Columbus, Indiana

Inside Eero Saarinen's North Christian Church;
picture by me, Sept. 5, 2017

I'm totally freaked out right now. Three days ago we never even HEARD of Columbus, Indiana and we "discovered" it while flipping through the pages of NUVO Indy -- Indy's Alternative Voice -- while sipping a beer at Fountain Square Brewery in Indianapolis. NUVO was highlighting an exhibit of pop-up art on the streets of Columbus, home of Cummins Engines about 45 miles south of Indianapolis. On our return from Cincinnati, we decided to take a detour to check out the exhibit in Columbus. We had no idea what we were in for. COLUMBUS IS A MECCA OF MODERNIST ARCHITECTURE. I. M. Pei, Eliel (dad) & Eero (son) Saarinen [Milwaukeeans, you know Eero's work: he designed the War Memorial; he also designed the Gateway Arch in St. Louis], Myron Goldsmith, Romaldo Giurgola, César Pelli, Gunnar Birkerts, Harry Weese, Robert Venturi, and many more designed buildings for Columbus. We wandered the streets for hours admiring the architects' work and the vision of magnate Joseph Irwin Miller. Now here's the really freaky part: a friend of mine let me know that a selection in the upcoming MKE Film Festival takes place in Columbus. It's called, appropriately, Columbus. The trailer shows many of the same structures that we visited only yesterday and it starts out with the interior of the North Christian Church (Eero's design) which was the very last building we visited! [Side story: the people of Columbus were so friendly. We were peering into the front door windows of the church when the pastor came out. She said, "We're closed, but I'll show you how to turn out the lights and you can come in and have a look around." She did just that and let us to ourselves inside this architectural jewel. So trusting.]

If you're Jonesing to see something different, hop in the car and visit Columbus. It's about a four and a half hour trip from Milwaukee and totally worth it. Now here's the trailer...

Oh What a Mile It Was!!

Oh my gosh, Mile of Music. Where do I even begin to describe how special your 5th edition was? I can’t. It was overwhelming. In four days, in this order, I caught the following performances:

Levi Parham at the Chapel

August 3, 2017
The Kelson Twins at Rookie’s
Beth Bombara at Rookie’s
Morning House at Cleo’s
Ron Gallo at Radisson’s Grand Ballroom
Diane Coffee at Radisson’s Grand Ballroom
Brother O’ Brother at XTRA 920
Sun Parade at The Bar on the Avenue

August 4, 2017
Smooth Hound Smith at Fox River House
J.E. Sunde at McGuinness Irish Pub
Yellow-Bellied Sapsuckers at McGuinness Irish Pub
Terra Lightfoot at Outer Edge
Erika Wennerstrom (Heartless Bastards) at Outer Edge
Levi Parham at Lawrence Memorial Chapel
Molly Bush at Dr. Jekyll’s
Swear and Shake at Washington Square

The Noise FM rock Mill Creek

Motherfolk at Houdini Plaza
Boom Forest at Radisson Courtyard
The Artisanals at Appleton Beer Factory
Fast Romantics at Spat’s
The Kernal at Appleton Beer Factory
Dusk at Appleton Beer Factory
Trapper Schoepp at XTRA 920

August 5, 2017
Morning at the incredible Appleton Farmers' Market
Strange Americans at Fox River House
The Harpooners at Fox River House
Terra Lightfoot at Spat’s
The Ghost Wolves at Chadwick’s
Arts Fishing Club at Riverside Bar & Grill
PONCÉ at Riverside Bar & Grill
Motherfolk at Washington Square
Fast Romantics at D2 Sports Pub Patio

The AMAZING Calliope Musicals

Bishop Gunn at Radisson’s Grand Ballroom
The Noise FM at Mill Creek

August 6, 2017
Megan Slankard, Jamie Kent, Bascom Hill & SZLACHETKA at the Chapel
Warbly Jets at Houdini Plaza
Desert Noises at Washington Square
Smooth Hound Smith at Outer Edge
The Kernal at Radisson Courtyard
The Hawkeyes at Chadwick’s
Miles Nielsen and the Rusted Hearts at Spat’s
Me Like Bees at Emmett’s
Calliope Musicals at Spat’s

Most of these 41 were full performances too; only in a few cases were they not (Sunday we had to make some compromises). And the range of music is extensive: from heart-felt singer/songwriter acoustic ballads to full-on frontal assault sonic rock and roll. Mile 5 had it all. I’ll likely follow up later with further ruminations about this year, but for now, let me just say… WELL DONE and SEE YOU NEXT YEAR!!

Scary Similarities

The sad story of the death of American tourist at Mexico resort reminds me of something that we saw last year. Since mystery surrounds this case, perhaps what we witnessed can provide another angle in the investigation.

With the Iberostar Playa Mita staff.
Good guys!

In May of 2016 we stayed at the Iberostar of Playa Mita. The resort was wonderful and everyone there was professional, friendly, and well-intentioned. However, the resort had a policy which was odd and one with which we strongly disagreed. That policy? Day passes. That means any person not staying overnight at the resort -- likely a Mexican local -- could buy a day pass to enjoy the resort like an overnight guest. Day pass users could play in the pool or beach and indulge in the all-you-can-drink guest privilege. We saw a number of fellows with day passes engaging in behavior not suited to a resort associated with class. In fact, one fellow vomited on the bar next to the pool. Others were ogling guests and making lewd comments. But one thing above all others was really worth noting and I cannot help wondering if something similar occurred in the death of Abbey Conner.

Two young American women at the resort were hanging out at the pool with a group of male day-pass holders. We were near the group and were shocked at the sleazy behavior of the women. They were there for the men's taking and appeared to be very drunk. They continued this conduct for a few hours, but we didn't really pay much attention to them as we enjoyed ourselves meeting others at the swim-up bar.

