Covered in smoke

On my visit to Beijing, in mid-2012, I heard one theory by Dr. Li Hing Tu Yu on why Chinese have narrower eyes: there are so many particles in the air that they have to keep their eyes shut most of their time to prevent the chronic itching that I painfully felt during my stay in the "Middle Kingdom". I now refute the theory that Chinese Tai Chi Chuan practitioners are healthier, as they are probably the ones who are most affected by deep breathing techniques that force them to inhale most of the air pollution.

It is no secret that China has grown robustly in the past decades and that the world economy has benefited from this impressive development, specially my beloved, commodities-exporter Brazil. But, when in January 2013, Beijing, with its big reliance on coal-fired power plants, reported pollution levels as high as 900 µg/m3 (36 times higher than what is considered safe by the World Health Organization), we all tought: "when was the last time I ordered Chinese?". As a result of its unbearable pollution, newspapers say, China has struggled to attract brains, not to say other parts of the body as well.

Shanghai has an ample supply of rooftops for those wanting to have a drink while enjoying its Jetson-like skyline: the 100th-floor summit of the Shanghai World Financial Center, the 88-story Jin Mao Tower and, my chosen one, the 32nd floor of the Hyat on the Bund - high enough for me. Altough they still provide a breathtaking view (it's really hard to breathe up there), it is not insane to assume pollution will one day make observatories obsolete.

But how to become cleaner - or should I say less dirty - when the entire global economy depends on China maintaining its ferocious expansion? Well, why not use its innate copying ability - Tommy Welai, Zhongdaeyu, Kabba and Lifan are all undaunted Chinese tributes (copies) to respectable brands Tommy Hilfinger, Lacoste, Kappa and Mini, respectively - to replicate a sucessful model for tackling pollution such as London's: fitting diesel particulate filters on bus routes, establishing limits for highly polluting industries, favoring renewable energy, among other measures that I'll leave for the specialists to address.

A nation that built, among other things, the Great Wall and Xian's Terracota Army is truly gorgeous. However, as the famous Chinese philosopher Confucious (551–479 BC) once said “everything has its beauty but not everyone sees it”. For China, now covered in smoke, this sentence makes more sense than ever.

The Great Pollution of China

Pollution can be seen (and felt) even at night

Beijing is not foggy, is polluty

A remarkable Chinese tribute to Tommy Hilfinger

Which came first, Kabba or Kappa? 

Keep your shirt on

Wadi Rum desert, Jordan: It's hot, very hot. My nipples are hard, as I had to refresh my chest with cold water (I don't know why I'm writing this). I know the deserts, my experience at the Moroccan Sahara (at the Erg Chebbi dunes) made me a tougher man, with a beduin-like strenght. Like the lizards, I can now stand the heat. My foot developed a sort of a protective layer, which allows me to walk bare foot on the burning sand. But what is bothering me is not the extremely high temperature that I'm now facing, it's the fact that I'm wearing a t-shirt and one week from now I'll be in Barcelona. Can you imagine going shirtless to the beach with a white-like-milk chest and taned arms (like a truck driver)? I couldn't jeopardize my tanning in the middle of the summer season, when Barcelona is packed.

But please don't judge me. I was long awaiting for some party time, as my last couple of visits were to Muslim or Hindu countries, with a very conservative approach towards drinking and flirting. The beduin responsible for our tent in the desert played us last night saying "want something to drink? whisky?", we know they don't drink. Me and other 5 people had to share a big plate wtih chicken and rice at dinner, no knifes and forks, just our hands. Some tea was served, as we contemplated the stars. The beduin kept asking me for advise on a couple of conversations that he was having on facebook with some past guests (yes, he was connected, right in the middle of the desert). He wasn't particularly fluent in english, so the conversations made no sense at all, like: "girl: how are you?; beduin: welcome to the desert!"; girl: thank you!; beduin: I'm a beduin!".

Sleeping in the desert can be very relaxing, you don't hear anything, except for the french couple in the tent nearby, who were making strange noises. The girl was kind of suffocating, it must be the dry, desertic weather. Overall, I had a good night's sleep, so I was ready for our early morning desert tour. But as the sun gained power, my tanning dilema began to concern me. Should I take my shirt off? We are in a Muslim country, but does the dress clode apply to the desert? I made a big effort to protect myself from the sun by staying inside our buggy. But sometimes we had to go down and walk around, after all, we were there to visit the desert.

Wadi Rum looks just like Mars (no, I've never been there, but I've seen pictures) with red sand and weird rocks. The place became famous to the West after British officer T. E. Lawrence lived there and played a key role during the Sinai and Palestine Campaign and the Arab Revolt against Ottoman Turkish rule of 1916–18. But you know, deserts can get very boring sometimes, so for that reason, he wrote a detailed account of the period and his life, published in the book "Seven Pillars of Wisdom". If you don't fancy reading books, maybe you have watched the movie based on him, "Lawrence of Arabia".

We are now at the top of a rock that the erosion from rain (it's rare, but it happens) and wind made it look like a bridge. It doesn't look safe here, this "bridge" is prehistoric and lacks a firm base, it can collapse at any time. But I don't care anymore, I'll take my shirt off and enjoy the sun.

The events that followed my decision to take my shirt off made me rethink my attitude. Another guide arrived with a group of girls at the same place I was sun tanning and rebuked my situation. I was surprised by him with my eyes shut, almost falling asleep right there under the sun. He began to say words in Arabic quite intensily, pointing to the girls and later to the sky. At fist, I was pretty sure he was suggesting something like "would you be so kind to put your shirt back on, please respect the mesdames ", until his pupils began to dilate and his moustache got spiky, clear signs of anger. Enough said, it was time to run away.

