Freak accidents (involving projectiles and trash cans)

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1. Traipsing through another airport—where were we, passing through Chicago, maybe?—we mounted a mile-high escalator, going up. (Which is the only way escalators should go, really, otherwise, you’re on a de-escalator? lowerer? why not just moving staircase?) The escalator was at least 100 feet long, maybe more. A man got on the parallel one beside us, going down. Somehow, somewhy, he had his roll-on in front of him, or beside him, and it tipped over, extended-handle first, and shot down the long length of the metal stairs, picking up speed. As he passed us, the man hunched his shoulders in guilty, apologetic mystery.

Lucky no one else was on that escalator.

Lucky no one was passing by the bottom of the escalator. When the suitcase hit bottom, it shot across the shiny floor like a freight train, like a forty-pound bullet, hit a trash can across the hall, and knocked it over.

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2. My sister bought a little purse-sized umbrella one recent rainy day in New York. Unwrapping it in the rain, she must have inadvertently pressed its release button. The umbrella became a lethal weapon. Its handle fired off like a missile, flying right between a nearby man and woman. My sister ran over to apologize to them, though neither was touched, and dumped the launcher into the nearest trash can.

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3. Bob and I were driving from Florence to Naples. We pulled off the highway for a quick lunch. In a bit of a hurry, we were soon ready to continue our journey. Wait, I said. let me get rid of this garbage. I gathered up some papers and drink cups and walked it over to a trash can. Lucky delay.

Back on the highway, traffic after only a minute, then stopped. Cars began to creep forward. There were shoes on the road. Lots of them, sprinkled evenly over the surface. Shoeboxes, too. Soon we came to the accident. A car had just fallen off the top level of a car-hauling truck. The car driving behind the truck crashed into the fallen car. A delivery truck next in line swerved to avoid the crash, but rolled, spilled it’s load of new shoes, hit the guard rail of the overpass it was on, and lodged cantilevered over the road below. The driver went through the windshield and lay on a grassy hill, below.

4. Close to the same time that the car fell off the car-carrying truck, an escalator at Rome’s Tiburtina train station collapsed, killing a rider, and an elevator in a Texas hospital malfunctioned, decapitating a doctor. We tend to trust things like car-carrying trucks, escalators, elevators, and automatic umbrellas. Should we worry more?
©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

African safari

A vulture smells death.
A vulture smells death.

Just back from safari in South Africa—21 of us on a family trip. My sister Shari wrote this report:

We’re driving along a dirt road at Mala Mala and our ranger says…”smell that?” No. was our answer. We kept driving and then saw vultures. He smelled death again. Then we see a hyena. Just one. We follow it off road in the jeep. It doesn’t even care. Eventually it lays down in the tall grass as though it’s saying ok, that’s enough. I’m not going to lead you to MY food. By then the smell is intolerable. Some of us thought it was the fact that we were parked in a grove of rhino shit. But our guide said that’s the least of it. It was definitely carcass.

Seven or eight hyenas fought over this meal of buffalo.
Seven or eight hyenas fought over this meal of buffalo.

We keep driving in our land rover, just mowing down trees. We stop and shut down the engine. Our ranger says, “hear that.” No. was our answer. He follows the sound and stops again. “Hear that. They’re chewing and ripping.” Yes! we hear it. He keeps on going and eventually finds a small covered cove where three hyenas are chowing down on a buffalo carcass. It’s evening. The light is getting dim. We’re snapping photos, videotaping and even using flash. Then one jumps up and away. And we hear all kinds of hyena growling and howling. Another hyena wanted to join the feast, but there is a ritual, and the newcomer has to ask permission. We stayed quite awhile for a bit more action, more of the pack joining, and a little scuffle, etc. Amazing…and stinky.
 

More than a dozen lions frolic after dark, and don't mind being in the spotlight.
More than a dozen lions frolic after dark, and don't mind being in the spotlight.

We then drive to an open meadow where a pride of lions are lounging. By now is pitch black. We drive right up to them. We’re in an open jeep. We’re in a wide open meadow. We are among at least two mothers, one father, seven cubs and five teens. It is DARK. We shine spotlights right on them. They lounge, they wrestle. But they weren’t hungry. They never left to hunt, but it was great to see, to be right among them. We were just four yards from some of them.
 

A magnificent lion at Mala Mala.
A magnificent lion at Mala Mala.

Last night we arrived in Singita, our new place. It was a 15 minute plane ride, and the topography is completely different. We are in a privately run portion of Kruger National Park. This portion is many thousands of acres that are only accessible to the lodge guests (which is only our group of 21 family members.) However, although privately managed, they still have to follow some of the National Park’s rules and we are not as free to just hightail it off road any time we please. They are only allowed off-road to track “the big five.”  Kruger National Park is the size of Massachusetts.
 

The sound of hippos was a constant backdrop. More than one is a raft.
The sound of hippos was a constant backdrop. More than one is a raft.

