Insert coins here.

It’s never occurred to me that as a hi-fructose corn syrup consuming American I should be overtly culture-shocked when traveling in another hemisphere, more over the far-off whimsy of the eastern one. If you think about it, the states are practically a vending machine of human variety. Drop in a couple coins, pick a zip (or in this instance a letter and a number) and who knows what type of ethnically diverse goody will drop down. Nacho Cheese Doritos, Top Ramen, those wannabe french-fry potato sticks, German branded pretzels - it’s shocking really. The point, and I think there is one, is that I wasn’t surprised as much as enamored. After a few weeks in the touristy parts of Bali, I got the overwhelming sense of familiarity, something analogues to Myrtle Beach or Panama City. A large mass of single-minded visitors looking to replicate debaucheries of recent weekends past, but do it on a beach that requires a passport and call it a vacation, or holiday, if you live anywhere outside the US. Sure, step outside the larger cities and you’ll see a scantily dressed man in a sarong: Miami, a large mammal doing the work of a tractor: Amish country, Pennsylvania, or piles of burning, noxious smelling trash: New Jersey, it’s all things I’ve seen, all places I’ve been.

One could argue, with the advent of McDelivery, Indonesia is actually
 more advanced than the burger empire's homeland.

The face of a man who can't tell if this is
 Kuta, Bali or Venice Beach, California.

This was strictly for research purpose only.
We needed to examine how those double-fisting Ozzies carried on.

The Honeymooners

I arrived in Bali at 11pm, two days after my original departure. I was to spend one night in Seminyak, one of Bali’s major cities before Nazak’s arrival. She arrived the next day and we headed off to our first destination Sanur, which according to Lonely Planet, was a great beach city with a vibrant town and waterfront. Here is when I began to doubt Lonely Planet for all their seemingly  great advice. Months earlier after compiling extensive research I had booked us two rooms at Flashback’s Bungalows in Sanur. It was what Lonely Planet described as, “an eco-chic bungalow resort for the flashpacker”. They had highly recommended their rooms, failing to mention that some of them were missing a key feature found in nearly all accommodations, doors.

Naz and I arrived at Flashback’s excited for our first night. We planned to go big; drinks, dinner, maybe even a little dancing. Eager to head out on the town, we quickly dropped off our bags dismissing the oddity that our room was sans doors and headed to dinner. We soon learned Sanur was not the town for us. A bit on the sleepy side and with not many options for going out we headed back to our room to discover our safety deposit box wide open. A little panicked but more so intoxicated from dinner’s drinks we decided that we must’ve accidentally left the box open. It wasn’t until waking up at 4am to find the safety deposit box wide open again that we were quite sure that our door-less room had also been housing a thief for the night.

Luckily nothing was stolen and with our dignity and checkbooks still intact, Naz and I headed for Seminyak in search of Bali’s party island reputation. What we got instead was two grueling hours of walking around in 95% humidity and 35 degree weather in search of accommodations which were all fully booked. We finally managed to find a room, at the 5-star Grand Balisani Suites. Located just north of Seminyak in Kerobokan, the hotel sat in a small rice farming village right by the ocean.

We decided we would spend our much deserved “honeymoon night” there and go back to our backpacker budget the following morning, only this time we would demand rooms with doors. The Balisani Suites had spoiled us and for the remainder of the week Naz and I bounced back and forth between budget accommodations and some of Bali’s best resorts. I soon forgot that Justin wasn’t there to start off the trip, as I was busy working on my tan and enjoying days filled with temples, beaches, monkeys, jaffles*and what amounted to five massages in one week!

Before we knew it, it was time to welcome Mike and Justin to Bali and let the quad-adventures begin…

Still in good spirits, Naz leaving Flashback's Bungalows.

The perfectly manicured grounds of our honeymoon hotel.

The Honeymoon Suite.

Offering baskets called ‘canang sari ' that
Balinese offer to their Gods three times a day.
While most Indonesians are Muslims,
the majority of Balinese are practicing Hindus.

Uluwatu beach, one of Bali's best surfing spots.

On par with the pros, Naz tries surfing at Uluwatu.

