Because, frankly, this picture scared the beejeezus out of me.  Great little piece from the Sydney Morning Herald blog.  The rest of them are not even a consideration.  Except for #3, which isn’t so much of a problem for me.  Tho’ Stuart would disagree.

8 Truly Frightening Experiences.

Posted by Ben Groundwater

“If you really wanted to scare the hell out of yourself, there are certain experiences around the world that are guaranteed to do the job.

Here are just a few of them …

1.  Swimming in Devil’s Pool, Zambia
This small rockpool just above the thundering rage that is Victoria Falls ticks all the “stupidly scary experience” boxes. Fairly pointless? Check. You could go swimming anywhere. Complete lack of safety precautions? Check. One large swell of water would sweep you over the edge to your watery, ugly death. Considered a badge of honour among travellers? Check. Nutters.

2.  Climbing Mount Kinabalu’s via ferrata, Malaysia
There are several safe ways to get up a mountain. I wouldn’t have thought bolting a few planks of wood and some rusty iron railings to a cliff face would be one of those. Still, if your heart really desires, you can climb the world’s highest via ferrata on Mount Kinabalu – spine-tingling views included.

3.  Passing through US Immigration, USA
You’re not a criminal; you know you’re not a criminal. Sure, you once slagged off George Dubya at a dinner party, but it’s not like your shoes are filled with explosives. So why are you standing there, sweating like Alfie Langer at an RBT? Why? Because US immigration officials are the scariest in the business. One mistake and it’s going to be a very bad day for you.

4.  Driving between Chittagong and Dhaka, Bangladesh
I’ve written about this one before, but really, I can’t do a list of scary experiences and not include it. Because it is without doubt The. Most. Frightening. Journey. In the world. Buses careen towards each other at top speed, ignoring the lack of overtaking lanes, pedestrians sprint across the pot-holed bitumen, trucks play chicken with each other while rickshaws veer onto the dirt verges … it’s incredible, and petrifying.

5.  Bungee jumping from Macau Tower, Macau
Bungee jumping’s pretty scary anywhere, but there’s something about being 223 metres in the air, on a tower that sways in the wind (scary enough in itself), and then plucking up the courage to throw yourself off it with only an elastic band wrapped around your ankles that sets this one above the rest. I admit: I bottled it.

6.  Riding Death Road, Bolivia (Battered Orange Suitcase Winner)
This’d be one of those things that’d be scary even if, like bungee jumping or sky-diving, it was actually quite safe. But, it’s not. It’s just a muddy, narrow road clinging to the Andean mountainside – no railings, no safety nets, just a straight drop into a gaping abyss. People die on this road, regularly. And tourists pay money to ride mountain bikes down it. Go figure.

7.  Bush camping in the Serengeti
It’s only when you notice the cooks that you realise how much trouble you’re in. You’re sleeping in a tent. Fair enough. So why have the cooks locked themselves into the mesh-lined food cages? Because there are lions out there. They’ll probably be prowling through the camp in the middle of the night. Don’t worry, they tell you. Just don’t leave any food in your tent. Not including you, of course.

8.  Taking a motorbike taxi, Vietnam
The constant cries are too much to ignore. “Moto? Mister! Moto?” Fine, you think, I’ll take a motorbike taxi. It’s cheap, and I only need to go a few blocks. What you hadn’t reckoned on was the helmet-free dash through a mind-boggling amount of traffic, your driver paying no heed to things like road rules or natural physics. Even worse: it’s kinda fun.”

To see the entire posting, click here.

A War Zone

In support of the most soulful city in the whole US of A on this Superbowl weekend – a favorite NOLA memory.

For certain personality types, the generous piles of powdered sugar that cover the beignets served at the famous Café du Monde in the French Quarter are one of life’s little temptations that must be indulged.  I don’t mean the sensuous joy of eating the fried dough goodness but rather, the childlike glee that comes with a food group that is perfectly suited to war.

Recently, on a trip to New Orleans with my two teenage kids, I found this confectionery call to arms too tempting to resist.   While visiting the Café one evening to try these pillows of luscious pastry, practically drowning in powdered sugar, I quickly identified the opportunity to sink us all into dessert depravity.   When I could no longer restrain my evil impulse (and after eating my beignets), I fired the first shot – well, blow.  Discreetly raising my plate to mouth-level, I quickly locked onto my target and blew the piles of left-over sugar with the force of Old Faithful.  In a matter of seconds, my son Cooper was covered – brown sweater, face and hair all generously coated with the white substance.