Some weeks after, I told this story to a Moroccan in Paris and he said, surprised with my boldness, "you are crazy - and lucky!". I felt bad for the desert situation for some time, as a tourist you have to respect the country's culture, no matter where you are (in the desert, for example). Lesson learned, but you know what? At least I was perfectly tanned when I got to Barcelona.

Got hummus?

The Jewish community has been very present in my everyday life. I live in an area in São Paulo with a lot of Jewish families, I used to swim for a community club and most of my friends share this very same religion. But, although I do not follow the Torah, I've developed a special interest in this people and their religion. From them, I've also learned some valuable economic and financial lessons (no wonder they are among the richest people in Brazil), although they still haven't convinced me to get a circumcision. For the reasons above, my visit to Israel was long awaited.

It did not intimidate me that the country has a long history of conflicts (in fact, they were, at that moment, in the middle of one). First, I live in a much more dangerous place, Brazil. Second, every teenager in Israel seems ready to take down any threat in the streets and the Iron Dome, their mobile air defense system, is able to destroy about 80%, they say, of missiles sent by enemies. I do not plan to comment on the merits of the conflicts, but the point is that, in my opinion, no visit should be frustrated unless you have realistically assessed the security situation in the country.

Maybe the major security issue you may encounter in Tel Aviv is in its many clubs. I mean, they are great and, in many ways, ressemble the clubs that we have in Brazil, with good music and a stay-up-until-dawn culture. But bare in mind that, every teenager in Israel is also a trained soldier (men are required to serve in the military for 3 years and women for 2), which means they were also trained in the deadly art of Krav Magá, the most effective martial system ever invented. Therefore, I do not recommend you to use the Brazilian flirting style in Israel, they may find it too agressive.

But the truth is that, apart from having to wait for a while at the airport to be interrogated by security officials (be ready for that. Do you have a Lebanon stamp on your passport? Bring a pillow and a blanket, they will make you wait), my visit to Israel was smooth. Maybe the only issue I had was in Jerusalem, when a guy at the muslim quarter sold me a cold boureka (pastries), when it was apparently smoking hot (he produced smoke below the table with the bourekas, which gave this false impression). I asked for my money back right after noticing the scheme, he denied. But by no means I let this experience affect my inspiring visit to Jerusalem.

It is amazing everything that happened in such a small place and how important it is for the biggest religions in the world. From a walking distance, there's the Western Wall (the most sacred site for the Jewish faith), on the other side of it there's the Dome of the Rock (sacred for the Muslims) and from there you can start the "Via Dolorosa" ("Way of Sorrows"), ending at the Church of the Holy Sepulcre (the holiest place for Catholic and Orthodox Christians, the site of Jesus’ crucifixion, burial and Resurrection). The Mount of Olives, where you can visit Mary's tomb, is also from a walking distance, unless you are obese, of course (in that case, you can find plenty of taxis around the area).
 
My visit to Jerusalem was also magical in the sense that I was enamored of hummus. Like someone in love, I became obsessed for this mashed chickpeas based dip. I had it for every meal, as well as after the club or at any time of the day, as I always took some of it with me in case I had any immediate need. Like Zohan, I considered brushing my teeth with it. Actually, everything in Israel tastes unbelievable. How come a desertic place can produce some better tasting fruits than a tropical country like Brazil? Yes, I know they are pretty good at irrigation, but still.

If you are religious, spiritual or at least have any feelings, you will feel an unique energy in Israel, specially in Jerusalem, which is by itself worth the visit. It is a dream for most people to visit those sacred places, so what you will see and feel is very strong, sometimes frighteningly strong. It is very hard to describe it, so go and experience it for yourself. But if I were you I would also spare some time to visit Tel Aviv or do other special things, like tasting its amazing hummus.

Oh, its hummus S2

Too cool for school

Travelling, I found out, can teach you much more than any of the traditional schools ever could. Learn history while visiting war sites, math by splitting complex bills with your friends, new languages while trying to survive all alone and culinary by eating the real food in the streets. But far more interesting, is finding out that what was tough to be the absolute truth back at home was, in fact, a misconception. Like an Aristoteles with a backpack, I began to question everything, from the origins of my favorite dishes to the meaning of commonly used signals. Below, a few examples:

(i) Strogonoff is neither French, nor Brazilian, it's Russian: every Brazilian knows and loves this dish, but the majority thinks it was probably invented by the French, which would explain its fancy name (some people go even further and pronounce it with a very Parisian accent, like when you say the letter "u" in English, using a very particular mouth formation). Others, prefer to call the dish in a tropical fashion, adding an "i" at the end of the word, as "Strogonoffi". Actually, if you are a foreigner, a key to communicate with us Brazilians without sounding arrogant, is to add an "i" at the end of nonnative words (pronounced like "e"). You would say "Facebooki", "Laptopi", "Reeboki" and so forth. Anyway, what I found out about this popular dish, which is served on Thursdays in most restaurants in Brazil, is that it was invented in the 19th-century by the Russians. And they make a hell of a good one.

