China, day 5: Zhaixi

We got up at around four o'clock in the morning in order to catch our tour bus, which we found, of course, a block away and on the other side of the street of where we were told it would be. The bus broke after half an hour, and we were picked up by a smaller bus. After five more hours we got to Zhaixi, a town that resides at the foot of Huangshan. The people of Zhaixi are extraordinary in the art of trafficking tourists and collecting micro-payments from them: we were taken off the bus in front of a restaurant/convenient store, where we were told by an impressive young lady to buy yellow raincoats, because, well, it rains up there in the mountain. Everybody bought raincoats and many also bought a 3-Yuan (about half a buck) walking cane. We just got the raincoats. When I buy a cane, it’s going to be a fancy, hand-carved one.

The bus left and a swarm of minivans showed up, picking up four people each, to take us to our hotels. After being dropped off, we were told by our driver that we have the afternoon off, so we could either chill, or he can take us to some nearby attractions. We decided to go.

It’s important to note that the micro-payments collected are usually fair - the driver took money for tickets and an additional 30 Yuan, about $5, to himself.

After lunch the driver picked us and two other ladies up and dropped us off at Emerald Valley. He gave us our tickets, told us to meet him back at the same spot in an hour and a half, and left to traffic more tourists.

Emerald Valley is pretty much a long walk along a river. It’s very pretty, and supposedly very romantic, with a big rock at the middle of the valley on which the word “Ai” (Chinese for “love”) is carved and painted red.

I started to develop special interest in documenting the ancient Chinese art of picture posing.

After an hour an and a half, the driver took us to Nine Dragons Falls, and gave us another hour and a half to walk around. Nine Dragons Falls is a much prettier, intricate network of rivers, valleys and waterfalls, and had we known better, we’d prefer spending three hours there. Also, it turns out that some scenes from “Crouching Dragon, Hidden Tiger” were shot here.

We were extremely tired after all these walking, so we got back to the hotel to take a nap, then wandered around the town to find some food. All of the restaurants seemed empty, and when we finally took a seat in one that had people in it, they all turned out to be members of the family that run the place. We had our dinner as we watched them play cards, and got back to the hotel to get some sleep - tomorrow we need to be up before dawn again. We have a yellow mountain to climb.

China, day 4: Nanjing

We were getting a little tired of chasing hotels and figuring out what to do, so we decided to book a three day organized tour to Huangshan - the yellow mountain. For that, we had to go first to Nanjing.

So not a lot happened that day. We took a train to Nanjing, then a taxi to the hotel, then looked for the tourist agency for a while because it was totally impossible to find. Once the tour was booked, we went to a hot-pot place, bought some snacks for the ride, gloves for me (the pattern spells out “SHOWFLS”, which was probably supposed to be “SNOWFLAKES”) and earmuffs for Julia, and went back to the hotel.

This is a good time to talk about the Chinese perception of personal space.

And we’re done talking about it. There is no perception of personal space in China. People will walk straight into you, stand right in front of you, and push you for no reason at all. Unfortunately for them, I am both Israeli and vengeful, and so I quickly developed a variety of techniques to deal with them, most of them involve the use of a bag. If I have my backpack, for instance, I turn quickly and have the bag shove my offenders off of their course. When I’m carrying our travelling bag in my hand, I just aim it to the knees or pelvis of whoever is blocking my way as I try to get of the subway.

The main attraction of the day came in the form of this group of old people doing some kind of an old-Chinese-people-group-workout-thing in the middle of the street. I have a video for you guys. Of course I do.

China, day 3: Suzhou

We started the day by getting a taxi to the silk museum. Suzhou, turns out, used to be the silk capitol of China. Before going into the museum we stopped at a tiny restaurant (more like two tables in the middle of the street) and got breakfast: Youtiao (literally meaning “oil stick”, basically it’s deep fried dough), tea egg, and soy milk. It was excellent.

The silk museum was a lot of fun. Especially the section dedicated to the production process of silk.

We stared at this for a while until we realized that the worms were real.

This section ends in a room that occupies some old fashion looms and about four women were actively weaving silk on them. These fascinating, complex machines are slowly turning into my new obsession.

Outside the silk museum we noticed a very tall pagoda. We decided to check it out. 

