Lack of Security

So, remember that time when I said I was going to write a post about the security in the Middle East? Well, you should, because it literally happened one or two posts ago. Anyways, here we are, a week later, and I am finally ready to recount the tale.

At this point in my life, I have been through some airports with ridiculous security regulations and customs lines that rivaled those at Disney parks. For whatever reason, I assumed that getting through passport control entering Abu Dhabi would be nightmarish at best. I could not have been more wrong.

I found it curious that the flight attendants didn't pass out the customs forms to which I'd grown accustomed en route to Abu Dhabi from Bangkok. I rationalized that perhaps it was because we needed to do so upon arrival. However, when we landed and walked to the immigration counters, not only were there no forms at all, but no line. I still felt nervous when I approached the officer at his desk.

Here is a little aside: whenever I arrive in a country and have to go through the passport check, I feel instantly nervous. The scrutinizing gaze of the officers make me break out into an instant sweat and feel as if I have committed an unforgivable crime. Every question they ask incite a terrible panic and cause me to forget the answer to even the most basic questions.

So back to Abu Dhabi...
The only question the officer asked me was "what is your name?" The second this simple question left his lips, the panic reaction ensued. The sweat began to roll down my forehead. Oh crap... what WAS my name?! I finally recited the answer in a shaky, suspicious voice. He glanced at me with the most casual expression imaginable, stamped my passport, and waved me through.

Next, we grabbed our bags and walked out the door. No customs, no final bag check, nothing.

The way out of Abu Dhabi was more or less the same. No line at passport control, no questions, just a stamp and a wave through. In security, we didn't have to remove our liquids nor our laptops. Taking off shoes? Of course not! It was just like the TSA Pre check line in the States, but with even less of a line. I actually felt a bit nervous at the lax security, but we made it alive to New Zealand, so whatever.

Duck Whisperers

Our first day in New Zealand was a bit too “Wild Kingdom” for me. My brain spent most of the day in a behind-closed-doors, super clandestine meeting in which it and the rest of my body parts, internal and external organs mainly, deliberated (rather heatedly at times) just which time zone they were in. They never really came to a decision; my eyes were dead set on having adjusted to the time in New Zealand and claimed the rest of my body should follow suit, since it was light out and the best indicator of the time of day. My stomach, after having been fed bizarre plane food at bizarre times for three days-worth of flights and long layovers, simply threw up its metaphorical arms in a gesture of surrender and stormed out of the meeting. My frustrated brain, who called the meeting in the first place, finally decided that doing so gave him the power to determine what my body should do. So, it ordered that Marisa sleep for a freakish amount of time, an almost comatose-level sleep, in order to make up for so many hours of snoozing lost.

After waking up, I felt much better rested, and we walked down to get the feel for the neighborhood in which we were staying. We lacked the energy to do much exploring, so we walked down to the water and had a seat on a bench. After a few moments of unmolested relaxation, we noticed that we had a feathery little visitor: one of the strangest ducks I had ever seen. In the States, we have a variety of duck breeds, of which I am most accustomed to the mallard. In New Zealand, they have the Paradise duck, which is what our visitor turned out to be.

This little duck bumbled about, not making much noise but getting incredibly close to us, presumably asking for food. We had none, which the duck realized, but somehow he still felt like sticking around. A duck that craved human company, how sweet.

Eventually we got a little wigged out by the proximity of the duck as well as struck by the urge to walk around a bit more, so we stood up, said goodbye to our feathery friend, and continued on our way. It turned out, however, that the duck was not ready to part ways. The moment we began walking, he waddled right up to our side. He followed us like a faithful dog well versed in the command “heel.” When we stopped, he stopped as well and patiently waited. When we rushed to cross a street, he flew across to join us. There were many couples walking past whom the duck could have joined in hopes that they had food like we didn't, but he stayed by our side.

Curious passersby made a number of comments, like “wow, that’s quite the pet!” and asked us how we got the duck to follow. We simply shrugged. The duck only made sounds as we ran to try and ditch it on the way home (we couldn't just bring a duck back to a home where we were guests, could we?) and he began squawking and running after us. Eventually we decided to name him Dennis the Duck, though Donald was also up for an option.

So, we learned that ducks can have a deep, beautiful loyalty for humans and can, indeed, crave our companionship. Or Dennis had some kind of mental disorder. 

Ethereal Etihad

I am crazy. People have told me that because of prior decisions I've made and I really started to believe it about halfway through my three-part flight from Bangkok to Christchurch, New Zealand which began with a seven-hour flight to Abu Dhabi in the United Arab Emirates followed by a 22-hour layover.

