manunderstress.com

Dude, why didn’t anyone tell me about currywurst? Its like the best hotdog meal ever.

Only have a minute here…in Hamburg now. In Berlin highlight would have been the trip out to Beelitz Heilstätten, the partially abandoned former miltary hospital some 60km outside the city. I had the good fortune to meet some very hospitable Berliners ahead of time who took me out there. Would have been difficult without them. They had just finished filming a Tom Cruse movie and one of the buildings (to the the dismay of photographers in search of decay) had been painted and cleaned and all these props to look like a Nazi hospital. The guy watching the building let us in and was pretty proud to have been Cruse’s bodyguard. The other buildings were nice and decrepit however. What an amazing place. I’lll have pictures up in a few weeks, lets just say it was basically an urban exploration utopia.

Minutes are up…bye

Well, that’d be cool wouldn’t it? If I was heading off on some intergalactic adventure. Fantasies aside, I’m headed to Europe, with Magnapop, for a couple of weeks. If you’re nearby…yo- check it!

Tuesday August 7
HAMBURG, DE
Molotow club

Wednesday August 8
JOURE, NL
Café de Stam club
Free show !

Thursday August 9
ZICHEM, BE
Den Hemel club

Friday August 10
LOKEREN, BE
Fonnefeesten festival

Saturday, August 11th
WATERINGEN, NL
Waterpop festival

AND…

ANTWERPEN, BE
Petrol ‘Summer Night City’

Sunday, August 12
ELL, NL
Ell Nino festival

So planning for a European jaunt this summer I did a little research and found some decent discount airfare sites. It had been a while since I really searched for some new ones. While there are a few discount international deals, there’s nothing like RyanAir or EasyJet in Europe. Orbitz, Travelocity and Expedia suck, especially for international travel. They are dead to me, forever. I’ve long been suspicious of them and for good reason: they do not find the cheapest flights!

Kayak.com seems to offer the best across the board search for international flights, from just about every source imaginable. Vayama.com, the coolest web 2.0 airfare search around, impressed me with the cheapest flight I could find, and a snazzy-ass website, but then failed the check out process at the very end with an obscure javascript error. It’s in Beta, and they obviously mean it. If they ever get things working, they’ll have no problem taking over the market. Farecast.com is certainly slick too, and promises to tell you if you should buy now or wait…if your flight is in their database. Strike 2 for web 2.0. Ultimately I booked though Fareline.com who also checked out cheapest via Kayak.com. I’m not sure how these would stack up against airbrokers.com and airtreks.com for multi-leg round the world type deals. I used airbrokers.com in 2001 and circumnavigated the globe in 6 flights for $1200. Same that I paid for a round trip to Europe this August.

Within Europe, I found flycheapo.com to be the most comprehensive list of discount flights.

Anything I’ve missed?

Traveling through Greece years ago, I met a Swede who spent his summers partying on the Greek Isles…funded by his government’s unemployment program. What was his disability, you wonder? Like every young and able bodied man, it was simply not wanting to work. So he snookered the system and collected his dough, came to Greece where he drank ouzo all night, did a bizarre Jim Morrison impersonation routine at a local bar, and slept on the beach all day. At the time I thought, man, what an awesome government, because I too was young, and didn’t want to work. How fair is it that some get a free ride while others don’t? Sweden, a country often cited as being the poster child for how big government schemes “work,” has it’s share of problems, and lecherous “disability” bums are among them.

Earlier this year, police in Sweden’s capital city Stockholm investigated the local chapter of the Hell’s Angels biker gang for suspected benefit fraud, because 70% of the gang were on extended sickness benefits. The same doctor had certified them all as suffering from depression.

Moral of the story: if the government builds it, someone will abuse it. And who suffers? Everyone not partying in Greece, or riding with the Hell’s Angels.