However,  a few hours later at dinner we observed something surprising. The two women were dining near us and looked perfectly normal. They did not appear drunk, they were cleaned up, alone, and wore a regretful look. One in particular looked downright ashamed and confused. I actually felt sorry for her. We thought, how is it possible for these two, who only an hour or so ago appeared so drunk and loose, to now be dining quietly with such remorseful looks on their faces? Even if we got as drunk as they appeared, we'd either keep partying or pass out. We wouldn't be calmly and quietly dining two hours later.

So that leaves us to believe they were on a drug -- of that there's little question -- but the real mystery is... did they knowingly take the drug or was it slipped to them by the day-pass holders? And in the hour or so that passed since we saw them at the pool, what happened?

The similarity of the time frames between the death of Abbey Conner and the two women we saw in Playa Mita is scary. It makes me think these two women narrowly escaped greater misfortune. I should also add that the resort Abbey died at was an Iberostar. Do they, too, allow day passes?

My takeaway from these two stories is, find out if the resort you're considering allows day passes. If it does, you may wish to consider staying elsewhere or be very careful who comes near your drink.

We Caught Des Moines

Last week we suddenly realized that we had a 4-day opening in our schedule and with that opening, we would take a spur of the moment trip to explore a place we have either never been nor have visited for a long while. We considered our options over a liter (or two) of bier at Cafe Bavaria. Bayfield, Wisconsin? I love that place and I've only visited it once. I sure would like to go back. Michigan's Upper Peninsula? In a way, my childhood home and the place where my grandparents and great-grandparents are buried. It's always a wonderful place to visit, but we were just there last September. The Motor City? I have never visited the Henry Ford Museum and want to do that soon. Same for the Rock and Roll hall of Fame in Cleveland. We even considered a drive to Philly to catch the Brewers; thank goodness we discarded that idea -- the Brewers lost the series. How about Des Moines? What the heck is there to do in Des Moines??

And with that, I tweeted the following question to the Catch Des Moines, the Greater Des Moines Convention and Visitors Bureau:

@catchdesmoines, help. We're Milwaukeeans with four free days & are considering an exploratory trip to Des Moines for fun. Should we & why?

I told my wife, Kay, what I had just tweeted and she looked at me with a look that only a wife can give a husband. A look like, "Really, donkey? You honestly expect them to reply via twitter to a question like that?"

And within one minute after I set the tweet, I received the following.

 @catchdesmoines Is the farmers market on Saturday morning?

@catchdesmoines Ah, I've heard of @elbaitshop. I knew it was in Iowa, but I didn't know where. Now I do! And confirming... the farmer's market is Saturday?

@catchdesmoines, Thank you. You've been amazing. Great response and we're planning our trip now. See ya there, @kbctourcompany and me!!

All of that took place in a span of not much more than five minutes and I'm not even going to begin to touch the extensive follow-up by the business mentioned and others. It was impressive and we felt an energetic and proud Des Moinesian vibe bursting through the Internet.

A dork in Des Moines. A "stylish" dork in his new tee.

Kay's at the place

With that prompt and simple nudge from Catch Des Moines, we returned home and made our plans to visit Iowa's capitol city. Upon arriving to our hotel the next night, as promised, there was a gift package waiting for us. While we were driving, we tried to guess what items may be in the package: we had Visitors Guide and Can Koozies right, but we didn't think they'd spring for t-shirts. Lo and behold, they did. Two cool "Art & Beer & Festivals" tees -- one in medium and one in large. We really dig them and judging by the number of people who asked me where I got mine at the Des Moines' Farmers Market, others do too!

Des Moines turned out to be a wonderful place to visit. Taking the fastest route, it's about a five and a half hour trip from Milwaukee. The city proved to be full of pleasant surprises. We pride ourselves on beer here in Milwaukee, but Des Moines has only one-third of Cream City's population and just as many craft breweries: 12, and I think there are more on the way. Their Farmers' Market is nothing short of jaw-dropping it's so enormous. And when you visit the Market, make sure you arrive hungry -- there is so much good stuff to eat. And finally, we were impressed with a clean downtown and many displays of public art. We particularly enjoyed visiting the Capitol area and the Pappajohn Sculpture Garden.

Saturday (July 22, 2017) was beastly hot in Des Moines. After enduring the searing heat at the Farmers' Market, we took comfort in the air-conditioned cool of the Iowa Science Center and after that, well if you know us, it was all food and drink from that point forward. Hessen Haus, The Iowa Taproom, Peace Tree, Exile, Confluence, and then to top it all off... The Greenwood Lounge. We did walk between these places except for Exile to Confluence and then Confluence to The Greenwood Lounge. We used Lyft to take us to those haunts and finally back to our hotel, which I believe, too, may have been haunted.

We behaved well for the most part, but then Confluence happened where we met a few swilling cyclists and indulged heartily buying each other beers. But it was an excellent time and all we met were welcoming and friendly. Our new cycling friends were to meet us at The Greenwood Lounge, but they exercised better judgement and sent us a note that they realized they had enough and still had to ride their bicycles home.

This burger!

Sunday was cooler and we spent it walking around the city discovering those great public spaces around the historical Capitol and trendy art museum area. We also destroyed a couple of monster hamburgers at Zombie Burger. Part of me wonders, "Why don't we have a Zombie Burger in Milwaukee?" and then another part of me thinks, "Thank goodness we don't." Zombie's burgers are the best, but they're a dieter's nightmare. The last thing I need around Milwaukee is another delicious burger to eat.

There is lots going on in Des Moines and I encourage my friends and family to put it on their destination radar the next time they've got four or more open days. It really is worth... catching. ;)

And thank you, too, to the person or persons of Catch Des Moines who went to great lengths to engage with us before and throughout our trip. You made the entire experience personable and for that we are greatly appreciative. Thanks, too, for the awesome t-shirts!

P.S. - We also visited Reiman Gardens in Ames and spent the night in Cedar Rapids (Iowa Brewing Company and Brucemore) before exploring the historic streets of Dubuque where we took a roundtrip on the Fenelon Place Elevator. #thisisiowa

Snores. Smooches. Stupidity. Travel!

