Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Inevitable complications
Our flight to Marrakech was canceled, sort of. Though the flight number remained, the departure time, the date and even the airport had changed at the last minute (Departing a day later from Milan Bergamo instead of Milan Malpensa). Oops.
This all happened the day before we were supposed to leave, and we were faced with a choice: 1) stay in Milan an extra day, try to find an available room somewhere, and eat the cost of the Marrakech riad we had booked. 2) Try to get a flight to Marrakech for the very next day, and eat the cost of our other plane ticket.
We calculated that we stood to loose pretty much the same amount of money whatever we ended up choosing. We had already booked a riad, and were going to be charged for it whether we stayed there or not. Also, there was the issue of finding a place to stay in Milan for an extra night—there were several big conferences going on in the city that week, and most places were booked. The afternoon was spent web surfing on internet connections that didn't work, making calls on phones with spotty connections, trying to get emails printed out on non-functioning printers, enlisting help from concierges that seemed as lost as we were, and contacting an airline that wouldn't accept our credit card-- but wouldn't take our cash either (I'm no financial whiz, but I think that's a poorly thought-out business model).
After what seemed like hours of comic mishaps, Jacqueline found what seemed like the last available room in the city, in a small hotel a few metro stops away. So ultimately we got an extra day in Milan, and were able to see parts of the city we weren't able to while we were busy scrambling...
This all happened the day before we were supposed to leave, and we were faced with a choice: 1) stay in Milan an extra day, try to find an available room somewhere, and eat the cost of the Marrakech riad we had booked. 2) Try to get a flight to Marrakech for the very next day, and eat the cost of our other plane ticket.
We calculated that we stood to loose pretty much the same amount of money whatever we ended up choosing. We had already booked a riad, and were going to be charged for it whether we stayed there or not. Also, there was the issue of finding a place to stay in Milan for an extra night—there were several big conferences going on in the city that week, and most places were booked. The afternoon was spent web surfing on internet connections that didn't work, making calls on phones with spotty connections, trying to get emails printed out on non-functioning printers, enlisting help from concierges that seemed as lost as we were, and contacting an airline that wouldn't accept our credit card-- but wouldn't take our cash either (I'm no financial whiz, but I think that's a poorly thought-out business model).
After what seemed like hours of comic mishaps, Jacqueline found what seemed like the last available room in the city, in a small hotel a few metro stops away. So ultimately we got an extra day in Milan, and were able to see parts of the city we weren't able to while we were busy scrambling...
Sunday, October 21, 2007
A late night in Palais el Badii
One night last summer Keith came home from work with the news: Puro Beach (the lounge/beach club we enjoyed in Mallorca a while back) was sponsoring an Arabian Nights-themed bash in Marrakech in October. A number of cool DJs and musicians were expected to perform outdoors in the ruins of Palais el Badii. "How about we time our arrival in Morocco with Puro?" Keith asked.
Medieval ruins under the stars, desert breezes, music, drink, food, Eurotrash, and of course, Bryan Ferry! How could we miss this?
We got to Morocco a day late because of an unusual flight change. Not only did our flight time change last minute, but so did the day, and even the actual airport. We lost most of a day in Milan trying to either get another flight (700 Euros!) or find lodging in Milan. We decided to just stay the extra day in Milan, resigning ourselves to eating the cost of our first riad in Marrakech.
Up at 3:45am to catch our flight, we waited in the cold morning air at the train station to get the airport shuttle. At the Milan Bergamo airport we started to get a flavor of Morocco: Robed women with tattooed faces (three vertical lines running from the bottom lip to the chins), hennaed hands & feet stood with us in line, along with their many small children. Men were wearing traditional hooded jellabas, looking very Darth Maul (sp?) from Star Wars.