We stopped at the side of the dirt road and took a short walk to the end of some craggy rocks on the edge of a green river filled with hippos. At least 17. We could have watched them do their hippo thing…which is nothing…for hours. I caught one with it’s mouth wide open. I hope it’s not blurry. They’re surprisingly, loudly, vocal (and we hear them all night from our rooms above the river). Later that night, on our way back to the lodge, we saw two hippos out of the water. They look like giant pigs. They’re shy. They ran away fairly quickly. We felt lucky to see them, because they’re in water most of the time.
 

Glass box aerie has an outdoor shower and netted bed on back deck.
Glass box aerie has an outdoor shower and netted bed on back deck.

This lodge is amazing. You should look it up! We’re in Singita at Lebombo lodge. The entire place is built on stilts above ground, and can be completely dismantled and taken away in 30 days, leaving only a few patches of bare ground. Not to piss you off, but it’s one of the top in world. We count ourselves lucky—very lucky—to be here.
©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Golden silk orb weaver spider

Golden silk orb weaver spider
Golden silk orb weaver spider, 4-5 inches toe-to-toe.
Golden silk orb weaver spider, 4-5 inches toe-to-toe.

Mala Mala and Kruger National Park, South Africa— Spiders were an everpresant danger to a number of our safari group, to the extent that they’d rather lose a leopard we were tracking than drive through the web of a golden silk orb weaver spider. Conversely, other members of the group designated one of our four Range Rovers “the bug car,” devoting significant time to examining insect and reptile life under rocks and logs.

The golden silk orb weaver spider

The golden silk orb weaver spider spins its web between two trees or shrubs—seemingly every two trees or shrubs in the bush. So plowing through its webs was unavoidable on our off-road hunts. Our vehicles, lacking windshields, had only an antenna to break the webs—and our faces, of course.

Female golden silk orb weaver spider's web catches a praying mantis. Male comes running...for dinner? Good example of sexual dimorphism: large female, small male.
Female weaver's web catches a praying mantis. Male comes running...for dinner? Good example of sexual dimorphism: large female, small male.

The screams and wails of the fearful ones were a contrast to their calm excitement five feet from hungry lions, a yard from a hunting leopard. One of the arachnophobes easily handled a six-inch millipede, and tasted a fried grub. I guess for some, spiders are just directly hot-wired to the ick response, and no logic applies.

The golden orb spider is a large, striking arachnid that spins an impressive web of strong yellow silk. Its main bridge line can span 30 or more feet, and feels like fishing line. African kids wrap and roll it into yellow rope bracelets.

Red bill quilia trapped in a golden silk orb weaver spider web.
Red bill quilia trapped in a golden orb web.

Twice, we came upon a bird caught in a web, flapping helplessly. Caving in to pleas from some of our group, our rangers, two different ones, freed the birds. Yes, they’d otherwise be spider dinner.

The web is so strong and sticky that fishermen use it to make nets. They bend a branch into a teardrop shape and wave it back and forth through the golden silk orb weaver’s web.

Despite those who scream eek, we drove through hundreds of webs. Only a few spiders got into the vehicle. None clamped onto anyone’s face. None climbed into anyone’s shirt. Etc.

Instead, most of the victimized spiders ran into the shrubs at one end of their bridge lines. They would then eat the silk of their ruined webs and spin new ones with recycled material within hours.

See some images of fabric made from the undyed silk of the golden silk orb weaver spider.

Golden silk orb weaver spider; Spiders seeming to hang in mid-air. The webs are easy to walk into.
Spiders seeming to hang in mid-air. The webs are easy to walk into.
Golden silk orb weaver spider; Photo by Josh Oakley
Photo by Josh Oakley
Golden silk orb weaver spider
Strong, sticky, yellow web silk.
Golden silk orb weaver spider
Scariness in proportion to size.

©copyright 2000-present. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Ragged right

ragged-right

Coogee Beach, Australia— I spend a lot of time on our hotel balcony because the view is spectacular. The weather is glorious and the waves are loud. It’s a fine place to write, with a computer on my lap.

Coogee Beach. Photo by Paola Unger.
Coogee Beach. Photo by Paola Unger.

I can see a series of little coves just beyond our beach, and each is separated by a rocky promontory. The sea crashes into these dividers in slow motion, and white clouds of spray just hang there, punctuating each rocky spit of land like a period at the end of a sentence.

Hmmm, take that further: the coast is a paragraph, the country a book, a tome, a history since life began. Its sentences are long and the ragged right runs into the sea. Each sentence is an enigma, ending with a question mark shrouded in mist. The one closest to me ends with an ellipsis of rocks…
©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Necessity is the mother of…

iron-headon

Coogee Beach, Australia—From our hotel, we walk around the corner to The Globe for “brekkie” every morning. We’re regulars on the stools at the open windows. We order a “tall black” and a “flat white.” Coffee. The Globe serves toasted fruit loaf, slices of a dense loaf packed with dried apricots, figs, dates, currents, and raisons. They toast it properly: dark so it’s as black as its poppy seed crust.

