One of the most miserable travel experiences happened to me when I was in Mexico. It was December 1973 and I had just spent an action packed week in Puerto Vallarta over the Christmas Holidays. As this was my first real trip to Mexico – previously I had only traveled to the border towns of Tijuana and Juarez – I decided to extend my stay an extra 14 days to explore the country. The plan was to take the bus from Puerto Vallarta on Mexico’s Pacific Coast to Merida located in the Yucatan Peninsula. The bus trip itself was very enjoyable as I got a chance to see Mexico’s many tropical landscapes – from the jungles of the Pacific Coast to the mountainous interior of central region to the lowland rainforests of the Yucatan Peninsula. To break up the long journey I stopped over in Guadalajara and Mexico City – Mexico’s two largest cities - and on the long final leg from Mexico City to Merida I layed over in Villahermosa, the capital city of the state of Tabasco.

After a long and arduous 14-hour bus ride from Mexico City, the bus arrived in Villahermosa at about 9:00PM. As soon as I stepped off the bus, I started sweating bullets. The weather was unbelievably hot and muggy even though late December is traditionally one of the more comfortable times of the year. In addition to the unbearable humidity, the air was thick with the smell of oil. Built on top of reclaimed swampland, just recently Villahermosa had become a major oil refinery center and this Gulf city was becoming a real boomtown.

Checking into a budget hotel in the middle of the downtown area, I was immediately greeted by a couple of bloodthirsty mosquitoes when I entered my room. To say that the room was infested with mosquitoes is an understatement. Walking outside into muggy evening air, I decided to look for accommodations at a first class hotel – I had to escape from the mosquitoes. I didn’t have much luck, as all the better (and more expensive) hotels were all booked up. That first night in Villahermosa was total misery – my room was like a sauna, and it seemed that the whole night I was occupied with swatting mosquitoes. I must have killed at least 20 of those bloodsuckers.

The following morning, I checked out of my hotel. Hopping into a taxi and asked the driver to take me to a decent hotel. Driving along the highway which leads out of town, I ended up at a lowrise bungalow affair which was surrounded by profuse tropical vegetation. After touring La Venta, Villahermosa’s famous archaeological park in the afternoon, I returned to my hotel. I didn’t fare any better in my new surroundings, as the problem with mosquitoes was just as bad as the first night. After another sleepless night of swatting mosquitoes and getting sucked, the next morning I was enormously relieved to catch a bus out of Villahermosa to Merida. Needless to say, I will not return any time soon.

(Continued from Part I) January 1996, Mali, West Africa After the minibus broke down about 2/3 into the journey from Bamako to Mopti, I was stranded with 15 other passengers along the roadside somewhere in the boonies of the Upper Niger Delta of Mali. Looking into the darkness surrounding me, I could see nothing but silhouettes in the distance of what could pass as primitive huts and the scrubby vegetation of the African desert. At least I wasn’t alone.

About 90 minutes later, the bus driver was able to flag down a large dilapidated sedan that was headed to Mopti. Opening the door, the driver motioned for me to get into the cab. Looking inside the cavernous rear compartment, I was shocked at what I saw – squished together on three narrow planks of wood were at least 17-18 passengers, packed as tightly as a can of sardines. Like many bush taxis in Africa, the upholstery had been removed as the back of the car had been retrofitted to accommodate as many people as possible.

After a moment of hesitation, I stepped into the car, laid my one piece of luggage on the floor and squished myself between two bodies. I had placed myself in a very precarious situation by riding in this ramshackle vehicle with so many passengers - the alternative however was to sleep outside in the desert until daybreak. Enduring the extreme discomfort of the seating arrangements and the various body odors that permeated the air, I gritted my teeth as the bush taxi slowly proceeded towards Mopti. At about 3:00AM (4 hours later) the bush taxi arrived in New Mopti. As the passengers unraveled their bodies and got out of the car, they made a prayer to Allah for their safe deliverance. Thank G_D - the ordeal was over!

