TravelStream™ news feed for member beachbumaxp on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/beachbumaxp en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Mon, 20 Jul 2009 23:23:17 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1248129414/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1248129414/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1248129414/tpod.html Mon, 20 Jul 2009 23:23:17 -0400 ¡Vamos a Barcelona!

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

The title of this entry is appropriate, because to those living in Barcelona, this is the top of the world. Gathering the troops together after my Rip Van Winkle sleep session, we left the hostel and boarded the bus to its highest point in the city. At this point, I was already satisfied with the view and the air felt so clean, free of the sometimes-asphyxiating city pollution. Little did I know that we were only partially there.


Ascending through vintage backstreets and more grass than I had seen in days, the stairs seemed to go on forever. The long blades of grass were brushing against my body as we walked the steep climb. Hanging flowers adorned the sides of the paths as if someone had placed them there individually to make our walk very pleasant. Cox, Claudia, Irene, and a new friend from France, Joe, were all walking ahead while I lagged behind to take loads of pictures, not knowing if I would return here at another time. That's kind of the reason people dislike hiking with me, because I tend to meander slowly and make a slight attempt at capturing the scenes.


Arriving at the peak of Barcelona was breathtaking. The achievement reminded me of the time I summitted Pikes Peak, only hours less climbing time. The view of the city from above was wild for me since I am used to seeing mountains and green landscapes when I go to high points.
Surprising to me was the plethora of graffiti plastered along the low-height cement walls. Everything was concrete. It was almost as if the summit of Barcelona was formerly an underground city, leaving concrete caverns which the locals used to test their graffiti prowice. I could not stop taking pictures, admiring the art and just appreciating the natural appeal of this creative underworld, ironically at the top of the city. To wind down and really take it in, we lied down on a large concrete slab and just shared stories of life's great moments and things we would like to do in the future. At this point, we were on the top of the world.



Heading back home, we stopped by Irene's dad's flat. Her dad was an architect who had lived in numerous places, including New York City. He spoke broken English but gave off a sage-like presence, like an old character in a Quentin Tarantino flick. Puffing away on his cigarette, he spoke of his work in America and how he was sure to remain in Barcelona, despite being raised in Colombia. While he was speaking, I scoffed in my mind at how nonchalant he was about his marijuana plants growing out in the open. "He must be a down-to-earth, seen-it-all kind of guy who had reached the point in his life where he was just going to do the things he had always wanted to do", I pondered.



We took turns longboarding down the steep streets on Irene's skateboard. Our mission was to take the subway to a Mexican restaurant Irene recommended. When we arrived, I question its attempted authenticity when they had no idea what a chimichanga was. But hey, they also had interesting menus!

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1248124342/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1248124342/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1248124342/tpod.html Mon, 20 Jul 2009 18:36:23 -0400 ¡Vamos a Barcelona!

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

Our first business of the day was to take care of yesterday's tattoo issue. That made the overall objective pretty easy: ACTUALLY GET ONE! I snapped a picture of Cox slithering his way into the booth that was too crowded for me to sit in during the process. I told Cox that in celebration of getting his tattoo, I would leap on the giant cat in the plaza located near our hostel. Let's just say we both held up our ends of the bargain.


Having walked everywhere in walkable distance over the past couple of days, we scraped together some Euro and decided to rent bikes. The guy at the bike place made it all worth it, too. He had visited Barcelona from Tazmania, Australia six years prior and never looked back. I am not afraid to say that I am envious. How cool would it be to look over at your friends and say in that thick Aussie accent, "Mates, take care of Down Under for me. I'm staying." He proceeded to tell us about all the corrupt cops in the city and how we should not worry or follow any laws while we are visiting. It was if he was that irresponsible biker dad who tells his son not to worry about wearing a helmet.

Now equipped with the cheapest bikes in all of Spain (faulty brakes included), we did not even make it around the corner before seeing our first spectacle. Nearly hit in the face by his ten-foot joint, we stopped and talked to a Jamaican immigrant who was celebrating Bob Marley's death anniversary by carrying an oversized spliff packed with God-only-knows-what. "On deez day...twenty-nine years ago, the greeeeatest singa of all time ascended into Zion." Enthralled by his interesting eulogy, we felt obliged to purchase his $3-Euro CD. He was so proud of it, too. ""Deez CD was conceived weeth love in Jamaica, refined in Ethiopia, meexed in Germany, and produced heeah in Barcelona. Eet can't get much bettah." What a salesman. I want it.