The pagoda is located at the heart of the Beita Bao'en temple. We walked around and then climbed the damn thing just to find some air polluted, disappointing view of the city.

From there we took a taxi to the Humble Administrator’s Garden. The area is very touristy, and a lot of little old Chinese ladies try to shove tour flyers into peoples’ hands. I practiced some Chinese and yelled “bu yao! bu yao! bu yao!” (don’t want!) randomly. Before visiting the garden, we sat down in a small restaurant. A heavy white guy with a white goatee and blue eyes, dressed like a Chinese vagabond, came in, sat down at one of the tables, and shortly after burst into a loud conversation with the restaurant owner, in fluent Chinese (brought here as roughly translated by Julia):

- “Do you have baozi?”

- “Yes, of course.”

- “I would like some, then. Do you have beer?”

- “Yes, whatever you see on the shelf.”

- “But they are warm, I want a cold one.”

- “It’s too cold for cold beer, don’t you think?”

- “You are very lazy, you know? Instead of standing here and talking to me about beer, go make my baozi!”

After our meal we went to the Humble Administrator’s Garden. It’s pretty fancy for such a humble administrator.

Being pretty much the only white guy around, I get a lot of stares. A tiny girl was fascinated by me, and I could see how her dad practiced with her until she was ready to approach me and say “Hello! what is your name?”. I said “Hello! Ni hao!” back which made her the happiest thing on earth, as she started jumping all over the place.

After the garden we went to the Suzhou Museum which is right next to the garden. The museum is a must see in Suzhou - first of all, the architecture is very impressive. The art is really interesting too, especially the calligraphy section.

After an afternoon snack we took a taxi to go to the hotel, but when we passed the old city we asked the driver to drop us off. It’s a really pretty, very touristy area. 

We entered some stores. Chinese sales people will follow you around all over the store, even if you try to make it very clear that you don’t need their help. In a silk store, we were followed by a girl who looked a little like that girl from “The Grudge”. Having her follow me around is not what I would call a positive shopping experience.

We got some red bean bubble tea and sat on the bench to drink it. Another boy, approached me. “Hello! It’s nice to meet you!” he recited very carefully to his parents’ content. I went into a public bathroom to pee, and as I threw my bubble tea cup to the trash, an old cleaner guy started yelling at me in Chinese. Looking back, I think he thought I threw the cup into the squat toilet. I didn’t know what to do so I said “Slicha, bijo, slicha!” (Hebrew/Georgian: I’m sorry old chap, sorry!) and left quickly.

China, day 2: Suzhou

We woke up at the Fish Inn hotel and went out to look for some breakfast. The area we were staying is home to Ningbo street, that offers a large variety of street food. The way food is treated in the street is very different than anything I’ve seen before.

The head of the fish, at the far right, was still trying to breath when the picture was taken. There’s also this:

And to clarify, you are looking at washed clothes and pieces of meat hanging from a rope to dry.

From a small food stand we got a Congyoubing, which is an excellent fried onion patty kind of thing, and then we sat down in a small restaurant for some dumplings. 

On the way back to the hotel we passed through an area of hardware stores which felt to me like heaven. They had everything - electronics components, gears, bearings, pipes, and all in a huge variety.

Ahhh.. big bulky buttons…..

We went back to the hotel, packed our bags and headed for Suzhou, about a 30-minute train ride.

In Suzhou we checked in at a Motel168, which is a local chain of hotels, and went out to look around. The hotel sits on a river bank, and across the river there’s a small row of food stands. They offer mostly pieces of meat on sticks. There’s really no need to ask what kind of pieces of meat these are, but they’re pretty good. We continued to the nearby Xiyuan Temple. Here, have some pictures:

We then took a taxi to Suzhou Gongyuan (Suzhou park), but because of Julia’s foreign accent (we’re working on that) the driver took us to Suzhou Gongyiyuan, which is something very different. When we realized we were heading the wrong way Julia notified the driver, who then suggested to just drop us off at Jinji Lake that was close to where we were. We were welcomed by a sculpture of a dog sniffing a pooping baby’s ass.

The lake is nice, and this was when we were really struck by how polluted the air is. 

We decided not to give up visiting the actual park we wanted to see, so even though it was already dark we took a metro and walked around Suzhou Park. At night, the park serves as an ad-hoc exercise ground for the elderly. It seems like old Asian people just make up random exercise routines on the spot. Some of them were just walking around while other were leisurely swinging limbs back and forth. One gentleman was standing in front of a tree while pounding it with both hands.