A local monk and our tour guide at Puru Luhur Temple in Uluwatu.

One of many mischevious monkeys at Pura Luhur.
Spending their days robbing unsuspecting tourists
of their sunglasses and flip flops only to trade them
 back for snacks.

Intrigued by our browness? One of the many requests we received while in
Bali for photographs to be taken with us.

Naz and I at Dreamland beach,
hours before we scorched ourselves to a crisp.

The famous Jaffle. A tasty pressed egg sandwich/pocket ideal for any meal.

Solo He Stays

Over the last year and half replacing meals with my old college staple of Kimchi bowls to save money was not something I looked forward to. But then, I would picture the white sandy beaches of some distant southeast Asian country and picture myself sipping on a young coconut with Justin, thinking to myself this was all worth it. This was all very worth it.

So it was much to my dismay when a week before our departure date, Justin and I had “the talk”. With his ankle still resembling a mild form of elephantiasis, we decided to cancel our trip to South Korea, and seek much needed medical attention for his injury. It was also decided that I would head to Bali, Indonesia one week before him to meet Nazak.

When the departure date arrived, I miserably dressed myself in my silly little traveller’s outfit of Keens and socks and headed to the airport, for my day long flight. I departed Atlanta’s airport at 7 am to Chicago, where I caught a 15 hour flight to Bali via Tokyo on JAL. The airline was a delicious treat with constant snacks, tea breaks, and delightful Japanese meals. Still I was in a foul mood; this was not what I had pictured for the last year. The man seated beside me was supposed to be one Justin Genovese and not a French Canadien separatist ex-pat, who spent the majority of the next hours painting a bitter and sad picture of Asia for me.

Solo She Goes

You learn, very quickly I might add, that a trip like ours seldom goes as planned. So when Yas and I found ourselves calling Air Singapore to see how much it was going to cost us to cancel our flight to Seoul we weren't as much surprised as bummed. It took a couple days to come to terms with the fact that after more than a year of plotting, planning, dreaming and saving we would not be walking hand-in-hand across the threshold of an entirely new hemisphere of the globe.

My ankle was still a large, sharp and highly annoying thorn in my foot and forward-progress had all but stopped. It reached a point where doctors would need to get involved. After days, and let me be clear here, full on days, of meticulous badgering, hounding and call backs I re-instated my health insurance and set up an appointment to see someone.

It was during that week, those hours waiting on the phone listening to gawd awful "music" while holding for someone to tell me something I already knew, I realized the great many flaws in the US health care system. The bottom line - if you have a steady job and a company health insurance plan, you're really not in horrible shape. Sure, you may get a quack from time-to-time. Sure, you'll sit in a waiting room during your lunch hour, peeved that this doctor doesn't value your time. For the most part though, you get what you need. Not much more, but enough. However, if you are like one of the millions of sad American souls that lives day-to-day sans health care, look out my friend- because your screwed. I'm sure plenty may disagree, but this was my experience and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. Not even Rachel Ray. Nope.

So off she went, my girlfriend of two years, headed to Bali without me. My mission, I was told by the doc, agressive physical therapy every day for the next week. And if things go well, I'd be able to strap on the 30 lb of backpack and meet Yas a week later. All kidding aside, a miracle happened at some point during those seven days. Divine intervention, hard work, dumb luck - whatever it was, thank you.

I met up with one Michael Slatkin in Los Angeles the following Wednesday, took two very long plane rides, one insane local taxi and there I was, floating in a pool with a Bintang in-hand waiting for Yas and Naz to return from lunch.

Finally, finally, finally, the trip I had been toying with in my head since I was a pimply faced 19 year old, sitting in Physics 101 was actually coming true. I don't mean to boast, but I'm hard pressed to articulate how euphoric that exact moment felt and just how delicious that beer tasted.

I had arrived.

I believe this one is a few Bintangs deep.