We took a taxi to the medina, where we were to meet someone to walk us to our riad. A crippled luggage porter with a wheeled cart appeared. He brought our bags the rest of the way, and we hurried to keep pace with him, weaving through narrow muddy alleys, staying clear of the various bikes, motor scooters, feral cats, and hanging sides of lamb that were covered in flies(“Remind me not to have the lamb” I said).
They served us a delicious lunch at the riad, made from scratch. It took almost 2 hours to prepare; they took our order and then went out to buy all the ingredients. After this amazing meal (and two bottles of wine) we went to our room and crashed. Waking up cranky 3 hours later, the last thing I wanted to do was get ready to go to an all-night rave.
Around 9pm we wandered over to the Palais el Badii. Camels and Moroccan musicians lined the route into the castle. Lanterns and rugs were laid end to end along the path—-an Arabian red carpet. In the low lying areas of the ruins, fields of hurricane lanterns were lit, giving the grounds an exotic glow. Fire pits with aromatic woods and multiple “lounging areas” of pillows and torches were set up for the VIP crowd (unfortunately that wasn’t us—- we got the General Admission tickets).
It looked as if the venue could have accommodated two thousand, but less than half that number were in attendance. To make up for the anemic crowd, the organizers temporarily opened the front stage area to everyone. When Bryan Ferry eventually came on stage, it felt like we were at a small concert, right up near the stage, with no crowds, and no pushing our way through. Our target was in sight! I had a mission-- a Bryan Ferry autograph was my intended souvenir of the evening, even though it meant sneaking into the VIP area.
It took a little work, and there were a few setbacks, but after befriending a few of the Morroccan security guards, twisting our wristbands inside out (from cheapseats-purple to VIP-white) and using a little creative smalltalk, we were in. Keith and I triumphantly surveyed the scene, ready to enjoy all the free food and cocktails. We strolled by torchlight among the tall beautiful VIPs, pretending to belong. Bryan Ferry & entourage were lounging around as we suspected. We chatted up members of his band, and I even spoke with the charming Mr Ferry for a while. Mission accomplished:
…and on our Wallpaper book, no less. How perfect is that!?
(Heather if you’re reading this, we know you’re a big fan... we have something for you as well; keep an eye on your mailbox;-)
Medieval ruins under the stars, desert breezes, music, drink, food, Eurotrash, and of course, Bryan Ferry! How could we miss this?
We got to Morocco a day late because of an unusual flight change. Not only did our flight time change last minute, but so did the day, and even the actual airport. We lost most of a day in Milan trying to either get another flight (700 Euros!) or find lodging in Milan. We decided to just stay the extra day in Milan, resigning ourselves to eating the cost of our first riad in Marrakech.
Up at 3:45am to catch our flight, we waited in the cold morning air at the train station to get the airport shuttle. At the Milan Bergamo airport we started to get a flavor of Morocco: Robed women with tattooed faces (three vertical lines running from the bottom lip to the chins), hennaed hands & feet stood with us in line, along with their many small children. Men were wearing traditional hooded jellabas, looking very Darth Maul (sp?) from Star Wars.
We took a taxi to the medina, where we were to meet someone to walk us to our riad. A crippled luggage porter with a wheeled cart appeared. He brought our bags the rest of the way, and we hurried to keep pace with him, weaving through narrow muddy alleys, staying clear of the various bikes, motor scooters, feral cats, and hanging sides of lamb that were covered in flies(“Remind me not to have the lamb” I said).
They served us a delicious lunch at the riad, made from scratch. It took almost 2 hours to prepare; they took our order and then went out to buy all the ingredients. After this amazing meal (and two bottles of wine) we went to our room and crashed. Waking up cranky 3 hours later, the last thing I wanted to do was get ready to go to an all-night rave.
Around 9pm we wandered over to the Palais el Badii. Camels and Moroccan musicians lined the route into the castle. Lanterns and rugs were laid end to end along the path—-an Arabian red carpet. In the low lying areas of the ruins, fields of hurricane lanterns were lit, giving the grounds an exotic glow. Fire pits with aromatic woods and multiple “lounging areas” of pillows and torches were set up for the VIP crowd (unfortunately that wasn’t us—- we got the General Admission tickets).
