We are leaving Brussels for Platjia de Gandia today. We walked from our hotel to the client in the morning, walked back, grabbed our suitcases, used the trains, and ended up at the International Airport of Brussels. The game plan is to fly to Madrid, then connect from Madrid to Valencia on flight ocho ocho nueve catro(8894). The terminal 4 in Madrid is 470,000 m² big. It is one of the world’s largest terminals in terms of area. (Quotes from Wikipedia). The running distance from one end to the other is about 11 minutes if you ever participated in the Olympics in a track and field specialty. It would take me about 25 minutes. Needless to say, we gated at one extremity of the terminal, and the flight for Valencia was at the other extremity. We have about 90 minutes of transit time. Why me worry, right? On the FIRST electronic board we spot after landing, I see “Valencia 8894 7:15 Final Call”.. In other words, this cannot be good. Anyone who travelled before can attest to this, final call means they are about to close the doors. Now, on our tickets, it says “Boarding 8:45” or something similar, can our plane leave 2 hours early? Without us? So we picked up our bags, and we literally ran through the airport, all the way to the departing gate at the other end. As we are running, I can see the electronic boards saying “Final Call”, “Gate Closed”, and “Departed”, for flight 8894. So of course, we arrived just in time to see the plane leaving the area. I show my boarding pass to the girl at the gate, she looks at me and smile, and she tells me to be patient, everything is under control, just show up at 8:45. I am not quite convinced that my Spanish was up to par on this conversation. I remembered seeing an Iberia counter when we left our plane, and we have some time now, I guess, plus, there is another Iberia flight leaving for Valencia in 20 minutes by it. There goes another run through the Madrid terminal, all the way to the other end. And see what is the dealio here, with the Iberia counter, were we bumped to another flight? Like the one leaving in 20 minutes right behind her? I am told again not to worry, and being patient. I go back and check the board. I see flight 8892 for Valencia, I see flight 8896 leaving for Valencia at 10:30 at night. There is a gap there, oh, right around 8894? Nothing on the electronic board. We go back to the other end of the terminal to wait by the gate that is written on our ticket. This is our third run across the terminal. Lo and behold, at 8:45 we start boarding for our flight to Valencia. The God Almighty Electronic Board, that controls all that is flight related, is still oblivious to our flight. I am THEN told that the board is sometimes wrong, and that they knew it. It would have been nice to know about it, as opposed to be told to be patient.

Una Habitacion? No no. Duo Habitacion!

Steve finally gets a rental car in Valencia, we now have a 50 minute drive to our hotel on the beach! Ah! I am looking forward to some form of relaxation, the beach crowded with beautiful women. Finally some time off on this trip. We get to the hotel whereabouts; again the TomTom is useless because I didn’t take down the exact address. We are roaming on the streets and then we finally get there. Our receptionist could easily supplement her income by working an auction. She was talking faster than I could decipher what she was saying. I think even other people who were Spanish would have had a hard time. Steve is becoming quite pale, since he found out that our client on Monday will be holding the meeting in Spanish, since their English and French are lacking. And he now realize that their Spanish, here, is not language school type of Spanish, they are very fluent in it. We are being told that there is “Uno Habitacion : Gilles Russell” I have one room. She proceeds to tell me that the hotel is fully booked, and that Steve will not have a room tonight. I am quite positive that I have booked 2 rooms, so I repeat myself, going “Duo habitacion” while gesticulating enough to make her understand that there is no way in hell I am sleeping with Steve tonight. After 3 to 5 minutes of trying to make her understand that she is wrong, and I am right. Steve pulls out his passport, gives it to her, and see that she has a reservation for “Steve Desjardins” We are saved. I am at “Planta Cinco” and so is Steve. It just means we are on the 5th floor, I picked up the word “Planta” by glancing at the elevator map back in Madrid, since we ran by the elevators 3 times. Steve is starting to worry about his Spanish, and I need a drink. The hotel documentation I got from my travel agent, who is also my cousin, told me of a bar on the roof of the hotel. If I cannot make it to Ibiza, I might as well relax at the local drinking hole, and well, er, practice my “Spanish”. We go to the roof, dictionary in hand, and electronic translator, and all that. All kidding aside, communication is very slow if you use those things, I can play charades faster. It does not do much for my learning of Spanish, but it can get me a beer faster. Over the next couple of hours, we managed to communicate with our bartender, Alexsandra. She is from Romania, moved to Madrid 2 years ago, she has been in Gandia for 4 months, she has a boy that is 5 months old, her husband, well, not really husband, more like a boyfriend, is Andres, and he is a cook at Miquetes on Guillerme Mas, by Carrer Major. So, through all that, there were street names, people’s name. We drew maps, etc.. We also managed to find out where the local Laundromat was, how to get our laundry done, what to do on Saturday, and that our Spanish leaves a lot to be desired. Time for bed. It was a long day, woke up in Brussels, sleeping in Gandia. Oy.

