As Good As It Goetz

Gallery: Round The World Trip

gscottie — Mon, 30 Apr 2007 14:52:00 GMT

Ancient Playgrounds

gscottie — Thu, 12 Apr 2007 11:59:00 GMT

As a little kid, I could take a bunch of cardboard boxes into my backyard, construct myself a makeshift fort, and be completely content to spend the bulk of a day crawling around the maze of narrow passages I’d created imagining they were elaborate fortresses and majestic palaces. Some twenty-five years removed from cardboard fort construction, not to mention halfway around the world, I found myself an adult substitute to again realize those childhood fantasies in the jungles of northern Cambodia.

A dozen centuries or so ago, the Khmer people constructed my adult playground in the form of hundreds of Angkor temples and palaces spread out over a few hundred square miles in the northwestern corner of the country. But, the myriad of vast complexes were nearly lost to the world after the Khmer civilization was overrun by invading Siamese armies and the area was subsequently abandoned for hundreds of years. In the ensuing centuries, most of the structures all but succumbed to the surrounding jungle which sought to devour the impressive edifices altogether.

Thankfully the ruins were rediscovered about 150 years ago and the treasures that lay beneath the thick layer of overgrowth were unearthed so that millions of visitors like myself could rekindle a piece of their distant youth (yeah, I’m sure that’s just what the Khmer civilization and current caretakers had in mind). Many of the structures remain in much the same shape as when they were (re)discovered, which is usually a mix of crumbling disarray amidst enduring examples of former grandeur still tenuously coexisting with the aggressive surrounding foliage. While some are undergoing restoration efforts, virtually none are restricted from being able to climb on, in, or around them to your heart’s content. It’s the perfect otherworldly playground for a thirtysomething adult, trading cardboard fortresses for elaborately constructed ancient temples and palaces.

While Angkor Wat may be the best known complex by name, the jungle ravaged ruins of Ta Phrom are among the best known images from the area. They remain pretty much in the same state in which they were discovered, with mammoth trees and their wild tangle of trunk-like roots asserting their dominance over, and on, much of the remaining complex. It provided the perfect environment to stir those memories of backyard fortresses with it’s eerie, but tantalizing, atmosphere and inviting surroundings.

For the better part of two hours I reverted to my eight-year-old self as I crawled in, around and over the compelling ruins which seemed purpose built for such endeavors. I explored the web of narrow, dank passageways that sometimes required me to crawl under or over fallen stone blocks that once served as a walls or part of a roof. I climbed inside the trunks of the immense trees that could devour five people my size, or just a small Angkor temple, without issue. I scrambled over and under the massive roots that could easily pass for trees themselves and stared in awe at the tangled web of roots that entwined themselves with temple walls and roof lines. I all but donned a fedora and whip to do my best Indiana Jones impression as I explored the wondrous lost world of the Khmer/Angkor empire.

The setting sun finally signaled that my playtime had come to an end and like a kid who treasures recess more than learning multiplication tables (that‘d be me), I left wishing that I could have just one more chance to climb around the mysterious and captivating ruins. But, I still managed to leave fully content at having enjoyed the many hours I did get to spend amidst the extraordinary constructs of the ancient Khmer dynasty. They were obviously, and thankfully, far beyond the simple cardboard fabrications of my youth, but proved to be equally adept - and more age appropriate - at capturing my imagination.

A Slight Misunderstanding

gscottie — Sat, 31 Mar 2007 15:13:00 GMT

I was looking for an plug adapter to make my U.S. plugs compatible with the European outlets in Athens. After searching fruitlessly myself for a few minutes, I approached a clerk to see if he could help me. After trading a quick "Yasas," (hello in Greek), I proceeded to explain what I was looking for entirely in English.

The perplexed look on the clerks face told me that he didn't speak a lick of English. So, I proceeded to compound his confusion by committing a cardinal sin of international travel, which drives me nuts when I see others do it. I repeated my explanation, only this time I spoke in a much louder tone and with greater enunciation of my words. As though the crisper words and higher decibel level might some how trigger a miraculous understanding by the non-English speaking Greek clerk standing before me.