(ii) Head signals are not always interpreted the same way: in Brazil and in most countries, when you nod your head you are signaling approval and shaking, the opposite. Surprisingly, Bulgarians use the contrary. Even more surprisingly, Indians prefer to use a cool intermediary signal which could mean "yes", "no", "hell yes", "hell no", "I understand" and "maybe", which is called "head bobble". The motion usually consists of a side-to-side tilting of the head, so it is very hard to come up with a conclusion on what the person is really trying to say, which makes them very mysterious (It was very challenging figuring out whether a taxi driver in India knew the place he was taking me to, because he kept giving me the head bobble).

(iii) An island is not only a piece of land surrounded by water: we have gorgeous islands in Brazil, but one particular type of island caught my attention in India. Mukeshi Ambami, a prominent Indian businessman, built a US$2 billion, 27-floor, 4,532 square metres home in what is one of the poorest countries in the world. His piece of art in Mumbai was placed in a city with huge slums. It was named Antilia, a mythical island in the Atlantic. A proper name indeed.

"Why do Asians have narrow eyes?", "why Malaysians, Mexicans and Indians have such a high tolerance for extremely spicy food?" and "why I'm so sexy?" are profound philosofical questions I still can't answer.

Tubing in Vang Vieng: farewell

Vang Vieng is a tiny riverside city in the poor country of Laos, with dirty roads and no tourist infrastructure whatsoever: no decent hospitals, fancy hotels, good restaurants or postcard landmarks (except for some nice caves). It sounds boring. It was, until in 2006 some backpackers had the idea of adventuring down the wild Nam Song river with a tube (tractor tyre inner tubes) and bars started to open along the riverside, as party pit-stops to those wanting to add a different kind of adventure. And then someone invented the famoues blue "tubing in Vang Vieng" t-shirt, an important object to be owned by any serious backpacker in Asia, and the whole thing skyrocked to become the party Mecca for backpackers in Southeast Asia, something very hard to achieve by any means.

Vang Vieng was poised to conquer the world as the best place of all to party. Except for one little problem, the lack of infrastructure. Imagine hundreds of backpackers going down a wild river (full of rocks), many of them drunk or mentally affected by different kinds of psicotropics, with no supervision or assistance whatsoever. Well, something has to go wrong, right? And it did, but the issue is that Vang Vieng, as probably any other city in Laos, has no decent medical facilities, which means that if you get seriously injured you have to drive (on bumpy one-lane roads) to the north of Thailand to find an acceptable hospital, a long and torturing trip.

The mentally ill, excessively drunk / drugged or just depressed, could die or get seriously injured by crashing into a rock, by playing on the "Death Slide" (a ceramic slide) or the rope swing, also nicknamed the "Death Swing". With so many death-somethings in Vang Vieng, it was no surprise to me when I recently read that the party was banned at the mythical city and it has now returned to its pre-2006 status. That change was certainly motivated by the more than 20 deaths in 2011 and 7 in 2012.

Too bad, what I saw in Vang Vieng, only 2 months before it was banned, was something unique and magical. There was a lot of freedom over there and I guess this is where the true problem lies. Some people just don't have enough responsibility to enjoy full play. Me and my friends had a blast, but we enjoyed within the safety limits that allowed us to leave the place in one piece, a minimum requirement for me to do anything. But the fact that they had to change a sign from "Don't jump" to "Don't jump or you will die", just proves that, unfortunately, some people were just not ready for Vang Vieng.

Picture: arriving at one of the many riverside
bars

Picture: the "Death Slide"

Romania's thugz mansion

Bucharest, the capital of Romania, became known to me after Steven Segall's "Born to Raise Hell" movie. Before that, I very often confused the name with Budapest, the capital of Hungary. My sincerest apologies to all Romanians. Anyway, I decided to visit the city during my tour around Europe, not only to see how the place was recovering after Segall's mission, but to see what they told me was the world's second largest government building, right after the Pentagon in Washington, DC.

Ok, it seems right to me that the world's number one superpower built also the number one building in the world. But, with all due respect, why Romania built the second one? According to the IMF, the country's 2012 GDP of c.US$170 billion was ranked 56 in the world (GDP per capita of c.US$8,000), so it is fair to say that the country is not really there yet. So why did they want to build a €3 billion massive building while many Romanians struggle to make a living? Here is where the crazy leader comes in.

The Palace of the Parliament in Bucharest is a 1,100 rooms and 340,000 m2 building designed and nearly completed by Nicolae Ceaușescu, a Romanian Communist politician, the leader of one of the most repressive and brutal regimes of the Soviet bloc (in office from 1969 to 1989). He loved himself so much, that during his leadership, the most important day in Romania was his birthday. The construction of the building started in 1984 (finished in the late 90's) and was intended to house political and administrative institutions, as well as to be Nicolae's personal humble home. Paradoxically, it was named the "People's House" by the very same man whose politics screwed the life of many of "his people".

Before visiting Bucharest and not knowing the above facts, I tought the building was something Romanian's were proud of, it looked like a hell of a postcard. I started to suspect there was something really wrong with that huge thing after I had to ask 10 different people to take a picture of me in front of it. Everybody seemed angry about it. After some research, I understood all that indignation. It didn't surprise me that Nicolae Ceaușescu starred the only violent overthrow of a communist government to occur during the revolutions of 1989.

The crazy leader is out, but still today that absurd construction is right in the center of Bucharest, remembering everyone of the country's painfull past and representing what many Romanians are still lacking, a house to call their own.

