Wish You Were Beer! or Holland Days Sauced!

We made our first visit to Amsterdam in eight years and finally were able to leisurely tour the Rijksmuseum, Holland's preeminent art showcase, closed the last time we were in the city during a ten-year renovation. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

We landed at Amsterdam's Schipol Airport on King's Day, a national holiday that was, according to Wikipedia, initially observed on 31 August 1885 as Prinsessedag or Princess's Day, the fifth birthday of Princess Wilhelmina, then heir presumptive to the Dutch throne. On her accession in November 1890 the holiday acquired the name Koninginnedag, first celebrated on 31 August 1891. In September 1948, Wilhelmina's daughter Juliana ascended to the throne and the holiday was moved to her birthday, 30 April. The holiday was celebrated on this date from 1949. King Willem Alexander’s birthday is 27 April and King's Day was moved to that date in 2014.

Bikes were stowed away for the day; the massive amount of people flooding the streets would have made getting across town an arduous task. We joined the throngs to buy beer and found a spot outside to watch party-goers travel down the canals in overcrowded boats of all sizes. Tourists and locals mingled with orange shirts, orange suits, orange hats and, in at least one case, an orange head.

I had to try out one of the outdoor pissoirs the city brings in for the holiday. Relieving oneself in public has never been more fun!

Our accommodations were a bit off the beaten track. The Air b&b advertised the one bedroom apartment as close to the city center, but wasn't really. The trip back and forth cost the four of us 30 Euro each way!Eight years before we had stayed at a canal house that dated back to the 18th century. The rooms were tiny, stairsteps were shallow and our luggage was pulled up to our room by pulley.

We rode into the city where we would walk everywhere else. One of our favorite stops was Rembrandt Square where you can people-watch to your heart's content. In the square is a life-size depiction in brass of Rembrandt's most famous work, Night Watch. The mass transit system in the Netherlands runs right through Rembrandt Square and through train stations and buses, ties the country together for easy travel, making day excursions to Keukenhof Gardens and Delft a must-do.

AMAZING THAILAND’S AMAZING ANIMALS

Monkeys and snakes and elephants and bears, oh my!

By Dan McCrory

My third trip to Thailand was the most memorable because I’m an animal lover.

We started our trip by flying into Bangkok, arriving at four in the morning. Our friend and guide Sombat picked us up at the airport and drove us an hour and a half south to the beachside city of Pattaya, The sun wasn’t up yet when we hit town and our hotel wasn’t ready for us. We found an open restaurant and gorged ourselves on local delicacies while  the restaurant’s five waiters swiftly attended to our needs. After breakfast/dinner we drove around the beach area till daybreak. Remarkably, we stumbled upon a Starbucks. The coffee was the same, but the tops of the muffins had been sheered off to accommodate the locals’ preference.

With the morning mists still swirling around us, we stumbled onto a live snake show. We sat there bleary-eyed, watching grown men take unnecessary risks as they teased cobras and other venomous snakes. (The reptiles obviously didn’t like all the attention; they hissed and swayed threateningly.)  After the show we discovered their mini-zoo. We patted and photographed a baby Asian elephant, standing chest-high in all its wiry, wrinkled glory, and cooed at a six foot declawed sun bear, or Mee-Mah, meaning “dog-bear” that barely resembles its American cousins and does look like a large dog.

One night was enough of Pattaya; the local wildlife was, for the most part, of the human variety. We drove back to Bangkok and flew out of Suvarnabhumi Airport north to Chiang Mai.

For $20 US per person, we booked a trip to a local elephant sanctuary. We gazed up in awe, overwhelmed by their sheer size. They lifted tourists with their trunks and patiently put up with us as we patted and rubbed their wiry hides. We watched while their handlers bathed them in the river that flowed next to the compound. Then, two by two, we “boarded” our elephants, forded the river, and climbed into the jungle on a narrow path into the hills then back down and across the river. On their backs we swayed in the sedan chair as the elephant lumbered along. Looking over the side of the massive pachyderm it looked like a 10 foot drop to the path. If the elephant tumbled off the path, and managed to NOT roll over on us and squash us like bugs, the drop off the steep hillside alone would probably finish us. I tried to relax and enjoy the view. After the hike, we were treated to a demonstration of their other skills: they tossed around utility poles to illustrate their original use in heavy lifting, painted pictures, played soccer, and danced. (We have since discovered that not all elephant camps are the same. This most holy of animals in Thailand is often mistreated.)