It was not long before we made it to the beach. We kept laughing at how obvious it was to tell who was from Barcelona and who was a tourist. Since these beaches are topless, you could glance around at the out-of-towners peering ever so discreetly at the ill-clothed women. And you can put me right on that list! As Americans, we are not used to this stuff and no matter how hard we try to avoid it, our selective attention captures us males and renders us helpless against the nude female form. Averting my attention to some more juvenile pleasures, I retasted youth by beating all the young'ns to the top of the jungle gym right on the sand.

We continued biking throughout the city in search of La Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's famous unfinished architectural masterpiece. Closed off to the public, all I could do was marvel in her beauty by lounging in the park directly outside, beer-in-hand. It was really wonderful to see all the activity going on directly outside of the church. Children playing soccer, couples cuddling in the grass, and senior citizens taking part in a bocce ball tournament.

Cox had since befriended another one of the hostel employees, Claudia. So after biking, she announced that she was taking us to a favorite spot of hers, a local deli located right outside the Picasso Museum. Just stepping foot in this place catapulted me to the images of the floors of an intense Wall Street Market. Dozens of people clamoring about, hungery lunchers waving their tickets trying to get the attention of the man behind the counter, and those discarded tickets coating the floor. It seemed as if you were lucky enough to receive a sandwich, you had temporarily won the lottery.

To wash down the taste of my roast beef and bleu cheese sandwich, Claudia dragged us to a nearby chai tea restaurant. I say 'dragged' because I am not your average European tea fan, but I did appreciate their decor and funky menus. "Time to call it a day," I sighed. Eight hours of sleep in three days meant that I was about to crash early and get fifteen hard hours before a good Saturday.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1245811160/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1245811160/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1245811160/tpod.html Mon, 20 Jul 2009 17:18:20 -0400 ¡Vamos a Barcelona!

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

Woozy and delirious from the night before, I stumbled from my hostel bunk to the local panaderia down the block. Shuffling through my Spanish mental word bank on the way, I was able to come up with my food request. I had already committed to a chocolate croissant. All I knew now was that I needed something with electrolytes in it to drink. I disappointed myself when I got to the counter and was only able to muster out, "Pan de chocolate y....un...no, dos...Gatorades." Not bad, huh? I will tell you what was bad, the awful stench of my hostel room when I returned. I could hear the snoring from the outside of the room, and when I looked at what lie on my lower bunk, I was flabbergasted. My first instinct told me it was David Crosby, but then I realized I still was not sober, and that there's really no such thing as a "youth hostel" anymore. The battle to nap had just become twice as difficult.

"Wake up, Rome!" Brian yelled, "I'm getting a tattoo." After having a laugh about the whole David Crosby on the lower bunk thing, we spoke with a tattoo artist about Brian's preconceived design. While trying to film him and the whole process, it struck us as odd how insistent he was that we not film him.

"It is very important to me", the artist persisted with his lispy Castellano accent. After all that bickering, nothing was accomplished. How disappointing. No tattoo at this place; but we would not give up just yet. Killing more time, we ventured around to the outdoor markets, noticing the emphasis they placed on meats that we Americans would consider strange (cow tongues, chicken hearts, etc.). I have to take my hat off to their fruit selection, though. One thing I kept appreciating was the amazing graffiti on the closed doors of public buildings. It was as if they took deep pride in the artwork, and the concept of graffiti had no negative connotations.

Walking through the streets, I noticed some of the monuments and statues in Barcelona were consistent with others in Europe. For instance, Spain had its own "Arc de Triomphe" here in Barcelona, and my natural reaction was to jump off it in a goofy, "Everyone look at me, I'm an obnoxious American" fashion. You see, most tourists like to take their pictures while they stand directly in front of the important object. Not me. No, I jump for joy...off of it, and still get the picture! With no real destination in mind and armed with the video camera, we ended up on the outskirts of the zoo next to some beautiful gothic architecture. Brian walked up and down the stairs, filming, as I took pictures of the gargoyles guarding the green pond. Not long after, I found my next object to leap from, a giant elephant. This statue was particularly interesting, because I was able to launch myself up onto its trunk before jumping to a hard landing. We saw beautiful old school houses and dazzling gardens, but what really got us going was the incredibly bizzare hair dos some of the locals were sporting. Rat tails, Hare Krishnas, Mullets, you bet. Hurled back into the early 1990s, the abandoned hair styles were still alive here in Barcelona