Earlier, I had seen a fruit loaf in a tiny market just across the street; the poster advertising it made me drool. It was called Dallas Fruit Loaf. I asked The Globe’s waitress if their fruit loaf was Dallas. She didn’t know. Anyway, it’s delicious.

One day they didn’t have the fruit loaf. I ordered the “full brekkie,” which Bob gets, and I was sorry. Next day, The Globe was still out of fruit loaf. “But I found out, it is Dallas,” the waitress said. “If I go and buy a loaf, will you toast it for me?” I asked her. “With pleasure,” she said.

So I ran across to the little market and bought a Dallas fruit loaf. The Globe’s waitress toasted three thick slices for me and served it on a plate with a crock of butter. I took the rest of the loaf back to the hotel.

Dallas-fruit-loaf
Dallas-fruit-loaf

iron

But how will we toast it, Bob and I wondered. It’s soooo delicious toasted! I thought about what we had in the room. We can steam it with our clothes steamer to make it damp, then let it dry out and get hard on the outside. Then we can heat water in the coffee pot and set a cup of hot water on the toast to warm it. No. We can put a slice in the trouser press! Set the timer for 30 minutes… slow, but it might work. What if we forget the bread in the trouser press, Bob wondered. Okay, never mind.

Later, Bob went out for a take-away Thai lunch. I stayed on our balcony and ate an apple. And a slice of Dallas fruit loaf. Toasted.

Yes—I remembered what else we had in our room. An iron!

Why not? It’s teflon coated. I tried just a corner first. The iron wiped clean on a towel. Who needs butter?
©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Singapore ice cream

Singapore ice cream

Singapore ice cream sandwich, Singapore-style
Ice cream sandwich, Singapore-style

What sounds more scrumptious that “bread ice cream?” Scallion pancakes, Dutch waffles, and durian come to my mind, along with a hundred other street foods.

The lines are long though, at the bread ice cream carts on the streets of Singapore. For a few cents, you get a scoop or a slab of neapolitan ice cream between two slices of soft white bread. Only—the balloon bread is green and pink.

Bread ice cream, Singapore street food; singapore ice cream
Bread ice cream, Singapore street food

I’d choose bread ice cream over fried grasshoppers, for sure. But it’s nothing like the wonderful Turkish ice cream. And Turkish ice cream comes with entertainment.

©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

At large in Rome

A woman carrying a child wandering in Rome
A woman wandering in Rome
A woman wandering in Rome

We spent some time observing this woman in Rome. She carried a child in a sling and walked with another woman. We thought we knew what they were up to, but we never confirmed anything. When they stopped for ice cream, Bob tried to talk to her. They spoke a bit in a garbled mix of French and German, but there was no real content. She allowed herself and the child to be photographed.

mother-child2

©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Taxi trickery

Thieves in Prague: the three front center will get what the taxis don't.
Thieves in Prague: the three front center will get what the taxis don't.

After an eventful overnight train journey we were disgorged into a very foreign Sunday morning. Not a single sign in Prague’s main train terminal was in friendly English, or any other language we could make out; not even an exit sign. The station was haunted by solitary figures standing, smoking, watching, waiting. It took us half an hour to find a dismal tourist information booth. The grouchy attendant, stingy with his every word, pushed a map at us through a slit in his glass barrier and considered himself done. Averse to bribing a public servant, we persisted with our questions, formulating the same query in endless shapes. Finally, we extracted this gem: taxi fare to our hotel ought to be two hundred koruna, about six dollars.

The taxi drivers had something else in mind.

“Meter,” they said, “more fair.”

Our bags were loaded into the trunk and we got in.

“About how much,” we asked.

“Meter,” the driver insisted. Again we pressed for an estimate, and the driver finally said seven hundred. Seven hundred! Out we got, and out with our bags. The driver said something to the other waiting taxi drivers, and we were certain we wouldn’t get a ride from any of them. So we walked.

A few blocks down the street we flagged down a passing taxi. He too, suggested the meter. We said c’mon, about how much. Three hundred, he said. Okay. We watched the meter start spinning. No way was it a legal spin. As the meter crept to four hundred, we protested, and the driver agreed to a flat three hundred.

“The taxi drivers wanted seven hundred koruna!” I exclaimed in outrage to the hotel receptionist.

“They are thieves,” was his simple reply.

But they were not the thieves we were interested in.

Excerpt from Travel Advisory: How to Avoid Thefts, Cons, and Street Scams
Chapter Two (part-i): Research Before You Go

©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent

Hotel oddity

The glass window opens wide and has shutters folded on the other side.
The glass window opens wide and has shutters folded on the other side.

To wash, but not to dream…
A full-length, fully-opening glass window in the marble shower allows me an expansive view while washing. I can see the bedroom, the tv, the husband, the balcony, palm trees, the ocean, the sailboats…and the room service man picking up our breakfast tray.
©copyright 2000-2009. All rights reserved. Bambi Vincent