As anticipated, his response was swift and immediate.  But – like a routine

Coop post-fight

straight out of a Three Stooges film, his whoosh of white powder missed me completely and instead, covered our beloved, innocent Juliette – a French exchange student who was living with us for the year and who, in her typical manner, was completely unaware of the goings on around her.  For Cooper, this was a grave mistake.  Juliette is French.  Beignets – all pastries – are held in the highest esteem, right alongside Liberté, Egalité and Fraternité.  This was a blatant act of provocation for Juliette, compounded by the fact that her much beloved navy blue “I Love NY” sweatshirt was now defiled with white dust (not to mention her face and hair). Thus, the Battle of the Beignets had crossed international borders, and Juliette’s war cry was audible within a five-mile radius.

The instigator and the blissfully unaware young girl

Thankfully, due to finite sugar reserves, the battle was quick, relatively controlled, as battles go, and huge fun.  I am happy to report no patrons (or beignets) were harmed in the melée, although there were some terrified stares.

And as we slunk out of the restaurant into the warm night, leaving a trail of glowing white footprints across Jackson Square, we knew without uttering a word that in this small act of civil disobedience, a bond was forever forged between us, proving there are certain experiences in life that should never be influenced by good judgement.

Jules - not une heureuse camper

While working the LA Art Show last week, I met a group of really great people, affiliated with Fabrik Magazine – a 2-year old small-format magazine widely distributed in the LA Area.  This is a magazine that supports local artists and galleries, and they appear to be loved in return.

“FABRIK magazine covers Los Angeles art, design, architecture, and fashion in a manner as distinctive as it is thorough. A journal of lively coverage and commentary on the art and design scene(s) in America’s new cultural capital, Fabrik also provides extensive directories that list all – all – the best local outlets for new forms, ideas, and expressions in diverse media and disciplines.”

We were invited to attend the closing of their Project One: 5 Artists exhibit last night, and would happily go to anything they put on.  The taste of artists showing was vast, with something for most tastes.  We happen to really like the people involved with Fabrik, and look forward to supporting them in their upcoming endeavors.

PROJECT ONE: 5 ARTISTS
December 5, 2009 – January 30, 2010
This exhibit contains work by emerging and established contemporary artists.  We were impressed!

Matteo

In addition to the video installation pieces by Matteo, which will blow your mind – completely sensoral as you look at a beautiful, organic wood base with glass squares through which a custom video plays, showing images and colors that draw you in.  And in.  Brilliant, artist.  You will see his pieces on a much larger scale in hip hotels and restaurants all around the world.  I guarantee it.

Leaning a little more on the side of slightly off-beat, we both really like Randall Ingalls photographs.

Randall Ingalls

Photographer

A fine art photographer based in Petaluma, California. Randall graduated from Art Center College of Design and set up his studio in an old church, he and his wife bought and renovated. His emphasis is fine art photography with leanings towards editorial print.

Luc Leestemaker
Painter

Luc Leestemaker was born in the Netherlands and moved to the US in 1990. Living and working in the US created a stylistic journey that would take him from early inspiration by the CoBrA movement; through densely abstract expressionist compositions; to the “Inner Landscape” and “Transfigurations” Series, inspired both by Mark Rothko and 17th and 18th Century Dutch and English landscape painters (notably Constable, Ruysdael, Van Goyen). Recently he has also exhibited newly abstracted series of works, titled “Voyager” and “Map of the Wind.”

Mark Brosmer
Painter

Raised in Indiana, Mark Brosmer now resides in Los Angeles where he creates paintings that depict fascinating dreamscapes: a world where the real and unreal fill the canvas equally. Brosmer is an artist whose work consciously reflects the elements of earth, air and water. These poetic illusions stretch the imagination and welcome contemplation. The simplicity of each work is expressed with clarity but at the same time encourages the mind to explore beautiful and entertaining visual puzzles.

Alexandra Becket
Textile Artist

Alexandra Becket creates one-of-a kind hand-painted fabric wall hangings, inspired by modernist architecture and the landscape of California.  Alexandra was born and raised in Los Angeles, from a family rooted in design and architecture.  Her grandfather, architect Welton Becket, designed some of Los Angeles’s most iconic buildings, including Capitol Records,  the LAX Theme and many others.

Steven Janssen
Painter

Steven Janssen was born in Los Angeles and loved to draw since the age of four. Always doodling and never paying attention in class, he quickly developed a passion for the arts. In school he won numerous awards for student exhibits, and participated in his first formal group show at, then, the Otis Parsons School of Design in 1983. Moving on to college, Steven graduated with a B.F.A in life drawing and painting as his focus, from Cal State University Long Beach in 1994. Having worked in the art department for a small production company gave Janssen the opportunity to create works for Showtime, TLC, ABC and The Golden Globes. His works have also shown in numerous exhibits at galleries, in tv shows, and feature films.

“A man is pulled alive from rubble in the Haitian capital Port-au-Prince, after being buried for 12 days, the US military says.”

