Ben's Travel Adventures

Forgetting My Briefcase in a Taxi in Cyprus

My last day in Cyprus I committed the worst mistake of my traveling life. I left my briefcase in the taxi as it dropped me off at the airport at 4 AM.

On flying days, I always pack knowing that my suitcase may have to be checked. I never proactively check it, but 1 in 100 times I have to, and if I do and it gets lost, I don't want my valuables to be lost with it. Therefore I consolidate my most valuable objects (laptop, notebook, Kindle, iPod) in my briefcase.

My last morning in Cyprus, I set my alarm to 3 AM. I had a 5:30 AM flight out of Larnarca which is 40 minutes away from the Hilton in Nicosia. The hotel had reserved a taxi to pick me up at 3:30 AM.

In my half-asleep doze, I rolled out of bed, grabbed my bags, went into the lobby to check-out. The guy working the check-out counter was exceedingly friendly but did not seem to understand that I wanted my United mileage number to be put onto the reservation -- you can earn United miles at the Hilton.

I was a bit of a dick to him as I was tired and frustrated he couldn't get it done. After 10 minutes of discussion, I gave up and went out to the waiting taxi.

The taxi driver took my suitcase and put it in the trunk. I don't normally like to do this -- I prefer it in the backseat with everything else. But this time I put it in the trunk, put my briefcase in the backseat, and my suitcase in the front seat with me.

We started driving. The driver was awfully chatty for 3:30 AM. He asked about San Francisco and America. He asked me lots of questions. I became less and less responsive and tried to close my eyes, hoping to squeeze in another minute or two of sleep. Finally he got the point and stopped talking to me.

We arrived at the airport. I bounced out and put my suit jacket on. The driver went to the trunk and took out my suitcase. The hotel had pre-paid for the taxi. I shook his hand and went on my way. It's about 4:15 AM.

I went into the terminal and waited for ~25 minutes to check-in. Wait, wait, wait. Finally, I get to the counter, check-in, get my boarding pass, and walk to passport control. There's a line here, too, but I get through it and arrive at the security check point and x-ray machines. It's about 4:30 AM. I wait and then begin to put my items on the conveyer belt. An agent says, "Take out your laptop and put it in a bin." I look around.

HOLY SHIT WHERE IS MY BRIEFCASE WITH LAPTOP, KINDLE, IPOD, IMPORTANT DOCUMENTS, ETC???

A moment of panic struck me. I froze for about two seconds. Then I moved quickly. I'm actually impressed with how swiftly I took action. I jogged back to the passport control area to exit. But they said they had to hold onto my passport if I exited the area. They opened up a side door that I slipped out of and I started running to the check-in counter. I looked around. By this point my gut feeling was I had left the bag in the taxi, but I couldn't be sure. I looked around. Then I ran outside where the taxi dropped me off. Nothing. I asked the taxi drivers who will milling around outside if they had seen it. They didn't understand my English.

I walked to the information desk. An extremely understanding woman was working at the desk. She spoke perfect English and vowed to help me. First, she pulled out the hotel directory to find the phone number for the Hilton. Since the hotel reserved the taxi, perhaps it could call the taxi company which could call the specific driver. (Had I hailed the taxi off the street, of course, I would have been screwed.) She called the Hilton and handed the phone to me. The man on the other line had been the same who checked me out. I instantly regretted not being more friendly with him.

He told me he's call the taxi company. He told me to call back in 5 minutes for an update. I hung up, and then walked to the airline to explain the situation. They told me there was no way I was going to make the flight. It was already 4:45 AM and the flight boards at 5:15 AM. Even if the taxi has my bag and turns around to return to the airport, there wouldn't be time. I'd miss my flight to London and my connecting flight to San Francisco. I implored them to just alert the gate agents that I would be running late. They said they would, but made no promises.

My mind started racing, thinking through all the implications. Like: Ok, my laptop is lost, what data do I have on there that's confidential? What data isn't backed up? How much will it cost to buy a new one and get data recovered? What notes do I have on my notebook that aren't stored elsewhere? How will I re-schedule my United flight to SF?