While I am back and allegedly “functioning” as per normal, doing all the day to day things (way, way too many things), this trip has massively stimulated the ancient appetites within me for long-term non-agenda traveling, mostly for the undeniably important serendipity achieved in such loose adventures, the consistent and worthy diversion, and certainly the therapeutic value. I thought I was done with the quit-the-job/hit-the-road routine but perhaps not. Maybe there’s an in-between. I know this: I’m a junkie for subjective, instantaneous, or metaphorical transcendence, personally insightful or simply poetic, the kind you can only find on an empty train at dawn in Italy, upon first seeing a sword swallower in Prague, waking up at 4am to the muezzin’s call to prayer in Tangier, or trying out kitesurfing in Cabarete.

Pictures will be posted soon. Among the day to day things was a computer crash, but no data loss. Also stay tuned because part-time MUS correspondent, part-time Bullfighter, and man without a home, Diego Caballero, has reportedly been to Cuba and may have some stories to tell.

Back blogging here…

Final day in Santo Domingo (09/30) and after going out to the Bateyes to visit The Batey Relief Alliance’s Medical center, I got back to the Zona Colonial and wandered up to San Miguel fiesta where a block party was indeed well under way. Slice of life action here and exactly the untourist scene I was looking for. I started tentatively taking shots from the sidelines, but quickly lost inhibition as some folks were prompting me to take their pictures. A Dominican man who has lived in Boston approaches me and says, be careful with the camera, but don’t worry too much, there are lots of people around. Noted, as always. But this is a street photography goldmine I’ve just stumbled upon. And lots of people, old and young, so the danger radar is not registering much. I get a jugo de cana, sugar cane ground up in the press and poured over ice. There is a cotton candy man with some old school tub spinning the pink wonder-fluff. The world is moved by sugar I realize, ironically, in so many brutal historical ways, but this is where the rubber meets the road, cotton candy in the mouths of children. A clamoring procession of noisy horns and drums is beginning to make its way towards the square. I wait in the sidelines but can’t see much so I venture into the crowd in the hopes of getting good close ups. This is when trouble begins. I notice slowly, as I jockey for position, that a group of kids, teens and smaller bastards, are evolving some loose formation around me. I change direction at first thinking that I’ve just coincidentally wound up in their “area,” but the formation follows me, and then come the hands. Darting hands, with no subtlety whatsoever, towards my pockets and bag. Nothing ridiculously physical yet, but I’m definitely being caged in, and not interested in seeing where it goes. So I see an opening and take off, knowing they weren’t going to follow me into open space, which they didn’t. Kids are the worst kind of trouble. They know not what they do, nor do they give a crap.

I make for the center of the plaza where most of the old people are reclining on benches under trees to reassess the situation. Nothing missing. There’s no real danger here, but keeping out of the crowd is key, as this camera bag has too many easy ways in. A lady comes up to me as I am thinking about this and points to my camera and tells me in Spanish to “secure it.” I know I say, and show her how I have the strap wound around my wrist, but she shakes her head no, and says something I don’t understand but suspect meant “that’s not secure enough.” Light is waning anyway, so I take this as an omen and head back to the hotel. Some lessons learned. I need a smaller bag, perhaps tote less gear, and I should have hired the dude I had as a guide to watch my back. This is entirely possible and the more I think about it, the best way for a person with big cameras yet no big machine gun to do photography work in crowded areas of questionable safety.

Hit Plaza Espana again for the final solo dinner, because I’m too lazy to seek something else out, and it’s nice and breezy and open, palm trees lit up with spotlights, and of course, the Diego Columbus crib. Eating alone doesn’t bother me but it is amusing to see how the whole experience is set up for couples/groups with the guitar romancers and rose pushers and the polaroid shooters. These are all horrible jobs if you ask me. I have the fleeting idea of buying up all the flowers for my table, hiring all of the guitarist crooners to play only for me, and getting the polaroid guys to document it all. I would smoke cohibas and drink the best wine and bask in self-romance. Everyone else would look over and want what I have. I would ignore them of course, having such a immersed time, knowing that really the secret of success is simply perpetuating mystery.