 Picture: someone finally agreed to take a picture of me
 in front of the Palace of the Parliament

                                     

Picture: the Palace of the Parliament's modest size

                                        

Poor in dollars, rich in spirit: the costs of a round the world trip

Many people pull out on a round the world trip because they think they don't have the necessary "dinero". Unless you are homeless or are planning to stay at 5-star resorts and eat at michelin recommended restaurants, you can do it. In fact, there are countries in Asia, for example, where you can live with US$20 a day (accommodation plus food), or even less. Of course, in that case you would have to eat street food and sleep at hostels, but that doesn't mean it won't be fun. Quite the opposite.

My average cost per day was US$150, all in (transportation, accommodation, food and entertainment). I would consider myself a mid-range spender (not a hippie, nor a fancy traveller). My strategy was to minimize spendings on human basic needs (food and sleep), so I could engage myself in unique, and very often expensive, experiences. This aggressive approach to travelling plus the fact that I stayed 3 to 4 days on average at each city (incurring in high transportation costs), explains why my daily spending may look substantial. 

Below, a few considerations on the nature of my cash outflows, which may help you establish a budget for your own round the world trip:

Transport: two months prior to departure, I bought a US$5,000 Star Alliance Round the World Ticket, which, in my case, included twelve flights (São Paulo - New York - Honolulu - Auckland - Sydney - Bangkok - Tokyo - Beijing - New Dehli - Istanbul - Amman - Cairo - Frankfurt - São Paulo). I used those cities as hubs to explore nearby countries, which I could reach by land, air or sea. For Asia, the preferred mean of transport was the plane, as everything is too far and land transportation can get you killed (unfinished roads, reckless drivers). I preffered trains to move around Europe, as it gave me lots of flexibility (tickets can be bought at the station on the day of departure) and I could sleep while I travelled (in the case of night trains, which I used for long-distance travels). I opted for maritime transportation to go from Spain to Morocco, which is about 20 km far (Algeciras - Tangier) and from Estonia to Finland, as it was cheaper than flying.

Food: you can have a decent meal at a restaurant for US$5-10 in most of Asia (ex. Laos, Cambodia, Myanmar, Thailand, Indonesia, Vietnam, India, Nepal and China) and Eastern Europe (ex. Poland, Romania, Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania). You will struggle to find nourishment for US$15-20 in Japan, New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, Russia and Nordic Countries. As a whole, I would place the rest of Western Europe and the Middle-East in the middle of the range.

Sleep: again, you can shut your eyes cheaper in most of Asia and Eastern Europe, paying around US$7-15 for a hostel. You won't find shelter for much less than US$25-35 in Western Europe, Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Singapore and Russia. In some very poor countries or where hostels are limited or inexistent (ex. Lebanon, Dubai, Egypt and India), you will have to pay a bit more for a hotel (except for India, where you can find a five-stars hotel for US$30 per person).

Entertainment & culture: as I said, I took this type of spending very seriously, facing each day as a once in a life time opportunity. Examples of this type of expenses were: bungy jump in New Zealand, US$260; a concert at Sydney's Opera House, US$150; New York Knicks game at the Madison Square Garden, US$130; bobsleigh in Latvia, US$100; shooting with an AK-47 in Vietnam, US$1 per bullet; not to mention the several excursions to deserts, temples, islands, war sites and visits to museums. Finally, nightclubs "sightseeing" was also an important part of my activities (and spendings), as it provided a profound understanding of the cultural characteristics, as well as anatomical, of the inhabitants of each visited location.

As you can conclude from the aforementioned data, you can plan your round the world trip and adjust the level of daily spending by choosing countries that are in line with your targeted budget. I met all kinds of travellers during my trip, from daddy-financed playboys who would only stay at hotels from hippie-like backpackers that would ask for rides on the road and couch-surf (sleep at a volunteer's house for free, check https://www.couchsurfing.org/). Both seemed happy. Therefore, I believe money is no excuse for not fulfilling your dream of discovering the world. It's just a matter of planning and understanding your needs.

                             
                             Picture: You will have less dollars in your account after
                             a round the world trip, but it will definitely be worth it

I'm hatin' it: feeling the power of Indian bacteria

One of my favorite movie scenes of all time is when Ben Stiller feels extremely sick after eating at a Moroccan restaurant with Jennifer Aniston in "Along came Polly". I always tought that Ben's reaction was exaggerated, until I saw a friend of mine allucinating and sweating like a barbequer on a bed in Nepal. The cause of his misfortune? Eating the Indian equivalent of a Big Mac, the only meal he had with salad during our 2-week visit to India.

India is the land of the Taj Mahal, Yoga, curry, Gandhi and several other interesting things. However, specially if you are a traveller and don't take the necessary precautions, it can also be considered "The Mecca" of food poisoning. I'm not saying you shouldn't eat Indian food, that would be unwise. The country has one of the best cuisines in the world, using plenty of spices that result in a richness of flavors unmatched by any other nation. But I think you don't need to risk your life eating at a dodgy restaurant, if you want to try the local food (in fact, the best Indian food I ever had was in London, but you can find great restaurants in India too).

It is very common to see Indians eating with their hands, instead of using fork and knife. They usually use their right hand, as the left one is dedicated to toilet related issues. For that reason, I avoided high-fiving anyone while there, afraid of slapping the left hand by mistake. It is very easy to eat with your hands, as you can use a very tasty type of bread called "naan" to help you grab food, which very often has curry (richly spiced sauce).

A big issue in India is that tap water is very often contaminated or carries substances that will let your stomach angry with you. Therefore, we had to take showers with eyes and mouth shut and we tried to brush our teeths with bottled water. We avoided salads or anything raw, as washing them with contaminated water is like curing a muscle pain with punches. Eating outside our hotel? Only if recommended by a trustworthy guidebook, like Lonely Planet. We acted like a pussy and everything went fine, until my friend suggested a last meal at Mac Donald's. It sounded fun. It's an international food chain, they have quality standards, right? Maybe not enough.