I went back to the information desk and called the Hilton. He told me he spoke to the driver, the driver confirmed he still had the bag in the backseat, and had turned around to come back to the airport. It would take 40 minutes. I thanked the Hilton guy profusely and hung up. I then went back to the airline agents and told him the taxi had my bag and would be here in 20 minutes, so I will make the flight. They looked skeptical but said they'd try to wait for me.

I paced around the airport curbside, anxiously waiting for the familiar looking taxi to pull up. In my wallet I had USD $40 and 30 Euros and some coins. I would give the driver all of it. He deserved to be paid the equivalent for a one-way fare back to the airport, plus more. After all, he could steal the bag and make off with ~$3k of electronics.

He pulled up, I grabbed the bag, paid him the cash, and started running. I ran into passport control, grabbed my passport, ran into the security line, cut everyone in line (with their permission), figured the x-ray guy wouldn't actually be paying attention so didn't take laptop or toiletries out of my bag, made it to the other side without incident, and then started running (with my shoes off and in my hands) to my gate. They were half-way through boarding.

I was sweating and a nervous wreck. And I had made it. I got lucky. Had I been in another country -- one with more crime and more corrupt cabs -- my bag would have been gone in a second. Had I hailed a taxi off the street, I would have been toast. Had the timing been a few minute different, I would have missed my flight and connection to SF.

It was a rookie mistake, I got lucky, and I hope never to leave a bag in a taxi again.

Knock-Offs in North Cyprus

North Cyprus has no IP laws. So there are knock offs galore. Two restaurants are particularly amusing examples. One is a restaurant called "Big Mac" which sports the golden arch and identical set-up as McDonald's. Except it's not McDonald's. The second is called "Burger City" -- replica of Burger King.

China has plenty of knock-off goods sold on the street, but at least there are laws so companies have some legal recourse if the fraudulence is egregious. In North Cyprus there are not even laws to begin with -- so McDonald's can do nothing but watch an entrepreneur copy every aspect of its store and logo.

Language Learning in Cyprus

Turkish-Cypriots in school study Turkish and for foreign languages usually choose from English and French.

Greek-Cypriots in school study Greek and for foreign languages usually chose from English and a European language.

Remember that the Greek-Cypriots and Turkish-Cypriots live right next to each other on the island.

Neither government has its public schools teach the language of the other side.

It's hard to come to a resolution of a dispute when you can't understand who you're talking to!

Agia Napa, Cyprus

Agia Napa was described to me as the South Beach of Cyprus. Party central for Europeans, in other words. It was also described to me as home to some of the bluest, most beautiful water in the Med. The first claim is not true, the second very well might be.

We headed out from Nicosia on Friday evening, following a jazz concert at the Embassy. It takes about an hour by car. Nothing on the island takes more than a few hours by car.

Agia Napa is a series of gorgeous beaches, warm water, and plenty of tourist infrastructure hugging the shore.

50% of tourists to Cyprus are British; some 20% are Russian. Agia Napa must be where all the Russians go. We saw more Russians than Brits, and our hotel staff were Russian as well.

It wasn't crazy party central. Maybe because high season ended 1.5 - 2 months ago. The whole town's tourists, but most are older or families.

Saturday I spent all day in a lounge chair on the sand on the beach, 20 feet from the water. The weather, as it's been the whole trip, was simply perfect. McCullough's Truman biography made an outstanding companion.

Thinking about other international beach experiences, it was more crowded than Costa Rica by far, less crowded than Odessa, Ukraine, and as crowded as Barcelona. And crowding / privacy is one of the main considerations, I think, when beach-going.

It's worth walking the "strip" in Agia Napa to see the clubs and cafes and endless karoke bars. But the real action -- or non-action, as you see it -- is the beach. And it's lovely.

First Experience KLM Royal Dutch Airlines

On my SFO-Amsterdam leg I had my first experience with KLM Royal Dutch airlines, based in Amsterdam.

I was impressed by the professionalism and warmth of the flight staff. Right after we took off, the head flight attendant came and sat with me and asked where I was going, how I was feeling, and gave some info about the flight. Then he asked about my Kindle and I asked him about his flight routes.