After wondering most of the night how will I pay the phone bill, I passed out. Now, here is a funny thing when you are in a big hotel room. It is, indeed, well, big. I never asked for a wakeup call, I usually wake up at a decent hour, and do my things. Our agenda for the day is just to go to Luxembourg, and meet our client, and then come back. How far can Luxembourg be, really? it is merely a couple of inches away from Brussels on the map. I slowly open my eyes staring at the clock, 10:20am… I hear faint sound coming form far away, very far away. The sound reminds me a little bit of home. Ah! here it goes again. It is the door bell. You know, the room was sooo big, that in my bedroom, I could barley hear the door bell. That could be quite problematic. I rushed to the door, to find a visibly worried Steve, who has been ringing the door bell on and off for the last 20 minutes. We have to get ready and cross those two inches into Luxembourg.

Luxembourg.

We have just experienced a memorable lapse of judgement. We have a meeting in Luxembourg in 3 and a half hours. We are in Brussels. We have no travel arrangements. The only thing I know about Luxembourg is that is is somewhat South East from our location, and it is a very small country. It would almost fit in my bedroom. I suggest taking a train, Steve would rather rent a car. After seeing how the cab driver drove the night before, I would still rather take a train, but if Steve wants to drive, more power to him. It might make nice stories to write from an hospital bed. The closest car rental location is about 10 minutes away. By Taxi. So here we go again, in a taxi, driven by a persian. It is quite funny the impact a taxi driver can have on someone in a 10 minute drive. He is persian, he explains that persians are nice iranians that do not want to bombard Israel into oblivion. He was tortured for a while in a prison, they smashed his toes repeatly with a hammer. Just thinking about him makes him shivers, and really, it makes me shiver a bit too. Oh the stories he will tell his grand kids later. I try to focus on something else, like, using the TomTom to figure out how far is Luxembourg. As I am doing so, Steve is asking our persian similar questions. Funny how the “Oh Shit” resonates twice in my brain. As the driver says “Oh about 2, maybe 2 and a half hours”, The TomTom, in harmony, starts flashing 2h14m travel time. We still have no cars, We might have trouble finding the place, our schedule just got a bit tight. The car rental place is offering us a car, for the modest sum of 200 Euros for the day. That is like 300$ or so, similar to my phone bill. We are really out of options at this stage, and the car rental happens to be at the train station. Taking the train back and forth to Luxembourg is a lot cheaper, like 84 euros for both of us, return trip. It takes 3 hours and it leaves in 10 minutes. Is it worth 112 Euros to arrive 40 minutes earlier, potentially, if we don’t get lost? Not really. We jumped on the train. We arrived 75 minutes late, but our client was warned of our travelling conditions, since we borrowed people’s cell phones on the train, in return of canadian coins. I still think that the maps are wrong. There is no way it should be that long to travel two inches. Our meeting went fine, and we took the train back.

Do you speak flemmish?

For those of you who don’t know Steve, he tends to dress the part as a salesperson. And there is NOTHING wrong with that. (Hi Steve!). There is nothing wrong going to a business meeting in a pinstripe suit, with an expensive tie, and nice italian leather shoes. I tend to dress more casually, excepts at weddings, especially my own. Now, we are on a three-hour long train ride back to Brussels, it is around 9pm, and coming aboard the train is a group of highly respectable flemmish citizens, and they had too much to drink. There are like 8 to 12 individuals, in their 30ies, maybe 40ies. One of them is obviously the clown of the group. They are yelling at each other, but they are happy drunks. They are of course, staring at the 2 strangers in the train. That would be me, and the sharp dressed man. Now the clown is taking a sudden interest in me and Steve. In the back of my mind, I am thinking; This is not good. He comes and sit in front of me, and he starts engaging into a fun conversation with me, in flemmish. I, on the other end, let him know, in english, that I am french. Now that I think of it, that was pretty stupid, I could have told him in french that I was english. It still makes no sense. Anyhow, I didn’t know that the flemmish hates the french. Mr. Happy is giving me a weird look, makes a comment, and the crowd start laughing. I have that weird feeling that he was not complimenting my hairstyle. And now, the surreal part of this journey is starting. If you were wondering when the fun would start, that was a defining moment. Our clown, who I am told by another passenger is the director of a local museum,  is slowly turning his head and starts staring at Mr Fashion himself, Steve…He stands up, and go and sits beside Steve. He stares at Steve like a kid would stare at a giant lollypop. You can actually sense that he is thinking about what can he possibly do to Steve. I am laughing hysterically, but on the inside. The guy then starts polishing Steve’s shoes, ruffles his hair, readjust Steve’s tie. and then, he picks up Steve’s tie, and he blows his nose in it. Steve is not amused. I am dying of laughter. The guy means no harm, but he might have crossed the imaginary line of what strangers will tolerate without retaliation. Everyone is laughing on the train. It is nice to see that bullying is stil alive and well, even for grownups. We cannot reach our destination fast enough, and lo and behold, we are all going out at the same stop. We go back to the Brussels Grill for supper, beside our hotel, because really, we just cannot take any more excitement tonight. Our clumsy waitress is still there, and she is asking us if we were there the night before. I told her it wasn’t us, but we have a set of twins that might have been there the night before. She will realize that I was kidding before dessert.