It looked as if the venue could have accommodated two thousand, but less than half that number were in attendance. To make up for the anemic crowd, the organizers temporarily opened the front stage area to everyone. When Bryan Ferry eventually came on stage, it felt like we were at a small concert, right up near the stage, with no crowds, and no pushing our way through. Our target was in sight! I had a mission-- a Bryan Ferry autograph was my intended souvenir of the evening, even though it meant sneaking into the VIP area.
It took a little work, and there were a few setbacks, but after befriending a few of the Morroccan security guards, twisting our wristbands inside out (from cheapseats-purple to VIP-white) and using a little creative smalltalk, we were in. Keith and I triumphantly surveyed the scene, ready to enjoy all the free food and cocktails. We strolled by torchlight among the tall beautiful VIPs, pretending to belong. Bryan Ferry & entourage were lounging around as we suspected. We chatted up members of his band, and I even spoke with the charming Mr Ferry for a while. Mission accomplished:
…and on our Wallpaper book, no less. How perfect is that!?
(Heather if you’re reading this, we know you’re a big fan... we have something for you as well; keep an eye on your mailbox;-)
Laundry in Siena
One of the drawbacks to traveling light—-and having only a few changes of clothes—-is that we find ourselves doing laundry fairly frequently. Small things we’ll do in the hotel sink, but we need a real washer for the big stuff. In Siena one morning we dragged our bag onto the city bus and went to a Laundromat just off Il Campo. Even though it can be a nuisance, it’s become almost therapeutic to do laundry. It’s a bit of a break from travel stresses to spend time in a vaguely familiar environment, take care of some necessary chores, and enjoy a feeling of accomplishment and control... as long as you have clean socks and underwear, everything else seems a little more manageable.
I like the contrast of coming from narrow medieval streets into a modern Laundromat. Outside are cobblestones and Palio banners; inside I zone out as our clothes spin, and an Italian-dubbed "A-Team" rerun plays on a giant TV above the washers.*
While loading our machines we met a couple from Johannesburg who were traveling through Italy for several weeks, with their toddler in tow (the kid was in remarkably good spirits for being dragged to a boring laundromat). The time went quickly as we talked about (what else) travel... once they had spent six months in South America, and they had friends who had done RTW trips similar to ours. It's been helpful trading stories & advice-- it seems to happen often now; like we've gained entry into some unknown fraternity of world travelers (or masochists). We got some good advice about South Africa, and an open invitation for drinks when we reach Johannesburg next month.
Their best piece of information? A restaurant they happened upon the night before, just a block away. After finishing our laundry we went there for lunch. It was a tiny, family-run place with maybe only 6 tables. The burly old father rattled off the menu very quickly in Italian, so our choices were limited to what we could understand over the din of the room. It turned out to be easily the best meal we've had so far in Italy... we rolled out of there drowsy and stuffed full of ossobuco, hand-nade pasta and chianti....aahhh...
* (Other old shows the Italians love: MacGyver, and Magnum PI. Both great fun to watch dubbed in Italian. It's watching Magnum PI that reminds me how much I look like Higgins in all my stupid hi-tech fast-drying pseudo-safari REI travel clothes)
Slideshow: Assisi
Assisi is an impressive sight, with medieval walls and turrets spilling down a massive hillside. The taxi ride from the train station—-a steep uphill approach into the city--reinforces the drama of the city skyline. St Francis’ popularity is the town’s lifeblood, and Assisi is often filled with religious pilgrims. Stores are chock full of St Francis paintings, keychains, statuettes, rosary beads, clocks, lighters... pretty much any kind of souvenir you can think of, it’s there, and it has the name or image of St Francis on it.