Chicken Maharaja Mac, India's Big Mac, uses chicken instead of meat (cows are considered sacred for Indians) and a curry-like condiment replaces the famous special sauce. It tastes good, but the only problem is that it has raw components, such as lettuce, onions and tomatoes. That was most likely the reason why 24 hours later, when we were already at Kathmandu, Nepal, my friend began a tough fight against a powerful type of Indian bacteria.

After watching my friend's misery, I concluded that if you visit a place where food poisoning is the norm for tourists, it is safer to stick with the basics: nothing raw (even at Mac Donald's!) and prefer well-know or recommended restaurants. I guess that old saying "when in Rome, do as the Romans", meaning when you visit a place you should act like the locals, shouldn't apply to every country. In my opinion, it doesn't for India.



Picture: Mac Donald's in India, good idea, right?



Picture: Chiken Maharaja Mac, India's Big Mac

   

          

Why altruism sometimes sucks and my flight back home

I'm afraid of heights, as already stated in previous posts. Therefore, airplanes are not one of my favorite means of transport (as you fly at freaking high altitudes), although I had to confront it at least 40 times during my round the world trip. Most of the time, nothing really special happened and I was able to control myself. But one flight in particular, the last one, it all went wrong.

My Lufthansa flight back home would departure from Frankfurt at night. I checked-in as soon as possible, choosing an aisle seat, right in the middle, far from the freightining windows. My seat was more spacious than the average and nobody was by my side. What a stylish comeback.

Prior to departure, a couple started walking around the plane looking for two empty seats. The guy had a problem in his knee and needed more space. The girl was just annoying. They asked several Germans if they could switch seats, but they all replied with their usual kindness: "no". Feeling bad for the "handicaped" man, I agreed to change seats.

I was then placed right beside a bold German guy, who looked more anxious than a prostitute waiting for the results of an HIV test. As he was afraid of heights as well (but in a level much more critical than mine), we started a conversation. It was his first flight after 7 years and, as soon as we took off, he made so many signs of the cross that I'm pretty sure that man was blessed.

After some hours chatting with him, when annoyance was my general sentiment, I put on headphones, as a "leave me alone" sign. Unfortunately, Lufthansa's in-flight entertainment lacked decent movies, so pretending was my only option. He ignored my blockage and asked "Leandro! Do you want some bread!?" screaming in dispair, wanting my attention. I gave him an acid reply "no, I'm watching a movie". He apparently felt asleep. Freedom!

A couple of minutes later, he began to convultionate, harlem shake style. Unbelievable, that man really wanted to screw me. After several body contractions, he suddenly stopped, looking like a dead man. I rushed to call for help. A flight assistant brought an oxygen mask and I had to, once again, give away my seat. We were 6 hours away from São Paulo and there was no place left for me.

Only one hour later, Lufthansa gave the victim a business class seat, he was alive, but needed more space to relax. My adrenalin level was so high and I was so enraged with the entire situation that sleeping was impossible. Asking for an emergency landing in Recife started to sound like a plausible idea, my patience was wearing thin.

The last 3 hours of my flight were more tormenting than waiting for a girlfriend's confirmation that she's on her period once again, several days after a night of unprotected love. When we finally landed, my popularity was at its high, thanks to the amount of time I've spent making friends (to alleviate my pain) and my important role on the salvation of the bold German guy. Apart from this short moment of gratitude, helping the couple ended up being a bad experience.

Altruism sometimes sucks.

Love you long time: avoiding the undesirable in Thailand

Let's not lie to each other. Several people fly every year to Thailand only with the objective of exploring the erogenous areas of one of the most beautiful women in Asia. I don't blame them. However, they should bare in mind that Thailand is also famous for its several transsexuals (or ladyboys, as they are called by foreigners), who are not always very honest to you when it comes to their sex. So there's always the risk of asking for a passion fruit and receiving a banana instead. For a comprehensive and in-depth analysis of the aforementioned issue in Thailand I recommend the movie "Hangover Part II".

Transsexuals are so common in Thailand that you can see them everywhere: restaurants, shops, beauty salons, factories and even hospitals (one of my friends was diagnosed with dengue by a Dr. Ladyboy). Several popular Thai models are ladyboys and you can easily read who was the winner of the last beauty contest on regular newspapers.

As an experienced traveller, I believe it is also my duty to inform people about potential mistakes they can avoid when visiting other countries. I saw one foreigner being severely mocked at a hostel by his friend, because he kissed a ladyboy the night before, thinking she was a hot girl. If your plan is to try something exotic in Thailand, yet feminine, you can make sure you found what you were looking for (or increase the certainty level) by following the tips below, which I came up after an extensive research on the matter:

i) Look for Adam's apple: usually only men have that pronounced "ball" in their throat. So, if you see a Thai woman with that, "she" is very likely a "he"! Unfortunately, men can reduce Adam's apple with surgery.

ii) Analyse the face: men usually have bigger heads and women a more gentle face (subjective, I know, but use common sense). This becomes specially trickier in Thailand, where men also have a "gentle" face.

iii) Voice: Men usually have lower-pitched voices than women. Does she sound like Barry White?

iv) Look at the size of the feet: males more often have longer feet and it doesn't shrink during gender transition.

v) Oh no, It's time to fell it!: if you're still not sure of your partner's sex and honesty, its time to get your hands dirty. Gently ask to put your hands down there and check it out. If hes a post-op (I mean, if he concluded a full gender transition), I'm so sorry my friend, we tried everything we could. At least, in that case, you will probably never know the truth.