Our flight to Ireland was uneventful. But I cannot emphasize enough on this old saying of mine “If you do not know where you are going, you are most likely gonna end up where you do not want to be.” We landed in Dublin, and jumped in a cab. To go and see our client, in Swords. Swords, is a town/neighborhood/notsure around Dublin. After we got in the cab, and the cab driver asks us where we are going, it dawn on us, well, on Steve, that we are not quite sure where we are going. Those things happens on trips around multiple cities, and have about 30 different transportation schemes scheduled. Our cab driver was not that understanding of our situation. We knew we were going in “Swords”. I was relieved to see signs that said “Swords” on the road, so we didn’t make things up. I was a little worried that it was 5 miles away. It meant that we had like 5-10 minutes to provide an address to the very unpleasant cab driver. If you read this, Pat Murphy, yes, I meant you. we finally stopped in Swords, got a phone number, our gracious cab driver called the number and asked for directions.

Brussels – I know why the lil guy is pissing.

Nice business meeting, and we then flew to Brussels. We have seen Swords. So much for Ireland. Once we landed in Brussels, we were pondering between taking a cab, or renting a car. Renting a car would make sense since we had to go to Luxembourg the next day. It was getting late, and I was not in a mood to drive, or be driven by Steve, our track record with the TomTom was a good indication that we should just cab it. Remember that we have been up since 4:30am, and it was not a pleasant sunrise. I am tired. So we get in the cab, and our very young cab driver was eager to please, since we asked them to bring us to our hotel fast. This cab driver was a tad bit aggressive on his driving skills. Wait, no.. He made Montreal Drivers look like pussies. Coming out of a tunnel, you know with walls all around us, he tried to pass a car on this one-lane wide exit, by scratching the side or the car on the wall, just a bit, enough to make me dig my nails in the dash. He did some hairpin right turns, from the second lane, while cars were coming in the first lane. I started wondering if my will was up to date. After jumping over some side curbs, we landed on the sidewalk, in front of our hotel. 40 Euros. I had to swallow my heart back. I almost pissed my pants.

My hotel room.

We arrived at the Sheraton, Place Rougier. It might be 9 or 10 o’clock at night.There seems to be a misunderstanding. The clerk is telling Steve that she is sorry that we have no facilities in our room, or something like that. She is really sorry. I elbow Steve, we better have bathrooms in our room, man.. Steve is telling me to be quiet, but I am visibly upset at the thought of having to go in hallways to pee. Steve, on the other hand, seems really happy and excited, and I do not have a clue why. the more excited he gets, the more worried I am about his sanity. He obviously didn’t hear what I heard. So, as we get in the elevator, he tells me I am in for a treat. Damn right, I am.. If I have to roam around the hotel to take a shower, everyone here is in for a treat. So, it turns out, we were “upgraded”. The clerk was sorry that Steve will not be awarded his points for his whatever card for this, since it is an upgrade, and their system won’t take it. Once I arrived on our floor (number 25th, for club member lounge people) we had a shoe shining machine, our own lounge, a meeting room, and about 10 rooms on the floor. I got the corner room. I was mildly amused by the fact that there was a door bell to my room. I understood when I opened the door, and saw that I had 2 bedrooms, one queen size bed, and one king size bed, an office, a living room, a kitchenette, a mini bar the size of a small country, and three bathrooms. And here i was wondering about bathrooms. I also had a walking closet between the king size bed room, and the bathroom with the mini-low sink for washing your hair. We went out for steak and frites besides our hotel, nice food, nice staff, one waitress kept on dropping plates, and I have never witnessed waiting staff with such bad manners. She reached across the table, put her boob in a guests face, and tried to grab plates from the second seat across the table from where she was. So much for taking plates from the left of the guest, she was practically laying across the table to reach plates. She was talking to us in English, while we answered her in french, at the end of our visit, she clued in that we could speak french.