When we saw the rain was heading in, the oversized shopping mall was right there for sanctuary. At this point, we were tired of being labeled as Americans, and took our first step towards dressing more like the locals. Peering into a store with funny clothes, we looked at each other and shouted, "Orange Mocha Frappucino!" Just kidding; this is not Zoolander, but we sure had just as much fun! As if they were bestsellers, there were several pairs of uber-tight yellow jeans just waiting for us to try them on. As for matching shirts, I took the blue seersucker and Brian took the equally-terrible green. Now, we are sure to fit in. Just look how happy we are! Our attempts at hats just left us looking like broke pimps, and at that point, we were ready to head back and have some fun that night.

Earlier that day, Brian had met a Spanish-speaking American from Miami, Eric, who wanted to go out for drinks and dancing with us. In the cab ride, I could not believe how quickly and choppy Eric spoke Spanish to the cab driver! Brian and I just looked at each other, silently acknowledging that we were going to have a great night with this guy as our guide. We sure thought we looked pretty slick and had the night set up while walking up to Club Shoko on the beach, only to be denied entrance by the door man.

"No camisetas, aqui!", he barks. No t-shirts, here; absolutely disappointing. Immediately, Eric came to our rescue, yapping a mile-a-minute at the bouncer. Here I am, once proud because I thought I finally could speak Spanish, and I did not understand one syllable of their conversation. So Brian and I are feeling like jackasses, giving off a semi-smile whenever the bouncer glanced over at us. Suddenly, Eric asks me to show the guy a business card. Thankfully, for just a random case like this one, I brought a few with me. I was in disbelief when, after inspecting my card, the bouncer smiled at us and said, "Bienvenidos!", before giving us coupons for free drinks for the night.

Stunned, I asked Eric how he pulled that off, and he replied, "If anyone asks, you two are hotshot American film directors promoting this place for tourists." Wow.

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1242461520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1242461520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1242461520/tpod.html Tue, 23 Jun 2009 23:14:44 -0400 ¡Vamos a Barcelona!

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

I remember when I got off the plane in Amsterdam, my heart was racing. Not because of fear or nervousness, but because of sheer excitement to be back in Europe for the first time since 2001. That was when I visited Italy with my mom and sister, but at the time, I was too young to appreciate everything like I was about to this time. I had been getting all caught up on my Spanish through Rosetta Stone, only to find out that when I got there, they prefer to speak Catalán in Barcelona, rather than Spanish. Just great...no hablo Catalán.

My only connection now was through my friend, Brian, whom I was only able to reach via email because he did not have a phone. At this point, I was so clueless that I did not even know the name of the hostel where we were staying! The plan was simply to take the autobús to Plaça Catalunya and find Brian "around" 4:30. I can tell you this: there is nothing like the growing anxiety of traveling all the way to Europe on the hopes that your friend will be there to meet you at a place you have never been before. Fortunately, at 4:30 on the dot, there was his smiling face. From the Plaça, it was a quick walk to our hostel, Barcelona Mar.


To get there, we took the infamous Las Ramblas, which proclaims to be the "Most Famous Street in all of Spain." This was also the street that is famous for pick-pocketers and hustlers/drug dealers, you name it. This area of Barcelona has become ground zero for the influx of Indian and Pakistani immigration, which the locals like to blame for the theft issues and other unwanted problems. I might have to agree with them, as every one who offered me "charlie" or other types of hashish appeared to be from that region of the world. Nevertheless, it did not take away from the exciting sights and flea market life that filled the streets en route to our hostel. This was a new experience for me, as I had never stayed in a hostel before. You can thank old German books or Eli Roth´s film for giving me the idea that every hostel was just one large room with a concrete floor concentrated with bunk beds side-to-side. This was not the case at all, I am pleased to say. An automatic, sliding door opened to a lobby area full of computers, TV´s, cooked food, vending machines, and good looking people smiling at me. Not a bad change of impressions!


It was about 5:00 in the afternoon, and I had not slept in almost thirty hours. I did not feel bad about taking a quick siesta once I learned that people in Barcelona do everything a little later than we do in the States. A couple of Canadian travelers told me that it would be time to get ready to go out around 10:30 that night. Nice! That normally would mean a great nap was in store, but since I am such a light sleeper, I was only able to squeeze in a few minutes here and there before being awakened by the constant crowds and room in-comers. That was something I would need to get used to... and fast. After making friends with the front desk clerk at the hostel, she said she wanted to take us to a local pizzeria, one that she "only shows to preffered guests". We brought our Canadian entourage with us, and I have to hand it to her, she was right. "Pizza con bacon y huevos, por favor," I asked the owner, which sounds like a delicious pizza, right? It was. Now to hit the pavement.