When that unsurprisingly didn't work, I decided to employ a round of international charades in a last ditch effort to bridge our communication gap. I curled my hand with the thumb pointing out and then moved it back and forth in a motion that I was sure could be mistaken for nothing other than plugging something in to a socket. The clerk's face suddenly lit up and he motioned for me to follow him down one of the narrow aisles.

When we neared a small collection of hardware items, I was sure that my masterful communication efforts had been successful. So, I was more than a bit surprised when he reached onto the shelf and produced a knife. Evidently my masterful charades had led the clerk the believe I wanted to either wanted to cut something or, worse, stab someone. I wasn't sure which one he was thinking and I was sure I didn't want to know.

A bit shocked, and slightly embarassed, at the outcome of my nonverbal interaction with the clerk, I dropped the knife and quietly snuck out the front door. I promised myself that I'd either study my Greek phrase book a bit more intently or ensure I found an English speaking clerk the next time I found myself in a similar situation. Not to mention that I think I'll be a little more patient and accomodating the whenever a non-English speaking visitor approaches me for something back home.

Watch Your Step

gscottie — Mon, 5 Mar 2007 11:51:00 GMT

On one of my few nights in Chiang Mai, in northern Thailand, I walked the small city’s streets at a rather brisk pace focused on making quick work of the twenty minute walk to my intended dinner destination for the evening. Making my best effort to avoid the pestering touts along the way, I perfected weaving in and out of the other people lining the streets and sidewalks in my pursuit of a little sustenance.

About halfway into my speedy stroll, I came upon a group of three men coming the other direction who took up most of the width of the sidewalk. I caught the eyes of one of the men, but the stare didn’t seem to indicate a willingness to move so as to make a little room for me to pass by. Then, I noticed a lamp post about halfway between us and decided to use it to veer around them as we all passed by it. As expected, once we all reached the lamppost, they veered to their right and I stepped in the direction of mine allowing me to successfully clear them and continue on my path. But, as I curled around the lamp post and prepared to step back into the middle of the sidewalk, I reared back in shock when I nearly ran into…an elephant.

In the dimly lit street and my narrowly focused attention, I’d somehow managed to fail to see the substantial pachyderm trailing directly behind the three men. More than a little taken off guard, I jumped back about two feet and right back into the same lamp post. Despite a now aching back, all I could manage to do was stand and stare in bewilderment at the baby elephant now passing me by. Transfixed, I just stood and stared at the elephant meandering down the narrow strip of bars and restaurants accompanied by the three men who were oblivious to the fact that I’d nearly stumbled into their seemingly prized possession. But, I’m sure it would’ve been of minimal concern to them because, while taller than the baby elephant by a foot, it outweighed me by at least a good half ton and it would be safe to assume that I surely would’ve lost that battle.

I nearly forgot my hunger pains as I kept watching the elephant amble out of sight down the other end of the road. I finally continued on towards my dinner destination, but at a slightly slower pace and with my eyes scanning every inch of the sidewalk and street should I happen upon one of the elephant’s relatives. Over dinner, I tried to come up with a reason why three men would be walking a baby elephant down the middle of a busy street. I couldn't come up with a scenario that made sense to me, but perhaps it's just enough to consider it a very in-your-face (literally) exposure to the nuances of being in a different country and culture. Ultimately, however, I decided that I was grateful for a well placed lamp post that created just enough space to remain a step shy of running right into the lumbering elephant. That step proved to be the difference between being able to eat dinner that evening and possibly being dinner for a half ton pachyderm.

Tennis Anyone?

gscottie — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 12:08:00 GMT

On my last night in Sydney, I found myself in front of the Sydney Opera House. But, I wasn’t there for one last nostalgic look at the beautifully designed Opera House, or even an opera. Instead, I came for a tennis match.

My last night on the continent happened to coincide with the men’s championship of the Australian Open. While the tournament takes place a thousand miles south in Melbourne, tournament sponsor American Express erected a jumbotron in front of the Opera House steps to bring the tournament to life in Sydney. They also set up a two-story hospitality suite and VIP viewing section for card members.

