Figuring I could get an inside running and an exclusive (because no-one else was this nuts) I volunteered to do the Macau Skyjump just after it opened. Trussed up in superman suit, cables and guy wires, I stepped off the platform into thin air 235 metres above the pavement. My knees were still shaking hours later.
Perhaps a little off point-but my first trip was wonderful-to Santa Fe-but I drink wine and champagne, so I ordered and paid for myself. My two co-press travelers took me aside and said that they only earn $35,000 a year, that because I paid for my drinks the CVB would get the idea that only food needed to be provided, and that I should never put my hand in my pocket again! I felt foolish-but since then, I wait and see what is appropriate-still it took the bloom off a novice's rose!
Not a funny story, but certainly a sign of the times!
karen Fawcett said:
I do recall an assignment where I stayed in a perfect hotel on a secluded island. It was going to be a wonderful article. Not only were the accommodations ideal but the kitchen turned out *** food. Here was the quintessential romantic destination. Then l I received the news the majority of the hotel had burned down including the property's kitchen. The reconstruction would take a year. My deadline was then -- and I had nothing to write. The experience was fabulous and I looked forward to returning to write the piece for the newspaper - that no longer has a travel section. Sigh. No problem. The hotel hasn't been rebuilt either. This is not a funny story. Sorry.
I do recall an assignment where I stayed in a perfect hotel on a secluded island. It was going to be a wonderful article. Not only were the accommodations ideal but the kitchen turned out *** food. Here was the quintessential romantic destination. Then l I received the news the majority of the hotel had burned down including the property's kitchen. The reconstruction would take a year. My deadline was then -- and I had nothing to write. The experience was fabulous and I looked forward to returning to write the piece for the newspaper - that no longer has a travel section. Sigh. No problem. The hotel hasn't been rebuilt either.
This is not a funny story. Sorry.
Great story, Mary Alice!! As someone whose idea of hard drinking is a Diet Coke with no caffeine (and no, I'm not a Mormon, I'm just a little odd), I can totally relate to your predicament. I have fond memories of Stockholm in 1992 during the summer solstice, which that year coincided with a Swedish victory in some football tournament or other. Well, it was awfully nice of the sun to keep us up all night so we could stare out the hotel window at all the nice young men hurling their herring all over the sidewalk after a long night of carousing. Herre Gud! (roughly, Mr. God!), those Scandinavians could drink a fish under the table (please don't take that literally)!
Mary Alice Kellogg said:
A few years ago on a summer trip to Finland, the press group was "treated" to a picnic on a rural island. The sea was choppy and unfriendly clouds galore gathered ... heralding things to come. The boat was small, wooden and had seen better days, but what alarmed us the most were the provisions: a couple of bags of hot dogs/buns ... and cases of vodka and beer, with one bottle of water and about ten soft drinks. There were 12 of us in total, writers and crew. ..................
A few years ago on a summer trip to Finland, the press group was "treated" to a picnic on a rural island. The sea was choppy and unfriendly clouds galore gathered ... heralding things to come. The boat was small, wooden and had seen better days, but what alarmed us the most were the provisions: a couple of bags of hot dogs/buns ... and cases of vodka and beer, with one bottle of water and about ten soft drinks. There were 12 of us in total, writers and crew. With the captain swilling perhaps his fifth beer of the morning, we set off for an hour and a half of choppy seas, damp and mal de mer, hoping to find land.
The island was just that -- a barren rock with no vegetation or facilities of any kind. But it was land. Under cloudy skies the beverages were unloaded first, then the "food." We were instructed to explore the rock for an hour, and to bring back any firewood to cook our lunch. (Oh, and watch out for the snakes! And would you like to take a beer with you on your adventure? Oy!) After an hour, we had gathered the only burn-able stuff we could find, four handfulls of finger-sized twigs, evidently blown there years before from somewhere in Siberia.
Our hosts and boat "crew" were deep into the Finnish Chicken Soup (ie: Finlandia vodka) on our return, and promptly set about taking the twigs to make a fire to cook our hot dogs. The resulting blaze was enough to warm the end of one hot dog, then ... nothing. We ate raw hot dogs under the disapproving gaze of our hosts, who couldn't understand why we weren't making a dent in the alcohol they had lugged ashore. (While they were speaking their indicipherable native tongue, I'm sure I heard the words "American" and "wuss" in the same sentence.) Thus passed our jolly picnic. Thank God for the rain that began to pelt down!
I will spare my colleagues details of the treacherous boatride back, save to tell you all that at one particularly dark moment I promised God that if I lived, I'd become a nun. The crew was snockered and the second mate kept trying to grope our government escort, an attractive woman who kept telling us "This is why I don't date Finnish men."
The "gift" in all this -- aside from the fact we lived -- was that I can now say in all confidence that the Finns win the drinking-all-others-under-the-table award. And that includes the Russians. I wrote about saunas, but never revealed our Dark Day On The Rock. Until now.
One of my oddest, but most satisfying assignments was covering Burning Man some years ago. Journalists were discouraged from attending but I convinced them to let me attend.