The airline with which we flew made the painfully-long flight much more bearable. Being my first flight with Etihad Air, I had no idea what to expect. Thus, imagine my pleasant surprise when the seats I assumed to be Business Class turned out to be our Economy ones. The seats were noticeably larger than those on other planes, we were given a little "sleep well" packet with earplugs, a toothbrush and toothpaste, noise-cancelling headphones, and the widest selection of in-flight entertainment I had ever seen in my life. The real thing that put the service over the edge was the eye masks provided. One side of it said "do not disturb," and the other said "wake me up to eat." That is genius. The built-in tray even had various options. You could fold it down halfway for just drinks, pull out the cup holder next to the drink screen, or fold out the tray all the way for larger projects or meals.

The flight attendants were gorgeous and impeccably dressed, of course, and provided sensational service with only a light dose of sass on the side. They passed out menus with dining options and a list of the available beverages which included top shelf alcohol and fine wines and beers. After the safety video, the pilot came over the PA and announced that he would be dimming the cabin lights, which then transformed to dim lights of changing colors, giving the plane's interior a rather "party bus" feel.

Yes, Etihad was fantastic on the two out of three legs of the journey during which we used them. The only negative aspect disguised as a luxury was that the seats reclined incredibly far. This would be nice in theory for anyone able to sleep in an overly-reclined-airplane-seat position (a very specific sleep position), bot not for someone like me who prefers to sleep leaning forward with her head on the tray. When the seat in front of me was all the way back, placing my head on a tray was impossible. That's not to say I didn't crane my neck in ridiculous ways in an attempt to do so anyways.

NOT POSSIBLE!!

He's mastered it

Another complaint has nothing to do with the crew or company, but with a rather.... charming... passenger. Starting during the meal portion of the flight and heading well into the designated sleeping part of the flight, one rather large and boisterous man was leaning on my seat and standing in the aisle while loudly speaking Farsi to another passenger. The flight attendants were getting quickly irritated as he couldn't even be bothered to move his big bum even an inch as they tried to move past to do their job. So that was fun. Oh wait...no, it really wasn't.

I was considering coupling this blog with my reflections on the Middle East, specifically their airport security and customs, but I love leaving you curious and this blog is a novel already, so hold your horses.

My only question now is... what does their first class look like??

An Elephant-Sized Adventure

Prior to last week, my elephant-riding experience was limited to sitting atop a pachyderm at the renaissance fair in Colorado while someone led it around in a couple of circles. Thanks to a visit to the Baanchang Elephant Park in Chiang Mai, Thailand, I can now say that I have ridden multiple elephants as well as bathed them and fed them. Yes, I have had a close encounter of the Dumbo kind.

Visitors to Thailand often have reservations about going to elephant parks due to inhumane treatment of the gentle giants. For example, some feel hesitant about riding them at all and some don't like the fact that parks often use chains on the elephants' feet. I admit I found it a bit jarring that the elephants were chained up despite reassurances that they got plenty of exercise multiple times a day and were all rescued from prior lives of logging and other poor treatment.

The park had over 45 elephants which we were able to feed mass amounts of banana and sugarcane. The hunger of the giant beasts never seemed satiated, their greedy trunks constantly reaching out to us as if magnetized, asking for more goodies. Their power as they ate became quickly apparent- their teeth crunched a bunch of bananas like it were a tiny marshmallow, swallowing it in one gulp. After feeding them, we learned how to ride them and each had a go taking them around a couple of trees with their trainers, called mahouts, nearby. I was grateful for the presence of the mahout especially when I forgot the commands for "go," "stop," "turn," and "lie down." I was surprised at the similarities of riding a horse and an elephant.

One massive difference, of course, was the size. The moment I mounted the elephant and sat in the area just behind its ears, I realized the ease with which it could buck me off if irritated, making it clear that I was at its mercy entirely. This made me a bit nervous as we didn't need to sign any sort of waiver.

After riding around on the elephants for about an hour, we dismounted with nice and sore legs and gave the pachyderms a bit of a wash. I was a bit skeptical about getting into a cold pond filled with elephant dung, but decided it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. At the end of the day, we ate some pad thai, said goodbye to our new friends and parted ways.

Chicken

We realized after our Thai trip that cab and tuk tuk rides are completely hit or miss. Sometimes you get lucky and hail a taxi with a kind driver who doesn't try to take advantage of your status as a tourist. Sometimes you get someone trying to squeeze every penny from the wallets of unsuspecting and naïve foreigners. Sometimes, you get a really crazy Thai man with no teeth named Chicken. 

His name shouldn't have been such a shocker- in Thailand, people are required to have unique names. In fact, until 1913, Thai people didn't even have last names. 

Yes, Chicken was…quite a character, as his name would indicate. One evening, we were headed to a restaurant for dinner and decided that a nice, open-air ride in a tuk tuk would be preferable to yet another stuffy taxi. It didn't take long for a tuk tuk to spot us and pull up to where we stood on the curb. 