Two days later, we flew back to Bangkok and drove just north of the city to the town of Lopburi, home to seemingly thousands of long-tailed macaque monkeys. All the windows of shops and houses in Lopburi are barred to keep the little thieves out. They outnumber the local citizenry and are just barely tolerated because they draw tourists.

We bought a bag of peanuts and headed to the ruins of a Buddhist temple across the street where, we were told, the monkeys congregated. We needn’t have bothered. Within minutes we were surrounded. We looked up and they were everywhere: walking down the street, hanging from the power lines, standing in front of us, staring wistfully at my girlfriend’s bag of peanuts.

One monkey swiped at the bag. It split open and suddenly a sea of monkeys swarmed over and around our feet until every peanut was gone. We bought more.

On the drive up, our friend Carla told us about a childhood incident that had scarred her for life and generated a fear of monkeys: One of her friends had owned a little spider monkey and Spanky had been either attracted to, or appalled by, Carla’s red hair. He had hopped onto her back and pulled it out in little fistfuls.

We laughed about it as we entered the temple ruins with monkeys gazing down at us from every vantage point. There was absolutely no way history was going to repeat that episode! We happily doled out peanuts to grateful primates until one of them spotted Carla’s red hair and jumped onto her shoulders. We fought him off pretty quickly, before she was fully traumatized. In fact, she laughed off the episode. I really think it cured her aversion to monkeys. Of course, I’m the one who was bitten by an orangutan, but that’s a story from another trip.

SCOTLAND'S YARDS

Even in so-called English-speaking countries, the language can be an impediment. In the village of Dailly, Scotland, we met Mary, the proprietor of the town’s only restaurant, Tillie’s.  It was a sunny March day, but a piercing wind went right through the “warm” clothes we brought with us from southern California.

“What do you have that will warm our bones?” I inquired.

“Ever had a Rusty Nail?” she asked several times until we could make sense of her rural brogue.

For those who don’t like Scotch, it’s a palatable way to imbibe it. A dram of Scotch and a wee bit of Drambuie chase away the midday chill quite nicely.

We wandered into one of the village’s two pubs and bought everybody, all four people, a round of drinks. There was nary a dartboard in sight, but a couple of the lads were playing dominoes and invited us to play. John, a deaf-mute who read lips because he never received training in sign language, was the greatest communicator. After we won two out of three games, they finally admitted with a sheepish smile (more on that later!) that they were actually the local dominoes champions.

Back at Tillie’s, Mary told us that her husband Neil was an award-winning trainer of the border collies everyone in this region uses for rounding up their sheep.

“Are ye interested in watching Neil herd sheep?” At least, I think that was what she asked us.

“Sure!” we said in unison.

The next morning with the same confounded bone-chilling wind blowing through us, we debated breaking with social traditions to take a nip of alcohol hours and hours before cocktail time. Instead, we peppered Neil with questions as he directed a sheep stampede around me and put his dogs through their paces with a series of whistles and shouted incomprehensible commands. We listened to the recording later and between his brogue and the wind, we didn’t get a lot of information, but we knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  We did learn the best way to talk with Scots was to throw in the occasional exuberant, “Aye!”

Would we visit the rolling hills and forests of verdant green again? Aye!

Crime on the Road

Crime and Travel

I’m currently following a single woman (on Twitter!) who has traveled the world all by herself. Having never been a woman, I never realized until recently how creepy guys in ALL countries can be toward a woman traveling alone. That being said, I have observed the behavior of folks toward me and my group when we’re traveling domestically and overseas.

On a flight out of Newark back home to LA, I “lost” an Apple iTouch.  I wanted to blame the TSA, but it could have “disappeared” in the airport shuttle.

A friend purchased some marijuana at the marina in Cabo San Lucas. A young guy took the money, went around the corner and came back with a wad of newspaper and thrust it at her like “here’s your purchase. Now get out of here.” She checked her “purchase” when we got back to the car, but there was nothing in the wad of newspaper. “I’ve never had this problem before,” she pouted.

In Bangkok, we bought tickets to ride the skytrain, the mass transit alternative to getting around the city. In our hurry to catch the next train, a friend threw a wad of Thai baht at the cashier and ran for the train. She left her booth and chased him down to give him his change!

One night in Bangkok, a driver offered to take me to a bar outside of town in the middle of nowhere that was not observing the queen’s birthday and thus was open when others weren’t. We pulled up front and he said, “I’ll be right here waiting for you, boss!” Twenty minutes later when the bar closed, there were no lingering taxies and he was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know where I was. I struck out on a lonely road toward the lights of Bangkok in the distance, not even sure I was headed in the right direction. Behind me, I heard the whine of an approaching tuk-tuk, a vehicle part motorcycle, part rickshaw that is the common form of transport for tourists in the city. I flagged him down. He didn’t speak English, but he understood the name of my hotel. It turned out I had only an American quarter on me, but I promised him I would hire him to be my exclusive driver for the rest of my trip. I insisted on getting his number when he dropped me off at the hotel and promptly lost it!