One funny part (that did not make it into my story) was that insted of sleeping in my friend's van as expected, I had to sleep in my Mazda Miata. (Tiny two-seater) It turns out he picked up someone and I was squished into my little car for a few cold nights. Not very comfortable. Burning Man was amazing but I finally had to leave to deliver my story to the Oakland Tribune. As I prepared to leave "The Playa" at around 11:00 PM, what should appear but a gigantic meteor streaking across the black Nevada sky. It was huge and left a trail of fire in the heavens. The crowd roared! It was the largest meteor I had, or have ever seen in my life. After a long, tough drive down from Gerlach, to Reno, over the Sierra and back to the Bay Area, I was able to deliver my film (film!) for processing in Oakland, then, race home to write my story. I was dead tired but still buzzing with impressions. The story was well received.
I now publish it as an "evergreen" year in year out. Here's the link to my story if interested:
One of my oddest, but most satisfying assignments was covering Burning Man some years ago. Journalists were discouraged from attending but I convinced them to let me attend.
One funny part (that did not make it into my story) was that insted of sleeping in my friend's van as expected, I had to sleep in my Mazda Miata. (Tiny two-seater) It turns out he picked up someone and I was squished into my little car for a few cold nights. Not very comfortable. Burning Man was amazing but I finally had to leave to deliver my story to the Oakland Tribune. As I prepared to leave "The Playa" at around 11:00 PM, what should appear but a gigantic meteor streaking across the black Nevada sky. It was huge and left a trail of fire in the heavens. The crowd roared! It was the largest meteor I had, or have ever seen in my life. After a long, tough drive down from Gerlach, to Reno, over the Sierra and back to the Bay Area, I was able to deliver my film (film!) for processing in Oakland, then, race home to write my story. I was dead tired but still buzzing with impressions. The story was well received.
I now publish it as an "evergreen" year in year out. Here's the link to my story if interested:
There have been a few. The boiled ram's testicles in Iceland. The poisonous sea snake that chased me in Panama. Oh, yes...the crazed klepto writer who fancied herself as a witch while we toured Africa and stole trinkets from Masai villagers (you know who you are!) But here's one: a few years back I was doing another piece on Cozumel. It'd just gotten whipped by Wilma and some other hurricane. When you cover Caribbean islands it's a given that a few are always trying to get back on their feet after a storm...happens just about every year. So my editor said to find another way to story-tell how Cozumel was getting back into the game. That's when I struck upon the idea: Search for Elvis. Here's the link if you're interested. http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15419807/
Replies
karen Fawcett said:
This is not a funny story. Sorry.
http://www.gonomad.com/destinations/0907/art-car-gallery.html
Mary Alice Kellogg said:
The island was just that -- a barren rock with no vegetation or facilities of any kind. But it was land. Under cloudy skies the beverages were unloaded first, then the "food." We were instructed to explore the rock for an hour, and to bring back any firewood to cook our lunch. (Oh, and watch out for the snakes! And would you like to take a beer with you on your adventure? Oy!) After an hour, we had gathered the only burn-able stuff we could find, four handfulls of finger-sized twigs, evidently blown there years before from somewhere in Siberia.
Our hosts and boat "crew" were deep into the Finnish Chicken Soup (ie: Finlandia vodka) on our return, and promptly set about taking the twigs to make a fire to cook our hot dogs. The resulting blaze was enough to warm the end of one hot dog, then ... nothing. We ate raw hot dogs under the disapproving gaze of our hosts, who couldn't understand why we weren't making a dent in the alcohol they had lugged ashore. (While they were speaking their indicipherable native tongue, I'm sure I heard the words "American" and "wuss" in the same sentence.) Thus passed our jolly picnic. Thank God for the rain that began to pelt down!
I will spare my colleagues details of the treacherous boatride back, save to tell you all that at one particularly dark moment I promised God that if I lived, I'd become a nun. The crew was snockered and the second mate kept trying to grope our government escort, an attractive woman who kept telling us "This is why I don't date Finnish men."
The "gift" in all this -- aside from the fact we lived -- was that I can now say in all confidence that the Finns win the drinking-all-others-under-the-table award. And that includes the Russians. I wrote about saunas, but never revealed our Dark Day On The Rock. Until now.
Mary Alice Kellogg
Bob Ecker said:
One funny part (that did not make it into my story) was that insted of sleeping in my friend's van as expected, I had to sleep in my Mazda Miata. (Tiny two-seater) It turns out he picked up someone and I was squished into my little car for a few cold nights. Not very comfortable. Burning Man was amazing but I finally had to leave to deliver my story to the Oakland Tribune. As I prepared to leave "The Playa" at around 11:00 PM, what should appear but a gigantic meteor streaking across the black Nevada sky. It was huge and left a trail of fire in the heavens. The crowd roared! It was the largest meteor I had, or have ever seen in my life. After a long, tough drive down from Gerlach, to Reno, over the Sierra and back to the Bay Area, I was able to deliver my film (film!) for processing in Oakland, then, race home to write my story. I was dead tired but still buzzing with impressions. The story was well received.
I now publish it as an "evergreen" year in year out. Here's the link to my story if interested:
http://www.examiner.com/x-4791-SF-International-Travel-Examiner~y20...
Enjoy.
Bob Ecker
Burning Man 2.jpg
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15419807/
Elvis Lives.jpg
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