We decided to try and barter with the guy. After a few days of cab rides, we knew most of their tricks. One that most drivers used with us was to try and get us to pay much more than would ever be logical for the ride by saying “oh, right now, bad traffic. Some roads closed.” No. Not the case. The traffic was always wretched. I want to pluck up a complaining driver in Los Angeles and ask her to drive in Bangkok for just one day. I guarantee she would never complain again after that experience.

So, we got in Chicken’s tuk tuk. Lesson learned: never get into a tuk tuk or taxi with a driver named after a farm animal. Granted, I was hoping that there would be at least a few tuk tuk shenanigans in Bangkok. Boy, did I get shenanigans. As we told Chicken where we needed to go and negotiated a price we began our journey. Chicken was an animated driver to put it mildly. In a nasal, abrasive voice he spoke to us in indecipherable English or attempted to teach us Thai. There was one vital English phrase that he really should have learned to say properly. Multiple times while we bartered, he said “okay, okay, after trip I pay you 300.” He meant to say that when he dropped us off, WE would pay 300. Every time he made this little mistake, we would say “oh, WOW, you will pay US for riding in your tuk tuk? Great!”

So, things got a little strange only a few minutes into our voyage. Chicken spotted a chubbly, sweaty little Thai boy who I would say was about 8 sitting on the curb. He pulled over and started shouting to the kid who then hopped into the tuk tuk right next to us. I was beginning to get a little skeptical of what was going on- I’m pretty sure this sort of thing is against protocol.

So, the four of us continued on our way down a main road, the little boy engrossed in his handheld video game and question marks circling around my head the entire time. Then, another worrying element of our journey occurred. Chicken took a turn down a narrow alley with only a butchered English explanation as to why. The plots of horror movies that take place in third world countries began playing over and over in my mind, and I feared that the two of us were about to be chopped into little pieces or sold into some sort of slavery.

It turned out he was taking us to his home so we could transfer from his tuk tuk to his taxi. I guess you could say it was like a layover at his home. He said that we could pay less because of the inconvenience. So we hopped into the cab and so did the little boy, who turned out to be Chicken’s son (no his name wasn't Egg).

Thankfully, we survived the crazy journey with Chicken and lived to tell the tale.

Orange Juice!

I was excited about the prospect of a little third world fun, which I hoped would be similar to my time in India. I enjoyed the politeness of the Japanese people, the cleanliness of their country and the similarities to America, but it was time for a change. Thailand provided just that. For starters, walking down a Thai street is completely overwhelming for your olfactory glands. The odors and aromas you smell literally change by the second and range from a delicious curry being cooked from scratch by a street vendor to the most heinous scent of excrement you can possibly imagine.

As I write this, I am sitting on a train bound for the Northern city of Chiang Mai. The train isn’t terrible- it is far preferable to the bus I took in India, but the bounciness and sudden stops most likely indicate a long night with little to no sleep. I’m getting too old for this….

However, there is one woman on this train who may singlehandedly have made this trip infinitely better just with her fantastic attitude. She is this large, boisterous Thai woman whom I can only hope to try and accurately describe. Throughout the train trip, she has been bumbling up and down the hallways asking if we want orange juice or other goodies. "Orange juice! You want some orange juice!" She clearly loves her job, or at least does a really good acting job that she does. When she took our dinner orders she came and sat beside us and struck up a friendly conversation. Wonderful woman.

The sad thing is that the little cots on these trains are far, far more comfortable than the bed I had in my Japanese apartment and the mattress on which I slept in the Thai hostel. There is a little curtain that wraps around each bed allowing for privacy, and an attendant made up our beds and provided each of us with a blanket. Considering each ticket cost less than 30 bucks that is quite a deal. 

My cozy train cot

My delicious train coffee

After the train ride up to Chiang Mai and its surprising degree of comfort, I was ready to enthusiastically recommend it to anyone taking a trip to Thailand. However, the ride back was...a struggle to put it mildly. I would say definitely go to Chiang Mai. There is no question. The moment you arrive you realize what a tranquil escape it is from the bustling sensory overload that is Bangkok. Chiang Mai is much more calm, cheap, and full of nature. 

However... do NOT do what we did, which was take two overnight trains in three days. I would say fly one way, if possible. The train back was a different model and not nearly as comfortable. The way back featured "charming" fluorescent lights blaring the entire 14-hour journey. Not ideal.

Philippine Airlines

Self-admittedly, I am a complete and total wuss when it comes to plane travel. I freak out and completely overreact at the slightest bump once we are airborne and assume that we are about to go down in a dramatic and fiery manner. 