Today was unique, that's for sure.

Started by meeting an Iraqian. A truly amazing man who has accomplished a great number of things and was a joy to meet. I hope to see him again, just not in Baghdad, where he wants me to visit.

Then spending the afternoon with an Aussie, Brit, and young Swede and getting doused in kiwi lemonade from head to toe just before the young Swede took me to the airport in his BMW sports coupe at tremendous speed.

The airport was fascinating. Usually when I fly in and out of Dubai I'm flying out of Terminal 1 that has flights going to Sydney, Paris, Manchester, Chicago, etc. So you see a wide variety of ethnicities and cultures, but also many westerners. Terminal 2, however, is totally different. It serves flights mainly between the Gulf States: Kuwait, Qatar, Bahrain, Iraq, Oman, etc. In Terminal 2, I STOOD OUT. With my sport jacket and tan slacks, I couldn't have looked more American if I would have dressed in Captain America's leotards singing 'Yankee Doodle Dandy' with Toby Keith's warble.

The flight from Dubai to Doha was an adventure. Atlanta to Dubai at 15 hours, no problem. Dubai to Doha was an hour and ten minutes and felt like an eternity. First, the flight was terrifyingly rough. Second, myself removed, the collective intelligence quotient on the plane was a number lower than the amount of pounds I've lost since New Years. When the pilot says "Turbulence ahead, please return to your seat and fasten your seat belt," don't get up and walk up and down the aisle demanding a cappuccino. (Yes, this happened.) Plus I was sandwiched between a smelly loud-snorer and a love-struck smoochie-smoochie Arab couple. Honestly, an hour and ten minutes of kissing noises is way worse than five minutes of a Ted Cruz/Donald Trump dialogue.

One other thing about the plane. You know how some people get up and begin removing their belongings from the overhead bin before the plane comes to a full stop at the gate? This happened on this flight too, but the difference was that they left their seat and opened the overhead bins while the plane was still doing about, oh, 200 miles an hour. One flight attendant freaked, shouted "Sit down!" and ran down the aisle slamming all the bins as the plane slowed to only ludicrous speed on the landing strip.

Upon deplaning, a man with five wives (FIVE!) were nonplussed by an escalator. The women stood at the bottom, fearful of taking a step onto the moving stairs. After 30 seconds, they gave up and looked for an elevator. (Why??) And the female half of smoochie-smoochie inexplicably fell on her ass (not related to the escalator). Giggles and smiles ensued between me and a group of nervous, new-to-Qatar Nepalese laborers.

Last but not least, my Kenyon cab driver unwarrantedly laid on his horn ten times whilst delivering me to my hotel.

Least, now that I'm at my hotel, America is waking up and the normal workday email chaos begins.

Phew. I'm having a beer and going to bed.

Misguided Expectations?

After reading the U.S.'s, Great Britain's and Australian's State Department advisories, I recently declined traveling to Beirut, Lebanon to attend a meeting at a potential business partner's. All reports, condensed, said something like "DON'T GO."

Now what would be your thoughts to flying to Beirut and then traveling by car for about an hour roughly towards Syrian border? You'd probably conclude with the State Department's advisory. ISIS, Hezbollah, and captured western journalists in orange jumpsuits kneeling before a scarfed savage wielding a large blade would come to mind.

Those are the visions that came to mine. I know Lebanon has been mostly at peace for the last 10 years, but it's not that big and ISIS has made some inroads into this small country.

But then I saw our business partner's New Year's video on YouTube. And wow. Just... wow. It's nothing like I could have imagined. This is Lebanon? I know the journey would still be fraught with hazard. After all, I'm an American, but I'm kind of bummed that I declined this trip. Looks like it might have been fun!



Not what you thought an hour out of Beirut, Lebanon would look like, is it?

This is why I love international travel. Getting out and seeing how people live firsthand and not through the lens of the media. That said, I do recognize that precautions must be exercised and there are some places where we are just not welcome, but I may have been misguided by reports on Lebanon.

Oh No, Not Another Top 10 List!

Dubai, view from Burj Khalifa

It's that time of year when everything is in list form. There's the best album lists, the people who left us lists, the worst dressed lists... I believe I even saw a list listing the 10 best lists!

Well it's time for a list of my own. 2014 for me, will be a year noted for travel--particularly international travel. In one 3-week span I visited four continents. Definitely a personal record!

So without further delay, here is my list of my favorite, new-to-me cities I visited in 2014:

10) Riyadh, K.S.A.

Colombian countryside outside of Bogotá

 9) Querétaro, Mexico
 8) Cali, Colombia
 7) Guadalajara, Mexico
 6) Dubai, U.A.E.
 5) Manchester, U.K.
 4) Puerto Vallarta, Mexico
 3) Vancouver, Canada
 2) Paris, France
 1) Bogotá, Colombia

It was challenge to try to put this list of interesting cities in order, but I asked myself this question: which city would I most like to visit again?

Beautiful Puerto Vallarta

You may be surprised that I've placed Bogotá over Paris, but during my two visits to Bogotá I found the city's frenetic energy intoxicating. It's a little bit intimidating, but everyone I encountered was friendly and the rural areas outside of the city are astoundingly beautiful.

Puerto Vallarta is the only place on this list that I visited voluntarily, i.e., not for work. After having visited numerous warm weather vacation spots (Cabo, Jamaica, Dominican Republic, etc.), Puerto Vallarta is my favorite. Not only is it beautiful, but it's got a charm and energy that are unique. It's a great place to stretch your legs, get off the resort and explore.

Here's hoping 2015 presents additional opportunities for worldly experiences, for me and for you!

What's In My Beer, Steamworks Brew Pub?

Me and my colleague's entire "tour" of Vancouver, B.C. yesterday consisted of three pub visits and a nice walk along Water and Alexander Streets in the area known as Gastown. Everywhere we visited was quite nice and we certainly wished we could have spent a bit more time there ... maybe even next time with our wives.