Glamour and Ritz

Two days after landing in Atlanta we would pack our bags again (albeit smaller bags) and head to Boone, NC for a good old country farm wedding. Tom, a best friend and part of my Covington Cove rap posse was to wed his absolutely wonderful fiancée, Julia. That meant I had less than 48 hours to find a navy blue suit or end up ‘that guy’ receiving some very strange looks as I dutifully walked down the aisle. If I hadn’t made it challenging enough, I also wanted to spend as little money as possible on a suit that fit as if it was masterly crafted by the skilled hands of a seasoned Asian tailor. Ironically, I wasn’t far off. Six thrift stores, two mega-marts, and one Korean alternation specialist, compliments of my father, and I was in business, serious business. I couldn’t have dreamt up a finer suit, and the best part, it cost me a measly $34.79. Most of the total spent on fitting the suit.

Away we went, through North Georgia, a quick run through South Carolina, a couple of beautiful hours across the twisting roads of North Carolina’s Appalachian Mountains, and presto, Boone. I couldn’t find a lovelier place, if there was one. I think Yasmine became quite smitten as well, you know, on account of all that purdy nature and such.

The wedding was storybook, the rehearsal dinner just as impressive. Surrounded by a picturesque sunset, we dined on a homemade crawfish boil and drank from delicious, small run bottles of red wine and swallowed down cups of dark, hoppy beers. This of course, all served up in some fitting plastic china. We told old stories and laughed heartily in a holiday light lit attic barn while family and friends provided the music ambiance.

The next day’s ceremony and ensuing reception left nothing to be desired. Yasmine and I had an absolute sweaty, dance-filled blast. At some point during the celebration, in between gulping down the powerful lemonade punch and making a perfect beef to sauce bite, I recall thinking to myself that Tom was acting a bit off that night. He was removed, not as engaged as I was used to. That’s when the obvious hit me, my longtime friend was so absolutely, head over heels in love, that all he could think about was his new bride. The rest was just icing on the, well, wedding cake. I sat back in my chair, surveying the other guests that made this party and smiled knowing that Tom and Julia were totally right for each other. It’s a very reassuring feeling, especially when the love of your life is seated beside you.

Cheers Tom and Julia. Here’s to many more.

Photo courtesy of Stacey Bode.
 Check out the rest of her photos from the wedding on her blog.

Just two lovers...

Julia's brother serenading us at the rehearsal dinner.

Compliments to the chef. My cousin, Matt, had us all over
 to his rental for an amazing lunch the day of the wedding.

One would venture to say this was towards the end of the night.

And So Are the Days of Our Lives

We arrived in Alpharetta, Georgia later the same night with only one thing on our minds, our portfolios. We had been avoiding the thought of them for months now, and it seemed that the pending doom was far too near. After a quick meal of Ippolito’s and a glass of wine with Kathy (god bless Kathy) and Mimi, we were off to bed in our ironically Asian themed room. (Let’s just say so far we have encountered more tropical/Caribbean themed rooms in Asia than anything else.)

The next morning we were up at an ungodly hour, I believe working folk call it 8 am. to start re-learning html and css for the 18,000^th time. Each time I update my site I promise myself I will never leave it for this long again and every time I do. Luckily I’ve found a life partner who does the same as me, so for the next 3 weeks we sat around kicking ourselves and each other for not starting any sooner.  

Our days were spent with Mimi, Buffy, Kathy Lee, Hoda and a wide variety of soap opera characters who I was pleased to find were still up to the same old tricks; just the way I’d left them, back in the summer of 1996, when I first well in love with Austin on Days of Our Lives. Sometimes as a reward for our hard work, we would sprinkle in a meal of Chic-filet, or maybe a trip to Goodwill to browse for treasures we knew we couldn’t buy.

The evenings on the other hand, were spent decompressing from the days’ work on our portfolios and calls to endless insurance agents at Blue shield. Hanging out with the Genovese family seemed to be as easy as being with my own. Much like my family they are loud, have a great appreciation for good food, and enjoy a few inappropriate comments being thrown in at the dinner table.

Oh, I finally did get to see Atlanta too. A couple of great nights spent in the city with Justin’s friends . The ATL is home to some of the finest dancers I’ve seen. One name in particular comes to mind when thinking of the endless sea of double-lump-a-licious ladies dancing up a storm at MJQ, Tom Rittenhouse.