A single guy traveling in our group decided to avail himself of a local woman at the same Bangkok hotel. At first he was stopped by hotel security. “We don’t allow locals in here,” he said. After a bribe of about five dollars, the security guard took her ID. “You get this back when you leave the hotel,” he told her. Later on that evening, they parted ways. The security guard called his room to make sure he still had all his possessions and was okay before he allowed her to leave. Now that’s service!

People on holiday behave differently than they would at home. My wife and I were in Amsterdam when an inebriated young man staggered into the coffee shop and fell on the floor. We helped him up, but he was incoherent. “Don’t worry,” the proprietor assured us. “This happens all the time. We’ll get him back to his hotel.”

Once in the Bahamas and another time in Edinbrough we stumbled on drug deals in progress, and were promptly shooed off. It may seem like we live a charmed life, but on the whole, I think people are basically decent. Please don’t burst my bubble.

Scottish food? Hmm...

Former quaint little fishing village, Portpatrick remains true to its origins and was an epicurean highlight of our trip to Scotland. Though the country is only about the size of Massachusetts and possesses an awesome transit system, there's a lot of rural settings you'll miss if you don't rent a car. The vehicles in Scotland are remarkably frugal on petrol in most cases and you'll get to test drive something they've never heard of back in the States! Driving on the left side can be challenging, but fun. Keep in mind that whoever rides shotgun is the lookout for the drop-off the driver can't see. My co-pilot kept disturbing me with a panicked, "Close! Too close!" so I was forced to slow down a bit. Also, you don't look under the hood; you glance beneath the bonnet and put your stuff in the boot.

Portpatrick, which hugs the west coast of Scotland, is picturesque as you can see and has its own lighthouse with souvenirs available on the ground floor.  (Just to confuse us, in the UK the first floor is called the ground floor and the second is the first!) The four of us had an excellent seafood meal, caught locally, served up at the Waterfront Hotel and Bistro and easily the best meal we had all week.

The day before, one of us had ordered a chicken and mayo sandwich at a deli in Ayrshire. The chap behind the counter buttered the bread, slathered on the mayo and put a smidgen of chicken on top. Yuck!

The Scots have a reputation for pinching a farthing or two, so feel free to let your frugal flag fly! If you're going to buy a sweater, know that they're not cheap(er) unless they're made with less material.

Another Frugal tip: If you're from a more temperate climate like California, (like we are) and on a budget, (like we are), consider buying the heavy clothes you're going to need for a chillier, more humid climate at a second-hand store like Goodwill. You won't need them when you get home, so see they get donated to a local shelter and voila! You've got more room for souvenirs!

And, for goodness sake, try the haggis!

BAHAMAS - FREEPORT STYLE

Freeport is located on the island of Grand Bahama and, unlike its counterpart Nassau on the island of Providence, is as laid back as they come. We go to our timeshare, Ocean Reef Resort and Yacht Club, and hostess Esther greets us with a hug, a Bahama Mama, a local tropical drink swimming in rum, and a heart-felt "Welcome home!"

Ocean Reef is reflective of the rest of the island, not a sparkling jaw-dropping five-star accommodation, but a nice, homey atmosphere with two pools, a jacuzzi that has worked once out of the three times we've been there and major ongoing remodeling that seems to happen in fits and starts. There's an on-site restaurant that was closed for remodeling when we were there last year, but Esther at pool #2 served up some fat homemade cheeseburgers and real potato french fries. There are also workout facilities, tennis courts, and slips for visiting sailors from the mainland 50 miles to the north. A row of colorful three bedroom townhouses line the lagoon. The main building holds one and two bedroom apartments with spacious balconies/patios and some indoor jacuzzi tubs. Kitchens in each unit have all or most of the amenities a visitor is used to at home, and TVs in the living room and every bedroom are hooked up to satellite. DVD players, DVDs, and games are available in the office and a room on the second floor houses books and a desktop computer for use by guests. Sometimes the power goes out when a sudden rainstorm moves in, but the cooler air drops the temperature from a high of about 80 degrees Farenheit to a refreshing 65 to 70. The rain and far off thunder also provides a soothing respite from the sameness of blindingly bright sunny days.