The phone call.

Steve is telling me that I should call my wife. For some unknown reasons, I do not call home when I travel, I use MSN, facebook, Emails, but I never really have a strong desire to call home. I am not exactly sure why. So I brush off Steve who is offering me special rates to call home using some arcane calling cards. I go downstairs to go on the internet, and I talk to one of my wife’s coworker on MSN. My wife is having a rough day at work, and he tells me that I should call her. I asked him to call her, and see if she wants me to call home. If there is nothing important, I am sure she would say that everything is fine, and there is no need to call home. I am being told that she is waiting for my call, and I should call home. I go back to my room to call. I have a bad feeling about this. I use the phone in the hotel room, and follow the instructions to call. Here is a good tip from Uncle Gilles here. Do NOT, EVER, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, use the hotel room’s phone to call long distance. If there is only one lesson to learn from this trip, AVOID MAKING LONG DISTANCE CALLS FROM YOUR ROOM. So I ignored every tingling of common sense and I called home. Everything is okay, we talked about the room, the trip, her work, I love you, you love me, etc.. 75 minutes later, I hang up. I have a feeling that this might have been a tad expensive. As I lay in bed, 15 minutes later, it is now 1:30am, I figured I should turn on the TV and check my room expenses. my lovely phone call costs me 191 Euros. Or, 300$ Canadians. The phone call costs me 300$ Canadian. I could have gotten at least two chicks at once, for that money. I called home!!! I sweat in bed until 2:30am, wondering if they would take a rubber chicken in form of payment. There goes my traveling expenses. I will have to eat peanut butter sandwiches for the rest of the trip.

GROSS WARNING : If you are eating right now, or you have problems dealing with some heavy imagery, please skip the next section.

I somehow knew that no matter what warnings I would give you, you would keep on reading anyways. I shall classify you as a pervert, and as an easily entertained person. Anyhow, here is the story, as I went into the changeroom, and I started to take my shoes off and socks off, I took a look around. A guy across me just finished dressing himself up to leave, and another guy is in the corner arguing with his kid. the kid might be 5 or 6 years old. I cannot see the kid, because the guy is in between us. The door opens and a guy walks in. With his 8 years old daughter. At this stage, I am a bit confused. I checked on the door, and yup, it does say “men”, I look at the kid, and yep, it is a girl. Then the other guy moves, and the kid he is talking to, is also a girl. I guess Sunday morning is “Bring your daughter to see fat old naked men at the gym” day. I am a little perplexed because I do not know how prudish the English are. I think of the Benny Hill shows, and the such, and then Queen Victoria, and I cannot make up my mind if I am expected to wait til they are gone before changing into my bathing suit, or should I proceed with my de-clothing. I take my time, and wait to see the other two fathers reaction. They go get butt naked, put their bathing suits on and carry on. Ok then, I finish my business and went to the pool. Funny how things are when you are not at home. I do not think fathers would walk into the change room with their 8 years old daughter, so I wouldn’t have to think what is permissible or not. shrug. Later on, me, the father, and the kid also enjoyed the dry sauna. I kept my bathing suit on.

Steve ran like a good little mouse on a wheel for about 55 minutes, I took turns between the whirlpool and the pool, He was trying to work up a sweat, I was going for the least amount of physical movements as possible.

We wanted to go and see the football game (Manchester United vs Tottenhum or something like that, I am sure Bryan Shailer will correct me.) at a local pub, to mingle with the locals. I wanted to see a bunch of football fanatics jumping up and down, getting drunk, and throwing their beers in the air. After talking to 7 staff, 6 of which recommended the hotel bar (Yes, i am sure the hotel by the airport is filled by locals fans) The last guy recommended local pubs in Gatley, about 15 minutes from the hotel.

Our car is possessed. remember that Steve plugged his iPod in, and we were listening to music on our way to Manchester. well, every 20 minutes or so, the iPod would pause, the radio would turn on, and play the Traffic bulletin, and then the iPod would go back. We thought it was very weird, and we both thought that it was a mistake we were pressing the wrong button. On our way to Gatley, we turn the radio OFF, as in, not ON. 5 minutes into the ride, the radio turned itself on, and told us that the M6 would be quite crowded today, and it turned itself off. yeah.  you cannot avoid the traffic report.

The recommended pub “The Horse and the Ferrier” was not showing the Arsenal game, and there was only one TV in a small room with about 12 seats.. It smelt good, but we left since we couldn’t figure out what the atmosphere would be like at game day, we settled for the Prince Of Wales, renovated in 1796. Not built in 1796, renovated… It was better, it felt like we were in the middle of the little pub in the movie “American Werewolf in London” (Bonus points if you remember the name ot the pub in the movie).