Fortunately, one of our stops left an indelible impression on my tastebuds--and it wasn't the highly rated and deservedly so gastropub Alibi Room, with their delicious food and 50 draft beers (though we enjoyed our visit there plenty). No, the place we stopped first, Steamworks Brew Pub, left an unerasable trail of hops and jalapeño right down my throat to my heart.

After a day of travel; authentic, awful, and authentically awful Canadian/Chinese cheeseburgers; and an intense 2-hour meeting that surpassed 3 hours, a cold beer was exactly what we had on our minds. We set our GPS to downtown Vancouver and hoped that this would be the place that we would find our beer.

It was.

When we spied Steamworks Brew Pub's sign, we found the nearest parking ramp and proceeded to make our way their. They had a wide selection of draft beers on their regular menu, but there were two that were off the menu. One was described as "Belgian style with a sweet start and spicy finish. Like what you'd like on a good date!"

"Set my up with that one," I said. "That sounds like something I'd like to try."

Upon first sip, I thought it tasted like a more potent version of Wisconsin's own Spotted Cow. I liked it well enough, though I admit, it would've been hard for any beer to not to have tasted good after that marathon meeting. But by the time I got 8 ounces into my true pint glass pint, I noticed a pleasant back-of-throat burn, like the kind I enjoy in a spicy bowl of phở. "Where was that coming from?" I asked. There was no presence of jalapeño taste when the beer was in my mouth, but no matter, I dug the burn!

I wonder what they did to make the beer impart that heat? That's a pretty powerful combo--the more you drink, the more the burn, the more the burn, the more you drink!

Sly devils, you Steamworks Brewers you, but I commend your efforts. I want to return soon for more of that delectable burn!!

Conversations in Bogotá

Here's an example of conversation that happens at least 10 times per day here in Bogotá:

Me: Please ask the driver how many kilometers it is to the hotel.

Translator: "Sed ut perspiciatis unde omnis iste natus error sit voluptatem accusantium doloremque laudantium, totam rem aperiam, eaque ipsa quae ab illo inventore veritatis et quasi architecto beatae vitae dicta sunt explicabo. Nemo enim ipsam voluptatem quia voluptas sit aspernatur aut odit aut fugit, sed quia consequuntur magni dolores eos qui ratione voluptatem sequi nesciunt. Neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem. Ut enim ad minima veniam, quis nostrum exercitationem ullam corporis suscipit laboriosam, nisi ut aliquid ex ea commodi consequatur? Quis autem vel eum iure reprehenderit qui in ea voluptate velit esse quam nihil molestiae consequatur, vel illum qui dolorem eum fugiat quo voluptas nulla pariatur?"

Driver: Neque porro quisquam est, qui dolorem ipsum quia dolor sit amet, consectetur, adipisci velit, sed quia non numquam eius modi tempora incidunt ut labore et dolore magnam aliquam quaerat voluptatem. Ut enim ad minima veniam, quis nostrum exercitationem ullam corporis suscipit laboriosam, nisi ut aliquid ex ea commodi consequatur.

Me: What did he say?

Translator: He says it's raining.

‪#‎travel‬

Hellloooo, Karma

It's my lucky day. Upgraded to first class, Sky Priority for my flight from Amsterdam to Detroit.

What a treat, but it also makes no sense. My boss, a Delta platinum card holder with over a million miles in his account, is stuck back in the cramped and crowded seats of coach. 

*** Please excuse this brief pause. The attendant is here to take my in-flight dinner order. (The roasted chicken with morel mushroom sauce sounds lovely. I'll have that. Thank you.) ***

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, I talking about my upgrade to to first class. What a surprise. I wonder if our travel booker messed something up?

Or maybe it's karma. Yes, of course. Karma. I'll go with that. 

Remember a few weeks back when I posted about accidentally leaving a baggage loader a $50 tip? I was in Bogota, Colombia and I mistook two $50,000 peso notes for $50 peso notes. Later, when I looked for my pesos, I couldn't figure out where all of them went. Only upon Wikipedia-ing Colombian currency did I discover that the 50,000 note drops the triple zeroes and adds "mil" in the zeroes' place. 

Lesson learned. Always study the currency and the exchange rate before traveling to a foreign country. 

Someone who read my blog post replied, "It's karma. Something good will happen to you soon because of this."

So this MUST be it, right? My $50 tip has resulted in leveraged karma of an approximately $1500 seat upgrade! (I'm guessing, but coach to first class must be at least that much, don't you think?)

*** Please excuse another short break, the attendant has returned for my drink order. (Wine, champagne, orange juice or a Heineken? Hmm, good choices all. I think I'll go with the champagne. After all, I only ate breakfast an hour ago! *slaps knee* *laughs out loud* *The attendant says, "Good one, Mr. Collins!"*) ***

Or if not karma, maybe just the Almighty is showering her good graces upon me for the all the hardships I've lately endured. 

Oh sure, those of you who follow me know that I've been jet-setting around the globe this past month. Mexico, Colombia, Saudi Arabia, Dubai, England.  You're probably thinking, "Hardship? What the hell is Collins talking about?! That guy's one of the luckiest stiffs I know, traveling all around the globe like that." But the truth is, these trips have been for work. In fact, they ARE work. You don't see the meetings and the countless hours spent traveling and waiting and the stress. 

The stress. Oh, yes. So, so much stress. 

But another hardship is damage to my health. On my fourth day in Saudi Arabia, strong winds rolled in and blew fine grains of sand dust into the air. Everywhere there was an auburn fog. At one point, I inhaled and the dust entered my lungs. Since that moment, my body wants it out. I've been a coughing, sneezing, phlegm producing machine for 5 days. My nose is raw from the fibers of coarse hotel tissue paper and airport towelettes. I excuse myself constantly for fear that I'll soon look like a 3-year sledding in January, with nose slime running down over my lips and no mom present to wipe it away. Eww gross, right?