Old town Mopti - my destination - was about another 30 minutes away across the bridge. Due to a recent series of armed robberies on the bridge it was too dangerous to cross at this late hour. Apparently I would have to complete my journey to my destination in the morning. Fortunately, I was able to find a comfortable room at a fairly modern hotel and slept like a log until about 11:00AM at which time I caught the scheduled bus to old town.

On my return from Mopti to Bamako, I rode the first class bus. The seats were comfortable and the trip took only 9 hours. Viva la differencia!

One of the most harrowing travel experiences that I have ever had took place in Mali in January 1996. Leading up to this, I had to deal with a rogue taxi at the Bamako airport who tried to hijack me (and gave me a good scare), and during my stay in Bamako I had to shake off some very persistent touts who were trying to attach themselves to me. Read on for my riveting story…..

From Bamako, the next stop on my itinerary was Mopti, an important port town and tourist center located on the upper Niger River delta. Upon the recommendation of the man who owned a crafts concession at the hotel, I decided to make this trip by minibus rather than the large motorcoach. It was a decision that I lived to regret. After being dropped off at the transportation center in Bamako, I boarded a large minibus with a capacity of 25 passengers. The bus delayed its departure for about 1 1/2 hours until it had a full load. Fortunately I arrived early enough to get a seat towards the front of the bus; as we left the terminal at approximately 11:30AM, I braced myself for the long 12 hour journey to Mopti. Hallelujah, at last I was on my way! Keep in mind, I was the only tourist on the bus - the rest of the passengers were Malians. Even though the official language in Mali is French, most of the passengers talked in their native African tongue which was completely incomprehensible to me

About 4 hours into the trip, we pulled into another large town where I had to board another minibus. Continuing the journey, the day soon became night and gazing out the window, the stark desert landscape of the African Sahel appeared very surreal in the darkness. The ride was somewhat uncomfortable but bearable, and throughout the journey the bus’s engine was making some unusual noises. At about 9:30PM, the driver made an announcement in French that I didn’t quite understand, but from all the commotion and groaning from the other passengers, I surmised that there was something wrong with the bus. Sure enough, the driver pulled the bus over to the side of the road and had all the passengers get off into the darkness of the warm desert night. As far as I could tell, we were in the middle of nowhere. To be continued….

While swimming about a ¼ mile offshore at Tenacatita Beach in Mexico, I happened to observe through my goggles some small semi-transparent floating creatures that looked like minuscule jellyfish. Not coincidentally, I felt a mild burning sensation on my arms, legs and upper torso as I navigated through these waters – apparently these creatures stung me repeatedly. Getting back to shore, I examined myself - it seems that a rash (small red bumps) had developed in the affected areas, especially on my arms and legs. After telling Raquel at Posada Tonala what happened to me, she said that the Spanish word for these little creatures was Mal agua, which literally means ‘bad water’. She suggested that I squeeze lemon juice or apply human urine to the affected parts, but I only laughed at her suggestions and did nothing. By the next morning, the rash disappeared. Just another day at the beach…

January 1996 Bamako, Mali After a short flight from Abidjan, Ivory Coast, I arrived on a balmy evening at the airport in Bamako, Mali. It was sometime after 8:00PM. After deplaning, I picked up my baggage and proceeded to go to the immigration checkpoint. I was little disconcerted to discover that there were no queues - it was sort of a free for all as people were jostling with each other to get to the immigration booth. I guess this is the way they do things in Mali. Finally, after a little pushing and shoving of my own, I got through and cleared immigration.

Walking out into the loading area and the warm desert night, a thick haze blanketed the airport. The atmosphere was surreal. While surveying the scene and pondering my next move, I accidentally let down my guard and put my luggage on the ground. Before I could blink an eye, two young guys snatched my bags and threw them into the trunk of a dilapidated black car. Trying to apprehend these jokers, I was shoved into the back seat and the car sped off. Scared and frightened, I tried to communicate with the driver and his cohorts to no avail as they spoke little or no English. For a moment, I thought was kidnapped. But that apparently wasn’t their game – the driver made an attempt to find out what hotel I wanted to go to. I protested that this wasn’t a licensed taxi and asked to be let out. In actuality, it was a rogue taxi. The driver insisted in broken English that he was going to take me to my hotel, so don’t worry. I was at their mercy - the only other choice I had was to jump out of the car.