I am what you call a sports super fan back in the States, but what we were about to witness would "poop on" our sports victory celebrations. Team FC Barcelona had just one an intranational match versus an arch rival, and now the streets were crawling with loud, looting, firestarting fans rabid with energy that would not burn out until the next morning. I had my camera out, and I was lucky enough to have them let me take pictures of their antics. In my days, I have learned not to mess with super fans celebrating victories, because anything can happen! Just looking around at the cars ablaze, shoot, that made me wonder about their insurance policies. Drinking with the locals was quite the step up for us liver-challenged Americans. We would walk up and down the streets and the Pakistanis (yes, they told me they were Pakistani) would offer us, for one Euro, single cans of Estrella, Spain´s version of Pabst Blue Ribbon. After several of those, we had to pee worse than we could remember, but luckily rambled down into the middle of a pub crawl. Throughout the night, I met sangria-chugging Australian women, a D.C.-native couple who chatted with me about Washington Capitals hockey, and a couple of Belgian women who were telling me what not to do in Brussels, which I really appreciated since it was my next stop in Europe. Who knows what we had been drinking that night? I remember ordering a sex on the beach, and Brian ridiculed me unmercifully. The sugar in those things probably accounted for my vicious hangover the next morning.

The most interesting aspect of the night probably came when we were heading home around 4:30 a.m., when I was supposedly chatting with some men. Brian and I were walking down the back alley returning to our hostel when the next thing I know, these guys had surrounded me and grabbed at my pockets before I started shoving them, and ultimately, I ended up on the ground. I took a deep breath and thanked myself for buying, just the day before, a chain wallet to guard me from pick-pocketers like them. Needless to say, no money was stolen! Let this be a warning to those who read this, there ARE pick-pocketers lurking all throughout Barcelona!

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1242456300/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1242456300/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/14/1242456300/tpod.html Tue, 23 Jun 2009 23:11:51 -0400 ¡Vamos a Barcelona!

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands


Hello my friends, family, and fans! You are now reading my first international travel blog entry, and even more special because it is being written abroad, while I am at the destination! If you read my introduction, you know that I decided on an impromptu Europe trip after all, because when your friends can go, and you can as well, you have to jump on it! That is kind of the way I live my life, so it made perfect sense. What I did not tell you was that when my friends called me, Barcelona was not part of the plan.



Unfortunately, my friends could not leave the United States until May the 17th, which would only leave me one week abroad, because I have to get back for my mom´s and sister´s visit to Denver for Memorial Day Weekend. As I pondered all my options, luck was on my side. It turned out my friend, Brian Cox, who is also promoting himself as a travel man, was going to be in Barcelona during the week leading up to my planned trip. I did not hesitate for a second to get on that plane out to Barcelona a week earlier and enjoy some sights I had not seen since I was nine years old visiting my sister who was studying abroad in Spain.


After a night of little-to-no sleep due to the anticipation, my girlfriend Renee drove me to the Denver airport early on the morning of Tuesday, May 12th. After a brief stop in Minneapolis, I had an 8-hour plane flight to Amsterdam before finally landing in Barcelona. My original plan was to sleep the flight away, but I ended up sitting next to an older gentleman from Farmington, New Mexico, who turned out to be a very interesting man. After talking with him about some things to expect in Europe, I could not resist the free, in-flight features Northwest Airlines offered, so I took in two movies: Gran Turino and Frost/Nixon, both of which I highly recommend. I could not believe the size of the Amsterdam Schipohl airport when we arrived! I wanted to stay longer, but I did not sweat it because I will be returning there for the final leg of my trip out here in Europe, where I will write more at that time. Now...to Barcelona!