 

* Please note, limited pictures are available,
as all staff photographers were on holiday.

Sleeping with Jesus

Nashville was probably on my top five list for cities I had wanted to visit in the U.S. So, it was with great excitement that I abandoned all hopes of finding anything interesting in Indianapolis. We arrived in the city at around 3pm and decided to grab a drink before we headed to the home of our hosts for the evening Maria and Reza. Having met in college in OK city Maria was my mom’s college roommate while Reza was my mother’s cousin. They had borrowed my mom’s car one fateful day 30s years ago and got hitched at city hall.

The next 30 years were spent between Maria’s home state of Texas and Nashville which they called home. The family was kind enough to introduce me to what my mother had raved about for years having spent her college days in the Midwest, Tex Mex. Dripping in gooey cheesy goodness Justin and I ate a delicious meal of Shrimp Fajita in the company of what I will classify as the world’s nicest family. Worn from the day's driving they put us up in their spare room. It wasn't more than five minutes that Justin and I fell asleep in our twin beds with a portrait of Jesus separating us.

The next day accompanied by Parsa and Saman (my second cousins), we headed to downtown Nashville to take a peek into Hatch Show Print. I can’t say the thought of seeking employment there and abandoning our travel plans, did not cross my mind. Who can turn down walls upon walls of catalogued hand carved type and fat cats who sleep around the office all day.
After a quick lunch stop at Justin’s college place of employment, Mellow Mushroom, we were off to Alpharetta, Georgia which would act as home for the following weeks.

Ahhh, the life of a gypsy.

One of Hatch Show's hardest working employees.

The library.

The Machines.

Saman, Parsa and I in Downtown Nashville.

Moving On

Never assume cities will be similar because their names rhyme. I’m not sure Indianapolis is even worth the two sentences I devote to it.

Moving on.



This photo speaks heaps about all the possible things to do in Indiana.



Deep Dish, Denied

It always happened, like clockwork, every couple of months or so. We’d be sitting on our beach blankets or chatting with friends at a local eatery, and the Midwest would inevitably come up in conversation. Usually it started when a transplant living on the eastside got stuck in westbound traffic and felt it a requirement to let everyone at the table know that when he (or she) was living in New York the public transit was brilliant, hell, just accessible. Invariably, someone else would list another well designed city, until eventually we got to Chicago. In unison, everyone shook their head that it truly was a fine, commuter-friendly city. “Expect for those gawd awful winter,” someone would chime in. Again, the head bobbing would ensue.

I’d seen the photos, I’d heard the stories, I knew the Cubs sucked for a century, but I needed to see it for myself. But not before grabbing some nosh in the liberal oasis that is Madison, Wisconsin. Receiving a fine recommendation from a friend, we stopped into a place, ironically named, The Weary Traveler for some classic Midwestern done with a contemporary twist. Basically, beef and cheese cooked by granolas (the nuevo hippies). Getting to the grub was a treat. Within the confines of the city lay a charming brick-building part of town full of cute shops and smiling pedestrians, giving the area a nice heartbeat. The restaurant served up some amazing dishes, the atmosphere was comfortable and our server was exceptional friendly. I’d say four and a half out of five stars, if I had yelped it.

So far so good I thought to myself, as my car suddenly screeched to a halt an hour out of Chicago. To make a long, painful story of alternate routes and stop-and-go short, the traffic in and around ‘Chi Town’ is an absolute shit show. It’s no wonder the mass transit is quality, for had it not been, riots would have destroyed the city decades ago. Looking at it optimistically, it gave us plenty of time to see the ins and outs of a place I was still very unfamiliar with.

We pulled up to my friend Courtney’s apartment, an area called Lake View (two hours later than planned) and attempted to park. Again, I will jump past the debacle that was parking in town, and say that Courtney had a lovely, shared three bedroom flat complete with all the charm one would expect when living in a city built of brick. We ate a dinner of beer and protein and headed to bed eager to get an early start on our weekend of sightseeing.