We had fun, saw the place getting crowdy, enjoyed the free sandwiches that the pub owner passed around, had some kidney pies, and enjoyed a good game. We went back to the hotel, had supper, and crashed to bed.

Now, we are monday night, I already lived through monday, and I will try to write about it tomorrow, but the internet access SUCKS big time, wherever we are. And I am driving a lot of miles, more on that tomorrow.

Also posted on my facebook, Gilles Russell of the Ottawa, On network.

Our plane was supposed to leave at 10:10pm, and after boarding, we were told that since the plane wasn’t full, and everyone was on board by 9;45pm, we will enjoy an early departure. The plane left at 10:20pm. Figure that one out. I tried to sleep from the moment the plane’s wheel left the ground, but with mitigated success. The only thing I managed was skipping the meal. So maybe I slept 3 hours overall on the 6 hours flight. Off and on. We have a lot to learn from the immigration services in England. I was asked very few questions on paper, even less in person, and all this was done before I even reached my suitcase. My waiting time was measured in seconds, not hours like Toronto. We grabbed our “priority” suitcases before everyone else’s suitcases were on the belt. I have to travel with Steve more. This kind of service really changes the travelling experience. We had to take a shuttle to go to our car rental spot.

The poor little indian girl I had to deal with had a hard time with my english, and I couldn’t understand what she was saying. Steve was translating. I am sorry but “You will have to pay for your windscreen violations.” was not very clear to me. I have to pay for my parking tickets. I tried very hard to look professional when I sat at the wheel of my new Vectra car, from I don’t know who the manufacturer is, looks like a lion thingy, and it is not Peugeot, maybe Holden? I am not sure. The girl explains to me where the wipers are, and the stick shift, and all that nice stuff, she sets the lights on Auto, so we don’t forget. We should be set to go. I stare at the stick shift on my left side. That will require some time to get used to it. The girl is leaving, we are all set to go. Except Steve. He is wondering how to set the radio so he can plug his iPod in, and how to change the source for the radio. After we sat in the car for five minutes, he went and get the girl, yes, the girl, back to explain it to us. I think I can make a generic generalization here and admit that girls, in general, are not the experts when it comes time to play with car radios. Sure they can do the generic stuff, but changing audio source on this state-of-the-art radio was out of her league.After another 5 minutes, she gives up and she will go ask the guys. I opened up the car owner’s manual, and click here, click there, well, I got it working.

So we leave, on the LEFT side of the road, drive on the left, and all that, shifting requires some time, since by going up, you start on the third, not the first, so you kind of have to “wing” it to the left to get it in first gear. We are on our way to the beautiful “M4, wait, take the M6, maybe the M556″ highway system. I rely solely on my TomTom for directions and we managed to drive for 3 hours with only one near-death experience, well maybe 2. The first one was an 18 wheeler who tried to changed lanes, but I was next to him when he did that. My quick reflexes threw me a little more to the right where no cars where present at the time. It sure woke Steve up though. The last bad experience was around the airport in Manchester, see we are attracted to airports like bugs are attracted to err, light. anyhow, I thought I was on a one-way street and I had to turn right, so I went on the right lane, but it was not really a one-way street, I think that is what the guy in the car facing me was trying to tell me when his hands were waving all over the place. I thanked him for his directions and stick back to the left lane. Our hotel was located on Ringway Drive, coincidentally, so is the airport, and we don’t have an address for the hotel, like nowhere does it gives numbers, just street name. The street is 350 meters long, according to the TomTom but I am now in front of the airport, and “Betty”, my lovely tomtom voice, tells me “You have reach your final destination”. little does she know about our trip. Anyhow, after arguing with the TomTo that the airport is not what we had in mind, Steve left to find directions. I took the TomTom in my hand and vigorously shook it, and played with different options. A cool little feature is the “Find POI around”, I clicked it, then I clicked “hotel” and lo and behold, the little rascal knew EXACTLY where the hotel was… 350 meters behind us, Steve got back into the car, and we were on our way. </p><p>Not only does my hotel room has 1 bed, it has 2! I guess someone up there is trying to make up for Geneva. altough the beds are not comfy at all, I will have a hard time sleeping later, It is a chilly 13 degrees in my room, I crank it up to 20 and take a shower. The minibar is very weird. It has autosensors in it, you lift a bottle, you pay for it, eben if you put the bottle back down. After reading the instructions, I think I will not even dare opening the door to look at what’s inside. Steve wants to go and eat at the hotel bar, I am exhausted, but I feel that saturday night (well 2pm) would be a good time to see what is going on downtown Manchester. </p><p>we decided to leave the car here and take the Mass Transit system, which is not on strike here, to go. I figured since the TomTom said it was 20 minutes away, that maybe 40 minutes we would reach our destination. It took a little over an hour. We rided the double dutch bus, and saw how the Manchester people live, nice brick houses, not a lot of satellite dishes, well, who wants more BBC anyways, no backywards, or frontyards, I kind of like it. We got to Picadilly Gardens and the place is busy, I mean, thousands of people are in the streets shopping, laughing, running to catch a tram. I sarcastically mentionned to Steve ‘Just like Ottawa downtown on the weekend”. “crickets crickets”. The crowd is rather young, a lot of University students, I think there are at least 2 universities here, We finally got to a Big Wheel in the middle of the Exchange Plaza, I guess they envied the one from London or something, but it was on a rather smaller scale.