Extra: Thailand is also very famous for its massage, but if I were you I would ignore the girls that shout "helloooo massaaageeee"  or "love you long timeeee" in the streets of Bangkok, unless you want to be massaged by 11 fingers, instead of the usual 10.

If you are indeed looking for ladyboys in Thailand, then just ignore everything I just said. I once warned a foreigner in Ko Pha Ngan (one of Thailand's legendary party islands) that he was dancing with a ladyboy and not a woman. He gave me a straight answer: "thanks man, I know". Fair enough.


                                  
                               

Just quit it: why travelling around the world makes sense?

1. Live many lifes in one: A great part of your preferences were influenced by where you were borned and raised. A Brazilian will most likely like football, beer and be a catholic. Because those are national preferences, just look at the statistics. On the opposite side, someone from Saudi Arabia will most likely be a muslim and will opt not to put a single drop of alcohol is his mouth. Visiting other countries makes you imagine how different your life could have been if your mom and dad were and had you at other countries. If you think and experience that way, you become much more tolerant to other cultures.

2. Acquire new tastes: Don't be surprised if you find yourself listening to Arab songs, eating Indian food and watching Iranian movies after having travelled for a while. When you visit other countries you are exposed, whether you like it or not, to new things. A taxi driver will listen to regional music on the radio, you will turn on the TV and see a local movie or program, and you will sometimes don't have other option but to taste the country's cuisine. You may discover your new favorite thing.

3. Form your own opinion about several subjects: I'm tired of hearing that China will be the next superpower, French are unpolite, Brazil is too dangerous to visit, Russia is the coldest place on earth, Italian pizza is the best, Swedish girls are gorgeous and Islamic countries are not for tourists. Is this all true? Go and find out for yourself.

4. See the big picture, make friends everywhere: You are not alone in the world, there are approximately other 7 billion people out there, living under the most different conditions. Connect and learn with them. Sometimes, there are no right or wrong, but just different points of view. Open your mind.

5. Do things you can only do out of home: See the Taj Mahal in India and the Great Wall of China, admire the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, ride an elefant and feed a tiger in Thailand, bungy jump in New Zealand, eat at a local family house in Myanmar, shoot with an AK-47 and walk through the war tunnels of Vietnam, float on a tube down a river and stop to party at one of the many bars at Vang Vieng, Laos and do many other interesting things you can only experience by travelling! Life is now, so live.

6. Earn frequent flyer miles: what? that's positive too, right?

                                          Picture: Just quit it!

Never judge a Russian by the way they look

My belly is asking for food. I'm thinking kebab, but Russian pancakes would be just fine. If my Jewish friends back in Brazil abstain from food during Yom Kippur, maybe its my time. But I'm not very religious, so forget it. How stupid, a 24 hours train ride and no food with me. It's not all my fault, how was I supposed to know that Russians don't sell food on their trains? They must have some vodka though, maybe I can get very drunk and sleep for the following hours. Nah, I could probably get raped, like I almost did back in Kyoto.

The responsible for the sleeping cabins, a Russian guy, said "nyet" to me when questioned about food, meaning no in Russian. There were some bananas at his cabin, he would be so kind to donated one of those to a hungry Brazilian guy, like me. But he's not willing to help and apparently is playing the game of love with the Ukranian lady next door. So unfair. She's very attractive: tall, blonde and blue eyes. I wonder if I can get some sexual healing too. Not a good idea, I heard russians can get pretty aggressive.

I'll leave my cabin once again, walk a bit and see if any good idea comes to mind. Let's see the train schedule, but its all in Russian. There will be some stops, maybe I can run out of the train, buy some food and come back. Too risky tought, I could probably end up lost in the middle of Ukraine.

The Russian guy leaves his cabin once again, I massage my belly in a sign of dispair. He looks at me, but ignores my situation. He's exactly the stereotype of the Russian vilan we see in movies: short, fat, bold and, of course, drunk. My ticket was sold by him just before departure time, but god knows if it was the fair price to pay. I was late, so I paid the €60 he wrote in my Ipod, as we couldn't communicate in any language.

Back to my cabin, the door closes, let's think a bit. A solution always comes up, just this time its taking too long. Some Tim Maia is playing in my ipod, bringing back good memories of Brazil. There, I had plenty of food. "Churrascos" were nice, we could eat a whole bunch of different meat and refresh our throat with ice cold beer. But I'm in Ukraine now, snow its all I can see outside.

Someone knocks on my door, what is it this time? Maybe is the border check or a gypsie broke into our train and is now ready to take my stuff.

Unbelievable! It's the Russian guy and the Ukranian lady, they bring me two bananas, two slices of bread, instant noodles, a bag of pretzels and a disgusting, very cold chicken. They saved me! I'll eat one banana and instant noodles for dinner, a slice of bread and a bag of pretzels for lunch and the rest, except the chicken, I'll save for the remaining part of the journey. I'll throw pieces of chicken meat through the window, leaving only bones on the plate, to avoid any kind of confrontation with my beloved friends. I'll be just fine.

The above were my toughts at a critical moment of my 24 hours train trip from Budapest, Hungary to Kiev, Ukraine. The train was operated by Russian Railway and nobody seemed very friendly. I just had the opportunity to really meet them after my stupidity of not bringing any food made me go after food and talk to people.