We left the park and walked around to find food. We walked into a restaurant called “Kaka”, which coincidentally means “poop” in Hebrew, We had some noodle soup and called it a day.

China 2013, Day 1: Shanghai

Two weeks in China. Since Julia has been to Israel twice already, it has been decided (if you get my drift) that it’s time we went to her motherland. Fine, her parents’ motherland. Her grandmotherland, I suppose.

So we took a China Eastern flight to Shanghai. The personal entertainment unit offers foreign language learning games, which I used to brush up on my Chinese. Unfortunately the game broke after an hour or so, and restarting it did not change anything. I decided to diagnose the bug as a memory leak and tried to get some sleep.

About half an hour before landing, China Eastern offers the passengers some Taichi practice, or as they like to call it, “Taichi in the microspace”.

A lot of passengers cooperated, and so did I, as I already drew too much attention as one of the very few non Chinese passengers on the flight.

After landing, we took a train to the city and walked to the Fish Inn Bund which turned out to be a nice little hotel. We checked in and went on to the city to find some beer.

As we were walking around Nanjing Road, we heard a girl calling “massage! massage!” and immediately after a male voice replying “Lo, lo massage!” (Hebrew: “no, not a massage!”)

- “Lama lo? (why not?)” I yelled to the guy.

- “Gam po?! (here too?!)” the guy responded.

I like how easy it is for me to have a meaningful conversation in so few words when it’s in my native language. Also interesting is the fact that my first interaction on the streets of Shanghai is with an Israeli.

We walked for quite a lot, and after a while finally saw a sign: “Beer and Coffee”. We did it! But when we went through the door, I realized we might have a problem: There was a bar, but there was only one table. Around it sat mostly girls. “We’re in the wrong place” I told Julia, but it was obvious she doesn’t understand what’s going on.

All the girls got up at once, and one of them approached me. Not “us” - “me”, 

- “Come in, we have pretty girls” she said as she touched my wrist. Then she pointed at Julia - “and it’s free to watch”. I said “no thank you”, and dragged Julia outside. Only then could I quietly explain to her that we stumbled into a whore house. To be fair, it was her first time. I had inadvertently stumbled into whore houses before.

By now we were hungry, so we found a small place to have some dumplings. The menu did not disappoint us and provided long moments of Chingrish fun:

We finally found something that looked more like a bar, although I’m not completely convinced that it wasn’t a whore house as well. We had one drink and went back to the hotel to get some sleep.

Day 18. Mile 4700. San Francisco, CA.

Before leaving Mojave, I wanted to wash the truck a little. The main reason for this was to make sure that when I return the truck, nobody looks at it too much. If they do, they might find out that the roof is a little dented. I’m pretty sure that it’s not my fault, but then again, I did smash the roof of that motel back in… where the hell was it? West Virginia, wasn’t it?

There was a French couple already using the car wash station, and the wife did not appreciate my attempts to be friendly. Possibly because her English was not very good and she couldn’t understand why the hell I was standing there; possibly because she’s an asshole; possibly because she just didn’t like me; but most probably because her husband seemed to be making friends with strange men too easily for her taste, if you get my drift.

They left, I gave the truck a rinse, and apart from breakfast at the small town of Tehachapi, I didn’t stop until California.

As I entered California it seemed like I entered the place where America go to summer camp. Right at the border a bearded hippy inspected the truck: “do you have any plants?”

No, just my stuff.

"So no plants?" he seemed almost disappointed.

He asked me where I came from, and we briefly discussed the bombings in Boston. Then he greeted me with a “welcome to California, man” and I drove in. A minute later I passed a summer resort, with bungalows, boats, zip-lines and such.  I think the biggest lesson from this trip is that no matter how stereotypically America is presented to the world, the truth is much more extreme.

A few more hours of driving and I got to Mountain View where 

I met Julia. She works in the Google HQ, so she gave me a tour around campus. We went home, unloaded and returned the truck.

And so, my 4700 miles, coast to coast journey has ended. Thank you guys (all two of you) for following me. I hope you had a good time and that you keep an eye on this blog. You never know when I will once again be a

Person

On

The

Road!!!! 