About 45 minutes later, the taxi arrived at my hotel which was situated smack dab in the middle of downtown Bamako. After getting out of the car the driver tells me $60USD. I shook my head and told him ‘hell no’. We took the dispute to the hotel front desk. Fortunately, there was someone that understood English. I tell the clerk how I was literally abducted at the airport by this rogue taxi and despite these circumstances, I was willing to pay the driver the normal taxi fare but I refuse to get ripped off (The clerk tells me that the normal fare was about 15USD). After a heated discussion with the driver, the hotel clerk turns around to me and tells me to pay the driver what he wants in order to avoid any further problems. Shaking my head in disbelief, I reluctantly handed the driver the monies and tell him to get lost! Despite the fact that I was abducted and ‘robbed’ by this rogue taxi, arriving at my hotel safe and sound was probably worth the 60USD!

On my first day in ‘Mi Paraiso Secreto”, I took a stroll from my hotel to the beach, a short block and ½ from my hotel. Looking across the crescent shaped bay, the lovely gray sand beach seemed to go on forever. A popular weekend destination with Mexicans from Guadalajara (the capital of Jalisco), on this Saturday morning, La Playa was especially busy as it was part of a 3 day holiday weekend for all of Mexico - on Monday, all banks, schools and government offices were closed in honor of one the heroes of the Mexican Revolution. About 150 yards ahead of me, the beach was blanketed by a sea of plastic tables with attached beach umbrellas and chairs fronting the many beachside restaurants, most of them occupied by Mexican tourists and a smattering of gringos. Looking at the crowd of tourists ahead of me, it dawned on me that ‘My Secret Paradise” has not been a secret for some time now. Many Gringos in particular ‘discovered’ this small beach town after the big earthquake and Tsunami of 1995 walloped this area.This devastating event made the front pages of many newspapers around the world and put this town on the map.

Undeterred by the sea of tourists ahead of me, I eyed some reclining lounge chairs shaded by some large beach umbrellas just a short distance away. Vacationing gringos occupied a couple of them but at least 3 lounge chairs were vacant. As this setup was exactly what I was looking for , I decided to claim one of the lounge chairs and ‘chill out’ for the remainder of the day. I hesitated a bit after reading the small sign on the fence, which warned that the lounge chairs and beach umbrellas were for the exclusive use of the guests of the establishment, which in this case looked like a handful of beachside condos. After a little debate inside my head, I plopped down on the lounge chair and proceeded to pull out my beach novel of choice, Skinny Dip by Carl Hiaasen. I figured that the odds of being getting evicted for slumming on this private property were very slim as nobody would come out and check, and if they did, I would probably go undetected, as All Gringos look alike, don’t they?

About an hour passed by as I immersed myself into my novel. Periodically, I was approached by a handful of beach vendors offering their wares that ranged from pastries, cheap jewelry to hammocks and serapes. The vendors were not that aggressive;after telling them ‘No ahora’ (not now), they quietly moved on. By far, the most popular beach vendor was selling ice cream from a bicycle cart to the accompaniment of the popular instrumental tune, Alley Cat (circa 1962). To the left of me were a small group of young men who were very loud and annoying; I was tempted to tell them to ‘Shut the F**K up’, but common sense prevailed and I pretended to ignore them.

About an hour into my relaxation, a middle aged Mexican gentleman with a very surly look on his face approached me, who I deduced was the manager of the beach apartments, and in no uncertain terms he told me to get lost, take a hike. I thanked him for his hospitality. For a moment, I thought about offering him some money to rent the lounge chair for the day but common sense prevailed and I walked away quietly. Hmm, Now I always thought that all gringos looked alike; I guess I was mistaken.