As I later found out, the Russians were tough just in the way they look, inside they were as friendly as us, Brazilians, but in their own way. They not only gave me some of their food, but later invited me to have some vodka. Altough we couldn't communicate very well, we had a good time and, at the end of the trip, I felt a little bit Russian too.

                            Picture: Goldfinger, the Russian vilan stereotype

                            Picture: My supplies for the 24 hours train ride, thank you Russia!

Peanuts is all we need: finding true happiness in Myanmar

Myanmar. Before visiting, I could only relate it with opium and dictatorship. The truth is that the country also hides unique treasures such as Bagan, a city the size of Manhattan, where instead of skyscrapers, you see more than 2.2 thousand temples. However, the country’s true beauty lies not in its scenaries, but in its spirit. As I once read in a guidebook, when visiting Myanmar, open your mind and you’ll come back with your heart full. Or something like that.

My experience started when myself, two Brazilian friends and a local guide went trekking in the rural city of Inle Lake, famous for its fishermen and their ability to use their feet, instead of their hands, to do their job. Anyway. We left for a 16 km walk up the city mountains, visiting villages and being saluted by cheerful kids who would shout “min-ga-la-ba!” (hello in their local language) and give us flowers as a welcome gift (one of our friends received more flowers than usual, probably a sign that its increased femininity stood out in our group).

Every little village or house we passed by had a different function within the community. The farmers, boat producers, silver and gold jewelry producers, and so forth. They were all very poor and worked with very little efficiency, but looked surprisingly happy and welcoming.

After several hours of intense walk, when my friend’s shirt was already black, rather than its original grey color, we stopped for some tea at a wooden house. The owner was an old farmer at his late 70s, who would communicate with us with the help of our guide, although with relevant limitations. This old man was laughing all the time and had a very enthusiastic smile, regardless of not having any teeth. He was the happiest of all. I double checked to see if he had any weed in his plantation, but apparently his joy was authentic.

He offered us some tea, very good indeed, and something similar to peanuts (which I regretted having tasted, as they were unpalatable). Our guide told us this man never left his village (more than 70 years!), so his entire life was based on his plantation (and the disgusting peanuts that would keep his body moving), tea and some differentiated action, which resulted in his 12 kids.

We were all enjoying so much the presence of the old man, we ended up having to rush out of his house to look for a proper bush to unload the respectable amount of tea we had with our newly found idol.

So after this inspiring visit, I asked myself, how can we be happier in the luxurious world we live in? I don’t know, I’m not a shrink, nor a communist and I have a lot of materialistic wishes in life as well. But it was rather revealing that a man could be so happy, living with so little. He never saw a Ferrari or a fancy apartment in his life, all he wanted was the minimum to maintain his life, he subsisted, he ate peanuts. However, he smiled more times during our short visit than any other man I’ve seen in the rich european countries.

I guess you shouldn’t be so frustrated or sad due to an unfulfilled dream of buying the coolest car or a pair of Louboutin shoes, because in essence, you don’t really need all of that to be happy.

In fact, as this old man showed me, we could very well live with just peanuts.

                             Picture: Me and friendly monks in Bagan, Myanmar

                             Picture: A kid scratching his little balls in Inle Lake, Myanmar

                            Picture: They eat a lot of peanuts everyday. Inle Lake, Myanmar

The Erg Chebbi and my life as an investment banker

The Sahara is one of the coolest places on earth. So when I found out in Marrakech that one of the highest dunes of the desert was only a few hundrend kilometers away, I had to check it out. Again, booking with one of the local tourist agencies was a rip-off, so I decided to do it my way. I bought a bus ticket and left at night for a 12 hours drive to Merzouga, entertained by the sound of muslim prayers along the way.

I arrived early in the morning and checked-in at a Riad, located at a short distance from Erg Chebbi (an erg with dunes that could reach 150 meters). Observing through the window of my room, it looked imposing, massive! I woke up at noon, had my breakfast and went straight to the dunes. The receptionist at the Riad told me I had to climb all the way to the top of the Erg Chebbi to have the real view of the Sahara.

I disregarded the fact that it was 1 pm (the time when the sun is almost right on top of our heads) and left for my journey to the top of the dunes alone, carrying only a 350 ml bottle of water. As I walked on the direction of the highest dune, I entered the sandy area and it seemed like it was going to be an easy task. After 200 meters of walking, I started to feel that the sand was a little too hot. I ignored that and kept walking.

As I walked further, my feet started to burn and I had to alternate my balance on my havaianas, to avoid sinking in the sand. The sun was at its full power and I had to take my shirt off to protect the top of my head (specially the parts where there's no hair left). I used part of the water to provide immediate relief to my feet. I then started to walk over the hilly part.

As my climb became progressively more difficult and the heat began to torture my conscience, images of my years as an investment banker began to pop in my mind. Each time the top of the dune fell, and my feet touched the deeper part of it, where the sand was hot as hell, I felt just like when a Director found a typo in one of my presentations or a wrong number in my model.

When I looked back to my Riad and it was too far to return, but the top of the dunes too close to give up, I remembered when I was 3 days straight without any sleep and I had to finish a major presentation for the next few hours, with the promise of a weekend off afterwards.

The mosquitos that were trying to bite me all the time felt like...well I’m not going to say who they remembered me of, but they were there, trying to take little pieces of me and making the way a bit more tough.