(tun, tun, tuuuuuuuun!)

Day 17. Mile 4350. Mojave, CA.

I took some time in the morning to wander around Seligman. Although this town has the name of a Jewish lawyer, its character is very different.

Three or four buses were parked along the main street, and the French tourists that they brought were swarming the souvenir shops. I managed to find a shop that was relatively quiet and that also served breakfast, and after eating I went back on the road.

I drove taking very few stops, going back and forth between the I-40 and route 66, until I reached Mojave. The first thing that you notice once you enter Mojave is the insane amount of wind turbines. The second thing that you notice is that the town looks like it gave up, with many of the stores on the main street deserted.

I drove the truck into the parking of the “Best Motel” and asked the shy Chinese guy at the reception desk where I can find the best motel in town. When he was done being confused he gave me a room. I walked around the depressing town for a while.

Then I went to get dinner. There are very few place to get dinner in Mojave. I stepped into El Jefe Baja Grill. Once again, I was the only costumer in the place. The waiter was a tough, Hispanic young man. So tough, he had tattoos on his eyelids. Yes, I’m being totally serious. Tattoos. On his fucking eyelids!

Being the tough kid that he was, and being a waiter in a shitty restaurant in a shitty town, did not prevent this young man to act as if he is working in the fanciest restaurant in Paris, standing tall and contiguously calling me “Sir”. I had dinner and quite a few beers there as I was watching “Chopped” on the big TV. 

Then my phone started buzzing as it was receiving emails and it would not stop. The drama was unfolding in Boston, as the police were hunting down the two bombers, and I was getting  a lot of information in real-time through the Media Lab’s mailing lists, and when I say “real-time”, I mean less than a minute: the Media Lab is only a few minutes walk from where the police officer was shot, and in addition, some people were already listening to the MIT police’s scanner and posting on the mailing list information seconds after hearing it. Some people were actually stuck in the lab since the entire Boston area was locked down. Some of the emails were discussing where to find food in the lab in order to pull through the night. I wanted to point out to them that they can always resort to eating silk worms that  were brought recently the lab’s lobby (yeah, the lab does weird things, like putting silk worms in the lobby), but I decided to wait with jokes until everything calms down. I finished my Carne Asada and my beer, and went back the the motel to get some sleep before the road-trip’s last day.

Day 16. Mile 4000. Seligman, AZ

Before leaving Grants, I walked around to take some pictures.

It was only then that I slowly started to put together the pieces of the story of Route 66. In short, it is one of the first roads in the US highway system that connected Chicago in the east to LA in the west. It was a very significant road until the I-40 opened, which resulted in the near obsolescence of Route 66. These days the route is experiencing some renewed recognition, and being declared as a “scenic drive” by some states in which it passes.

Grants’s main street is a small portion of Route 66, which explains the large number of motels, along with the terrible condition that they’re in, like this abandoned one:

When I was done in Grants I started driving out of New Mexico and into Arizona. There were a lot of signs at the sides of the roads advertising Indian souvenir shops, and all theses signs looked the same. I stopped for lunch at a gas station owned by the Hopi. When I got back to my truck I noticed that I parked it with all the big boys, and that it looks kinda ridiculous:

Driving some more, I saw a sign directing to the “Meteor Crater”. I had to check it out. Turns out it’s a crater created by a meteor some 50,000 years ago. It’s very hard to get it all in a picture, so here’s the best I could do:

I drove on the I-40 some more, and stopped at Seligman. I know, it sounds like a law firm and not like a town, but it is - another one that has Route 66 as its main street, but this one seemed to make a big deal out of it:

 I got a room and the Romney Motel. The manager asked me where I’m from. I said I’m coming from Boston.

- “No, where are you originally from?”

- “Israel. Why? Where are you from?”

- “Israel! well, not me, but all my family lives in Bat-Yam”.

Bat Yam is a shitty city, just a little bit south of Tel-Aviv, which was really surprising and definitely amusing. His wife passed away a while ago and his only son lives with his own famiy in Las Vegas, so this gentleman was saving money for his retirement, which is coming very soon, so he can move to Israel to live with his extended family in fucking Bat-Yam. 

I went to get dinner at “The Roadkill”.