While I was in the idyllic mountain resort of Sangkhlaburi for five days, I thought I would break up the monotony of “just doing nothing” and going on one of those all day ‘mini trek-adventures” which are very much the rage these days in rural Thailand. The tour was like a rollercoaster ride - it started out very slow, gradually picking up steam before hitting a stretch of many twists and hair-raising turns, then quietly easing back to the starting point.

It all started innocently enough as I boarded the small motorized boat with about 14 other passengers - mostly Thais from Bangkok on holiday plus two German dudes who I didn’t speak a word to the entire tour and a friendly Spanish couple in their late 30’s - for an easy boat ride across Vajiralongkorn Lake and Reservoir , the largest body of water in Thailand. Before landing somewhere on the opposite bank of the lake, we passed a partially submerged temple. Upon reaching landfall, we walked through the bush to a Karen Hilltribe Village where we had lunch and were entertained by a group of young children playing a game which resembled soccer. From there, members of the tour group hopped on the back of some elephants, as our mahouts navigated thru the rough, bushy terrain and across a fast moving stream. So far it was a piece of a cake

After disembarking the elephants, the adventure ‘really became an adventure” as we had to navigate across several streams with some relatively modest currents, being careful to avoid falling as we walked across some rather slippery rocks. A little treacherous but manageable. Several of the tour members fell into the stream, getting drenched in the cold water before being pulled up by some of our tour guides. I nearly fell several times, but I caught my balance each time and managed to complete this part of the journey unscathed. To be honest with you I was concerned somewhat about my gimpy right leg and about losing my prescription glasses (with sunglass clip-ons) more than anything else.

The adventure shifted into high gear on our bamboo raft trip on a jungle river. All the tour participants were asked to grab a bamboo pole and help our tour guides-raftsmen navigate. The river was by no means calm - there were places where there were some relatively modest rapids. Several times, I caught myself slipping on the bamboo floor of the raft but righted myself just in time. As my raft was the last one to depart, we brought up the rear for the most of the journey and I had the opportunity to watch several of the tour participants being thrown overboard. Despite the dunkings and spills, everybody was in good humor as evidenced by all the smiles and the laughter.

My oarsman was a rather reckless driver as he misnegotiated some rapids and ran into the riverbank, launching me overboard into the cold river waters. Fortunately my glasses remained on my nose, but I lost one of my flip-flops in the process; one of the young boys who accompanied us dove into the water and retrieved it for me. Some ten minutes later, my oarsmen rammed the raft into a clump of vegetation that jutted out from the riverbank. During this 2nd collision, my gimpy right leg went through two of the bamboo slats. Somewhat shocked about this the latest turn of events, I quickly righted myself, pulling my leg on top of the raft. Escaping serious injury (I could have broken my leg), I was asking myself - What was my driver smoking? I’ve read somewhere that we have tendency to laugh after averting near disaster - Well here I was laughing my ass off after nearly getting wiped out! Needless to say I was quite relieved when the bamboo-rafting segment was finally over - my right leg was still intact, I still had my prescription glasses and I still had both of my flip-flops. On the boat trip back to the hotel, it began to dawn on me how lucky I was to survive this adventure all in one piece.
The Great Hanumann lived to die another day!

Factoid: Formerly known as Khao Laem Lake it was recently renamed after Crown Prince Maha Vajiralongkorn

Although I had heard so much about Panthip Plaza, the so-called electronics mecca in Bangkok, I was totally disappointed after my first (and my last) visit there. First of all, Panthip is one of the ugliest shopping emporiums that I have ever been to. In this multilevel technozoo (I believe there are at least 8 floors), there are countless shops and makeshift stalls selling a wide variety of electronic goods - digital cameras, computer parts and components, software, memory cards and chips, cell phones, and it seemed that every store was selling virtually the same merchandise, all at prices seemingly 25% higher than the United States. I went to Panthip specifically to buy a 512MB Sandisk ultra secured digital card for my camera; after checking numerous stores, I found that only one place carried it albeit for about $90 USD, which was about $35 more than what I paid in the states. To add to my disenchantment, like the Emporium, there’s some loud disco and trashy pop music blaring inside the place. I left Panthip without buying anything and the schlocky ambiance of totally drained me. I ended up going back to the Emporium and purchased my digital film at an electronics store there for the same inflated price albeit with a lot better ambiance. I guess you could say, that my Panthip adventure was a good experience, in the sense that I could say that I was there.