Operation Windy City
We brought a visiting vengeance on the city that I most closely liken to a blitzkrieg approach to tourism. As if my ankle injury had been simply an old memory, we walked all over Chicago, and then walked it again. For all I kept hearing about the amazing rail system, the ‘L’, I wished I would have pulled my hiking shoes out of my suitcase sooner. My dearest design school friend, Courtney and her boyfriend, Dan (long-time Chicagoan), the troopers they were, valiantly guided us through their city. And when they were tending to their own lives, we lead ourselves. We checked out Wrigley Field, the Naval Pier, and the remnants of the Columbus Fair (as I had been reading Devil in the White City). We took an architectural boat ride down the Chicago River; saw old buildings, new buildings, Trump buildings and tower buildings. We strolled through Millennium Park, saw a metal jellybean and hobbled past the Chicago Theatre. We ventured to Lake Shore Drive, Haymarket, Michigan Avenue and host of other popular destinations. About the only thing we didn’t do was eat a deep dish pizza and that’s because it was silly expensive and I already knew I was not a huge fan. Sorry. If it was free, cheap, or visible from the road, we saw it. By this point in our trip we were getting a bit concerned with our spending and viewed Chicago with the eager, optimistic but rather monetarily challenged eyes of say, student travelers.

All-in-all, I really enjoyed the Windy City and recall on several occasions stating that if this city didn’t turn into a frozen tundra in the winter, I could live here. Alas, just like days past it was time to bid the city farewell and say hello to a new one. (Thanks a lot for the wonderful time Chicago, and hey, at least you’ve got the White Sox just down the road. I know this now because we saw the stadium driving out… and it didn’t cost a thing.)

Lovers quarrel or just Yasmine and
 Justin being themselves?

Dan, he's "acting".

One of the four wedding parties simultaneously
taking original photographs that day. 

Baby Chubb Foot
Art Direction: Courtney Hoover
Photography: Yasmine Molavi

Young Coco ft. Jazzy Jg.

Dead Fish in City
Artist: Anonymous
Photographer: Yasmine Molavi 

Minneapolis... Isn't that somewhere in Greece?

With Knight's Inn, in my rear-view and my foot to the pedal. I screeched out of Sioux Falls, and towards what would undoubtedly be a more refined experience than the queen city of the west... After five nights of camping and endless motel experiences I was dead set on:
1. Staying in a nice hotel, where my room was located somewhere above ground.
2. Eating some fine food, perhaps something I'd seen on TV, let's say on an episode of No Reservations.
3. Visiting some local recommendations, courtesy of our native tour guide via e-mail, Mike :)

Yup, I wanted to live the good life again and I hoped and prayed Justin would join me, which he gladly did.
With a large can of Pabst in hand, we checked in to the downtown Radisson (thank you Hotwire!) Settled into our room and prepared for a little nap on our sleep number California king sized mattress.

I didn't know much about Minneapolis, only that it was home to some of our favorite artists, in particular, our favorite letterpress studio, Studio on Fire. After a delicious lunch at Brasa, a highly recommended barbecue spot, we decided to try our luck, call them up and ask if we could just take a quick glimpse at where the magic happened. To our surprise Ben, the owner and operator was more than accommodating. Inviting us to come down in a half hour (little did he know we were already lurking out front) for a guided tour.

Content with the day's gallery visits and constant snacking, we decided to visit Piccolo, a restaurant featured on Bourdain's visit to Minneapolis earlier that year. Let's just say that he can sometimes be misleading. Hypnotizing you with his over use of adjectives and well photographed edibles. You are left to discover on your own, that what you drooled over watching on your TV screen, is nothing more than uninspired over layering of flavours in white dishes too large for the 2 x 4" table you're seated at. I guess the moral of this story is, the riches in life are not always the best it has to offer. But, a little bit of good PR will take you a long way.

Sayanora Minneapolis, I will always remember you for your perfectly set type, ginger cilantro mayo, and Pabst on ice...

Class in any state.



Justin's BBQ Chicken special at Brasa, Yum!




The facade of the warehouse spaces that housed
Minneapolis' finest galleries were just as inspiring as their contents.