The evening we arrived, a large group of about three dozen young Spanish teens had descended on the Piazza del Comune. They were part of some youth mission, dressed in matching clothes reminiscent of cub scout uniforms (yellow bandana around the neck, powder-blue shirt, navy shorts, black socks). They were strolling through the streets, sitting in doorways and on fountains. Some of the boys strummed guitars and sang Spanish campfire songs while the girls swayed and clapped and sang along. We saw two of the middle-aged scout leaders, wearing the same uniforms as the teens, lounging in a nearby café drinking espresso and chatting up the locals.
Thanks to the approaching storm clouds, sunset over the city was surreal. I felt like I was looking at an old renaissance painting of the city rather than the city itself. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve seen, and I found it difficult to look away. Afterwards, as it got dark, those same storm clouds hovered ominously for a couple hours before the rain and lightning started. I ended up taking photos mostly of the approaching storm. I don’t know if the pictures can really do justice to the beauty of the sky at dusk, but take a look for yourself...
See larger photos Here.
The evening we arrived, a large group of about three dozen young Spanish teens had descended on the Piazza del Comune. They were part of some youth mission, dressed in matching clothes reminiscent of cub scout uniforms (yellow bandana around the neck, powder-blue shirt, navy shorts, black socks). They were strolling through the streets, sitting in doorways and on fountains. Some of the boys strummed guitars and sang Spanish campfire songs while the girls swayed and clapped and sang along. We saw two of the middle-aged scout leaders, wearing the same uniforms as the teens, lounging in a nearby café drinking espresso and chatting up the locals.
Thanks to the approaching storm clouds, sunset over the city was surreal. I felt like I was looking at an old renaissance painting of the city rather than the city itself. It was one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve seen, and I found it difficult to look away. Afterwards, as it got dark, those same storm clouds hovered ominously for a couple hours before the rain and lightning started. I ended up taking photos mostly of the approaching storm. I don’t know if the pictures can really do justice to the beauty of the sky at dusk, but take a look for yourself...
See larger photos Here.
Finding something familiar
In Milan, the streetcars are a distinctive orange and grey. Most of them were built prior to World War One, and are still in service. San Franciscans will recognize them right away, as there are several Milanese streetcars on the F Line Market St/Embarcadero. SF has restored many old cars from around the world and put them into circulation, including those donated by Milan.
It was strangely comforting to see them chugging along in their "native habitat"...
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Anisette hijinks
Strolling down the idyllic streets of Orvieto, we came upon the most beautiful of little shops selling Anise candies. Anxious for just one or two, we went inside and met the nicest girl whose family owned the shop. As we expressed our interest in some candy, she promptly brought out delicious homemade anise cookies for us to sample, plus samples of her father’s home-made Anisette which they sell to area restaurants. So impressed were we by the Anisette (not to mention the almond liqueur samples, the anise candy samples, the chocolate samples and the many shots of the various grappas her father makes in the bathtub or something), we were perfectly inclined to make a reckless decision: "Let's get a bottle of Anisette and ship it home!" We bought it along with a cube of marzipan, some amaretto cookies, and a pound of sugared anise cookies. We promptly brought it back to our hotel for shipment at the local Mailboxes Etc. in the morning... what could go wrong?
As we woke early to ship before catching our train to Assisi, we traipsed down to MBE to enquire about shipping. “Is it alcohol?” the clerk asked. “Yes it is Anisette.” we said excitedly. “I can only ship in quantities of 6, 12, 24, 48, etc.” “You can’t ship a single bottle?” “No. Your government won’t allow it. FDA.”
Unsure as to the logic of this particular practice, but more confused as to why someone would lie about such a silly rule ("is he joking?"), we were faced with a traumatic decision. We didn't have time to get a "second opinion" from the local post office. Because we’re traveling for so long, we have absolutely no space in our tiny tiny bags. We made a promise not to buy any souvenirs unless we were willing to ship them home. There were only two choices: carry the bottle onward (a major pain with three train transfers ahead of us that day), or leave it in Orvieto. A third option presented itself: pour most of our precious liquid in an empty water bottle (safer for transport) and leave the remainder as a gift to our hotel. We asked our hotel if we could use their kitchen sink and... viola!
