted in the name change and a war with the Japanese that's been running pretty much ever since.

The Middle Kingdom is the center of the world, the universe and everything else. Ask anyone, they'll tell you so. And in it's center is, one more time, Heaven on Earth. Heaven on Earth is the area around Guilin.

Guilin is a cloudy, foggy, drizzly place with... with amazingly, dizzyingly, straight-up pinnacles of limestone rock mountains soaring into the heavens like something you've never seen before. They rise like colossi from the foggy-mossy verdant green-looking haze of a countryside. You've seen the paintings, and you thought it was fantasy. Well, it is fantasy and it does exist here in Heaven On Earth.

It's just foggy enough that you don't believe those straight-up suckers of solid rock are really there. Even though they're right in front of your face. And if you hike to a city park; which may be on a limestone spike sticking straight up from the center of town a whole lot more steps toward heaven than you've ever done before; you still won't believe that you're really there. It's like hundreds of huge marble spikes were dropped hither and yon through the mountains and flats of a foggy day in Seattle. But with only one decent disco in town.

It's all too much and the only thing to do is get out of town. Head down river a few miles (remember the warning!) to the Hard Rock Cafe in Yang Suo. No, this is not the neon extravaganza that you see elsewhere. Somehow the Hard Rock Cafe showed up in Yang Suo many years ago, it's probably still there, and they may even have electricity by now.

Out here in the middle of nowhere you can kick back and relax to a few beers with some local folks. Some local folks that speak enough English to tell you that "You talk funny."

Well, we're back from the "Hills" and boy are the tribal folks happy about that. Now you might wonder why us international savvy types would end up in the remote jungle mountains of Thailand. Why were we riding suicidal pachyderms, traveling with no-one who spoke the tribal dialects, and touring in territory controlled by revolutionaries. We don't know. But we were happy to be touring in territory controlled by revolutionaries because drug smugglers oversaw the rest of it.

Somewhere we'd heard of a "trek." This involved touring through the lovely mountains, and visiting with the local "hill tribes" folks. It all sounded so colorful and quaint.

Arriving at the airport in, well the real name is about a paragraph long so I don't remember it, otherwise known as Bangkok. We headed for the train station and knew what to do. Pull out the phrasebook and print in the funny Thai characters, a request for two tickets. Second class, round trip, to Chiang Mai. We handed our note to the rail clerk, who, in perfect English, corrected the grammatical and spelling errors we'd made in the note. We left out of Bangkok, which is a story in itself, and headed up north on the train paying particular care not to touch any one's head or point our feet at anyone.

These curious taboos are part of the rich and beautiful Thai culture that we managed to mangle on the way to Chiang Mai. Between the overhead luggage racks, the Americano habit of crossing our legs and an abundance of Singha beer we caused a ruckus. Knowing how to place our hands together and bow our head in a proper "Wai" kept us out of big trouble for a while. But things got out of hand and the engineer put the lead-foot down to get us up north before the lynching. A good deal of this commotion could have been avoided had they supplied informative pamphlets at the airport.

In Chiang Mai we met Pong from the excellent "Linda Guest House" and were treated to the relaxed ways of up north. Always able to surmount any difficulties caused by not speaking the language we soon secured a guide who seemed to assure us that he knew what we wanted. He kept pointing to us and saying "International Travel?" He must be calling us "savvy international travelers" we thought. "Yes, yes!" we said. He also spoke all the hill tribe languages and we figured this would come in handy as soon as he learned English.

Our trek started from near Chiang Rai at the junction of three rivers. "If approached by anyone..." our guide seemed to instruct us, we are to say "We didn't cross no river." He then readied the boat to take us across the river.

In minutes we were across and in the hands of the revolution. To be honest everything was sweet and nice with these great folks and for a little extra we took the deluxe package. No walking. We've got a KaRen revolutionary right here and he owns an elephant. "Don't say no to this" something tells us. We were wrong. You get onto this high-assed rack atop the elephant and with the first step you realize you've made a mistake. This rack-thing sways back and forth and you crash around like a pinball between the slow bumpers of Hell. This is not transportation, it's a traditional form of torture around here.

From bad enough, you now observe that the elephant is able to travel damn near vertical up the steepest, muddiest mountainside you ever don't want to fall down with an elephant. So bad it is that you forget that in a bit you'll be treated to a trip down the other side. Death seems imminent, until the animal balks on one deadly-steep and treacherous, downhill muddy-ass plunge.

Here the driver casually takes out a large iron tool with a wooden handle which more than resembles a pick-axe. He encourages the pachyderm over the Cliff Of Death and down into the Abyss Of Hell by pounding the animal's skull with the business end of the pick-axe. Death is no longer imminent but behind us as we think we're in the Afterlife Of Hades. "Hrneeee!" screams the driver as he whales away, and the huge legs take us step-by-step down into the Pit Of Beyond All Hope. "Hrneeee!"

We are all but hang-gliding with an elephant. An elephant with a whanger of a headache. It makes real hang-gliding look like child's play. Soon it is over for us as we mercifully pass-out unconscious with fear. We only know that the trip is over when the trainer has the elephant spout us with enough water to snap us out of it. "What a lovely touch," we think.

And I guess you get the idea. Don't Ever Ride An Elephant With A Migraine Through Some Steep-Assed Bottomless Pit Of A Jungle Hell. The end of our lovely interlude with the elephant found us at the next river which we traversed with the usual reminder from our guide, "We didn't cross no river."

We soon found ourselves in an opium field that seemed to stretch on forever and we thought we might stay there forever; judging by the demeanor of some guy dressed in colorful indigenous clothing accessorized with an AK-47. We paid for the tour, or for a fine for trespassing, or for a bribe to keep the guy quiet until we got back in the boat and the hell out of there. I guess you've got the idea by now. "Don't cross no rivers!"

Pretty exasperated we reached the first of the Ahka, Meo and other hill tribe villages in which we'd stay. Like heaven on earth it was to relax and enjoy peaceful days with these fine folks. That we, including our talented guide, couldn't communicate with them was not a problem. We all got along easily and found ways to experience our lives together. Our stay was fabulous and without equal.

We also found a new way to tell how far out you are. You say "New York City." If the locals don't seem to understand, say it again. If this doesn't work, try "Hollywood." If they don't know that one you can congratulate yourself on being as far out as it gets.

We looked pretty ragged when we got back. Pong and Linda asked our guide what happened. He explained that it was "us" that wanted international travel. "International Travel?" he asked. "Yes, yes" we had said. So he took us through the "Golden Triangle" of Thailand, Burma and Laos as a side trip. Oh, that explains it. So we no longer refer to ourselves as "savvy international travelers." We have learned to say, in almost every language, "Take us to your Disco."

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