During food service, each time as the stewardess put something on my tray/table she said: "There you are." With lots of eye contact and a smile. Quite a lovely phrase.

I'll be back, KLM.

Sports Fandom is the Same the World Over

I went to a soccer game in Beijing (Beijing vs. Chengdu) and my takeaway was simple: sports fandom is sports fandom and intense, crazy fans are all over the world. It's universal. Nothing felt as global / common as the soccer game experience.

Village Outside Beijing and Spending Two Hours in a Police Station

I took a 2.5 hour bus from Beijing to a village outside the city, aiming for a couple days of relaxation and reading. City life, especially a day as large and hectic as Beijing, can be draining, and a village in the mountains sounded like a nice reprise.

I packed a backpack with a few clothes, some toiletries, a copy of my passport, my Kindle, and a couple old-fasioned books, and set out for the subway which would take me to the bus station on the outer western side of the city. Unfortunately, with no access to a printer (truly unfortunate when you need to print out Chinese characters), I had only the pinyin name of the village.

It was my first time riding the subway alone which means I had to decipher the signs and figure out my route. It was easier than expected, with much additional English signage added in preparation for the Olympics.

I arrived at the subway station, exited, and tried to find the bus stop for bus 192. This proved more challenging. I asked a couple people, got pointed in a direction, and eyed the signs for the 192 stop. Eventually I found it, but I was already pretty tired, and I noticed the sky go from grey-from-smog to grey-about-to-rain, and I considered turning back and abandoning my village trip and just staying in Beijing to read.

At the 192 stop there were lots of taxi hawks and other people hassling me, screaming at me in Chinese, etc. The usual fare. When the bus arrived, I boarded, showed the ticket lady my destination. We tried to communicate. She pointed out of the bus and ahead on the road, as if I were not on the right bus. This confused me -- two locals I had asked on the street said 192 in this direction was the right way, as did the online guidebook I consulted. The taxi hawks followed me onto the bus and started screaming "No! No! No!".

I got off the bus. I walked ahead in the direction the woman pointed, as much to get out of the sight from the touts as much as to find the right bus.

Luckily, up ahead I found another stop, and waited, and a bus came. This time around, the ticket man looked at my destination and told me to come on-board. I gave him my pen and notebook (which I always had at the ready) and he wrote down the fare. 16 RMB. I paid and sat, awaiting the two hour bus ride ahead.

By this time it was already about 5:30 PM and darkness was approaching. Not good, because I was to arrive in a small town, and then find a taxi to take me to the village. Harder to do in the dark.

The ticket man tried to talk to me as we approached my destination -- what he was saying, I have no idea, I just prayed he wasn't trying to tell me the town was sketch or that there were no taxis or something.

I got off in Zhangtaing (sp). By now it was 7 or 7:30 PM and pitch dark. I couldn't see anything, let alone any taxis who would be able to take me to the village that, while somewhat known, I did not have written down in characters so all bets are off. I decided 10 seconds after arriving in the town that I would go to the village the following day, and stay at a hotel in the town.

It was drizzling rain and there were puddles. I had to badly go to the bathroom, and I was also starving. The first people I bumped into started harassing me, of course -- what they said, I have no idea, but it does pretty tiring to always be accosted and sold to.

I walked into a restaurant -- their door, like so many restaurant doors, is not a door but rather vertical, cut pieces of plastic that you push open and through. Everyone at the restaurant turned and looked at me and laughed or talked amongst themselves while pointing at me. In small towns, away from a big city, they don't see many tall, white men.

I made the eating motion with my hands (mime the hand sipping soup with a spoon by my mouth), the "waitress" nodded and told me to sit. A few people stood by my table and watched me. I flipped through the menu, which luckily had pictures, and once again faced the predicament of eating alone at a Chinese restaurant. Since everything is family style, it's hard to pick dishes for just one person. You usually have go to with dumplings or noodles. Because I was feeling hungry, I ordered two full family style dishes.

After placing the order, I tried to ask how to go to the bathroom. In most parts of the world, saying the world "toilet" does the trick, but not in China. After a good full minute of body language miming, they figured it out, and pointed outside the restaurant, and across the street. That I was not going to do. I did not know whether I should fully trust the restaurant staff, and frankly the darkened shack across the street looked intimidating. So I held on.