It took less than two days for us to go through (almost) a bottle of anisette on the train. (Our CODE WORDS: “Can I have some more water please?”)
It may be twenty years before I can eat black licorice again.
As we woke early to ship before catching our train to Assisi, we traipsed down to MBE to enquire about shipping. “Is it alcohol?” the clerk asked. “Yes it is Anisette.” we said excitedly. “I can only ship in quantities of 6, 12, 24, 48, etc.” “You can’t ship a single bottle?” “No. Your government won’t allow it. FDA.”
Unsure as to the logic of this particular practice, but more confused as to why someone would lie about such a silly rule ("is he joking?"), we were faced with a traumatic decision. We didn't have time to get a "second opinion" from the local post office. Because we’re traveling for so long, we have absolutely no space in our tiny tiny bags. We made a promise not to buy any souvenirs unless we were willing to ship them home. There were only two choices: carry the bottle onward (a major pain with three train transfers ahead of us that day), or leave it in Orvieto. A third option presented itself: pour most of our precious liquid in an empty water bottle (safer for transport) and leave the remainder as a gift to our hotel. We asked our hotel if we could use their kitchen sink and... viola!
It took less than two days for us to go through (almost) a bottle of anisette on the train. (Our CODE WORDS: “Can I have some more water please?”)
It may be twenty years before I can eat black licorice again.
Italian food puzzles
Garlic: We've been in Italy for two weeks now; we've eaten a variety of meals in a variety of cities & towns north and south, and it recently occurred to us that we have yet to even smell garlic anywhere, let alone taste it. Is this unusual? Has there been some kind of moratorium placed on its use? Is garlic just an "immigrant" thing?
Gelato: I've had some gelato here too, of course, and I'm still not sure what supposedly makes it different than ice cream. Sure, the flavors are more clever (Pineapple, Nutella, Tiramisu etc), but it all seems to taste pretty much like...well...ice cream.
Gelato: I've had some gelato here too, of course, and I'm still not sure what supposedly makes it different than ice cream. Sure, the flavors are more clever (Pineapple, Nutella, Tiramisu etc), but it all seems to taste pretty much like...well...ice cream.
Teen fashion
Its understood that Italians are pretty fashion-conscious. Many teenagers here are painfully hip; it's the boys especially that are unusual to American observers, with their artfully teased & gelled hair, pierced ears, and clothing that would invite a severe ass-kicking in any American high school.
On the subway we watched a group of rowdy teens interacting; the tough alpha male of the group was wearing a Burberry-pattern baseball cap, a matching Burberry-pattern belt, hip-hugger jeans and a skin-tight pink t-shirt covered with rhinestones. (No, I didn't get a photo, sorry :-)
On the subway we watched a group of rowdy teens interacting; the tough alpha male of the group was wearing a Burberry-pattern baseball cap, a matching Burberry-pattern belt, hip-hugger jeans and a skin-tight pink t-shirt covered with rhinestones. (No, I didn't get a photo, sorry :-)
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Italian trains
The complete Italian train schedule looks like a miniature phone book, it's 500+ pages of detailed charts, maps and symbols and is available at most newsstands for 4.50 Euros. It was intimidating at first, but we quickly figured out how to decipher most of the various codes and icons. We've gotten pretty good at moving around by train. There are the usual idiosyncrasies (Among other things, we discovered i festivi (holidays) sometimes means "holidays" but sometimes it just arbitrarily means "weekends"). Beyond that, though, we're very impressed with how efficient the train system is here. It's an incredibly large and sophisticated network that has thousands of arrivals and departures planned down to the minute over hundreds of stations and hubs. And, many small-town stations only have one or two tracks, which I assume requires an additional amount of coordination to manage the flow.