As massochistic as it has been to watch each tragic, hopeless night of Haiti earthquake coverage  – of the gut-wrenching, primal howling  of a child in pain which affects me so deeply in the pit of my stomach, down to the depths of my womb.   Or the screams and sobs of a woman whose mind has just clicked over the edge, just like that, the pain and horror of loss simply too much for her psyche to bear, and so, willingly and resignedly, she simply slips away.

For me, like many, it is innate to focus on the good of a situation, even when you need a microscope to actually find some.  Which is not to suggest any sort of “Polyanna-esque” denial, but more to ensure that the energy that comes off me is warm and positive.  I have no doubt whatsoever that energy makes an impact, molecules move mountains – literally – and that my strength and hope will connect with people near and far. This is my fundamental truth.  I believe it beyond anything else.

And so, as we mark the two-week anniversary of the earthquake in Haiti, now more than ever, we cannot let this devastation be forgotten.  When the press compounds are struck, and when – God forbid – Anderson Cooper and Sanjay Gupta leave – we cannot – must not – turn away. We must stay connected, we must share our positive energy and hope, and above all, we must believe.

Concorde Celebrity Passenger Graham Norton

I was just thinking about the Concorde fleet of supersonic, luxury jets that ferried moguls, industrialists and well, Naomi Campbell, across the pond in half the time of a 747.

Whatever happened to the Concorde?   Granted their cost model wasn’t exactly profitable, but to have traveled by Concorde was a prestigious distinction that the vast majority of air commuters would never experience.

Surely in these days of multi-tasking, brand building and social networking, there is a new generation of time-is-money mongers only too willing to pay for the privilege of traveling in supersonic, mach-2 style? Maybe Richard Branson should focus his efforts less on inter-galactic commercial travel and more on pond crossing – view of the curvature of the earth included in the cost of a ticket.

A few fun facts about the Concorde:

• Two Concordes made simultaneous maiden passenger voyages on January 21, 1976 on two different routes – the London-Bahrain route and the Paris-Rio route
• The fastest Atlantic crossing by a Concorde was 2 hours 52 minutes and 59 seconds – the average flight took under 3.5 hours
• The Concorde traveled at Mach 2, which means 2-times the speed of sound – the equivalent of 1350 mph
• The Concorde flew at an altitude of 60,000 feet
• The cabin was silent since the Concorde flew faster than the sound of its engines
• A ticket cost on the Concorde in 1979 was $1700 (the equivalent of nearly $6000 in today’s terms) vs $243 for a ticket on a 747
• The Concorde had four Rolls Royce engines, each capable of 38,000 lbs of thrust
• The Concorde capacity was 100 passengers and included two pilots, a flight engineer and a six-person cabin crew
• A NYC-bound Concorde flight carrying celebrities (including the always dapper Graham Norton) attending Liza Minelli’s wedding had to abort take-off due to
  

  The Concorde - literally faster than a speeding bullet

  pre-mature (engine) acceleration

• The Concorde was forbidden to fly at full speed across the US because of the sonic booms, which could be heard for 30 miles
• The Concorde never earned a profit
• In 1977, the Concorde operated under two major airlines, and was thus painted with the BA logo on one side and the Singapore Airlines logo on the other
• The passenger experience was cramped with low ceilings and minimal leg-room.  The bathroom to passenger ratio was not a bonus, though fresh flowers were always present in the lavatories; meals were served on specially-manufactured Wedgewood China.
• The final commercial flight from NYC to London took place October 24, 2003
  

  Concorde Cabin - Cozy Claustrophobia

Siem Reap's Finest

June 2009

For many developing countries, corruption in government is typical and pervasive.  In Cambodia, it’s a well-documented fact that corruption is rampant, serving to undermine the economic infrastructure and act as a deterrent to much-needed foreign investment.  On a recent trip to Cambodia, I witnessed a small dose of this corruption, a tourist’s eye-view, which left me sickly fascinated, and frankly, a little bit nervous.

This past June, my husband and I took a trip to Cambodia, spending a good part of our time in Siem Reap to explore the vast network of ancient jungle temples.  After one particularly early morning of temple trekking, we decided to head into town for lunch and a welcome reprieve from the unforgiving early afternoon heat.  Sitting in a corner pub, ensconced on comfortable sofas, cold gin & tonics sweating in hand, we hunkered down to watch the comings and goings taking place in the busy streets in front of us.

About half way into our first restorative G&T, one of Siem Reap’s finest – a physically menacing character, tall and angular with eyes like a snake – arrived.  His mission: to pull over motorcyclists in violation of the arbitrarily-regulated thus frequently-ignored helmet law.  His objective is not to issue tickets, but to collect bribe money, which he then passes to his boss, who then passes it up the food chain.  The fee for the infraction – roughly $2 US.  While this doesn’t seem like a lot to us, in Cambodian terms, this amounts to slightly more than the average daily wage.