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/12/1235859720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/12/1235859720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/12/1235859720/tpod.html Fri, 08 May 2009 17:52:18 -0400 Sin City

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Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

Waking up the next morning, I passed the first test: no hangover. Good! That's very hard to do in Vegas, I understand. I cannot say the same for my friends, however. Our first stop was the ESPN Zone restaurant where they tackled about five pitches of water before lurking around like zombies through the streets. Today was the day we would go shopping. I was intent on buying a souvenir for my girlfriend, while my buddy Malcolm wanted to add to his already-overstocked surplus of shoes and t-shirts. While shopping at the Miracle Mile mall, Malcolm and I noticed a shirt that looked just like the skull tattoo he recently received on his arm. "Original my ass", he thought aloud. Walking down the strip, we noticed that each block was teeming with Mexicans who kept slapping cards together in their palms at us, meanwhile wearing t-shirts with bold letters proclaiming "GIRLS DELIVERED DAILY". I sure know now who to contact when I'm in need of a prostitute. Thanks, boys!

After a much-needed nap, we drove out to the suburbs which, compared to the city, seemed so remote and out-of-place. Malcolm had a friend who lived about fifteen minutes outside the city who he had not seen in a couple years. We were told that she was connected in the club and nightlife scene and that those people are the kinds you want to/NEED to know before dropping obscene amounts of money at the "hot spots". First, we went right back to our hotel Luxor, where the club in the lobby was the uber-hyped-up LAX. We had heard that DJ A.M. (famous for dating Nicole Ritchie" was spinning that night. The entrance fee was waived because of who we knew, but when the bartender there asked me for $10 after I ordered my rum and Coke, I laughed out loud and said no thanks. On principle, I simply cannot spend that much for one drink, so I took a stand for all mankind and politely declined. It was at that point I did the unthinkable, I chose to remain sober for the remainder of the night. I would like to think that was actually the right decision after the previous night's antics. We closed out the night at Club Revolution in the Mirage before filling our stomachs with the great slumber-inducing food they serve twenty-four hours a day at Nathan's Hot Dogs.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/12/1237342620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/12/1237342620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/12/1237342620/tpod.html Fri, 08 May 2009 17:21:17 -0400 Sin City

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Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

This entry cannot begin without regaling the announcements from the flamboyant flight attendant. You might have heard about the "rapping flight attendant" who works for Southwest Airlines. Well, this is not him, but rather, a singing, cheering flight attendant who clearly loves his job at Southwest too much. "Put your seat backs forward and your tray tables up, for this is surely a safety message that doesn't suck!" That's how it started. Don't ask me to get into the rest! I just remember exchanging goofy looks with the gentleman in the adjacent seat. I wondered what had gotten into the flight attendant, until he bragged about how the flight was serving Monster energy drink products, and that he had five of them so far that day. Fortunately for me, I was wearing my Washington Redskins hat, so when he randomly shouted, "Let's go, Cowboys!", I was there to wave my hat around and boo him unmercifully. After takeoff, I was in awe of the aerial view of the Rockies and found it very interesting to look down on the ski slopes and trails. The view became exceedingly captivating once we began our descent into Las Vegas. We arrived right about sunset, and the mountains laid out the perfect visual landscape for a peaceful landing.

For those who have been to the Las Vegas airport, it comes as no surprise that the moment you walk off the jet way, the jetway, you are immediately thrust into a setting that looks like a child's arcade, only these aren't your old Pac-Man machines. However, you can be sure they will swallow your money whole like Pac-Man! My good friend, Malcolm, met me at the baggage claim where we then took off in the rental car and proceeded to flash our cameras like paparazzi all the way to the Luxor Hotel. I had previously been to Las Vegas three times, only this was the first time where I was of gambling age. This was my second time staying at the Luxor Hotel, but my first time appreciating it. Walking into the entrance, we were greeted by the exuberant sounds of the old carnivals at the state fairs you would attend as a child. Although the noises were quite thrilling, the solemn looks of the legions of gamblers throwing their money away made it quite difficult for me to arouse excitement.

I am not a gambler, but from what I understand about Vegas, one does not have to be to enjoy the time there. After a shower in the room and getting my friends jazzed up, we put on our Tuesday best and headed downstairs. I decided tonight was going to be my first attempt at a slot machine. I parked my butt on a quarter-per-use machine that seemed pretty harmless. I put five dollars in, pulled the lever, and what do you know? "Ring a ling a ding a ling a ring!" After some wonderful sounds and a brief moment of jubilation, I looked at that empty silver trough and could not wait for the quarters to start flowing like Niagara Falls. Only...no. My excitement quickly stalled when disappointment set in. Instead of the abundance of quarters I wanted, the only thing the machine gave me was a printed out voucher saying I won $6.25. Whoopee! It was if the security team was sitting up in their "booth in the sky" looking down on me and saying, "Hey Walt, there's some fresh scum down there who looks like he's never gambled. Let's toss a few bills at him for his first time and he'll be there all night." Well, they did just that, and it worked! "So this is why all of those robots sit in these seats for hours on end. It's unexplainable, really, the feeling that one gets inside when free money comes out. I totally understand the concept behind the voucher, too. After all, who wants to make frequent trips back to the cashier when you have clean, paper money in your hands already? Just put it back into the machine and lose that, too! It makes perfect sense. Good job, casinos!