Slideshow: Pompeii
From Sorrento, we've worked our way up through Orvieto, Assisi and Siena... right now we're in the Cinqueterre. Internet access has been infrequent but we have a couple posts coming soon... in the meantime, here are some of our photos from Pompeii:
See them full-size on flickr.
See them full-size on flickr.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Book recommendation
In Egypt, Samar recommended to us a novel-- The Yacoubian Building by Alaa al Aswany. Jacqueline was completely absorbed by it while we were in Egypt, and I'm just starting it now. It's a very popular, very controversial novel that paints contemporary Cairo in a bleak light. The movie version (recently released) will have to go on our Netflix queue when we get back.
Month-a-versary
We are officially at our four-week mark today. Happily, we don’t feel burnt out as we worried we might be. Most of the time when we travel, we pack every day with tons of activity, coming home exhausted. But given how long we will be gone, we have decided to approach our time with a different mindset: marathon vs. sprint. We have to pace ourselves, and intersperse ‘adventure’ days with rest days/chore days. For instance, today, instead of getting up at 5:30 to queue up for the packed tourist bus to drive down the Amalfi Coast and take the ferry back, we are hanging out in our very nice Sorrento hotel and swimming in the Mediterranean. I can’t get over the guilt, though—- the feeling that there are places that I have wanted to see for years (right down there!) and I am not going. Tomorrow, however, we have three trains and seven hours of travel time to Orvieto...so today we need to recharge. Italy is ITALY after all—we will definitely be back...
Sony CyberShot deathwatch
The island of Capri is supposedly becoming hip again. It's been a luxurious vacation spot since Roman times, but it's appeal waned somewhat in the seventies, with the rise in popularity of places like Mykonos and Ibiza. Though more downmarket than it was in the fifties and sixties, it still has cache, and the beautiful people are beginning to return.
One of Capri’s most famous locales is the Blue Grotto, a large cave accessible only by rowboat from the sea. At high tide we had to lie way back in the boat as if it were a recumbent bike, in order to squeeze through the small entrance. The cave has a limestone bottom, and the water glows a bright blue from the reflected sunlight below. The effect is similar to a lit swimming pool at night; it's quite beautiful. Here are some photos I found online, and here's the Wikipedia entry.
We don't have any photos of our own, because... well, the camera and I went underwater, sort of. Yeah I know, I know, I was probably being reckless, bringing the camera on the rowboat and all. But I had a Ziploc at the ready, and my, ah, "contact" with the water was a freak accident, coming at a time I fully expected to remain dry. Just outside the opening, our rowboat guide pulled on the chain to get us inside (wave rises... wait... wave subsides, pull!) and the wake of the previous boat completely covered me (and only me). I was entirely underwater for a moment. I spit out saltwater even as I protectively clutched the wet wet camera. Jacqueline was seated in front of me, facing forward, and she hadn't noticed the wave that hit the back half of the boat. Inside the luminous cave she was in awe, whispering to me "Wow! This is amazing!"...after a minute or so she turned around to ask why I wasn't taking any pictures. I was sitting in 3 inches of water, and she was completely dry. (In fact everyone who had entered the grotto that morning was completely dry. Lucky me.)
The camera was non-functional for about 45 minutes... eventually we got it to turn on again (it had dried, perhaps). At the moment, thankfully, it's working. We've put the camera on a death watch, to see if salt corrosion might kill it in the coming days or weeks.
Given the duration of our trip, we had worried our camera might need to be replaced at some point. The logistics of getting a good (and reasonably priced) camera is tricky; overnight shipping from Amazon doesn't seem feasible, what with all our moving around (oh yeah and it would be painfully expensive too). We're not keen on buying a new one in a tourist town and paying for it in Euros. We're hoping it will last a while longer, at least until we hit Hong Kong...