I ate the food, paid the $1.50 it cost me, and then wrote the word "hotel?" on my notebook and showed it to them. They did a translation or figured out the word and made a phone call. Then one of the guys led me outside, to the left, and to the front of the police station. At first I hesitated. The last thing I wanted to do was deal with the police, and I thought they had maybe misinterpreted my request for a hotel. Then I remembered that Chinese law says foreigners are supposed to check in at a town wherever they spend the night.

This is where the real clusterfuck began. No one in the police station spoke the slightest bit of English. Not a single word or sound. As usual for China, it was wildly overstaffed, with about eight officers sitting in their chair, doing nothing.

They asked for ID. I first gave them my California iD card. Not, they needed more ID. Then I gave them the copy of my passport. No, they still weren't satisfied. Then I realized that I was majorly screwed without my real passport. I considered bringing it, but decided against, thinking there was an above-0 chance I just stay the day in the village, and when it's on my person and I'm robbed, I'm really screwed.

They talked among themselves and tried to communicate to me but failed. I didn't really know what the hold-up was. One cop called a friend who spoke very broken English, and he got on the phone with me and told me, "They must require you passport."

This was the problem. They kept thinking I had my passport but wasn't showing it; in fact, I was trying to tell them I only had a photocopy. We were in a standstill. No one knew what to do.

I finally got the phone and called my contact in Beijing who spoke both languages. She explained my situation to the cop. They went back and forth a bit. Then the cop called his supervisor in Beijing who spoke a bit of English. They agreed I needed to leave the town right away and return to Beijing to be with my passport. "According to Chinese law it is illegal to travel without your passport."

I got on the phone with the supervisor. We had an exchange, and then he said sternly and weirdly solemnly, "Sir, it is in your best interest to leave the town immediately." For some reason this kind of freaked me out -- I sensed some subtle warning in his voice, like if I didn't leave the town something was going to happen. Something bad. So I agreed to leave, but how? It was almost 10 PM and Beijing was three hours away by car. The supervisor told me to take a 100 RMB taxi. He then checked with the local cop if there were any taxis...but no. There were none.

So they told me I was to stay the night at a hotel, but leave at 8 AM the next morning. I agreed. They walked me to a hotel. I paid 200 RMB and go on my bed and read.

The next morning was grey and drizzily. I left my hotel at 8:30 AM, wandered around the streets of the town a bit. Nobody was working. Dozens of people standing on the street, doing nothing. Not exactly surprisingly -- there are few businesses in the town, other than a hotel or two and a restaurant or two. I'm guessing unemployment in the town is 40% or so.

Then I went to the bus stop, and went back to Beijing. No village, no reading getaway. Just some time in a bus and some time in a police station.

The Scale of China

It's really, really hard to convey the scale of China. My usual strategy is to talk about the number of cities that have, say, over 10 million people in them, or whatever.

Here's one fun fact we learned the other day: the best hospitals in China have on average daily outpatient numbers of 10,000 people. 10,000 outpatients every day. The biggest hospital in the world is in China: 5,000 beds.

Also, there are 470 million pigs alive in China right now.

Sanitation and Health in China

The country is going bizerke over Swine flu. But there are so many things that could be done to improve sanitation and health in the country....instead they're installing more temperature-reading devices at the airport.

Hand soap in bathrooms are rare. Paper towels are even rarer -- the drying device of choice is the hot air blower. These, of course, almost never get the job done, so people are disinclined to want to wash their hands in the first place.

Then there's food cleanliness -- in particular cleanliness of plates and dishes and tables. This is an area of weakness all over the third world.

My Current Moment

I find myself using the handle of a disposable hair comb to scoop peanut butter out of a mini, emergency jar of peanut butter, given to my new friend when he went to Sichuan Province ("I'm afraid you might starve," he was told), and then the jar of peanut butter was passed onto me.

So, to recap: in Beijing, using a hair comb (the handle part) to eat peanut butter right out of the jar.