When I finally got to the top, I was severely dehydrated and full of blisters in my feet. But I saw the most amazing view of my entire life. At the top of the 150 meters dune, the greatness and quietness of the Sahara were incredible revigorating. It was too beautiful to be true. Although I can’t deny that the lack of H20 in my blood might have had an hallucinative effect in my brain, making it all look even more stunning, but who cares?

The same way I felt when it was time to leave my investment banking life. I was fat as a Buda and carried bags under my eyes so big and dark, that people very often taught I was wearing sunglasses. But the most incredible experience of my life was about to begin. And you know what? I had the opportunity to work with a lot of amazing people, learned a whole bunch of interesting stuff and made some good money along the way too, so it wasn’t all that painfull and, at the end, it paid off.

I guess in life nothing comes for free. We have to face a big Erg Chebbi each time we go after a dream and tolerate our feets getting burned during our climb, if we want to put our hands on the big prize.

At least, this is the way I see it now.

                            Picture: Watching the sunset over the dunes. Sahara, Morocco

Cliff jumping in Thailand: when is the right time to be a pussy?

I’m afraid of heights and I’m not shy about it. During my round the world trip I had to deal with my fear a couple of times. I usually had two options: i) face my fear and go for it; or ii) give up, run away and be nicknamed pussy by my friends. I usually choose option one, but sometimes, I later found out, it is better to trust your fear and just give up. This time was in Thailand.

If there’s a paradise on earth, Ko Phi Phi, Thailand, must be it. An amazing island in the middle of the pacific where backpackers from all over the world meet, party and, very often, try dangerous stuff. I got there with two of my Brazilian friends and we were particularly (not me, really) excited with one of the many tourist attractions that were being sold by the locals: the 20 meters cliff jump.

Going with one of the many local tourist agencies seemed pretty damn expensive, so we improvised. We asked for one of the boat drivers at the shore how much he would charge us to go there. It wasn’t much, so we made a deal. We would go the next morning.

Heading to the cliff, my friends started to display some kind of discontent or fear about what we were about to do. But this time, I don’t know why, I wasn’t feeling that afraid, maybe I’ve changed.

The boat was very slow, I could swim faster than that, but we got there anyway. The cliff seemed high and nobody was there at the time. Weird.

We climbed the rocks with a good degree of difficulty and we got to the top. My friends were shaking and we started to discuss who would go first. “Not me” “If you jump, I promise I’ll go after you!” we said to each other. We decided to double check with the boat driver “is it safe to jump?” I said; “it is up to you!” he replied. What the hell was this guy talking about? This cliff is famous and everybody comes here, it must be safe. “Is it deep enough?” I tried again; “just jump!” he answered.

I looked down, to the beatiful dark blue sea and I felt this was my time to be brave. I threw my havaianas and I saw it take about 4 seconds to reach the surface. Damn! It was high. As the place was very rocky and I was afraid of hiting my head I jumped the furthest I could. This ended up not being a very good Idea, as I lost my balance during the flight and hit with my back on the surface. It felt like concrete.

My friends shouted “good boy! How was it?!”; “don’t jump! Take me to the hospital!” I replied. My back was hurting a lot and I could barely swim. The boat driver was pretty insensitive and denied me his help, so I had to swim 10 meters to reach the boat. My friends went down and jumped from the 6 meters cliff, the place for the pussies. But this time they were right.

We all went to a local hospital, which lacked the proper equipment to analyse my back (x-ray, for example). A muslim lady touched my spine with her hands and diagnosed “its just muscle pain, you didn’t break anything”. She called a tuk-tuk (a motorcicle with a cabin) and we drove back to my hostel on a rocky road, where each bounce felt like a stab in my back.

I had to take pills and my friends had to help me with my backpack (there’s always a positive side) each time we changed cities, for about 2 weeks. After this day, I will always try to be rational each time I face my fears.

Sometimes its just better to be a pussy and keep going with your life.

Picture: Ko Phi Phi's famous cliff

The japanese saint

I said goodbye to my friends at the hostel and rushed to the metro to get a train to the most agitaded area of Kyoto, where I would meet a japanese friend. I was late. At the station, I started looking at the metro map and had a really hard time finding my way. Some japanese stranger probably noticed that and asked me: "excuse me, do you need help? where do you want to go?"; "I want to go to Shijo" I replied; "no, where do you want to go?" he asked me again. I had no clue what the hell this guy was up to. Luckly, rape didn't cross my mind at the time, otherwise I would've ran straight away. "I want to go to Bar Ing to meet a friend" I answered; "oh, ok, come!".

So this stranger bought a ticket as well, started walking and making signs to follow him. When we were at the metro he tried really hard to have a conversation with me, but honestly his english was poor, so we exchanged a limited amount of information. Anyway, he loved when I told him I was from Brazil; "good football!" he said with a big smile in his face.

When we arrived at Shijo station, he asked me to follow his lead and we walked all the way to the bar, where my friend was waiting for me.

That was it. "ok, goodbye", he said. My japanese protector then returned to Shijo station, without asking anything back (and yes! I didn't get raped). He was truly a saint.

Coming from the West, where everybody is so selfish and individualized, this was a very interesting experience for me, chocking not to say the least. This stranger paid for a ticket to go to a place he wasn't going at first, just to help a disoriented foreigner and, afterwards, left without asking anything in exchange.

This is a very simple story, but it makes me think a lot everytime I remember it. I guess that's the magic of travelling, specially if you visit a place where there's a relevant amount of cultural chock involved.

So maybe is time you rethink your next travel destination and try something different! You will be surprised.

Picture: Kyoto subway map

Picture: A "do not rape" sign at the Kyoto subway