Or maybe it's compensation for so many terrible and smelly flights. There was that first flight, albeit a short one between Milwaukee and a Detroit, where an older gentleman who was no longer mobile (poor fellow) urinated in the seat next to me. The smell was so piercing and acidic that I could not breathe. And I can't forget the Riyadh to Dubai leg--another smelly affair. The person next to me smelled like a combination of curry and body odor covered up by a sickeningly sweet rosewater-type perfume. Horrific. I adjusted the air jet to shear the air just in front of my face to attempt to minimize the putrid stench. Lastly, the crying babies. There's always at least one, but on the Dubai to Manchester stint, a chorus of screaming cherubs filled the cabin space for all of eight hours. My head was about to explode by the time we landed. 

So I'll take this seat with no guilt. Nope, none at all. I deserve it.  It's mine and it's time. I'm large and in charge. I'm a man with a plan. No one can stop me. 

Oh look. Here comes the flight attendant again. I bet he's bringing me a steaming hot towel so that I may refresh myself before we take off. 

What's that, mister flight attendant? There's been a mix-up? This is supposed to be my boss's seat? Okay, okay. I'll head back now, but may I please at least finish my champagne? No? Sorry, sorry. No need to get all pushy and stuff. I hear ya. I'm going now. Sheesh. You sure are a crabby one. 

Nevermind. You remember that saying about karma? It's true. 

Karma is a bitch indeed. 

One Week Sans Beer in the Kingdom

Day 7.

My throat burns. My eyes feel like a teaspoon of Aluminum Silicate have been placed under each eyelid. Digestively, I'm a mess--man wasn't designed to wash down pizza with hot tea. My liver ponders its purpose. (Why am I here? What is my duty? I'm unloved. I'm ugly.) My head, it strives for creativity, yet falls short. It cannot disengage from the myriad of pressing work tasks at hand. Coffee, sitting idly by, wonders, "Where is my dear nighttime friend? What have you done to him?! Will I ever see him again? I'm lonely. I am so, so lonely..."

Man, I sure hope I can finally get a beer in Dubai.

Milwaukee to Riyadh, Expressly

Whew. This post is being written from Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris. I'm not here to visit Paris. No.
I wish. I'm here on a layover.

Milwaukee to Riyadh. What a grueling day of travel.

Get this:

One hour -- Milwaukee to Detroit

Three hours -- Detroit layover

Seven hours -- Detroit to Paris

Three hours -- Paris layover

Six and a half hours -- Paris to Riyadh

Two to three hours -- immigration, customers, get bags, find driver

Two hours -- transport to my accommodations

Total transit time: over 25 hours. Also note ... "accommodations." Not a hotel. Accommodations. I bet I get a good night's rest there.

Writing this, I'm only half-way through and I'm already tired as heck. I can't imagine what I'm going to feel like by the time I get to my destination. Probably like this guy!

Nicely Done, Southwest Airlines

Very cool,  Southwest Airlines. I like what you did there during the flight between Milwaukee and Tampa. 

Traveler William turns 9-years old today. His family is taking him to Disney World. Upon discovering that William's birthday is today, the flight attendants invited him to the cockpit where he meets the pilot and copilot. (This was while the plane was still at the gate in Milwaukee.)

You'd think they'd be done after that, but no, they stepped it up a notch. As we approached Tampa, they asked that those of us with window seats to pull down the shade. They then asked us all to turn on our attendant call lights (birthday candles!) 

The last step was having the entire plane sing Happy Birthday. 

Very sweet. Not only was it nice for William, but it gave me a little faith boost in humanity too. 

Bravo, Southwest. Bravo!

D'ough!

One of the perils of International travel is understanding foreign currency. Seldom will you find the value of the U.S. Dollar equal to the value of the country you are visiting.

For example, as I write this, the value of one U.S. Dollar is as follows:

0.72 Euros
13.24 Mexican Pesos
6.15 Chinese Yuans
1.11 Australian Dollars (close!)
2,042 Colombian Pesos

Did you catch that last one? Two thousand and forty-two. That's the one that really knocks me for a loop. Early this week I took my first trip to the South American continent and I visited Bogota, Colombia where I got to realize the perils of foreign currency exchange firsthand.

See, while waiting for my luggage at Bogota's El Dorado International Airport, I spied lines of people at the nearby foreign currency exchange. Since the baggage carousel had not yet started, I thought, "This would be a good time for me to go exchange a few U.S. Dollars for a few Pesos so that I can, at least, pay the taxi driver."

Note 1,930 instead of 2,042

I handed the teller three twenties. After investigating my passport and requesting a sign an exchange document, he handed me 115,800.00 Colombian Pesos. "Whoa," I thought. "I'm rich!!" That's a lot of moola!!

By the time I made the exchange the carousel was moving and I immediately spied my luggage. I grabbed it and headed straight for the Salida (Exit; see? I learned some Spanish!). Unexpectedly quickly a lady asked, "Taxi, Sir?"

"Si. Por favor." I replied.

Within 10 seconds she had a cab at the curb and she hoisted my heavy luggage into the trunk. While this was occurring, I fumbled through my wallet to find an appropriate tip.

I spied a 10,000 Peso bill. "Nah. That's too much," I thought.

Fingered a 5,000; thought the same.

All I had was a few U.S. $20s--I wasn't going to give her one of those.

"Oh. What's this? A couple of 50 peso bills?" That sounds about right. I'll give her those.

I hop in the cab's backseat and I'm whisked off to my hotel.

Once there, I open my wallet so that the cabbie can expect my pesos. (A high risk proposition, but what do you do? He speaks no English; I, little Spanish. You just gotta put your faith in humankind and hope that he doesn't steal you blind.) He looks at my 5,000 bill. No, Senor. My 10,000 bill. No, again, Senor. My 5,000 PLUS my 10,000 bill. Lo Siento, Senor.

Finally I show him one of my U.S. twenties. Si, Senor! Si!!

I handed him the twenty and proceeded into the hotel wondering just what the hell happened? I mean, I just cashed in sixty U.S. bucks, why didn't that cover my trip?