Admittedly, on-the-take cops are not a new phenomenon in any part of the world.  What is unsettling about this situation is the cop’s complete and total disinterest in hiding the transaction.  This is all taking place in plain sight of a crowd of curious on-lookers, both locals and tourists, and I’m stunned by his blasé attitude.  Maybe as a result of watching “The Godfather” films, or even “The Sopranos”, I just assumed there was a certain protocol to follow when strong-arming people for bribe money – a code of conduct dictating at least feigned discretion in the face of a clearly dishonorable act.  His blatant disregard of the fact that tourist eyes were on him gave the clear impression that this guy wasn’t to be messed with.  And if there were still any question as to the dubiousness of his character, it was summarily dismissed when he brought out his taser.  Here’s how the whole thing went down.

The traffic cop pulls up, parks his motorcycle around the corner, and takes his place on the sidewalk across the main street from where we’re sitting, where he hopes to leverage the element of surprise.  In a matter of minutes, he pulls over a couple of motorcyclists.  Their reactions are a mixed bag, from a “what can you do” resignation to empassioned pleading and cajoling to anger and disgust.  The violators themselves run the gamut – young boys and girls, dads with their kids – often several – sitting precipitously behind them, grandmothers – all manner of Cambodian society for whom motorcycles are the primary means of transportation.

If a violator cannot come up with the cash on the spot, he or she is sternly directed to go get it, leaving the motorcycle and frequently, passengers, to be held for ransom.  Those with no means of paying at all are shouted at mercilessly, and put into what appeared to be a curbside “time out”, where they are forced to stay for whatever amount of time deemed necessary to satisfy the debt.

It isn’t long, however, before the cop’s cover is blown by the shopkeepers, who, in an act of solidarity, swiftly pass the information down the block in an effort to warn all incoming motorists.  Fast-thinking drivers quickly veer off onto a side street to avoid the situation.  Still others rise to the challenge, rev their bikes to capacity and blaze past the cop like something out of a Clint Eastwood film.   All of this only serves to infuriate the cop, who quickly changes tactics and takes up a new position smack bang in the middle of the street, thus causing drivers to have to slow down.  Here’s where the fun begins.   With the offending motorists at a clear disadvantage, the cop reaches out and grabs the victims from their moving vehicle by their necks.  This seems to work for awhile, but soon the cop changes tactics again – perhaps out of boredom or maybe in the interest of greater efficiency.  Now he pulls out the menacing tazer, which he aims at the chest and neck of his victims as they attempt to steer clear of him.  The snap snap sound catches me off guard – I’m thinking a bug zapper has just snared an industrial-sized mosquito, but then I see the victims – children and old people alike, fall off their bikes, like sacks of potatoes, and I realize my error.  With his taser,  he has clearly found a fail-proof method of entrapment, a classic example of shooting fish in a barrel.

In sick fascination, I have been watching this scene play out in front of me.  I can’t take my eyes off of what’s going on.  At some stage, I have put down my drink, grabbed my trusty pink felt-tip pen, and am feverishly scribbling the details of what is taking place on the inside cover of my Lonely Planet “Cambodia” guide book, while at the same time, extremely conscious of not wanting to attract the cop’s attention.  To make matters worse, my husband insists on taking pictures of the scene, which he does quickly and discreetly, but which very nearly sends me into cardiac arrest.  In my mind, I see the headline clearly, “American Tourists in Siem Reap Witness Police Mis-Conduct and are Never Heard From Again.”  Fabulous!

As I steal a quick glance around me, I see that we are not the only ones fully engrossed in this little drama.  Clearly this is the afternoon entertainment, and everyone on the street has come out of their businesses or stopped their activities to watch the show.  The tuk-tuk drivers, parked alongside the curb enjoying an afternoon nap, are now alert and cheering on the poor motorcyclists, as if they have bets riding on the outcome.  Even the landmine victims, whose singularity of focus in trolling for handouts is as sharp as anything I’ve ever seen, have taken a break to survey the scene.

After about an hour, the cop finally leaves and things settle back into a normal rhythm.  We assumed he had either collected his daily take, moved to a different location where his cover was not yet blown, or simply called it a day in time to miss the afternoon downpour that arrives everyday with such consistency that you can practically set your watch by it.  As we sat and assimilated the experience, a new G&T firmly in hand (medicinal at this point), we were left with a sense of being in a new frontier; in a place that functions, or perhaps dysfunctions, according to its own social justice system, despite the increasing influence of Western tourist dollars.  Like others, we wonder how Cambodia – so poised to be a truly spectacular tourist destination, yet so in need of economic stability and capital infusion, will come through all of this.  Unfortunately, by most accounts, the outlook is not favorable.