So last Tuesday, after recovering from the bike ride (solid 11 hour sleep) I was ready to resume my destiny with kitesurfing lessons, only it wasn´t very windy in the morning. At noon I met with Natalie and she thought it wasn´t such a great day and we should wait to see if the wind picks up by 3pm. I don´t feel like waiting around though so we decide to wait till tomorrow. Time to explore. I rent a motorbike and head east on C5 towards Playa Grande, which everyone says is the best beach of the bunch within an hour or so. This is THE way to see this coast. Insert helmet cam footage here, there is simply too much to tell. To the south, cows and horses milling about in flat green fields with occasional clusters of lanky white-skinned palms, green mountains rolling in the hazy distance. Tiny pueblos here and there, just a few tin-roofed wooden shacks, mere feet from the road, doors open and people lounging in doorways and on porches. Tables set up right next to the road where domino games are intensely played and watched, two men sitting down hacking coconuts with machetes, a baby playing with a doll right on the edge of the road as motorcycles and buses and trucks speed by. Clotheslines intersecting everywhere outside of concrete shanties, chickens aimlessly jerking about, a turquoise shack with pink plastic chairs out front. An old man who has clearly seen everything that there is to see leans back in his chair just watching whatever is to watch, whatever passes by. I have the feeling this man can teach me everything, but my Spanish isn´t so hot so I don´t stop. Young kids selling fresh fish, strange people trying to flag me down to buy…hmm, whatever. A dusty concrete fishing town with more motorbike exhaust than air. Motorbikes everywhere, honk to be noticed, blinkers are for dorks, these are the rules, chaos is the rule. I stop at various beaches along the way, untouched beaches with seaweed and driftwood, crystal blue waters, and not a soul in sight. I am further now, past Rio San Juan. A baseball game on a ragged diamond. Baseball is huge here. Half finished cinderblock hotels with steel rods like toothpicks sticking out everywhere. I realize that cinderblocks are the the universal building blocks of the world. Can you invest in cinder blocks? This seems wise. Everywhere I am met with smiles, holas, curious eyes, indifference, propositions, skepticism. It is a sweeping panorama to take in, and at least a million bugs try to enter my mouth along the way. I´m a mouth breather so I have to make it a point to keep the thing shut. A man and woman on a motorcycle pull up next me and start talking. My spanish proves worthy of the exchange. Hola. No I’m just going to the beach, I don’t need a girl, thanks anyway. She keeps smiling at me. Yes, yes it is nice to have a girl at the beach, and she´s lovely, but no thanks. I pass them. I realize that this is perhaps the first time I have had a transaction, in spanish, with a pimp, while riding a motorbike.

Playa Grande is a beautiful azul and palm cliffed, with strong waves and absolutely schizo riptides. I go for a quick swim and then head to some shacks at the end of the beach where you can get one of those fried fish plates, head, fins and all, with plantains, avocado and slaw.

Cabarete is a two-wheeled motoconch rice burner of a beach town complete with large expat population, intermittent blackouts, and every adventure excursion imaginable. You want to be on the beach to avoid the noxious engine fumes of carretera 5.

Took a walk along the beach after arriving hoping for a precious me moment of surfy-starry silence, you know, where I’d kick back and contemplate and all would all make sense in the simplest, organic assault of nature, kind of way (no effort on my part being key)…only the moment is preempted by the house-thumping decadence of the bars and discotecas behind me. Maybe some other day. So I settled for a pizza place and a Grande Presidente, por favor, and gave half the pizza to some starving Norweigian kids learning Spanish in Cabarete for three months. Later walked down to the beach party but could only stomach a few minutes before wandering back to the hotel to sleep in cold air.