To my right, took place the most manly conversation I ever heard. Four guys were sitting at the bar, wearing working clothes, baseball caps, and they all had rough, dirty hands, with black stains underneath the fingernails.  One guy was talking about the deer he was hunting, and how it’s too expensive now to take them to the butcher. I couldn’t understand him fully because of his thick accent, but I assume he said something like “so now I have to cut them up myself” or “so now I stick my bare teeth in them and eat them alive”.

By the time I gave up parsing what he said, he was talking about a 2-inch, externally-threaded, em, something, and then the other guy said “oh, that’s what we used when we replace the motor of that old truck.” I was praying that they won’t turn to me all of the sudden and say “hey, stranger, what do you do for a living?”

Then I went to the only open bar in town, the Black Cat bar, where I had a couple of beers, nodded “goodnight” to the couple at the pool table, who were the only patrons besides me, and went to bed.

Day 15. Mile 3700. Grants, NM

I regrouped at my motel room from the previous day. I calculated that I have to drive at least five hours if I want to make it to San Francisco by Friday evening. Five hours may not sound like a lot, but consider this - I can’t  start driving until 11AM, because my body refuses; then there’s breakfast sometimes, depending on whether or not I have leftovers from the previous day; at some point I need to stop for lunch; I have to stop driving at about 7PM, because otherwise I’m stretching it on finding a place to sleep and a place to have dinner, and also,  once I’m settled in a room I have a lot of work to do: for starters, this blog doesn’t write itself, you know. Then there’s some work I’m doing for Le Laboratoire, my previous employer; Then I’m preparing for a talk I’m giving next month in Israel, and a conference…  so five hours of driving are actually hard to accomplish!

Luckily, this was a day when I had leftover pizza from the night before, so I didn’t have to stop for breakfast. 11AM and I was on my way to New Mexico.

New Mexico is beautiful. My favorite landscapes in this trip by far. 

I arrived at Las Vegas - Not to be confused with THE Las Vegas in Nevada. I drove around and got to the historic town plaza, where a few artists were working on wood carved sculptures.

I grabbed some lunch and drove on, until I reached Santa Fe. I spent a lot of time there - I started by taking a lot of pictures of myself with a “city limits” sign, to show the members of the legendary Israeli band “The Flies”. They had a song with Santa Fe in the lyrics, so I just had to.

Near the sign there were some merchants, selling wood art, decorative stones, bushes and cacti (or “cactuses”, if you like. Or just “cactus”. Wikipedia says they all work).

One of them asked if I wanted to buy one of these posts as a souvenir from New Mexico. “How am I going to carry this?”, I responded automatically. They guy pointed at my truck. Yeah… I have a truck… “Oh, It’s full… and there’s no room in my apartment… next time, I promise, next time.”

I drove around Santa Fe, which is really pretty:

And then continued south. I passed Albuquerque and turned west. I then saw a sign that said that the I-40, the road I was on, was closed. I was already on a detour after the roads closed on me the day before. It seemed as if the interstate system did not want me to get to San Francisco. I texted Julia for help, because my phone is too slow and the reception was too bad for me to handle internet. Julia found out that the road is indeed blocked, but the closure was in Arizona, about 300 miles away from my location, so I was safe. I drove until I hit Grants, a tiny town on Route 66.

I got a room, ran to the only restaurant that was open to get food before they close, took some take-away food to my room, and since I wasn’t hungry, went straight to the only bar in town - “The Outlaws”.

There were only very few people, which was a shame - the space is really cool. At some point, a huge dude came in. He had a very round torso, bleached hair, black make up around his eyes, and he was wearing shorts and a striped polo shirt. He was a human version of Humpty Dumpty, including the gay mannerism. He was setting up his station to lead a karaoke. This I have to see, I thought. I went back to my room, ate, worked and talked to Julia for a while, and went back to the bar.

There was now a group of about ten people, all in their early twenties. Two girls were enormous, one of them heavily tattooed. Another girl was a slim, dark girl with a heavy Mexican accent. One of the guys was tall and slim and he wore his baseball cap backwards. The girls were choosing hip-hop songs that I didn’t know. Then Humpty put on a Mexican song and everybody got up and danced, including the tiny bartender. I was admiring how well they were all dancing - even the enormous girls looked like were floating.