Since I happen to hold an AMEX, I thought I'd try to take advantage of the free hospitality suite, not to mention the free food that would help keep my travel budget in check. But, as hospitality suites can often do, it isolated me from the raucous crowd outside of over a thousand people who’d gathered on the Opera House steps to take in the match on the big screen. So, I quickly departed the hospitalty suite, leaving the free food behind, and took a seat on the opera house steps along with the throngs who'd gathered there.

The crowd was more than just random passersby who just decided to catch part of the match. This crowd had gathered for a purpose. Rather, two purposes actually. Half the crowd was decked out in Chilean flags and painted faces, with patriotic chants to accompany them, to emphatically cheer on their burgeoning Chilean tennis star, Fernando Gonzalez. The other half were similarly attired in all things Swiss to support their lengendary champion, Roger Federer in the Men's Championship.

I might as well have bought a ticket to the match itself as my perch on the steps had all the elements of being live in Melbourne. The jumbotron had a better view than any ticket I likely could’ve afforded. I watched the three set match amongst the throngs who cheered every ace, volley and point like it was happening on a court directly in front of them instead of a television screen. Long rallies sent the crown into frenzied cheers and applause while questionable line calls for their respective players were met with disapproving boos as though their disapproval might actually affect the call. The Chileans chanted Gonzalez’s name repeatedly and sang their national anthem with equal frequency while the Swiss cheered surprisingly loudly for Federer though not quite able to match the Chileans enthusiasm.

But, both sides seemed to believe that there fervent and boisterous support from Sydney could somehow carry through the television and into Rod Laver Arena in Melbourne. I ultimately found myself enthralled with the match despite not having nearly the vested interest of the rest of the crowd. If anything, it was the crowd itself and the experience they created that I had a vested interest in and perhaps a reinvigorated interest to visit Chile as soon as possible.

When Federer ultimately prevailed at the end of the match, not a person moved as they even waited to watch the trophy presentation ceremony. Throughout both player's remarks, the crowd on the Opera House steps applauded in unison with those in down in Melbourne. When the telecast ended, the crowd dispersed, but chants from the Swiss and Chileans continued down Circular Quay, past the ferries and trains, and out into the city as they made their way home. While I’ll be lucky to remember who won, let alone who played, I’ll be hard pressed to forget my first visit to the Australian Open in Melbourne on the steps of the Sydney Opera House.

Hooked

gscottie — Wed, 31 Jan 2007 11:48:00 GMT

I stood in the chest-deep, frothy warm water off Bondi Beach and scouted the horizon behind me. As low tide began to give way to high tide, the waves were breaking unusually high and strong for Bondi. It was a struggle just to make it through the strong riptides and breaking waves to get to the sand bar I was semi-standing on about 75 feet off the beach. My muscles screamed from the effort it took just to stay in one place so I could keep my eye on the breaking waves behind me.

Finally, I picked out a good looking wave, watched it break, and kept my eye trained on the rush of whitewater streaming toward me in the aftermath of the wave’s collapse. About 10 feet before it hit, I turned toward the shore, laid down on my board and began to paddle my heart out. Turning my head back, I saw the bulge of water just about to hit my feet and paddled even harder. Suddenly, the wave picked up my board and me with it, sending us both flying toward the shore. I grabbed both sides of the board just to try to hang on and dismissed any thought of attempting to stand up. Then, I inexplicably decided to give it a go anyway. But, my clumsy attempt to climb on top of the board instead sent it flying in one direction and me in the other. It also sent about five gallons of salt water directly into my lungs, a taste that wouldn’t leave me for the rest of the day.

So began my first foray into surfing. I have no explanation for why I waited until my last full day of a two month stint in Australia to finally take a lesson. But, the wait was worth it as the perfect blue, cloudless sky and unusually big waves proved out. Of course, the excellent weekend weather also brought a bigger crowd to the beach than normal, which was a more than intimidating environment in which to try to surf for the first time. If my ill-fitting wet suit wasn’t a dead giveaway that I was a novice, then my steady stream of blooper-reel quality wipeouts gave the onlookers the best clue for who to watch for some free amusement. The fact that my instructor had to repeatedly point out that there would be no sand to support the foot I kept placing on the beach when we were practicing standing up on the board onshore was probably another good indicator that things weren't going to go smoothly.