I met a few of my associates at the pub and we discussed this. All I can figure, at this point, is that the teller at the exchange didn't give me the proper amount. We even table all of the pesos so that we can expect them. There were 2,000; 5,000; 10,000; and 20,000 bills. In every case, the amount was in thousands as indicated by the string of triple zeroes.

I started to think about those two fifties I handed the taxi caller. "Did those say 50,000 and not 50?!" I wondered.

No. I was positive. They only had a 5 and a 0 in the corner. "I'm certain of it," I reassured myself, but once I returned to my hotel room, I logged on to Wikipedia and searched Colombian currency.

Ta da!

There it was. The bill that has likely messed up many a foreign traveler to Colombia before. The 50,000 peso bill. And sure enough, it only has a 5 and a 0 in the upper corner. However, what sets this bill apart from its brethren is that rather than indicating the thousands values by a string of triple zeroes, this little beauty substitutes the word "MIL". MIL meaning thousand.

I gave the taxi caller approximately $50 just for lifting my luggage into the back of a taxi cab!!

She must have thought I was one big spender and went home to her family to celebrate!!

Crap. Fifty bucks, down the drain.

Well, one of my associates reassured me that this mistake will likely result in some form of good karma that will someday come my way. At least I got that goin' for me.

So take this tip from me (pun not intended), before traveling to a foreign country, look up a little about the value of the currency relative to the dollar and examine the appearance of their cash.

It just may save you fifty bucks.

Pollo or Pasta?

"Pollo or pasta?" Delta Flight 980's attendant (Bogota to Atlanta) asked. 

Pasta, por favor. Gracias. 

No sooner had Marc Anthony (the attendant--he was a dead-ringer for Latin American sining star Marc Anthony) handed me my foil-wrapped plate of warm pasta, he jumped back and dove across the lap of a man sitting in the aisle seat one row forward. A young woman, a girl, was jumping about in her seat. Her mother, in my row, was sitting to my left. The girl was frantically trying to get her mom's attention. 

She was choking. 

Marc Anthony wrapped his arms around her torso and dragged her across the lap and tray of the man sitting along the aisle. Once in the aisle, the both of them faced the rear of the plane. Marc Anthony behind her and with his arms gripped tightly around her abdomen. 

The Heimlich. 

It began. One sharp pull upwards. A second. A third followed. 

I was in shock taking in so much in only a moment's time. I looked into the girl's eyes. 

Pure fear. 

The upward pulls continued. I lost track of time or how many maneuvers occurred, but I was not enjoying my front row seat observing the asphyxiation of a young woman. 

"C'mon, Marc Anthony! Dislodge it already!!" and "Hang on, girl!" I urged in my mind. 

Then, finally, a plop of partially chewed poultry landed in the aisle--just an inch from my left foot. 

The girl gasped and drew in large breaths of compressed cabin air. 

Then tears.

Tears of relief. Tears of fear. Tears of gratefulness. I'm not sure what kind of tears they were, but I felt them too. And I also gulped air--I don't think I breathed as long as the incident occurred. 

I had sat there, still. Watching. Like a statue. Not breathing. 

The girl and her mother were then whisked to the front of the plane where the attendants administered additional care. Ten minutes passed. The girl and her mother, with their still tear-streaked faces, returned to their seats. 

Another minute or two passed and the attendant returned to his normal duties. He returned to my row and said, "Pardon me. Now where was I?"

All I could reply was, "Well done, Marc Anthony. Well done."

(Except I didn't say Marc Anthony, but I sure was thinking it!)

Delta, please find a way to acknowledge the quick and precise life-saving technique of Douglas. I didn't catch his last name, but if you've read this far, you know who he looks like. ;)

Glorious Puempel's Olde Taven

Puempel's Olde Tavern is positively friggin' glorious. This is everything I could ever want in a pub. It has everything that suburban eateries, Las Vegas celebrity-owned restaurants and corporate-crafted themed joints cannot deliver: authenticity.

On my recent Labor Day weekend visit, I sipped my draught Hamm's beer ($2) while noshing on a Green County cheese sandwich. There's lots of cold cut sammie choices, but when I'm in Green County, Wisconsin, I always opt for a cheese sandwich. I chose a brick on rye adorned with spinach, raw onion and tomatoes. Served with a bag o' chips and a pickle spear, this pack of foodie delight costs only $4.50 and ...

STOP!!!

Did I just say "noshing"? Did I say "delight"? "Sammie"? "Foodie"?!

What the heck is wrong with me?!?! I didn't go to Puempel's for the food. I didn't go to Puempel's for the beer. I WENT TO PUEMPEL'S TO BE AT PUEMPEL'S!! And that's a good enough reason!!

It's no surprise that during my visit I'd be seated at the bar next to a Chicagoan. As the oompah band set up--two ladies and two men respectively playing a humstrum, accordion, accordion and banjo--the Chicagoan says to his buddy, "Can you believe how touristy this is?"

This is why we can't be friends sometimes, Chicago.

You're at Puempel's. They've been doing this continuously since 1893. I've been there on the a midweek

day--there's still seniors playing sheepshead in the corner, they're still sipping a light beer or a diet soda, they're still listening to a group at the end of the bar playing two accordions, a banjo and a humstrum. They still get their news from the newspaper curled up and mustard-stained at the end of the bar. They discuss the crypt-o-gram. They think today's was a tough one.

Did you ever think that it's only "touristy" because you dragged your butt out of the 'burbs to get a real taste of the midwest?

Sorry, Chicagoan, but that question frosted me. Can't you just sit back and enjoy the folks 30 years your senior singing their hearts out? Can't you just appreciate the 100-year old tapestries and murals on the wall? The cash register that still has a 5¢ key? The brass rail? The wood floors? The hundreds, if not thousands, of dollar bills stuck to the ceiling and wonder like everybody else "How do they get those things up there?" Or that fact that your Hamm's cost only two dollars?!