And just as I was about to leave, thinking how this whole situation is a cliche of a small, southern town, they all went outside for a smoke, leaving the guys with the baseball cap alone on the dance floor, playing air guitar and signing Metallica. 

Day 14. Mile 3300. Trinidad, CO.

The goal for this day was to cross the Rocky Mountains. Pretty soon after I left Denver, I started hitting snow. After a couple of hours it was getting pretty rough. In fact, I almost lost control over the truck at one point.

I’ve got plenty of these irresponsibly-taken-while-driving photos of the storm, if by chance you need any.

I pulled over in the small town of Georgetown for some food and rest. I got into a little coffee shop and ordered some food. The lady at the counter asked me where I was coming from, and when I said “Boston” her face took a strange expression, as she pointed to the television. This is how I learned about the twin explosion in the marathon. I immediately started to scan the social networks to learn that all my friends in Boston are probably safe. I thought to myself that it’s strange how just the day before it was memorial day in Israel, when we remember not only our soldiers who die in battle, but also the victims of terror attacks. Just the day before, I thought to myself, I was a little sad to be removed my friends as we remember our dead. And now it’s almost like it’s chasing me here, thousands of miles away. I won’t go any deeper here, but I’m sure you can imagine at least some of my feelings.

Then came in this young man and said that he heard that I-70 west, the road I was taking, has been closed. They people in the coffee shop advised me to take a room in Georgetown for the night. The weather, however, was not supposed to get any better in the next few days, and I have a truck to return. Everybody said that the weather was coming from the west. I’m not sure that’s proper grammar, saying that “the weather is coming from the west”. The storm, the winds, the cold front - these might be coming from the west, but the weather? I always thought that the weather is something that just always exists around us. If the weather is coming from the west, what is here now? another weather? or maybe there is no weather here right now, and were just waiting for some to come from the west?

- “Well, it might not end tonight, right? I might be stuck here for a few days!”

- “Yeah, you might.” said the lady at the counter

- “What is there to do here, if I stay?”

- “Get drunk every night!” said the only other costumer. “That’s what we do.”

After giving it a lot of thought, I decided not to stay. I don’t have time for this. I decided to go back to Denver, and then go south, through Albuquerque, and then go straight west. It was hard getting back down form the mountain, although not as hard as going up. I passed little pieces of weather that were just not moving east fast enough, and finally made it back to Denver.

Then I headed south on the I-25, towards Albuquerque. The view changed pretty abruptly, and the weather too - it was still very windy, but now instead of snow I was getting sand. 

I passed this impressive little mountain:

Which is much more impressive in real life. This is  Huerfano Butte, A remnant of an ancient volcano, according to Wikipedia, and an important marker in New Mexico settlement, according to a nearby sign.

Eventually, I got to the town of Trinidad, CO, I got a room in the Trinidad Motor Inn, run by a Chinese dude who apparently studies the Talmud in his free time. After driving around I finally found the only place to eat in town that is open after 9PM - Fabilis Wings. The owner, a huge, warm Hispanic woman in her mid-forties, was talking to a young couple who was attending their three daughters: “Your baby reminds me of my granddaughter!” Yep, moving south alright.

I had a pizza and went to the only open bar in town. Trinidad, the bartender said, has a population of about 11,000. All the other bars are closed because the police is giving bars and costumers a hard time, since they attract a lot of violence.

- “what kind of violence?” I asked.

- “anything, even gunfights. A guy was shot dead last year right there.” she pointed to a spot just next to the door.

- “Gunfights over what?”

- “Drug money, mostly.”

I found that fascinating - a town of 11,000 is self-sufficient enough to have its own drug wars. I stopped drinking after one beer, because I didn’t want any trouble with the police myself, and went back to the motel.

Day 13, Mile 3000. Denver, CO.

We had a sharp deadline, which was getting Julia to the airport on time. Our first stop was for lunch at South Side Food and Drink in Limon, CO. It’s a small, southern-style diner. We even had three cowboys sitting a few tables away from us. Well, at least they had the hats.

We then drove by a sign for the town of Bovina, and we noticed it’s not on the map. We decided to check it out. Guess what? There’s a reason it’s not on the map:

Chubbuck’s Six States Museum and Wonder Tower, however, was on the map. It also had a bunch of signs directing to it:

There was no one there. We wanted to go to the bathroom, so we looked for the restrooms in the back. Ladies room is on the right. Gentlemen to the left.