But, once I was out in the water with the dozen others in my class, the waves were the only focus of my attention. Obviously, we weren’t learning on the big, or even medium, waves that experienced surfers ride. Instead, we waited until the waves broke then rode the foamy surge that continues after the waves collapse. In the high surf and strong waves, those were still a sizable mounds of water with more than enough force to send me flying uncontrollably toward the shore each time. My goal was to stand up at least once in the two hour session and I’d managed to figure out how to catch the wave and ride it out - laying down, of course - fairly quickly. But, standing up was a completely different issue and I failed to come remotely close to standing atop the somewhat unwieldy piece of foam.

About an hour and a half into the lesson, the stars and waves aligned. I found a broken wave with my name on it, jumped onto my surfboard and paddled furiously. The wave caught the board and pushed me swiftly toward the beach. I brought up my back foot, steadied myself and then brought my front foot forward managing to stay on the board. I pushed myself up and threw out my arms to balance myself as I stood awkwardly crouched on top of the board - but standing no less. For five seconds I got a taste of the exhilarating sensation of riding a wave, small as it might have been. Much like hitting that one good stroke in an otherwise miserable round of golf, it was all I needed to get hooked.

I didn’t manage to stand up again for the rest of the session despite my best efforts at a repeat. But, the one time was all I needed to leave the beach fully satisfied and hungry for more. Leaving Australia now for Thailand, I’m more eager than ever to get back to the beach. I’ll no longer be satisfied to just stand on the sand and admire the crashing waves. Now, I’ve got a new obsession which will hopefully soon than later find me watching the beach again from atop a crashing wave as it heads toward shore.

The Doctor Will See You Now

gscottie — Sun, 25 Jun 2006 16:00:00 GMT

I knew I'd likely need to see a doctor at some point on my trip. But, I always imagined it'd be overseas in some foreign city making sure I didn't have some exotic disease. I never thought it'd be in my own country before I ever set foot on foreign soil.

In the week preceeding the start of my trip, I acquired an ache in my back that hung around through the trip out west. It wasn't painful and would typically go away once I moved around a while. But, at a stop just outside Bryce Canyon, my back collapsed completely and, in considerable pain, I decided my back just might not get better on its own.

A trip to the nearest ER couldn't determine the source of the injury despite some x-rays. So, I cut the trip short and headed back to Chicago. An MRI last week found that I herniated a disc in my lower back which is also pressing on the sciatic nerve that runs down my left leg. It's a fantastic combination that only hurts when I sit, stand or walk. But, after 10 days of laying on my parents couch watching World Cup soccer matches all day, the pain is subsiding and my range of movement is increasing. In another month or two, I expect to be back in traveling shape.

I've postponed my trip to Costa Rica/Peru which I hope to do next summer after I get back. I'm planning to resume travels in late August by heading to Fiji as planned. I'll continue to post any new updates and info here whenever its makes sense.

In the mean time....remember to bend at the knees.

The Narrows

gscottie — Thu, 8 Jun 2006 12:36:00 GMT

I woke up for my second day at Zion National Park with an inexplicable amount of energy and surprising lack of soreness considering my impromptu three-hour, 1,500ft hike the day prior. Emboldened, I decided to explore more of the gems the park had to offer.

The hike to Hidden Canyon was similar to the one I'd made to Angel's Landing the day before. About 45 minutes of long switchbacks up the mountain followed by a few short switchbacks to a ridge overlooking the valley below. The ridge had a spectacular view of Angel's Landing, my pinnacle the day before, as well as excellent views up and down the whole canyon. The last third of the trail was the coolest part, essentially a path worn into rock that juts out from the sheer mountain face and bends in and out of the vertical ridges of the mountain. On one side was solid rock, on the other was an ominous drop to the bottom, and below me was a barely three foot wide path of rock becoming evermore slippery with the falling rain. I suddenly had a new favorite piece of gear, my Keen sandals with surprisingly superb rubber soles that provided excellent traction despite the rain.

I found Hidden Canyon at the end of the official trail, but a path through the narrow canyon continued on. As I made my way, I took in the scenery from the imposing canyon walls (no more than 10ft between the two sides) to the unique rock formations that dotted the walls. About a half mille in, I discovered a cool looking arch carved out of the rock that provided the perfect place to rest and have lunch before turning back.