If you want touristy, go to Bubba Gump's. If you want authenticity, go to Puempel's. Hopefully you'll see me there. I'll be the one staring at the ceiling wondering, "How do they get those bills up there?"

PuempeI's. I love this place.

Cheese Sandwiches and Beer

I've got lots of favorite places. I've got a favorite place in Milwaukee. I've got a favorite place in Taiwan. I've got a favorite place in Mexico City. And I've got a favorite place in Barcelona. I've even got a favorite place in lovely Doolin, Ireland.

But no favorite place is like my favorite place in Monroe, Wisconsin.

My favorite place in Monroe is the bomb. Or more like, "the Baum."

Of course, if you know Monroe, you know I am talking about the incomparable Baumgartner's Cheese Shop and Tavern - Wisconsin's oldest cheese store (1931). There's so much to love about Baumgartner's it's hard to know where to start, but picking one ... I'd have to say it's the cheese.  Why more places don't serve good cheese sandwiches, I don't know, but it's worth driving two hours from Milwaukee or Chicago to Monroe to dine on one of these beauties. Earlier today I ate one made from a thick slab of medium cheddar on light rye. Of course I had to upgrade it with hard salami and red onions and, at my own discretion, I slathered it up good with some stone ground mustard.

So simple you could make one right now in your own home. But, for whatever reason, it won't taste as good as one at Baumgartner's!

They also serve craft beers from nearby breweries like New Glarus, Ale Asylum and the very near (two blocks!) Huber. (I suggest not drinking TOO local, if you know what I mean.)

Besides the great cheese and beer, the ambiance and service is pure fun and classic Wisconsin. There must be $1,200 stuck to the ceiling and one young waiter will show you exactly how it's done. I dunno, they wrap a quarter into a dollar with a thumbtack or something. Give it a good hard whip and it sticks right up there. If you try, and in the process you knock some money down, it's yours to keep!

What took me to Monroe today was business. I traveled with a colleague who had never been to Monroe. At the end of our meeting, I said to the guy with whom we had just met, "You know, my coworker has never been to Monroe and there's a place that I need to take him."

Without a moment wasted, he said "You're taking him to Baumgartner's for a cheese sandwich and beer, aren't you."

"Yes," I said. "How'd you know?"

"EVERYBODY that visits Monroe goes to Baumgartner's for a cheese sandwich and beer!"

Well it's good to know that America hasn't swung completely to the corporate side and that they still recognize the quality, value and fun of a true American classic -- Baumgartner's.

My favorite.

Put a Sock In It, William Shatner

William Shatner, you sucker puncher, you.

You see, I've used that service you shill (Priceline) many times, and most often I've come away pleased, but this time, William, you got me. You upper-cut me right in the rib cage when I wasn't looking.

I travel a lot for business. Many times, when the work is done and all I've got to do is fly home the next morning, I'll log on to Priceline and use their "Name Your Own Price" feature. Generally I'll pick a city center so I can walk the town and do a little exploring. I've done this in Hartford, Chicago, San Francisco (twice) and Baltimore.

You treated me really well in Baltimore and San Francisco, Bill. The Marriott overlooking Camden Yards during an Orioles game was a particularly nice touch. Thanks for that.

But then Buffalo happened. You placed me in that stinkin' Adam's Mark. Seriously, Bill, what were you thinkin'? Three Stars?! You're getting senile, I think.

Checking in I was going to give you a break. I overlooked the broken sign lights and the non-working parking gate, but once inside ... that's when the real fun happened.

The room key system was down. I got checked in, but then had to be escorted to me room by security so they could let me in. Maybe that's not the worst thing, but others needed to get to their rooms too, so we had to wait. And wait. And wait.

Within 5 seconds of entry into my room, I spotted something that did belong to me ... or the hotel. Bill, I kid you not, there was a single dirty sock slung over the left armrest of the office chair. Yours after a hard night of drinking, I presume, Shat-man?

And the beds. There were two of them. One looked nice, but the other, Bill -- I could've sworn I could still see your arm hanging out from underneath the covers.  I checked - you weren't there. It was just messy.

I unpacked my stuff and headed for the bathroom. WHOA, BILL. Aim to please, please. Or at the very least, take a seat. I mean, sheesh, did you get ANY in the pot? It sure smells like you didn't!

I had to get out of this joint before I got sick, so I left the inn and did some exploring. I had a nice time, but when I returned, again, I had to endure the wait.

At least, Shat, you had the courtesy to leave me one comfortable bed and a working alarm clock, but, please, next time before you do this to me, Bill, at least buy me dinner first.

The Exploding Toilet Story

Please note: Read no further if you still wish to respect me in the morning. Thank you. 

The day started well enough. Lake Michigan was like glass as we glided over its smooth surface aboard the Lake Express high-speed ferry. I was on my way to a business meeting near Grand Rapids, Michigan, departing Milwaukee on the 6 a.m.

The ferry ported and when I disembarked I had a little less than 2 hours until my meeting--more than enough time to make way towards a Muskegon area Starbucks, enjoy a cup of coffee, check some emails and properly prepare for a meeting of an undetermined length, if you know what I mean. (Long distance runners, you KNOW what I mean.)

Starbucks found, I paid no attention to the municipal utility vehicles parked in the street out front as I pulled into the parking lot. I parked my rental, grabbed my briefcase and made a beeline for the Men's room. Within, I set my briefcase in the corner furthest from the commode and prepared to answer Mother Nature's call.

No sooner had I relinquished control of those physiological faculties that separate adult humans from infants, I felt water on my backside. My first thought was that this toilet must have an automatic flush and somehow I had triggered it.

"Oh oh," I thought. "Let's hope it's nothing too, um, violent."

Five seconds after that thought, water sprung forth by the gallon between my legs and shot across to the opposite side of the restroom wall. I'm not sure if I was ejected from the pot or instinctively tightened my muscles and popped off of it, but a second later, I stood in the corner of the room, pants at ankle level, protecting my briefcase from the muddy spray bursting forth.