It is my first taste of peanut butter in five weeks. And it is glorious.

Etiquette at Dinners

We learned about Chinese business etiquette at meals. It's remarkable how hierarchal and authority-driven it all is.

American etiquette, vis-a-vis power and status, might call for the most important person to sit at the head of a rectangular table, collect the check, and initiate a toast if necessary.

Chinese etiquette is so much more elaborate. The most important person sits facing the door and then people sit in different positions based on decreasing levels of importance. If you chime drink glasses with someone of higher status, your cup is to be slightly below theirs when the cups connect. There's much more. It's complicated.

Eating in China

What's the history of family-style eating? You know, the method of food serving where it's all put on communal plates in the middle and each person helps himself.

I'm told that this became the Chinese-way originally as a way to save / conserve resources and food.

Is it possible that this style of eating somehow reduces overall individualistic tendencies or culture in a country in general? (I strongly prefer individual plates to family style.)

Other observations on Chinese eating: there is usually a single bowl or plate and all food you eat gets managed from that bowl (usually filled with rice on the bottom). The idea of side plates or bowls is uncommon (I even asked Chinese people about this and they confirmed that extra side, empty plates for bread or other food are rare).

Given the smallness of a typical plate or bowl, you inevitably have to put some food directly on the table (not on a plate). Or some food just spills over. Given how unclean most of the tables are, food gets dirtier more easily.

Chopsticks get the job done most of the time but there are times which call for a knife. But knives aren't used.

As in all poor countries, Coca-Cola is more common than water at meals. Anything but water is served at meals.

Napkins are not a big deal, and sometimes not offered at all at cheap places.

A Rural Village Outside Beijing

In any country it's true: the big city doesn't represent the whole country. California is way more and way different than San Francisco and Los Angeles alone. New York is not America.

In China this is important to remember. How many tourists have visited Hong Kong, Beijing, and Shanghai, and then report back home on "China"? Really, they saw Hong Kong, Beijing, and Shanghai. Not China.

Yesterday, we drove four hours north of Beijing to a small village admittedly ready to accept tourists but still pretty basic. It was beautiful countryside. Less polluted, more breathable than Beijing proper. We hiked around the village, around water, up a mountain of sorts, and took in all the natural beauty. And it was beautiful, the rolling hills, sun off the lake, the grass and trees. I'll post pictures later to make the point.

At night some of us lay on the top of the castle and watched the stars, to the play-by-play astronomy commentary by a budding astrophysicist. I haven't done that in awhile -- stargazing. I should do it more often. On a clear night, in a non-urban place, with meteor-showers in the sky: this is quite a tranquil experience. If you ever want to feel unimportant and small, just spend a night looking at the stars (lying down -- on your back -- do it right for the full experience).

The following morning we went to the less touristy part of the Great Wall. I was at the Great Wall three years ago, but the section closest to Beijing, and so packed with tourists (and thus, touts). The section we went to this time around was remarkably uncrowded and therefore more pleasant. What to say about the Wall? The great Richard Nixon put it best, perhaps, when it said something to the effect of, "It is, indeed, a very great wall."

I appreciated the beauty of the non-cityscape, but found myself itching to return to Beijing, oddly enough. I think this was for the high speed internet connection and showers that awaited me; I'm guessing if I had those amenities in the village, I would have wanted to stay a great while longer.

Back in China

"Get me out of here." Those were my first thoughts upon landing back in Beijing after the pretty painless 12 hour non-stop from San Francisco.

It's not the first time I've had moments of instant regret of sorts when arriving in a place that's dirty, dangerous, poor, or some combination. It's usually followed by some immediate action toward following through on the regret -- checking to see if I can change flights, change hotels, or in some other way improve my situation. I remember settling into my "bed" in the hut that was planted in the water deep in the Amazon jungle in 2008, bugs all around me, and thinking, "Why oh why did I leave behind my nice lifestyle in the U.S.?"

Usually, though, things improve, and I look back and feel proud and glad I did it.