A friend who previously gambled in Vegas had told me earlier, "Just give the waitress a $20, and tell her to keep the drinks coming." So I did that, and I got one drink for the rest of my duration in that section, and I tell you, it consisted of about ninety percent ice cubes, five percent drink, and five percent straw. After turning out about ten dollars ahead of what I started, I wrangled the troops up and we decided to hit the pavement for a change of scenery. The lights never go out in Vegas, so for us, it was always about 9:30 p.m. Our next stop was New York New York, not the city, but the gaudy, ostentatious replica turned hotel-casino. Before we could get to the casino floor, we stopped at the bar at the entry way, which was covered in a beautiful, mosaic counter top. That was all the stimulation we needed to land our tushes in those seats. After a round of Captain Morgan shots (I know, I know), a goofy gentleman sat down next to us and struck up a conversation. Imagine a cross-pollination of rapper 50 Cent and NFL wide receiver Chad Ochocinco, and you will have a vague idea of what this guy looked like. His name was Ned. Naturally, thinking he was just a bar-hopping local, my friends ignored him. When he mentioned he was from Memphis Tennessee, my ears perked up. I started to have quite an interesting conversation with him about my favorite rap group from Memphis, Three Six Mafia. Whether or not his stories were true, he went on about his experiences with the group members and his frequenting of all the local spots they mention in their rap albums.



Our group, Ned included, got pretty hungry so we ventured off to a restaurant I couldn't believe was still open: Hooters! Every drinking law you have ever heard of, throw them all out when you are in Las Vegas. It's almost 5:00 a.m. and we're still ordering beers before finally walking back to the Luxor. Only, on the way back, I decided to take too much advantage of the open container policy, or lack there of. For some reason, I thought it would be a good idea to hurl my empty Miller Lite bottle at a parking lot lamp I saw off in the distance. What I didn't see at the time was the cop car parked directly behind the lamp post, which proceeded to empty out two angry cops glowering intently at me. "You been drinking, son?"

"Yes, Sir."
"I thought so. Dealing drugs tonight?"
"No, Sir."
"I'm going to write you a littering ticket."
"Thank you, Sir."

What happens in Vegas, right?


]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/11/1234902840/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/11/1234902840/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/11/1234902840/tpod.html Thu, 19 Feb 2009 14:19:40 -0500 Aspen Not-So-Extreme

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Aspen, Colorado, United States

This weekend seemed like one of the longest I had experienced. It was almost like I had quit my job and began living a real life. In fact, I almost did quit my job, until I came back down to earth. It had been since last Wednesday that I worked (sick Thursday and Friday), and I knew we did not have to work in the office on President's day. It was time to do something new this weekend. For some reason, a seven hour round-trip road adventure to Aspen seemed like the perfect plan.

Leaving at 9 a.m. instead of our scheduled 8 a.m. departure, I was a little angry because I was almost certain we would catch nasty ski and snowboarder road traffic heading west on I-70. 9:00 is the time when legions of fluorescent-clad snow adventurers like to journey from Denver to the mountains, and there's only one way to get there. After ninety minutes of uninterrupted cruising, I could not believe that we were free of backups. Before we knew it, we were passing Beaver Creek, which at the time, was the farthest west I had traveled on I-70. Fortunately, it only got more beautiful. The closer to Glenwood Springs we got, the more the mountains turned from a brownish gray to a blazing, deep red color. It was an appropriate touch, coming right off Valentine's Day. As we drove through Glenwood Springs, Renee and I both looked at each other like "we should be living here!" The town has an ideal location, seated less than an hour from Breckenridge and Vail, and about forty-five minutes from Aspen. Not to mention, it is fully stocked with all the necessary brand name stores and fast-food restaurants one could request.