About half way back down the trail, it split and continued up another mountain. I followed it for about a half hour, with fantastic views of Zion Canyon along the way. I reached a placed called Echo Canyon which was another narrow canyon, but this one had a rock outcropping covering most of it for about 300ft. Everything, obviously, echoed inside. It alos turned out to be one of the more picturesque locations I'd found...although there were plenty to choose from throughout the park.

Back down the moutain, I took the park shuttle to the literal end of the road to venture into The Narrows. The Narrows is one of the iconic trails of Zion National Park. The full trail is about 16 miles long, twisting through a tight canyon that sometimes narrows to as little as two feet wide. The trail is essentially the Virgin River itself as it winds through the canyon. You hike it by forging through the water to reach the next patch of land spaced out along the river. At least half the hike is spent in the water with many stretches sans land along the way.

As a day hiker, I started at the end of the trail and worked my way upstream along the river. The diehard backcountry types start 16 miles away and work their way downstream. I got a quick initiation since only way to start the trail upstream is to jump right into the river. Yikes!! FR-EEZ-ING! I later learned that the river temperature was a toasty 57F that day. Would've been nice to know that beforehand...shorts were NOT ideal gear for those conditions. The water went just above my knees and I soon lost feeling in both legs.

About 10 minutes into my trek, I came to a 10ft wide spot of the river where the next patch of land was 50ft away....and the river depth dropped to about 5ft. The hypothermia-inducing water rose to mid-chest and my body went temporarily numb as I shivered my way to the other side. Making it through, I hiked over a mile upstream, criss-crossing rapids, deceivingly strong currents and rocky riverbed as I sought out each parcel of land. But, the freezing temps and potential damage to my procreative abilty faded away with the mesmerizing scenery all around me. The Narrows was an array of astounding natural beauty with something awe-inspiring around virtually every corner. The hike put an exclamation point on my trip to Zion and left me hoping to return at the earliest opportunity.

SEE PICTURES: "Zion National Park - Day 2" in Photo Gallery

Gallery: Zion National Park (Day 2)

gscottie — Thu, 8 Jun 2006 08:04:00 GMT

Hidden Canyon, Echo Canyon & The Narrows

An Unexpected Adventure

gscottie — Wed, 7 Jun 2006 15:09:00 GMT

I was a little apprehensive that my visit to canyon country might not live up to the expectations I'd created in my head over the years from all the pictures, magazine articles and National Geographic Channel documentries I'd seen. I was pleased to find that Zion National Park not only lived up to my expectations, but exceeded them. The canyon was awesome. On two sides, mountains towered 1,500+ ft overhead with the rock face in hues of red, pink, brown and white that varied with every change in sunlight. Splitting the middle of the canyon was the Virgin River which is responsible for its formation through erosion over millions of years.

Unsure of the difficulty of the trails, and moreso my fitness level, I tried a supposedly moderate trail first. The Middle Emerald Pools trail claimed to only rise 150ft, but I'm fairly certain the trail map failed to indicate that 100ft of that comes all in the first section. About 5 minutes into my hike, I noted my fitness level as 'not ideal' based on my incessant wheezing and panting as well as the excessive burning in my lungs. Safe to say I hadn't quite acclimated to Zion's 6,000ft elevation. But, I eventually made it to the pools and their algae tinted emerald water.

Next, I opted for what I believed was a long, flat scenic trail. Scenic it was, long and flat it wasn't. After about 10 minutes, the long and flat part of Angel's Landing trail dumped me smackdab into the base of the mountain cliff I'd been admiring along the way. The trail continued up the cliff face through a series of switchbacks carved into the mountainside. Not wanting to overexert myself on the first day, I decided to 'just try' a couple switchbacks.....then a couple more....and a few more....and more again. An hour later, unconvinced that switchbacks are really an easier way to hike up a mountain, I made it to the top of the cliff and what I thought was the end of the trail.