One of Capri’s most famous locales is the Blue Grotto, a large cave accessible only by rowboat from the sea. At high tide we had to lie way back in the boat as if it were a recumbent bike, in order to squeeze through the small entrance. The cave has a limestone bottom, and the water glows a bright blue from the reflected sunlight below. The effect is similar to a lit swimming pool at night; it's quite beautiful. Here are some photos I found online, and here's the Wikipedia entry.
We don't have any photos of our own, because... well, the camera and I went underwater, sort of. Yeah I know, I know, I was probably being reckless, bringing the camera on the rowboat and all. But I had a Ziploc at the ready, and my, ah, "contact" with the water was a freak accident, coming at a time I fully expected to remain dry. Just outside the opening, our rowboat guide pulled on the chain to get us inside (wave rises... wait... wave subsides, pull!) and the wake of the previous boat completely covered me (and only me). I was entirely underwater for a moment. I spit out saltwater even as I protectively clutched the wet wet camera. Jacqueline was seated in front of me, facing forward, and she hadn't noticed the wave that hit the back half of the boat. Inside the luminous cave she was in awe, whispering to me "Wow! This is amazing!"...after a minute or so she turned around to ask why I wasn't taking any pictures. I was sitting in 3 inches of water, and she was completely dry. (In fact everyone who had entered the grotto that morning was completely dry. Lucky me.)
The camera was non-functional for about 45 minutes... eventually we got it to turn on again (it had dried, perhaps). At the moment, thankfully, it's working. We've put the camera on a death watch, to see if salt corrosion might kill it in the coming days or weeks.
Given the duration of our trip, we had worried our camera might need to be replaced at some point. The logistics of getting a good (and reasonably priced) camera is tricky; overnight shipping from Amazon doesn't seem feasible, what with all our moving around (oh yeah and it would be painfully expensive too). We're not keen on buying a new one in a tourist town and paying for it in Euros. We're hoping it will last a while longer, at least until we hit Hong Kong...
Guillotine! and other amusements
Usually, when we're tired, stressed, punchy, or just wandering around somewhere strange, we’ll spontaneously compose some (add-libbed) songs to pass the time. Sometimes they're based on an existing melody, sometimes we invent our own; rarely are they longer than a verse or two. Here are some sample song titles from the trip so far:
“Ramadan, Rammmaaaadaaaan”
“It gets cold in the desert” (Sung w/ a Dwight Yoakam twang)
“That’s not a pinecone”
“In the Hashemite Kingdom...of Jordan!” (also sung w/ a country twang)
“Somebody woke up angry”
“Prego is a sauce”
“Cancer kitty”
“Su-su-subito” (sung to the tune of Phil Collins’ “Susuido”)
“You don’t care but I care” (sung to the tune of: “Do You Hear What I Hear?”)
“(Teenagers are annoying) All over the world”
“There’s a sign, there’s a sign (It will tell you where to go)”
We also invented some games to play when we're bored or exhausted-- usually in line or waiting for something. Our four mainstays are "Guillotine","Hammer","Scorpion" and "Squish". They only last long enough for one of us to get hurt.
“Ramadan, Rammmaaaadaaaan”
“It gets cold in the desert” (Sung w/ a Dwight Yoakam twang)
“That’s not a pinecone”
“In the Hashemite Kingdom...of Jordan!” (also sung w/ a country twang)
“Somebody woke up angry”
“Prego is a sauce”
“Cancer kitty”
“Su-su-subito” (sung to the tune of Phil Collins’ “Susuido”)
“You don’t care but I care” (sung to the tune of: “Do You Hear What I Hear?”)
“(Teenagers are annoying) All over the world”
“There’s a sign, there’s a sign (It will tell you where to go)”
We also invented some games to play when we're bored or exhausted-- usually in line or waiting for something. Our four mainstays are "Guillotine","Hammer","Scorpion" and "Squish". They only last long enough for one of us to get hurt.
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