The closer we came to our destination, the more it seemed that Aspen truly was in the middle of nowhere. A beautiful drive indeed, but very much uncomfortable for those who do not like traveling in harsh conditions and on snowy roads. When we were pulling into the outskirts, a plane whizzed right over our heads, and all I could think about was "We're in a mustang, let's race the plane!" Then it occurred to me the cost of living associated with the Aspen community, and that surely comes with adequate law enforcement, so the wealthy "elitists" can try to live in peace. Our first priority was to see the famous Maroon Bells. A picture was emblazoned in my mind of the view from the south side of the peaks, where the mountains have almost perfect symmetry as they cast their reflection onto the lake below. I wanted that picture. We wandered past the local high school and upscale rental communities to a little farm where the through road closed off due to snow. Barely managing to park my Mustang in the deep snow, coupled with the fact that we were ill-dressed for snow trekking, it was time to battle the elements.

Of course, we couldn't escape the temptation to photograph the animals and Renee just had to feed the Clydesdale horses. After losing the staring contest with the llama, we ventured alongside cross-country skiers, snowmobiles, and what seemed to be 90% of the world's population of Golden Retrievers. In Aspen, having a Golden isn't fashionable. Having six of them is. After walking about three-to-four miles, we noticed that the Bells appeared to be getting farther away by each step. "My toes are getting cold, honey", Renee says to me. I couldn't blame her. It was easily another five miles through ankle-deep snow to arrive at the base, so we headed back to the car. "I'll see you later," I muttered as I took one last look back on a stunning sight. It was 2:00 p.m. and we had much more of Aspen to see.
Pulling into the inner city district, my first reaction was "This is it?" Pardon my assumption, but I expected to see celebrities gallivanting around with their Prada bags, and adorned with those ostentatious snow boots covered in snow leopard hair. We didn't see quite that, but we sure had quite a laugh at a German couple where the guy bared a striking resemblance to Dieter from Sprockets (Mike Myers' SNL character). Trying to find a parking space was like trying to find a homeless person in Aspen...wasn't going to happen. I was finally able to dart into a spot where I saw someone leaving, and I must have spent 30 minutes examining the pay meter because I could not believe that there would possibly be free parking. We walked around the city streets and stopped at Little Annie's for a $12 burger. Unable to afford the Ruth's Chris steakhouse, that was about as low a price we could find, after all, we "steerage" need to eat, too.

To be honest, I wasn't yet impressed with the city. It had the feeling of a friendly, mountain town, but not enough for me to justify spending $9 for a tube of toothpaste. It wasn't until we drove up the mountain sideline that I realized the true beauty of Aspen. Bear in mind, I was only in a Mustang, so the incline was limited due to the snowy roads. But as we cruised up the mountain, it became clear to me the uniqueness of the city. Looking down from above, you really see how nestled in the town is among the mountains. It appears as if there is only one narrow nook through which to enter. I sympathize with the locals, who obviously struggle to keep living there after all these years, as it has become a haven for celebrities who cause the prices to increase drastically. We miss you, John Denver!

]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/10/1234240620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/10/1234240620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/10/1234240620/tpod.html Tue, 10 Feb 2009 01:52:22 -0500 Orange County and Venice Beach in January

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Venice, California, United States

On Saturday morning, I woke up to the blasting of the wind against the window. This made getting out of bed much easier than the morning before. We had planned on getting an early start to the day and heading up to the Venice and Hollywood area for the good weather. I struggled to move even at 9 a.m., after all, the dog was quite the cuddle buddy. Since she was kind enough to give me company throughout the night, I repaid her with an early morning walk. After a few minutes outside, I thought we were on the set of a remake of The Wizard of Oz. It was so incredibly windy that I felt the need to walk a certain way so as not to fly away with the dog. The picture in the previous entry helps capture the intensity of what I was experiencing.

Venice is one of those towns that just has a certain mystique to it. You might not have ever been to Venice, but you still respect its awesomeness from afar. Immediately, I had to get my Pinkberry fix, a frozen yogurt store that seems to have swept SoCal yet hasn't migrated to Colorado. Walking the streets of Venice is a unique kind of sightseeing. You see signs for "smog test here", and of course, that's a sad thing I associate with the Los Angeles area. In the window of a shop, I saw a male model in the window wearing something that gave him a striking resemblance to one of my fraternity brothers. "Is that you, Daniel?" I asked, as I photographed his plastic twin. I was amazed at the amount of advertising gone towards the legality of Marijuana. You could just be walking down the street and trip over a sign exclaiming, "Medi-Mar... do it legally, DO IT NOW!" At that point, I was wondering if it was illegal not to be high in Venice. The craziest of sights was perhaps the dog driving. "No wonder they call this place Dog Town."