I spot the Hard Rock Cafe, and that is what I was really looking for. I collect Pilsener Glasses from Hard Rock Cafes from all over the world. When I started my collection in 2000, there were 82 HRC in the world, I now have about 30 glasses. The poor lad at the gift shop told me they were out of Pilsener glasses. I told him he better find one, I told him about my collection, and that I didn’t travel halfway around the world to be told that he ran out. I don’t care WHAtT he has to do, he better find one. I was not nasty, I just pleaded my case well. He went and look in the backstore, and 5 minutes later, he returned with the Pilsener glass. I bought pins for my wife, since that is what she collects as well. We had a nice meal, mingled with the locals, nothing too fancy, and we were on our way back home. By city bus.

I have a feeling that Steve does not enjoy using mass transit systems, since he didn’t ride a bus since he was 16. I, for one, think that it is the cheapest and best sight-seeing tour fo a town. You get to see the real locals, see real streets, and their real way of living. Some people like to see the fishes in an Aquarium, I like snorkeling, even if it means facing enraged steroids-grown piranhas, or tunas. So, I was resting my eyes on the bus when a dude, about 20 years old, came upstairs in the bus, and looked at Steve and me, and yelled something that sounded to me like “THERE IS A BOMB ON THE BUS!” I am having flashbacks of the movie “Speed” and both Steve and I trade looks. Steve then calmly looks at the guy and said “Do you mean, is this bus going to the airport?” and the guy is then nodding and still saying “YaRHALJ BUS AIRPORT”, So I guess that is what he was saying, he went and sat on the backseat. Steve then looks at me, reassuring me, saying ” He is most likely Scottish”. I guess scottish people are not the bomb-carrying kind. Later on, the guy asked again if the bus was going to the airport, since he could see the runway, and planes. I told him that yes, we were almost there, he gave me a look as if I just told him there was a bomb on the bus, Steve translated in his best british accent that, yes, we were almost there. Back at the hotel, after a bit of a wait for the shuttle from the Train Station to our hotel, I wanted to take 30 minutes at the business center, to write this message. I was told that there are fees to use the Business Center. I said to the guy “Fine, I will use Wi-Fi from my room then”, I was then told there are no Wi-Fis in our room, but only from the lobby, and there are fees for that. I said ‘Fine, I will use the wired connection from my room”. Again, I was told there were fees for that as well. I said “Screw it, I’ll deal with that tomorrow” and went to my room, as I look at the poor lonely blanket on my bed, and I figured I would be cold tonight, I looked at the thermostat, and think about the poor guy who kept on telling me there were fees for eveything. I turned the thermostat up 2 degrees because there are no fees for that. Little bugger.

Back in a cold winter of 1999-2000, shortly after the Y2K overtime rush, Steve and I, and our spouses, went to spend a week in the marvelous Barcelo Maya, south of Playa Del Carmen. We signed up for some fun excursions, like visiting Tulum, and exploring the wonders of Xel-Ha. Xel-Ha is a special place, it is a fresh-water river, that leads to the salt-water ocean. as you snorkle in it, you can see fresh water, then the water looks all weird, like oil mixed with water, it is a hint that you are about to enter the danger zone. Or the salt-water, if you prefer…

Being my first experience in snorkleing, Steve was teaching me the basic stuff. Don’t drink the water, don’t get water into the tube, do not panic, use a buddy system, never snorkle alone, or let a buddy snorkle alone. Use hand gestures to communicate. All the good stuff. More importantly, do not panic.

As I was snorkeling with Steve, showing him the 2 thumbs-up, yeah yeah, I am having a good time here, look at that silly blue and yellow fish, they are so tiny! whatever… we went through… the oily thing, and BAM.. We were in darker waters, no more fishes around. It felt like we just turned the corner and ended up in the bad part of town. If there would be fish bikers, we would hear their Harleys. I am getting visions in my mind, herds of Piranhas ruling the neiborhood, even the sand was shaking in fear, oh wait, that was a Stingray under there.