Suprisingly, the trail continued inward through a gorge obscured from the portion of the trail I'd just arduously hiked. I decided to explore 'just a little further'. Rock outcroppings hung over much of the trail with the other side of the gorge, a steep mountain wall, never more than 30ft away. I was taking it all in and eventually stopped noticing my wheezing and panting which, still going strong, had now settled into a nice rhythm. A half mile into the gorge, the trail turned 180 degrees and straight up a series of 20+ short switchbacks called Walter's Wiggles which led to the top. Walter's Wiggles should've been called Walter's Giggles because I'm pretty sure that's what he was doing for the full 25 minutes it took me to get up them. Finally at the top, I discovered another suprise....the trail didn't end there either.

Angel's Landing was evidently a point on the top of a the mountain now less than a half mile in front of me. But, the previous 2 hours and 1,000ft were just a warm up. The final section required an undulating traverse along the razor thin spine of the mountain which was, more often than not, 3ft wide with 1,200ft drops on either side. No longer a visible trail, the path required ambling up and down numerous boulders and cliffs climbing or dropping 30-40ft with each undulation. A dubious sign was that the park had installed industrial size chains in various sections to aid hikers in the most precarious sections (there were a lot of chain-aided sections). Exhausted or not, I decided there was no stopping now.

Three hours after deciding to 'just try' a little of the trail, I finally made it to the pinnacle - Angel's Landing. My reward was a phenomenal view of the canyon in every direction. If a picture says a thousand words, the real thing said millions. The face of the canyon walls were lit up in bright shades of red and pink in the late afternoon sun. Well worth all the heavy breathing and burning lungs, not to mention the full-body pain I was sure to encounter in the morning.

SEE PICTURES: "Zion National Park - Day 1" in Photo Gallery

Gallery: Zion National Park (Day 1)

gscottie — Wed, 7 Jun 2006 08:04:00 GMT

Hiking to Emerald Pools & Angel Landing

Hoover Dam

gscottie — Tue, 6 Jun 2006 15:11:00 GMT

I never realized just how close Vegas is to Hoover Dam. Guess all the times I've been to Vegas, heading outside the casinos hasn't really been a priority (nor has being awake during daylight). But, it was just a quick 30 minute drive to see one of the modern day wonders of the world. Hopefully, the first of many modern and ancient wonders I'll be seeing.

My first glimpse of the Hoover Dam area was Lake Mead as it dead-ended into the backside of the dam. It looked like a normal big lake with concrete at one end and some random towers rising out of it. Then, the front side of the dam came into view and it was a whole different story. A massive swath of concrete stretched across the width of the valley, carved into sides of the canyon and dropped nearly 500ft to the river below. Seeing the depth of the dam and the miles and miles of Lake Mead behind it, I was amazed at how much water volume the dam must be holding back at any given time.

I drove over the the dam first and just hoped mine wasn't going to be the 'one car too many' that finally broke the back of the cement monolith. I parked on the Arizona side (it splits the Arizona/Nevada border), and walked back across it. Looking out the back of the dam to Lake Mead, I noticed a pretty interesting sight. Just above the current water level was a stretch of white rock that lined the mountains surrounding the whole lake and ended at a definitive line currently about 30ft above the water. Above that line, the rock returned to its typical red-brown color. That line also coincided with the top of the overflow spillway built into the side of the dam. It was pretty clear that this was the high water mark of the lake which evidently can, and does, often get to that level before its diverted to the spillway. I was amazed that the the water can go that much higher with out risk of flooding or dam break. I was even more intrigued as to what chemical reaction between the fresh water lake and rock caused it to turn white. But, science was never my strong point, so I just assumed it was a natural reaction.

I crossed back over the dam on the front side and peered my head over the side periodically along the way. It's one hell of a drop down to the Colorado River below. But, the face of the dam is concave with the bottom jutting out something like 30-40ft below. The smoothness of the concrete and angle of the curvation almost made it seem like you could slide down it and land safely at the bottom like a giant water slide. But, I figured I'd let someone else test that theory. Instead, I just marveled at this feat of 'modern' engineering that is over 80 years old and doesn't seem to show signs of its age despite the massive pressure it must incur every minute.