Today I got the game plan together and booked the 44km mountain bike ride through El Choco. Contemplated renting a motorbike to check out the coast but decided instead to stay here since it was noon already. Inquired about the kite surfing at the place next to the hotel and decided to give a beginner lesson (2hrs) a go. Knowing of course that kite surfing was a difficult thing one couldn’t possibly master in 2 hrs didn’t stop me from daydreaming about all the jumps and rad anti-gravity moves I would bust out as soon as the instructor tossed up the kite, or dropped me out of a helicopter, or however it was going to work. They would be simply shocked at my natural talent, as would I, realizing that I have finally found the thing I was put on the planet to do. Of course, I would have to quit my job and move to Cabarete to become an instructor myself, so I checked out the prices of condos and houses, even a restaurant (side business, insurance in case of injury) on the way back from getting a chocolate milk and a big water. Of course, I may get *so* good even for a man in his thirties, that I become a Tony Hawk of the sport, and get my own clothing line and video games.

Trying not to seem too overexcited at my obvious destiny, I met with Natalie who is from Germany and worked at Sandals for three years and we gathered the gear stuff and made for the beach. Needless to say that after she had demonstrated the kite flying part (of course I’ve flown a kite, that’s kid stuff, right?) I proceeded to nearly decapitate a group of children, Natalie herself, and then crash it on a fence, where some drunk dominican dude was sleeping. Shortly after, she moved me to the smaller, shorter kite, as some children are moved to the smaller, shorter bus. After guiding me on the technique (like boxing she kept saying, not a steering wheel) I began to calm down and “feel” the wind. Its very zen indeed, and after 45 minutes I was starting to get it. “Figure eight above your head,” she said. Still, we did not leave the beach for this lesson number one.

Shout outs to the British dude that convinced me to take the gua-gua (and explained how easy it was since everything is on carretera 5) instead of the taxi from Puerta Plata, and the sweet little Senora that told me when to get off. I don’t think anyone else would have. For the uninitiated, the gua-gua is the most ingenious/economical taxi known to mankind. The idea: get a crappy minivan, pick up anyone on the road that needs a ride, and there is no limit to how many bodies you can stuff inside, or hang out the windows and doors. I counted 26 heads at the highpoint of the 10 mile ride. The long legs were not happy with these arrangements and no doubt the van got a chuckle as the gangly white dude stumbled out of the van with one leg asleep dropping crap everywhere (why am I always dropping things?)

Checked into Hotel Taina and immediately made it out to the beach, where I have discovered my soul-mate in adventure sports, kite surfing. This was clearly invented by tapping into my subconscious. You see, usually in dreams I defy gravity with a skateboard or bicycle (or simply by flying/floating/levitating) that has unusual anti-gravity properties, but mostly it’s me that has “figured out” gravity and how to make it work to my advantage (I’m so fucking ahead of you all in my dreams.) But kite surfing defies gravity altogether by using natural planetary winds. May have to embarrass myself trying this. Look for the youtube comedies that will appear shortly after.

The Zona Colonial tour started out at Parque Colon, where the somewhat “official” hordes of dudes with lamenated “badges” befriend you and then farm you off to who might be the most appropriate underling for the tour. I got Rodolpho, a 40 something dude in a tucked tie-dye, and the choice somewhat dismayed me, since they obviously saw us as a compatible duo. After La Catedral and some other beautiful but barely interesting when lingering too long architectural sites we hit the Haitian area, a slight chaos of sensory overload, boys driving small horses hauling purple sugar cane or crates of fruits and vegetables, street vendors hawking cds and other disposable junklets, aphrodisiac potions, live chicken butchery, the occasional streetside checkers or dominoes matches. Then we ran into Jose Dulac, a famous Dominican drummer I confess I haven’t heard of, who has played all over and lived in Japan and NYC. We talked drums for a while and he told me about this group of drummers called Paleros playing in mata los indios today. There’s a connection, an allegiance even, between drummers, most will admit, the shared modest perspective of towing the line- working your ass off without all the glam at the back of the stage. Wandered around after and finally got in the “zone” for an hour taking photos or so before cabbing it back to hotel luxury. Don’t feel like hitting the Malecon tonight, too much to do in the morning as I am off to Caberete for night-time shark wrestling, star-gliding, and donkey wrangling.