Hitting the beach side boardwalk, I noticed the likes of many others like me, just taking everything in. It's always a little sad to see people who actually live on the boardwalk...literally. Then I started thinking about the code of conduct and the territory agreements street vendors and performers have with their neighbors and with the town. This is one of the few boardwalks where I felt that the street vendors' products were not only interesting, but tempting to purchase! I was really appreciating all the arts and crafts for sale until we got to the sword thrower. Talk about a waste of one and a half minutes. We sat there awaiting this guy's "wondrous" trick, when, just at the moment you'd expect him to begin, he'd come back and say more stuff like "Please folks, pay me money. If you don't, that's not cool." Let this be a lesson to the street bangers who might be reading this: DON'T FORCE PEOPLE TO GIVE YOU MONEY! We stopped off for some drinks on the boardwalk to conclude the evening. The sunset gave off such a comforting orange hue, capable of wiping anyone's stress clean.

At the close of the afternoon, we ventured off to one of Tiffany's friend's apartments. A nightclub promoter, he was able to afford some expensive real estate, with a very trendy apartment that gave me a little green eyes. One thing I particularly liked was that he replaced his TV with a ceiling-mounted projector that showed HD quality movies all along the living room wall. Hmmm...light bulb. The plan was to head into Hollywood to go to a nightclub he worked for on the strip. I was informed that my flip flops would not make the dress code, and at which point he handed over a pair of worn skater sneakers that seemed to be from 1999. The club, Mood, was fun, including the wild dancing. It was nice to be on the strip hanging out and enjoying the nightlife rather than as a tourist with your parents. Starving and full of liquor, we left the club at close and found our hero, the neighboring hot dog vendor who conveniently wrapped the delight in bacon. "You read my mind", I told him. As we walked back to the sober driver's car, I really admired all the murals along the wall and the craziness that is Hollywood. A truly unique place, and not always the glam and glitz it is made out to be.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/10/1232302980/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/10/1232302980/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/beachbumaxp/10/1232302980/tpod.html Tue, 10 Feb 2009 01:49:30 -0500 Orange County and Venice Beach in January

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Newport Beach, California, United States


I had been traveling so much lately that I I had begun to feel like I would be missing out if I didn't keep the momentum going. Colorado has gone somewhat cold, and after successive trips to even more frigid spots like New Orleans, South Dakota, and Minnesota, I needed to feel the warmth. For me, finding the inspiration for traveling and brining it into fruition comes quite easily. I'll walk you through the process. It typically happens when I reconnect with an old friend, and all he or she has to say is "you should come out here and visit". Upon further evaluation of the idea, if it sounds good and financially feasible, I'm booking the flight/planning the road trip that day.

I have come to terms with the fact that the folks in Southern California do it differently from the rest of us, and that's typically because they allow themselves to have fun. Have you ever noticed the people there just look younger? I thought I saw one of my high school buddies, but it was just a well-kept 50-year-old man. A couple of my girls from college, Tiffany and Jessica, picked me up from John Wayne Airport, and they were quick to show me how excited they were to live in California. "Um girls, I can't afford $90 dinners just yet. I'm still on Denver salary." My original intention was to keep my budget under $200 for the trip. Yeah right. Tiffany and Jessica's apartment was exactly how I pictured it: nestled among palm trees and the safety blanket that is the Irvine community. We kept the first night pretty lame because Tiffany and I both had to work early the next morning.


Awake by 7:00 for the first time since I can remember, all I could think about throughout the day was the nap I needed to make it into the night. No, I'm not pathetic. I'm just not as spry as the Californians, but they would continue to challenge my comfort zone, just as I'd secretly hoped they would when I was clicking "purchase this flight". That meant no time at all for hitting the sheets, and no time limit on how long the night was going to be. After all, I was told we were going to Newport Beach, a place notorious for lively people. While out at Rudy's, I noticed something odd: every single person in the bar was good looking. How is this possible? It was as if I had missed the town beauty screener, making sure you were attractive enough to enter the premises. Tiff and Jess' friend, Jessie, joined us out, and I spent good time getting to know her while Tiff and Jess ogled over the plethora of single men. We all had a good laugh at how incredibly "emo" the DJ was, but how he redeemed himself by spinning those records like Funkmaster Flex himself. All in all, I highly recommend Rudy's for a good time in "Noops".


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