SEE PICTURES: "Hoover Dam" in Photo Gallery

Gallery: Hoover Dam

gscottie — Tue, 6 Jun 2006 07:48:00 GMT

A Visit To One Of The Man-Made Wonders Of The World

Viva Las Vegas

gscottie — Mon, 5 Jun 2006 15:08:00 GMT

I thought Las Vegas would be a convenient stop to break up the trip from LA to Zion National Park. Turns out it was the about the only place you could stop between those two points. Once I left Barstow, CA it was hundreds of miles of open, desolate Mojave Desert and 5,000 feet above sea level. Although I'd nearly filled up my tank before leaving LA, I found myself running dry halfway through the desert without a gas station in sight for more than 40 miles. While running low on gas is my M.O, it wasn't such a great feeling in the middle of a desert. I finally found a station in the nick of time that was the only building, let alone gas station, for as far as the eye could see. For that convenience, I paid a whopping $4.29/gallon for regular. Ouch.

Despite the long stretches of uninhabited landscape, the Mojave was very scenic with mountains and cactus (cacti?) rising out of the desert and dotting the landscape. I've driven through the flat, endless cornfields of Iowa and I think I'll take the Mojave. But, it was also incredibly hot. LA was 88F at noon when I left and it topped out at 114F midway through the desert (I can't imagine what it's like in August). Dry heat or not...that's frickin' hot. Knowing that A/C would probably be a rarity for most of the next year, I didn't hesitate to use it.

I made it to the Sahara, my budget hotel/casino ($40/night) on The Strip. It's a bit of a dinosaur casino with it's heyday in the 50s and 60s, but it's on The Strip and in walking distance to the other casinos. At night, the temperature dropped almost 30 degrees so and I walked up The Strip to check out a few out. On a budget, I entertained myself for free by walking through casinos like the Wynn, Venetian, Paris, Aladdin, Bellagio and Caesar's Palace. The Venetian was my favorite. It had a canal going through the middle of the casino with gondola rides and shops all along the way leading to a replica old Italian square with places to eat and drink. While it was no substitute, it reminded me a little bit of my trip to Florence a few years ago. I also took in a few 'shows' of the Bellagio's iconic fountain where the water spouts are set to music and put on a rather impressive show.

Heading back to the Sahara, I finally decided to give the tables a try. I bellied up to the $3 Blackjack table (yeah, big spender). Starting with a cool $15, I played for nearly an hour going up as much as $25. But, not wanting to test my luck too much this early in the journey, I eventually left with a cool $10 in winnings and went upstairs to bed.

You Can Go Home Again

gscottie — Sun, 4 Jun 2006 14:18:00 GMT

For my second and last day in LA, I ventured out to explore a few places on my own. Shannon & Scott were packing for a trip to Europe a few days later, so it worked out pefectly.

I decided to head up to the San Fernando Valley and stop by my childhood home. Of the many places I've lived, growing up in LA probably had the biggest impact on me, so I wanted to see if it was all that I remembered. I found my way off the freeway and over to my old neighborhood. Turning onto my street (Citronia), a lot of it seemed reassuringly familiar. Just after I turned in, I recognized the old house of an elementary school friend about a block before from mine. As I came to my block, I passed the place where I once famously (and defiantly) ran away from home as a kid only to make as far as the corner because I wasn't allowed to cross the street. Perhaps this is the underlying purpose behind this RTW trip....prove I can now cross the street on my own and venture out into the world.

I finally came to my old house. I was a bit disappointed to see that the current owner had eliminated all the trees around the house, let the lawn go and painted the house a depressing gray. Overall, they didn't seem to be keeping the house up to anywhere near the meticulous level my parents did when we lived there. It was also quite a bit smaller than I remember, but I was quite a bit smaller when I lived there so I suppose that's par for the course. Overall, it was good to see it one more time after all these years.

Next, I headed to my old elementary school - Balboa Blvd Elementary School. Thankfully, it was also much like I remember AND in great shape. I always remembered it for a massive playground, which was my favorite part, but I wasn't sure if I just remembered it that way because I was small. Turns out my memory served me well again....it was a big as I remember. Probably 3 football fields big and full baseball/kickball fields, basketball nets, handball & dodegball courts and a few jungle gyms. It was a weekend, however, so I didn't have a chance to see if any of my old teacher's were still here...for their sake, I hope not.