And there, right in front of my eyes, about 50 feet away, I see dark waters, and I mean dark.. Like, there is a whale in front of me. Steve wants to go and investigate this thing closer. I give the 2 thumbs up, but I am not sure if I even did that. Let’s just say we had a communication break down. As we swam closer to the dark spot, we, or I,(I am not even sure Steve is around anymore) noticed that the dark mass was composed of about 200-300 fishes. Big fishes, not the cute little colorful ones, but like 100 pounds fishes. dark grey, a shade of pink on them. And this is where my biology class from high school kicked in. I was really trying to focus on the fishes as they swam from the right to the left, not noticing me. What fishes have pink spots? Piranhas, right? They belong in salt waters, do they hang in groups, yeah they do… Aren’t Piranhas supposed to be small fishes? like the size of my hand, type of things.. Those things looks like they are on steroids, what are they dumping in Mexican waters again? The only definite way to know if it is a Piranhas.. they have teeth. Aren’t they the only fish with teeth? Damn biology class, I am not sure if they covered that. And then, just then, one of the fish, amongst the 300 of them, turns and stares at me. He is starting to move towards me. And he has teeth. I am getting very nervous at this time. That bloody thing has teeth, and it is a 1/3 of my size.  But he is alone.. oh wait.. they are ALL turning towards me, and they are all swimming towards me. I do not know what that fish said to his pals, but they sure as hell follow his lead.  If there was a defining moment in my life where I was scared. That was it. I had 300 piranhas, on steroids, coming after me.

If you ever saw Gilligan’s Island, or The Benny Hill show, where they show the action in fast-motion, that is what the next 90 seconds must have looked like. I did a 180 degrees turn so fast, and I swam like there was no tomorrow, I think I could have raced with a speed boat and won. I was trying to identify the nearest trajectory to the shore, away from those deadly creatures from hell.  I reached a big rock by the shore, and climbed on it. Piranhas couldn’t jump that high, right? I was safe. Again. Stupid activities, really, snorkeling. And dangerous, you know, there are fishes in there.

20 minutes later, Steve came out of the water and comes and see me.

Steve – ” Did you see all those tunas out there?”

Me – “Oh, that is what those were…”

Steve – ” Yeah, it was pretty cool, where did you go? I didn’t see you telling me I was leaving..”

Me – “Well, those tunas? I thought they were piranhas… on steroids… I flew out of the water.”

Steve – “And you would have left me to die there?”

Me – “When facing a bunch of piranhas on steroids, it is every man for themselves, Steve.”

Well, not anymore! according to this article…

Some British police officers watched Monty Python’s search for the holy grail one too many times. I wondered how the coconut got there. Must be Lancelot’s horse.

Haiti education is failing, while the schools are falling.

McCain comments on Palin being offered 2 milion for doing a porn movie.

Beginning of BobbyMC’s Post –>

***** ***** *****, why can’t RUMORS at least be worth considering? There is nothing remotely interesting about the concept of a Wii with HD, nor does it even make sense in the first place given the fact that the Wii itself is too weak for even 720p.

If you want to start a rumor, you can make it anything! How about isntead of figuring out the dullest and most simultaneously improbable idea imaginable, think outside your box of suck and suggest something good that matches with Nintendo’s philosophy. Don’t know how? Watch me do it instantly.

In order to fulfill its promise of expanding the gaming market, Nintendo takes the best aspects of the Wii (Which would pretty much boil down to a refined Wiimote with Motion Plus built in) and applies it to the Nintendo DS of their home console market. That is, a next generation console at least equal to the PS4 and Xbox 420, minus the idiotic kid friendly design mechanisms of the Wii (friend codes and ***** online capabilities once you get through them). Every hardcore gamer with a still working brain will want the console with High Voltage’s insanely awesome and now also beautiful looking Conduit 2, EAD’s epic new Zelda title, and next generation motion control all around. Nintendo will dominate the hardcore market, and meanwhile it continues producing the original Wii with all the ***** titles for the casual mongoloids who don’t give a *****. Market expanded into a two console playerbase, Nintendo fanboys finally reward, mission ***** accomplished.