In Beijing, I think my early discomfort stemmed from sleep deprivation more than anything. I'm still recovering from South America. But there are also real things about China that make life difficult, and no matter how good the "moments" are, China will never be one of my favorite countries. The smog and pollution in Beijing is insane; the language is absolutely foreign to me and I have trouble communicating even basic things; the food is decent but usually too spicy, even in the east (the west's cuisine is crazy spicy); there are holes not toilets.

My first two weeks in Beijing I will enjoy the soup-to-nuts services of my hosts and fellow delegates here. Thinking back to when I was here solo in 2006, I am absolutely amazed I got around and functioned on my own. I think once you have a host or someone who knows the ropes, you immediately cede control of the situation and become pretty helpless on your own. You're in "follower" mode. Had I landed in Beijing knowing I'd be fending for myself, my attitude would be different and more aggressive toward making myself get to where I need to go.

In 2006 I was in China in October. Now it's August. Then, the weather was pleasant, save for smog. Now, the weather is miserably hot and humid. If I've learned one thing through travel, it's that I really do poorly in extreme temps in either direction. I'm a man of moderate temperature and regular fog.

The good news: I think I've gotten most of my negativity out of the way, the sky is actually blue today in Beijing, and I'm beginning to get some sleep on my rock-hard mattress of sorts. I feel like better times are on the way.

Strange but True Cultural Preference in the Southern Cone

They have really thick window shades to block the sun when you go to bed / wake up in the morning.

As someone who prefers a very dark bedroom when sleeping, I loved this about Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay. When I stayed at people's homes, they all had (at times fancy) window shades that kept the bedroom unusually dark.

Always fascinating how these cultural preferences evolve...

Myths About Chile

A guy I met traveling, Pinaki, begins a post on his own travel blog with: "I'm sorry Chile. I really am." He goes on to discuss all the misconceptions he had with Chile before arriving. The bottom line for Pinaki is that Chile exceeded expectations.

I had high expectations for Chile, and they were met, so while the way my thinking evolved was different, we ended up at the same place: we both love Chile.

Some myths about Chile:

It’s boring. This is most common. I'm not sure what this means. It's true that Chile is socially conservative. Divorce only recently became legal. The Catholic church has a strong grip on everything. Okay. Fine. It's also less cosmopolitan than Argentina. Agreed. But there's still plenty of "action" in Chile, plenty of culture and excitement and dancing and craziness. And an entrepreneurial people who work hard and play by the rules.

It’s expensive. After Brazil, Chile is the most expensive country in South America. This is true. Still, I had several USD $5 meals, and a metro ticket will cost less than USD $1. So it still felt much cheaper than the States. And of course with the expensiveness you get the safety and stability that a Peru or Bolivia or Ecuador can never provide.

The people aren’t beautiful. Whatever. It’s true the women don't blow your socks off and the men…well, let’s just say that mullets must be an acquired taste. But there are enough pretty people. And who do you think YOU are anyway, a model?

You can't understand their Spanish. They talk quickly. They eat the ends of words. They have lingo. But even me in all my Spanish amateurishness could get around alright, and I'm sure in a month or two's time I could understand and speak Chilean Spanish well enough.

Valparaiso, Chile

(postcard)

Valparaiso was perhaps my favorite city of my South America trip.

First, it's only a two hour bus ride from Santiago, so easily accessible from a major metro area.

Second, it's physical set-up resembles San Francisco in its hills! There's are hills filled with colorful houses (and run-down shacks, alas) that sit atop the main town area bustling below.

Third, there's an artistic, laid-back vibe that seems authentic to the place and very accessible. I'd analogize it to Carmel or Monterey, California.

Walking the streets of Valpo, staring up at the hills, staring out at the water, eating some ice cream while sitting in a park: it's all just lovely lovely lovely.

I stayed up in the hills, which, come sunset, creates an awesomely tranquil and romantic setting to look out over the water and boats. The one downside to staying in the hills is that restaurant options are limited -- best to explore the downtown area by day, and eat dinner there, before retreating up for nighttime.

Getting Robbed in Buenos Aires

It’s a numbers game: you spend enough time in poorer countries where petty crime is common, and it’s going to happen to you. No matter how vigilant you are, there’s only so much you can do against determined criminals.