From there, I decided to make my way up the coast a little to Ventura. It's a cool little surf town about 45 minutes Northwest of LA, that I'd never been to, but had heard great things of late in some outdoor magazines. It had great waterfront beaches and a small, laid-back-vibe downtown centered on a main street lined with shops and cafes. While it was a short visit, I noticed that the main street has not yet been hit by "chain fever", save for a Starbucks on one corner. A lot of local shops seem to thrive which is a refreshing change. I'm not opposed to development by any means, but Ventura seems like a good place to escape the crowds of LA without having to go too far.

I decided to return home via the PCH (Pacific Coast Hwy) heading south toward Malibu. The stretch of PCH from Oxnard to Malibu was one I'd never been on and it turned out to be a great call. 10-15 miles of open, twisting roads with incredible views of the moutains on one side and ocean on the other. It's also not very crowded which I appreciated knowing what was in store ahead. Much like Santa Monica, Malibu's beaches are packed in the summer which leads to rush hour like backups along PCH at any time of day. But, if I had to be stuck in traffic, this was the place to do it. Fantastic views all around and a chance to spend a little extra time near the beaches I used to frequent when I lived in LA.

SEE PICTURES: "Los Angeles" in Photo Gallery

Gallery: Los Angeles

gscottie — Sun, 4 Jun 2006 07:23:00 GMT

Weekend in LA to visit friends and childhood haunts

Good Omens

gscottie — Fri, 2 Jun 2006 07:05:00 GMT

The first day of my year-long adventure started off with some good omens.

First, when I woke up Northwest Airlines was still in business and operating which is definitely not a gimme these days. They seem to be day-to-day at this point, but it looked like I would at least make it to the West Coast. Coming back might be another issue with a potential mechanic, flight attendant or pilot strike looming...take your pick.

The second omen took place in the security line. I was oblivious to it until I noticed the x-ray screener look up from his screen to say something to the guy behind me. I took a peek at the man once I'd gathered my belongings. Turns out it was none other than Jim McMahon, QB of my 1985 Super Bowl Champion Chicago Bears - THE greatest team ever to win the Super Bowl. I'm certainly not one to be starstruck, but seeing a childhood sports hero in the city where he played (and I rooted for him) just as I'm about to set out on this adventure has to be a good sign.

The final good omen came as we landed in Los Angeles. What had evidently begun as a fairly cloudy, foggy day turned into perfect day of sunshine as we landed, welcoming me to my first stop.

Despite all the good omens, there was one mild snag on my first day. Completely my own fault, I'd scheduled my return flight out of Phoenix but kept my rental return as LAX. After telling me that there would be a $150 charge (over budget already), the friendly Budget rental agent helped me find a solution within my budget that I could return in Phoenix. Crisis #1 averted. I'm hoping crisis #2 waits a few more weeks to pop up. Let me get my feet under me.

Some people don't like LA and I can never really fathom why. It's got sun, surf, skiing, mountains, a great lifestyle...what's not to love? Guess I'm biased from spending a good portion of my formative years growing up here. Anyway, I always love to come back (maybe one day permanently) so this seemed like a great place to kick things off. I'm looking forward to spending the weekend here hanging out with friends, getting over to the ocean and exploring a bit.

Gallery: Going Away Party

gscottie — Thu, 1 Jun 2006 15:05:00 GMT

Gathering of Friends & Colleagues before departing CT

Gallery: London ('05)

gscottie — Thu, 1 Jun 2006 14:49:00 GMT

Two days in London en route to Cape Town in November

The Plan (My Itinerary)

gscottie — Thu, 1 Jun 2006 11:34:00 GMT

For anyone following the play by play or who just can't remember where Goetz is this week (story of my life), below is my planned itinerary in simplified form. Subject to change by whim along the way, but this is the general idea.

June: Southwestern U.S. (California, Utah, Arizona)

July: Costa Rica

August: Peru

September: Fiji

October: New Zealand

November/December: Australia

January/February/March: Southeast Asia (Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos)

April: Greece (+Egypt/Turkey)

May/June: Europe

See you along the way.