Around the world with Bob Harris

One Bob has a link to another Bob's journal entries on a trip around the world.

As the first Bob points out, Bob Harris' stuff is great reading.

Here are some clips...

From London:

Speaking of Chomsky, two bookstores on Charing Cross have large displays of his new book in the windows. I stopped and went in (a place called Blackwell's), only to be immediately confronted by large displays of Chomsky, Michael Moore, and Al Franken. No sign whatsoever -- nil, friends -- of Bill O'Reilly, Ann Coulter or any of those goddamned right-wing bullshit guides to conservative smugness, usually entitled "Excellence Through Raw Power: Enhancing Your Americanness" or whatever.

...True story, I swear: a guy was pulling his wife out, saying (I quote), "c'mon, honey, I can't take anymore of this liberal bullshit." His accent: distinctly American midwest.


From Capetown:

The main thing in my head at the moment: it's a lot harder to get a baboon out of your rental car than you might think.

...I'll have to stop complaining about things like potholes, as road hazards go. Thank goodness baboons don't particularly like tzatiki....And I'll leave aside the pleasures of learning to drive in the right-hand seat on the left-hand side of the road, using aggressive city traffic as an ongoing lab. This has surely been more harrowing for others than myself.

...The sky and water here are impossibly blue, the result (as far as my quite ignorant eyes can guess so far) of a transport and shipping (as opposed to manufacturing) economy and a lack of air traffic (about one flight an hour when I looked) to this remote spot. Drive toward the Cape, and wild partridges wander across the street. Walk to the university, and wild springboks are visible on the mountain above. Occasionally, an overeager baboon leaps right into your car when you've stepped out to take a picture, scaring the hell out of you and leaving you wondering how the hell you'll ever get home.


From the countryside in South Africa:

The newspapers, radio, and TV continue to thrill. George W. Bush, dear friends, is widely, transparently reported and regarded as a corrupt buffoon. His recent timber deal was reported unblinkingly in all media I saw as a sellout to his contributors -- no more, no less.

...When I first got to Africa, I was really taken with the proximity of rich and poor -- you can go from palatial mansions to intense povery in a matter of minutes. But now I'm thinking about it... and I live jogging distance to Beverly Hills, and a three-hour drive to shanties outside Tijuana. Does the fact that NAFTAland has the bourgeois good taste to keep these areas separated by greater distance make things any better? And in South Africa, the society is now mostly committed to correcting the problem. Not true back home, where the policies continue to ensure (despite remarkably widespread doublethink) that inequality will continue to worsen for the entire foreseeable future. Yeesh.

...One thing I love about South Africa: everyone here has experienced radical social change as a result of committed political activism. Back home, being a progressive activist always carries this funky, heavy vibe, like loving a woman you know will never really love you back. But here, she does. Man, that feels good.


From Singapore:

This place is mind-blowing, if you're a people-watcher. Buddhist monks with cell phones. A bored kid in a Hindu temple wearing a Britney Spears T-shirt. And everyone -- I mean everyone -- waiting patiently at an empty intersection, refusing against every human impulse to jaywalk.

...Coming from South Africa, where there are national brands but few an American will recognize, the Fortune 500ness of it all couldn't be more striking. Walking down Orchard Road -- the famous main shopping drag -- is a visual and economic orgasm of brightly-colored profit activity. More: it's the Christmas season. Which means, even here -- perhaps especially here -- insanely oversized artifical trees, overhead lights that could unconvert St. Paul, and holiday carols sung in pre-recorded unison by 32 disembodied Japanese girls blasted at 90 dB.

Jesus Christ himself wouldn't have the slightest fucking clue what this is all about. But VISA does, I guarantee.

...The best thing about Singapore so far, other than bathroom floors cleaner than most surgical instruments, is the food. You bring a third of the world's cultures together in one place, somebody's gonna know how to cook. The best so far: fluffy pillows of doughy bao, stuffed with who-knows-what, purchased from a vendor with three teeth in Little India.

The worst, surprisingly (or not): the food at the Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel, something every guide book recommends as a classic Singapore destination, given that they invented the Singapore Sling, a drink which no one I have ever met likes, but what the hell. The food at the Long Bar is overpriced and thoroughly ordinary, and you're surrounded by a bunch of loud businessmen pretending to have fun, and if that's your cup of tea, stay home and go to Bennigans. If you ever come to Singapore, buy your food from people who are kinda scary-looking.

Trust me on this. The scarier the people, the better the food.


From Malaysia:

I've been a bit nervous about the Malaysia leg of the trip since the beginning, for a very stupid reason: on every official Malaysian tourist form, they always print in large bright red English letters: "Warning: Drug Trafficking Means Death."

My brain, for some reason, reacts to the word "death" -- in giant blood-red ink on a form I'm filling out -- with fear. Call me crazy.

...But still: I saw Midnight Express (and never mind it was in Turkey; I'm being irrational, so there's no point in arguing). Also, I live in Los Angeles, so I know cops make mistakes, which they'll sooner die than admit later. And, um, death -- which the Malaysians actually mean, having actually executed a couple of Aussies a while back in a place called Pudu Prison.

(Incidentally, there's an animal called a pudu (genus name: pudu pudu , I swear), which is a tiny deer about shin-high, the cutest little ungulate you ever saw. So the very idea of putting the words "pudu" and "prison" together... the nerve of these people.)

So, yeah, I know, drug laws are pretty insane in a lot of other countries I'm visiting. Yeah, I know, as a tourist, they want my dollars with as little hassle as possible, so the chance of the slightest bother from customs is about nil. And even so, I still did the only thing possible: I overreacted. Unless you think throwing out my vitamins, aspirin, and Tiger Balm liniment was completely sane. Death and all. Can't be too careful, I was thinking.


Bob's journaling reminds me of my recent trips (east and west) around the United States. Obviously not as exotic, but the idea of a traveler is essentially the same. And one reason why I like so much to travel. My journals may not be quite as entertaining, but they have pictures!

And I couldn't agree more with him here...

It's a common mistake of travelers (and I think maybe liberal ones in particular) to rave about the friendliness of the locals whenever you go somewhere new. It's hard to judge, because you're different, too -- active, talking to strangers, and open to new experiences. If you lived that way at home, people would be friendlier, too.

I need to get on the road again.

Do read Bob's journal. I haven't included the best parts. He is an incredibly sensitive, funny writer.

....but hey, do what you want....you will anyway.