However, that doesn't mean I haven’t been through flights that people without a deadly fear of flying also considered terrifying. I’ve been on more planes in my life than I can easily recall without perusing old emails containing flight details and asking my parents about trips I took during my youth. The point is, I’ve been on a lot of planes and I’ve experienced a lot of turbulence. None of the aforementioned turbulence could have prepared me for what I experienced during my flight from Tokyo to Manila last week.

I enjoyed Philippine Air the first time I flew with them to Japan about six months ago now. They served a piping hot meal even on a short flight, they showed a HILARIOUS safety video, and provided excellent customer service throughout the entire trip. So, I was content with having chosen them a second time to fly from Tokyo to Bangkok with a layover in Manila. My face lit up like a Christmas tree when they informed me at the airport that I was allowed to check not only one but FOUR bags for free with them (I only had two to check, but still). Even as a Mileage Plus member with United, I am still only allowed to check one bag for international flights without having to pay an insane fee.

Perhaps, however, their lenient baggage allowance on my flight was one of the contributing factors leading to the most terrifying voyage of my entire life. I honestly think that the plane was immensely overweight and caused it to have such problems in the sky. Also a possible factor was the fact that we were seated in the very back of the plane. As in, row 75 of about 80. Even when we were on the ground, there were some terrifying noises coming from the bottom of the plane. As we took off, my hands almost immediately began shaking, and essentially didn't stop until we landed. I was utterly convinced that the plane was going to go down after the first horrifying bout of turbulence. 

For once in my life while recounting a plane ride, I am NOT exaggerating. At one point after takeoff, the plane dipped so far down that it felt like, as my boyfriend described it, the pilot dropped the joystick for a moment. I began trembling and crying, and couldn't even begin to comprehend that we still had four hours of flight time remaining.

I knew that the descent would be bad, but I could never have imagined just how bad. The drops, dips, and violent shaking of the plane made our previous ride on Space Mountain a few days prior seem like a relaxing Sunday cruise. A baby began screaming at the top of his lungs for the last bumpy hour of the flight, adequately reflecting my own emotions. All of the passengers on the plane gasped multiple times as the plane bounced up and down violently.

Needless to day, I honestly considered staying in the Philippines for the remainder of my life to avoid ever getting on another plane.

I do LOVE the airport in Manila. It is so ridiculously unofficial, and therefore wonderfully amusing. Upon arrival, since we were transferring to another flight, we were asked to enter the “transfer room” and have a seat on the “transfer couch” while two agents shoveling down chocolate cake took a quick glance at our boarding passes. Once they finished their cake and did nothing else, they asked us to follow them down a few hallways and to our gate. Thankfully, the flight to Bangkok from Manila was nice and smooth!

The Final Japanese Days

The last few days in Japan didn't feel like the last few days in Japan. I felt ready, as if I’d seen all I wanted to in Tokyo. I had gotten my closure.  I did some new things like go up the Tokyo Skytree and to an aquarium, and I did some repeat excursions as well. I returned to the zoo once again to visit my Japanese animal buddies and visited the owl café a second time to see those feathery friends of mine.

I also paid a visit to the second Tokyo Disney Park, Tokyo Disneyland. I will say, however, that it was quite a different experience. When I went to Tokyo Disney Sea in December, I was blown away by how crowded it was. I hadn’t even come close to really seeing “crowded,” as it turns out. No, Disney Sea was empty when I went in comparison to my trip to Disneyland. Disneyland’s streets were so densely packed that you could hardly shuffle from one ride to the next without bumping into at least twenty other park-goers. By 10 in the morning, the fast-passes for Space Mountain had been distributed for the remainder of the day, and the wait time had skyrocketed to 200 minutes, no exaggeration. So, one could watch an extended version of a Lord of the Rings installment and still have time to spare in line. When I thought about it in those terms, I simply couldn't wait standby for that ride.

160 minute wait? Nope!

I am not sure there is any logical explanation for the fact that I ACTUALLY waited two hours in line for Big Thunder Mountain. Especially considering that I have ridden that attraction many times in the past. The only explanation for my choosing to wait two hours in line for a ride that lasts about two minutes max is that I am certifiably insane. However, that would make every person ahead of me and behind me in line certifiably insane as well, which would make Disneyland just full of crazies. So in spite of the fact that the park was magical and fun, my enjoyment was slightly dampened by only getting to ride six rides in nine hours. I guess you know you’re getting old when you realize you no longer have the patience to put up with huge lines and crowds anymore.

I also tried some new Japanese cuisine that I hadn’t before during a home cooked meal and a thick pancake with green onions called Negiyaki. I also got to visit what was likely my 15^th or so Indian restaurant in Japan.

One thing is I wish I had taken the time to give the island that I called home for six months a more ceremonious goodbye. Instead, I spent my final morning rushing to the airport and didn’t really share my sentiments properly with Japan.