Bottom line, I wasted almost an entire afternoon on this shopping ordeal between the Emporium and Panthip Plaza, when I could have been getting a full body massage and shampoo at Sazankas instead, and reading a sexy novel by the poolside afterwards. Oh well…

While I don’t consider myself accident prone, I have been involved in a number of somewhat freakish accidents during many years of traveling. Although I’m not a hardcore adventure traveler, I am definitely not your “conventional couch potato recreational traveler” either. I like to run, swim and participate in nature hikes and sometimes I go off the beaten track. All told during my 30 years in traveling around the world, I have been involved in four mishaps that necessitated a visit to the doctor or to a local medical clinic.

In my last post, I told the story of my Crash course in riding a motorbike in Thailand. From what I gather, there are quite a few tourists in Thailand who have been involved in a motorbike accident, either as the driver or as the passenger. Fortunately most of these accident victims were able to escape serious injury but I have I have heard of instances where somebody was seriously hurt - breaking a leg or two, suffering internal injuries or a concussion. By all means, if you’re on a motorcycle, you definitely take your life into your own hands if you don’t wear a safety helmet. My educated guess is that the #1 tourist related accident in Thailand involves riding a motorcycle.

My first mishap took place in the late 1980s in Montego Bay, Jamaica. While swimming at the famous Dr. Cave’s Beach, I inadvertently rubbed up against some fire coral. Minutes later, It felt as if my whole left side and my abdomen were on fire. I was in excruciating pain; with nerves of steel I managed to swim back to the shore, whereupon a friend of mine took me to the local clinic. After waiting in the lobby for what seemed like an eternity, a doctor finally examined me and prescribed some painkillers. The pain and discomfort miraculously abated by early evening.

My next accident took place in Barva Volcano National Park in Costa Rica in 1990 - While hiking up a muddy trail to the mirador (lookout point), I lost my balance and upon falling, struck my head just above my left eye socket on a protruding branch. The fall opened up a large gash and blood starting pouring out; if I had not been wearing glasses, I could have lost my left eye as the glasses diverted the blow. Hiking back to the ranger station at the entrance, I washed the wound with soap and water and I was given some linen cloth to wrap around my head and the wound. With the bleeding more or less stopped, I proceeded to walk back to the highway and tried to flag a ride back to my hotel, a good 10 miles away, As it was dark already and there was very little traffic, I was not very successful in getting a ride, so I gutted it out and walked in the darkness. Finally about 2 miles away from the hotel, some local picked me up and drove me the rest of the way. The next day, after flying to the popular beach resort of Tamarindo on the Pacific Coast, I went to a local clinic and received medical attention - they washed out the wound thoroughly, gave me some oral antibiotics and a tetanus shot.

While at Playa Grande Beach in 1999 near the resort town of Tamarindo on Costa Rica’s Pacific Coast, I was running on the beach late in the afternoon towards sunset and soon thereafter it got quite dark. After I finished my exercise, I tried to navigate back to my hotel. As it was pitch dark and there was very little lighting, I admittedly lost my bearings and I had to guess where the entrance to the hotel was. Apparently my guess was wrong, as I stumbled into a barb wired fence and slashed open my left shin. Ouch. It seems that I missed the entrance of the hotel by a good 50 yards or so. After getting the wound cleaned up by a member of the hotel staff, later that night I hobbled around on a turtle watching expedition. Next day, I went to a medical clinic, where they cleaned out the wound for possible infection, gave me some oral antibiotics and a tetanus shot.