It was happening: the American business traveler's worst nightmare.

I watched in horror as the raging beast continued to blast excrement against the walls and floors. In fact, with such great force that even the ceiling became moistened. I was trapped in perpetuity in a 6' x 6' tiled room that was raining organic waste collected from the fine folks of Fruitport Township, Michigan.

When you're stuck in that position, you can never be quite certain how much time is passing. After what I'm guessing was most of two minutes, Ol' Faithful had finally subsided. Now to collect myself and figure out what to do. Some details are better left unwritten, but there was still a working sink and soap dispenser, so that seemed a good place to start.

I cleaned up the best I could and returned my trousers to their upright position causing a sensation that I hope never to feel again: sewage water drenched pants and shirt against my bare legs and back.

I knew the path from the restroom door was short, and there was only one table nearby. My goal was to get outside as deftly as possible, but also grab the attention of an employee and let them know that we had a situation here.

As luck would have it, the table nearest the door was hosting a meeting of three employees. I darted past and asked "You guys work here?" One fellow said "Yes," and I summoned him to join me outside.

He gave me a look that I'll remember for the rest of my life. It was one of those "What kind of a nut is this?" looks.

As I explained what had happened to me "in there," he continued to look at me with doubting suspicion, but he did ask what he could do to help.

I said, "Well, I came here to get a coffee. How 'bout we start with that?"

"Certainly," he said and went in to retrieve my drink.

I can only imagine what he said to the other employees in those ensuing moments. I bet they still talk about it today! (Remember that one time when a customer was trapped in a poop fountain in our restroom? Ha ha ha!)

A moment after he returned with my coffee, another employee popped out of the door and said, "It happened in the Women's room, too! And now the water is running into the restaurant from underneath the door!"

Thank you, women's restroom plumbing situation, for verifying that my story was true and proving that I wasn't just some clod who plugged the Men's room toilet and made of a mess of myself in effort to get a free coffee.

Now fully realizing the situation, the Starbucks team was nothing but commendable. They pointed across the parking lot to a shopping mall where I could buy some new clothes. If I did so, I could return with the receipt and they would fully reimburse me. As I put my stuff into the car and headed over to Younkers, I could see the manager head over to the utility workers in the street to find out just what the heck was going on.

Over at Younkers I explained the situation after I picked out some new under garments, a shirt and slacks. The lady who helped me was great, too. She cleared my items of pins and stickers and hung them on a rack where she expertly steamed them. When I walked out, I looked like a million bucks. Well, a million and $71 actually, because $71 was the price of my new threads.

Back at Starbucks they promptly reimbursed me and we had a bit of a chuckle over it. The manager said the utility worker said, "Gee, I've never heard of that happening before!" In addition to buying my new clothes, they gave me a few coupons for free coffees.

That was really great of Starbucks. It really wasn't their fault, but they went out of the way to help a traveling customer trapped in a most unfortunate situation. The Younkers attendant, too, was wonderful.

So how's that for an traveler's story? My new clothes are nice, but I'd prefer never to have had to buy them in that manner!

Related: I wrote the above a few days ago, but today I received a call from Fruitport Township's Utilities Manager expressing his sincere apologies for the unfortunate incident. He said that the next time I'm in Fruitport, I should give him a ring and lunch is on Fruitport. That's very nice.

Related II: No major harm was done and looking back at this nearly 2-week old story, I find it pretty darn funny. What would you do in the same situation?

Tales from a Los Angeles Cab

I made a new friend today. His name is Manohar Lal. He is from Punjab, India and he has lived in the United States for 10 years.

He drives a cab.

Mainly, the cab that took me from the my hotel in Anaheim to Los Angeles International Airport.

I met Mano (his shortened name) a few nights ago when one of my associates drove us to a seafood house a few miles from our hotel. We enjoyed a good time pairing raw crustaceans, fresh fish and California craft beers. We all did. This includes the guy who drove us there.

Being the responsible adults we have become, rather than drive back, we hired a cab. I hopped in the front seat alongside the cab driver. The driver was Mano.

We exchanged quick hellos and Mano, being an adept businessman as well as a good cab driver, quickly asked, "While you guys are in town, do you need a ride anywhere else?" Two of us chimed up and said we need rides to the local airports. My associate needed a lift to Orange County's John Wayne airport, and me, a ride to LAX a couple of days later.

Mano and I exchanged phone numbers. A day prior to pick-up, he gave me a call to let me know I was still on his schedule and this morning, 15 minutes early, he called me and let me know he was at the Registration area and ready.

Mano loaded my bags in the cab and told me to jump in the front seat. Very un-Los Angeles like we flew up Highway 5 with little traffic. The total ride to LAX was only 30 minutes and the whole time we chatted about his life in India and his new life in America. Anytime you get to hear these types of stories, they're always fascinating and Mano's was no different.

But one part of his story in America really touched me.

Mano provides rides for the homeless and those residing in homeless shelters. He doesn't do it for free -- the shelters give him a voucher for payment, but as you can imagine, the homeless aren't exactly big tippers, so there is definitely altruistic virtue in Mano's efforts.

One day he picked up a woman from the shelter. She said neither her or her husband were employed and their children were suffering and crying from hunger. They were penniless. Mano explained to her that God had given them strong bodies and good health and no matter how difficult, they must find a way to provide for their children. "No child can be permitted to suffer," he told her and as she exited the cab, Mano gave her some money to help get her children a meal.

Considering Mano earlier told me that he came to the US with no money in his pocket and that he had lost anything he gained in a failed restaurant venture, that he was able to donate his money was very moving.

I can't tell the story with written words as well as Mano told it to me, but after his story, I was left verklempt. Mano is such a decent, caring person that I feel a little guilty. Not that I'm not caring -- I am. I just don't have many examples to share that are like Mano's.

I've got Mano's mobile number. If you find yourself headed to Los Angeles and need a ride, contact me. I'll get you in touch with the best cabbie I've ever met.