Entrance to the sanctuary, I was too shy to ask to take pictures inside.

$50 reward for a very loved cat, seems a bit low.
 I would offer at least $65 were Moosh to go missing.
Don't get any ideas Justin!

Probably one of my favourite features of the city's mass transit system,
 the Nice Ride. An inexpensive public bike sharing progrma

Good Knight: Part 3 of 3

Our saga continues with our fateful couple racing the sun itself through the nation’s breaad basket. Just in the nick of time they arrive in Mitchell, South Dakota, home of the Corn Palace, and… that's probably about it. But when you have a delicious golden temple, what else does a town need. Little did gimpy leg McGee (that would be Justin) know he had brought his Persian princess to the palace on the same day that Renaissance man, Kenny Rogers was in town performing. Timing in life is everything. It was an absolute madhouse - the town actually built a fair around the event, overstocked with what else, corn products. Bellies full with America's staple crop; they left happy and humming Lucille.

Tired and road-worn our heroes rolled into Sioux Falls looking to recharge. With Justin driving, Yasmine had been on the phone attempting to lock down some super cheap accommodations. ""Found it," she exclaimed! First they passed the downtown area and headed for the airport. Then, past the airport into a more "rustic" part of town, they came to Russell Street and searched for their lodgings but they were nowhere to be seen. Something was wrong, had the Garmin failed them, yet again. Stopped at the destination flag clearly marked on the GPS there was no Super 8, no massive red and blue glowing signage, only a ramshackled building labeled Knights Inn. Gingerly and a bit reluctant, the two walked in. Well, actually only Justin did because they had found the lowest price by claiming that it was only one traveler in need of a room for the night. Oops, silly kids.

After the so called caretaker explained the name mix-up and their lack of a continental breakfast, due to “renovations", Justin walked out, key in-hand and headed to the back entrance to sneak his partner in crime into their classy basement suite. It wasn't gross as much as it was sketchy. The kind of place that Mahvash (Yasi's mama) would not approve of. As the guilty couple left the next morning, sneaking out the front, where the car was thankfully still parked, Yasmine remarked on the hotel's slogan, "Spend your days out and your Knights Inn".

They couldn’t have agreed more, as they peeled out of the parking lot with a course set for Minnesota. It appeared our nosey duo would live to see another state and maybe, just maybe, get the blog updated. But there was still much road to cover.

Until next time friends…

A palace indeed.

Just some casual corn eating kids.

Apparently corn gets stoned?

Afraid that the camera would get stolen, we are photo less.

Good Knight: Part 2 of 3

With our duo well rested they headed for the Badlands, the Black Hills' neighboring national park. Once back on the 90 something happened. And then it happened again, and again and again - nonstop signage, seen every mile or so, with persuasive messaging mentioning famous donuts, local crafts and over-the-counter drugs. Contrary to Deadwood, and comparable to South of the Border (in South Carolina), Wall, South Dakota, home of Wall's Drugstore was very up front that it wanted drivers to stop, shop and buy. Naturally, Justin and Yasmine respected the bold sales pitch and popped in for lunch and a delicious donut. The couple grabbed three more pastries for the road, uttering that they were "simply trying to stimulate the local economy". How very heroic of our uncaped cross-country crusaders.

High on sugar and 30 miles past the western entrance of their destination, it was here that they decided it may be best to see the Badlands east to west, completely backward of their desired travel direction. Awestruck was the most common expression after entering the park, which got its name from the settlers that were forced to cross through its treacherous terrain with their rigid wooden-wheeled stage coaches. Barren yet stunningly beautiful, Yasmine likened it to a human size ant farm as she peered across the landscape. But, there was little time for hippy talk, Sioux Falls was still quite a distance and Justin had a nice surprise for his lovely lady, if they could get there before sunset.
Will our dynamic duo reach their destination before dusk? Does Deadwood still oppose a threat to our heroes? Can Justin be anymore cliché?

Find out next time on 2SchnauzAbroad.

Classy.

The plain and maple syrup icing were the best.

Wow, Justin reads?

A bit Magritteish with that hat on the horizon.