Call me crazy, but reminiscing about these little mishaps of mine sometimes makes me want to laugh. Maybe it’s because I have been so lucky as to avoid serious injury.

In a small rural country like Thailand, a motorbike is a relatively efficient and cost effective way to get around. Especially in the countryside and in the resort areas, I see many Thai people -young mothers with their small children in tow, middle aged and elderly ladies and adolescent boys(and girls) - riding motorbikes to go to the market, run their errands, etc. Now, I am not talking about a big and powerful motorcycle like a Harley Davidson, but a smaller, relatively less powerful vehicle about the size of a bicycle. It’s kind of disturbing to see some of the local people riding without a helmet; as we all know that can be very dangerous. After all, look what happened to Ben Roethlisberger, Pittsburgh Steelers’s starting quarterback. Many farangs in the tourist areas like Phuket, Koh Chang and Koh Samui also get around by motorbike.. Let’s face it - it is a lot faster than a bicycle and cheaper than hiring taxis over 3-4 day interval.

As someone who has never been behind the wheels of a motorbike, I admit to being very apprehensive of learning how to ride one. In Thailand, I have hired motorcycle taxis to take me around both in Bangkok and in the resort areas; even as a passenger it is somewhat precarious, given the frequency of accidents involving motorbikes especially in Bangkok. We all know however, there is a big difference between being a passenger and the driver

About 1 ½ years ago while I was in Thailand, I decided it was time for me get “wet behind the ears”, so to speak. I remember my anxiety about learning how to drive a car or how to swim; however I was much younger then. Of course, I mastered driving a car (albeit I do not drive a stick) and I consider myself a relatively proficient swimmer. However, the older you get, it seems that there is considerably more resistance in learning something new, hence my trepidation of learning to ride a motorbike. I remember telling myself - if all these middle-aged ladies and children could ride the motorbike so effortlessly, then why couldn’t I? To be honest with you, I was quite envious of these little old ladies….

While I was in Soppong, a small village cum resort in the mountains of Mae Hong Son Province, I decided to take action. I told the owner of the guesthouse where I was staying that I wanted to learn how to ride a motorbike. He volunteered to show me the ropes, telling me how easy it was to ride a motorcycle. The owner, a middle age transplanted Californian, proceeded to give ‘a crash course in riding a motorbike’ ( call it Motorbike 101) on the hotel driveway. He demonstrated to me how to handle the controls - the clutch, the brakes and the accelerator. As I got on one of the smaller bikes, I felt there was something was amiss - I wasn’t wearing any shoes. This troubling thought circulated in my mind, but I didn’t act upon it and neither did ‘my instructor” say anything to me, as he was barefoot as well. Oh well…

About 10 minutes into my training session, my bare feet slipped off the brakes and the small machine propelled forward against the barb wired fence. In addition to some minor bumps and bruises, some abrasions on the soles of my feet, I opened up a pretty nasty gash near my left elbow and blood was pouring out like a running faucet. I was a real bloody mess
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After the accident, the owner’s wife washed and cleaned up the wound and applied some antiseptic to it. Later in the afternoon, despite the fact that my feet were scraped up a bit, I jogged to the nearby Medical clinic about 1-½ miles away. Waiting for about 15 minutes or so, a nurse examined me and I was given a temporary tetanus shot, received some oral antibiotics and the wound was stitched up. Upon being discharged, I was on my merry way and ran back to my guesthouse. Call me a crazy guy, but I’m a runner….

After this little incident, I decided it to play it safe and stay with something I was more comfortable with - like riding a bicycle. A week later, after getting the stitches removed, there was a prominent little scar. Upon meeting other tourists and new Thai friends, I would show them my scar and joke about how I got a permanent souvenir from the Land of Smiles. Often, they would turn around and show me their motorbike scars and we would then trade accident stories.

Fast forward to the present, the scar is now barely visible.