Granted, what happened to me today could have been stopped had I been a bit more on guard and scrupulous, so I don’t mean to write off my own failings as a statistical inevitability. Still, this is the context in which I’m viewing the incident, if only to make myself feel better (and because it’s true).

I arrived at the Buenos Aires bus station after a really long bus ride. A 28 hour bus ride. It wasn’t supposed to be that long, but various delays, border control issues, and a malfunctioning bus turned it into an adventure. I don’t mind long bus or plane rides as I can get through a bunch of reading, and this trip was no different. But still, I emerged out of the bus exhausted, dehydrated, and needing to go to the bathroom. So I was more vulnerable at the outset. I walked down into the taxi area to take a taxi to the apartment where I would spend my final night in South America.

At the taxi area where I waited there were few taxis coming, and many of us waiting. A couple cabs came and the others got in them, but after those there were none in sight.

So I walked into the next area of taxis, where more were stopping. One gentleman came up and asked if I needed a taxi. I said yes. So he stood out in the street to try to hail me one. Then another driver who was already parked came over and asked if I needed a cab. At first I was unsure – why was he just parked there? Why wouldn’t he drive up and pick up all the other waiting passengers? His cab looked legit, except that it didn’t have a phone number on the top. But some cabs have the number, some don’t. I said yes and followed him to the car.

The guy who was supposed to hail me one followed me to the car, offered to put my bags in the car, but I declined, knowing he would want a tip if I let him. He still asked for a tip, and I said no.

The driver asked where I was going and I gave him the neighborhood and cross streets. He acknowledged the cross streets and started driving. He was older (in his 60’s or 70’s) and friendly. Not too friendly – not enough to cause suspicion – but friendly. He noted how beautiful a day it was. He made small talk.

Then he asked if the route he was going to take worked for me. I said it was fine. Again, it put me at ease – he made sure I was OK with the route.

We arrived at the intersection where I said to drop me off. The meter, which worked and ran the whole time, said 23 pesos. I gave him a 20 peso bill and a 10 peso bill. He looked at the 20 peso bill and said (in Spanish of course – the whole thing has been in Spanish) that it was no good. It was fraudulent. That I had to go to the bank and change it.

If I didn’t know anything, I would have resisted this explanation and insisted that he take it. But I had heard that ATMs in Argentina sometimes spit out fraudulent bills and that taxi drivers sometimes do not accept bad bills. So it struck me as plausible, even though I’m not able to distinguish good from bad bills.

So I showed him a different 20, he said no good. Then a different 10. No good. All in a friendly voice. At this point cars were honking at us to move so we crossed the street. I showed him more bills. All were bad he said, except for the one 20. Cars honking again – we had to move.

The moves proved physically a bit disorienting.

At this point I began wondering what would happen if he didn’t think any of my pesos were legit. Would I just leave the cab and not pay? Give him the pesos, real or fake, and then leave? Would he force me to go to an ATM and get new pesos?

I then showed him my three 100 peso bills and asked if any of them were ok. He looked at them. No, no, no.

Then he moved quickly. He looked again at the bills, handed me a 2, then a 10, asked for the 20, etc, explaining that some of the bills were legit but not all. It all happened quickly. He then handed me folded bills again and stuffed them in my hand and said “this will be ok.” As I began to open the bills to see what he gave me back, he said urgently, “Watch your bills! A child will try to steal them! Watch your money!”

He then reached over and opened the taxi door. Now I was getting concerned. If someone were trying to steal my money, why would he be opening the door to let them? I clutched my bags (I had all my luggage).

He then said more urgently, watch your cash, watch your cash, be careful, right now be careful, ushering me out the door. I took one look at the folded bills, the 20 was on top, and the 10 underneath it. I clutched my bags. At this point I figured something strange was going on, but due to the language barrier, physical disorientation, lack of free hands with my luggage, and cars honking around us, I didn’t have the frame of mind to go through each of the bills he returned to me. I was more concerned that he might try to drive off with my bags, or that the child he pointed to (the non-existent child) was about to steal my wallet. I got out of the cab, looking around suspiciously, grabbing my bags, and he drove off.

At the apartment I went through my bills. He had stolen several hundred pesos, replacing the 100s with 2’s.