Ocean Reef plays host to on-site diving instructors, a married couple who makes a trip out to the reefs and other surrounding dive points that include up-close encounters with sharks and the myriad sea creatures that inhabit the Caribbean. I tried diving for the very first (and only) time with them and was rescued immediately by an attentive deck hand when I ripped off my mask in a panic. My wife makes the trip with them every time and has nothing but nice things to say. Some prefer a more corporate, less mom-and-pop diving experience. Port Lucaya offers UNEXCO (Underwater Explorers Society) excursions with bigger diving parties.

We meet nice folks from Michigan, Minnesota and Canada mostly, snowbirds who come down in early October in order to hold off winter for a little bit longer.

We go for the Conch Festival in McLean's Town on Discovery Day. That's what they call Columbus Day in the Bahamas. We eat conch fritters, conch salad, conch chowder and all other things conch. Tourists are encouraged to participate in the conch cracking contest and they pretty much make a mess. Seasoned veterans tap the shell with the hammer/hatchet-type tool and wrench the mollusk or sea snail from its home in seconds. With all the Bahama Mamas and Bush Crack beer you can drink, and dancing in the heat and humidity to the local rake-and-scrape music, it's a good way to start a vacation.

On our first visit, I decided the country's motto should be, "Separate Them from Their Money." It's not entirely the fault of the citizens that everything is so expensive. I have come to realize that life on any island - whether it's Manhattan, Honolulu, Sydney, or Freeport - is going to cost more than the mainland because everything is shipped in. But a large box of Raisin Bran for $12? FRUGAL TOURIST TIP: Pack your suitcase with non-perishables and frozen steaks and chops smothered in ice packs. They'll keep till you get there.

There is a wide variety of activities to choose from. Any of the resorts will be happy to book visitors for an eco tour, kayaking to Peterson's Cay aka Gilligan's Island, deep sea fishing, shopping excursions to Port Lucaya, gambling in the casino, snorkeling, or scuba diving. Folks are friendly everywhere and so are the "wild" raccoons at Gold Rock Beach. There are caves, mangrove swamps and blowholes to explore. Everywhere one looks, turquoise water and white sand beaches stretch as far as the eye can see. Many of the beaches and coves are deserted and available for a swim, but some of the more exclusive resorts shoo away beachgoers who aren't staying there.

You won't find any locals in the casino; they're excluded by law from blowing their paychecks on gambling.

Wednesdays are Fish Fry nights, an event surely invented to entice tourists to spend more money on the fresh catch of the day. There's a cluster of restaurants on Smith's Point Beach where the fare includes red snapper, flounder, the local lobster and the ubiquitous conch. After dinner there's drinking and dancing to local music and hip hop where tourists and locals mingle. A walk on the beach in the moonlight can be very romantic.

At least one night during the visit, we'll go to Pier One, a restaurant located near the docks where all the cruise ships, tankers and supply ships drop anchor. The food is amazing and the sharks are fed off the balcony every hour to the delight and awe of tourists.

A great place for lunch is Zorba's Greek cuisine in Port Lucaya. My wife swears their conch chowder is the best on the island. If a tourist gets homesick for fast food, there's always KFC, Dominos and Burger King, among others.

There is a rumor that prices at the shops rise when the cruise ships are in port, but I have never noticed it firsthand. There may be less bargaining wiggle room, but vendors with their "darlin's" and "pretty ladies," make every transaction a warm experience. Many of the items are made locally though. as with any tourist spot, some are invariably made in Thailand or China. 

After a week on the island (or several islands if you fancy a ferry ride), visitors turn wistful. It's back to work, back to reality and the hustle and bustle of life back home (and sometimes an early blizzard). But the Bahamas have worked their magic: the kinks in your neck and back have melted away, your skin has a golden brown hue, and your mind is uncluttered. You're recharged and ready for what awaits back home.

Food in Thailand occasionally resembles its counterparts in the States by design. When that original ingredient Mama used to put in your Pad Thai can't be found in the US you make do with an herb that may or may not be from the same herbal family. We found a little hole-in-the-wall in Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand in an alleyway as you drive into town. The restaurant had no name, just signs that advertised Pad Thai as their only dish and the price: 20 baht (about 65 cents). It came heaped on a plate, mild enough for this farang (foreigner), but with table spices for the most adventurous in our group. Under harsh fluourescent light we wolfed down one or two plateloads and found that this traditional Northern Thai dish went well with a cold Singha beer. For a landmark to locate our find, look for the neon "Marijuana" sign just around the corner. I think the sign designated a bar, but we'll investigate on our next trip.