We found a small note saying that the place if for sale! I wonder how much it goes for.

We decided to talk about it later and in the meantime make a list of the pros and cons of owning museum of stones and bottles in the middle of nowhere.

Then we got to Denver. We started by getting coffee in a cute coffee shop. It was full of hipsterish students working hard on their laptops. We went online on our phones. I realized then that it was the Israeli memorial day. We commemorate memorial day very differently, in Israel, than they do in the states. Let’s put it this way - we don’t barbecue.  

I was thrown off - first, I realized I forgot, which made me realize how far I am from Israel, physically and mentally. Second, I noticed on Facebook that someone mentioned a young woman who was killed in a terrorist attack about ten years ago. It seems she used to serve in my by base, at the same time I did, and I don’t remember her at all. We were a tiny base, maybe 200 soldiers. I knew everybody - everybody did. I must have known her and forgotten all about her. I’m still not sure I know who she was - after really trying, I think I do have a faint memory of her. I don’t know exactly why this feels weird. Anyway, Danit Dagan was her name. RIP.

We decided we had enough time before the flight - so we went to the Red Rocks. It was beautiful, and we got to see only very little of it. We must come back at some point.

We went to the airport, and discovered that Julia’s flight was delayed. I hung out with her in the Airport, and we had dinner and drinks and then we walked around and stared at the very disturbing murals.

I then left and got a room at a Motel 6. Here are some tips:

1. The sign outside a Motel 6 might say “Wi-Fi here”. Notice that it doesn’t include the word “Free”. There’s a reason for that.

2. If the receptionist will notice even the slightest sign of discontent, she will give you the Wi-Fi password for free. Let your inner Israeli shine!

3. The Wi-Fi password is per device. If you have two computers and your inner Israeli is on a day off, you’ll have to pay double.

4. Almost anywhere there’s a Motel 6, there’s also a Super 8. Super 8 gives free Wi-Fi for as many devices as you want and they have free breakfast. Motel 6 don’t. Just sayin’.

5. Personally, I prefer going for privately held motels. I believe it’s better for the economy.

Day 12. Mile 2600. Oakley, KS.

So we went to the Underground Salt Museum. Now that I have your attention, let’s start at the top:

We started driving north, and near Yoder we could not ignore the sign to the Underground Salt Museum. First we stopped for brunch at the Carriage Crossing Restaurant and Bakery. When Julia noticed me staring at the waitresses she said “I know what you’re thinking - they all look the same”. Actually, I was thinking that the Amish waitress was pretty hot. Now, I want to clarify - of course, I like looking at pretty women, but more than that I enjoy all those little funny thoughts. For example, there’s nothing more cheesy than a hot Amish waitress, is there? There are music videos directors that built their entire career on them. I wonder if she actually does go home after a shift, listen to Aerosmith in her headphones as she lets her hair down, in slow motion, of course. I had more of these thoughts, but they were cut off when Chris Griffin, the Family Guy kid showed up and started cleaning the tables.

We had our brunch and moved on to the Underground Salt Museum, one of Kansas’s eight wonders (!!). Sarcastic, parenthesized exclamation marks aside - the museum is pretty cool. Over 600 ft. underground, it shows you around the salt mines. This salt is mostly used to clear snow off the roads.

Because of the dry, stable climate in the mine, they use the mines also as storage area, for anything from documents to film sets and costumes. This is one of 20 “Agent Smiths” used in the final battle scene of the 3rd Matrix movie:

We also took “the dark ride”, a cool, slow ride around the mines with a funny guide: “To your left, you’ll notice a wooden stand with a fire extinguisher. Salt is not flammable, but you know what is? wooden stands with fire extinguishers on them”.

We then drove on. We stopped by the Barbed Wire Museum in La Crosse, KS. It was closed, but there was some interesting art outside:

With one Kansas wonder down and seven more to go (but they will have to wait) we drove on, but we made the classic mistake of driving too late with too little gas and too far from civilization. We were getting a little nervous. Finally we found a gas station that I believe was actually a left-behind set from a David Lynch movie: surrounded by complete darkness, with the single light, the rattling flag post in the strong wind… the works.

We stopped for the night in stinky Oakley, KS, and I say that not because it’s a bad town. I say that just because it smells really bad.