Could have been worse. It could have been violent. Could have stolen my passport or computer or other luggage. But still, this hurts, gives me a sour taste about Buenos Aires, and makes me all the more distrustful of third world taxi drivers.

Santiago, Chile

Chile is the Switzerland of Latin America. Chile is the Japan of the Southern Cone. Santiago is Zurich. Santiago is Tokyo. Valparaiso is St. Gallen. Valparaiso is Kyoto.

OK. This might be stretching it. Chile is still a developing country, with all that that entails. But it is striking to arrive in the country after time in Argentina and Uruguay -- it feels like arriving in Hong Kong or Japan after time spent in China and India. (Granted the contrast is not as stark; but then, nothing compares in intensity to India.)

The Santiago airport is clean and well-signed, and the personnel are helpful and professional. I got in a taxi at the airport, and he looked at my address, conferred with a colleague about the best route, then called the office en route to double check directions. The highways were exceedingly well lit (it was night time) and all traffic laws were obeyed to the T.

I spent the night with a friend in Vitacura, a tony neighborhood in the north of Santiago. The next morning I went for a run in this Atherton-style hood. The air was crisp and cool and the Andes mountains served as an unmatchable backdrop. (Think: Boulder Flatirons, except grander.) Again I noted how everyone obeyed crosswalk signs and how well marked everything was.

The next night L, D, and I shared a couple bottles of Chilean wine and several plates of tapas at a hip, loud wine bar (that turns into a dance club at midnight). Spanish was the common denominator, so I got plenty of practice. Wine always loosens the tongue as well, especially when it’s a foreign language.

Vitacura is not the real Santiago, so I spent the next six nights in an apartment in Barrio Brasil, a neighborhood near the center of town that’s full of students and nightlife and restaurants. It was an ideal location and the apartment set-up worked well as it allowed me to buy some groceries/food.

I took the same approach to Santiago as I did in Buenos Aires: walk around, more or less randomly. There was plenty to see, including ample mullets (the fashion choice of most Chilean young men), spontaneous dance protests in streets, school children, and more. I walked to the zoo and metropolitan park and to get there I had to walk through the Palestinian neighborhood. I know this because a guy came up and asked if I needed help (it’s happened three times so far in Chile; didn’t happen in Argentina or Uruguay) and he told me there are 70,000 Palestinians living in Santiago.

Food in Santiago is still heavily meat-based but not as much as in Argentina and Uruguay. Churrascos are the go-to. “Completos” are just hot dogs but with loads of sauces on top. The produce and fish are tasty, thanks to Chile’s coastal location.

The Santiago metro is the best I’ve ever used, anywhere (Japan is probably better, but again, Japan is a separate category). The trains come every two minutes or so; there are a million people standing around to help you through every stage; queues are formed and respected; the trains are trash-free and well-signed; and the coverage of the subway/metro is vast. You can get anywhere on the subway, it seemed cheap, and very user-friendly.

Pollution in the city? Yes, it’s there, and the smog and so forth is as advertised. But it wasn’t as oppressive as I expected. Some told me it would be impossible to run outside due to smog. Not so.

The city is segregated by class and in the nicer neighborhoods there isn’t much poverty to see or deal with. The wealthier suburbs are incredibly American-looking. Similar looking homes, trimmed grass lawns in front, etc. I was told that American ex-pats can live in one of these suburbs and feel right at home.

Bottom Line on Santiago: I love it.

Vigilance on the Travel Trails

A person traveling with me tells me that I am the most vigilant traveler she’s traveled with in terms of security precautions, preemptive battles against scams, etc.

Other than a passport issue in Switzerland four years ago but besides that nothing bad has happened to me. Never been robbed or mugged and nothing’s been stolen from a hotel room (even though I always hide my stuff under mattresses etc especially in lower end hotels).

I’m not sure whether this actually makes me MORE vigilant. Perhaps if something like this happened, I’d realize its big picture insignificance. Until then, it’s an “unknown.”

Either way, I think I have an optimal amount of vigilance – I do venture into dangerous hoods, countries, etc. just always try to be safe…