ANYONE WHO HAS ANY INTEREST IN PURCHASING A NEW AND MORE EXPENSIVE WII TO PLAY ***** CASUAL TITLES IN HD IS A ***** DOUCHE BAG AND DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR NINTENDO GETTING AWAY WITH ***** LIKE THAT IN THE PAST. YOU ARE IN FACT SUCH A RETARD THAT IT WARRANTS ME SAYING THIS WHILE HOLDING SHIFT. YES, I SAID SHIFT, BECAUSE CAPSLOCK IS AN IMPERSONAL TURBO BUTTON THAT CONFLICTS WITH MY DESIRE TO BE PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THE TONE OF EACH AND EVERY LETTER I AM EFFECTIVELY SCREAMING AT YOU, SO LISTEN CLOSELY *****. THERE IS NO FATE BUT WHAT WE MAKE FOR OURSELVES. WHEN YOU SUGGEST TO NINTENDO THAT HARDCORE GAMERS WOULD BE HAPPY WITH AN HD VERSION OF THE WII, YOU GIVE THEM AN EASY WAY OUT WHICH THEY ARE LOOKING FOR AT ALL TIMES. WE MUST DEMAND FROM THE COMPANY WE KEPT AFLOAT THAT WHICH WE, THE TRUE CONSUMER, DESIRES. ***** LIKE THIS MAKES ME WISH NINTENDO HAD GONE SEGA SO I DIDN’T HAVE TO WATCH SO MANY IDIOTS ENDORSE THEIR ***** BUSINESS DECISIONS WHICH MAKE THEM PILES OF OF MONEY BY DIRECTLY GOING AGAINST WHAT IS GOOD FOR US. DESPITE HOW MUCH NINTENDO PISSES ME OFF, THEY ARE THE ONE MATURE COMPANY IN A TRIFORCE OF IGNORANCE. SONY AND MS WILL CONTINUE TO RIP EACH OTHER OFF UNTIL NINTENDO GETS AROUND TO DOING SOMETHING NEW, AT WHICH POINT SONY WILL RIP NINTENDO OFF AND MS WILL RIP SONY OFF. IT IS THE CIRCLE OF CONSOLE LIFE, AND IF YOU ALLOW NINTENDO TO LABEL ITSELF THIS ONE THING THEN YOU HAVE NEGATED IT. THAT’S PHILOSOPHY BITCHES. NOW THAT I’M TALKING TO YOU THOUGH LET’S DISCUSS GAY MARRIAGE. ANYONE WHO VOTED FOR OR SUPPORTED PROPOSITION 8 DESERVES A BULLET IN THE HEAD. THIS IS AMERICA, THE LAND OF ME AND DOING WHAT I WANT WHEN I WANT AND HOW I WANT IT. DENYING SOMEONE A FREEDOM BASED ON THE ARGUMENT THAT YOU JUST WANT IT ALL TO YOURSELF SHOULD WIN YOU AN AUTOMATIC LIFE FORFEITURE. BUT OF COURSE WE KNOW THE HATE MONGERS WON’T STOP THERE, AND IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE THEY COME AFTER YOUR RIGHT TO CALL JESUS A *****, AND I DON’T KNOW ABOUT YOU BUT I RESPECT THAT RIGHT BY MAKING USE OF IT EVERYDAY. OTHER THAN THAT THOUGH HOW ABOUT THOSE TITANS. 9-0 BITCHES. THAT’S SOME MAD SKILL. I THINK WE ALL KNOW BY NOW THAT THIS YEAR THEY ARE GOING TO DO WHAT A CERTAIN OTHER TEAM FAILED TO DO LAST YEAR. ALL THE WAY, HEY HEY HEY. SOMETIMES I QUESTION THE PURPOSE OF MY LIFE, BUT ESPECIALLY THOSE TIMES I REALIZE THAT I HAVE NOT ONLY THE ABILITY BUT ALSO THE DESIRE TO SPEND AN HOUR TYPING ABOUT THAT WHICH DOES NOT MATTER IN A SINGLE DIGG COMMENT. THIS EXPERIENCE TODAY HAS MADE ME CONSIDER GETTING A JOB AND TALKING TO PEOPLE AGAIN, AS THIS KIND OF COMMUNICATION SIMPLY CANNOT SUSTAIN ME FOR MUCH LONGER. I’D LIKE TO THANK YOU ALL FOR LISTENING TO ME TODAY. GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK. MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU. NAMASTE. LIVE LONG AND PROSPER. CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON, CAUSE ALL WE ARE IS DUST IN THE WIND. UH OH TOTO. WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE. I THINK IT’S……. AFRICA. IT’S GONNA TAKE A LOT TO TAKE ME AWAY FROM YOU. THERE’S NOTHING THAT A HUNDRED MEN OR MORE COULD EVER DO. I BLESS THE RAINS DOWN IN AFRICA. GONNA TAKE SOME TIME TO DO THE THINGS WE NEVER HAVE.

DANCING IS FORBIDDEN.

–> end of BobbyMC post.

I found 7 of those buyers here.