Last Place You Look

I have a confession to make. I am lazy.

I will be playing dead on the couch all day just in case a bear attacks. That's not lazy, that's proactive.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) September 28, 2013

I got called lazy today. I almost replied.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) August 19, 2013

Nothing says lazy like laying on the couch making today's responsibilities tomorrow's problem.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 24, 2012

You call it lazy, I call it selective participation..

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) September 12, 2013

If you've never tried to use "the force" to get a an out-of-reach remote control, you're probably not as lazy as me.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) November 9, 2013

The oldest of these tweets is from 2012, so I think it is clear that I have known this about myself for quite some time.

I am also quite comfortable with it. Like inappropriately comfortable. My sloth knows no bounds.

However, occasionally, I have to get some stuff done. Earlier this week was one of those days.

Living in a foreign land, some things are quite different than back home. One of those things is our banking situation. I have never set foot in or spoken to a single person at our bank. I don't even know where it is. I do all my transactions through a third party designed for foreigners. It is called TIMO. And last month, TIMO and the bank that actually holds our money parted ways.

This means that my TIMO phone app and ATM card no longer work. I have no access to my money. I am going to actually have to go into a bank (30 miles away) and try to get all the new stuff (ATM card and actual bank app) without being able to speak the local language. I was not looking forward to this, but it is one of those things that has to be done. After all, they have all our money and we do not have any way to get it. We kind of need it. I tend to be hungry a lot.

Because we live in the tropics, the sun can be unforgiving. This is something that must be taken into account when you use a motorcycle to travel everywhere. Hours traveling on a motorcycle in the tropical sun has beaten me down on more than one occasion. So, these trips to Đà Nẵng require certain measures. Despite the temperature being close to 100, I wear long pants and often long sleeves.

But the most important measure for me is getting an early start. I try to be on the road by 7:30. That would get us to the bank when it opens and if there are no problems, we would hopefully be back home before 10 a.m. Safe from the treacherous satanball trying to kill us from the sky.

We popped out of bed early. Got our breakfast and showers out of the way and were headed out the door at about 7:15. We were doing great on time! The UV demons would not get us today.

I reached for the key bowl by the door and came up empty.

Although rare, this happens now and then. I popped into the backroom to see if I had tossed them on my desk the night before. I had not. I then checked the pockets of the shorts I had worn the previous night. They weren't there either. At this point, Red started helping me look. 

We checked the kitchen table, all the counters, around the motorcycle outside, under the bed, our nightstands, and the coffee table. We even looked in the freezer. Where could they be?

After spending over half an hour tearing the house apart, it occurred to me that I may have locked them in the seat of the motorcycle. It has a small storage compartment that can be opened using the ignition key. If I locked it in there, I wouldn't have the key to open it and check.

So, I did something I did not want to do. I went next door to my landlord's house. He is the sweetest man and takes very good care of us, but he is almost 70 and I do my best not to disturb him unless I really need to. Plus, he does not speak a word of English. We call him Dad.

I showed Dad my problem and hoped he had a way to get into the seat that I might not know about. He tried all the same things that I did. Nothing worked.

Through pantomime and exchanged grunting, he suggested we have the ignition changed out. I didn't see any other choice so I agreed. I pulled up my Google Maps so he could show me where to go, but he insisted on speaking into the translator on my phone. The words I got back from the phone were useless, but he would not show me on the map. I don't believe he understood how it worked.

I was already a little embarrassed for losing my keys, but it only got worse from here.

My well-meaning landlord was going to help me get my motorcycle to the mechanic. He backed my bike into the street and went to get his.

Dad motioned for me to get on his bike and he sat on mine. His intention was to have me push him like in the following video.

But it just didn't work. I couldn't even get him started. I don't know if my angle was wrong, but it wouldn't work. Plus, even if I had gotten him moving, I didn't have any clue where we were going. Negotiating turns would have been very awkward. Besides, we live on very narrow back-alley streets. Not much room to maneuver. 

Dad realized this was not going to work, so he hopped off and started pushing my bike. I tried to stop him because there is no reason a 70-year-old man needs to push my bike for me. I can push it myself. I just need to know where to go. He did not listen to me and just kept moving. So, I was riding his bike at 2 MPH behind him while he pushed in 100-degree heat.

When we got to the first corner, he had me get on my bike. Good! Now I won't feel like such a putz. He tried to push my bike with his foot while he was on his own bike. Like in the above video. Once again, it did not work. He had me hop off again and started pushing my bike down the road. I could not get him to stop and let me do it. I eventually went back and got on his bike and slowly followed him while the local Vietnamese people watched us go by and gave me dirty looks. I don't blame them. At this moment, I literally was the fat, lazy American.

About 1,500 feet later, we came to the end of this road and his adult daughter Hanh appeared from the other direction on foot. He told her what we were doing and she nodded. She then took my bike and yelled over her shoulder, "Brett, go home." 

Hanh knows a total of maybe 100 English words. I often get basic sentences like this one from her. 

Dad tried to get me on his bike with him so we could go back, but I really wanted to go with Hanh. If I knew where she was taking my bike, then this was something I could take care of on my own in the future. I like to be self-sufficient when it is possible. However, I was having great difficulty getting Dad to understand why I wanted to follow. And the last thing I wanted to do is be unintentionally insulting. He was going out of his way to help and I wanted to be appreciative. Plus, as I looked back over my shoulder, Hanh had gotten a passerby to start pushing her on the bike. I guess she was more coordinated than us. She was gone. So, I accepted the ride home and waited.

An hour later, Hanh showed up with my bike and told me how much it cost. I paid her and thanked her profusely. I was so thankful, but totally embarrassed and felt utterly helpless.

After she left, we opened the bike seat only to discover the key was not in the seat. That means it was somewhere in the house and would turn up eventually. The changing of the ignition was not necessary, but there was no way of knowing how long it would be before we came across it. We had done what we had to do.

At this point, it was about noon and it had been a stressful morning. Defeated, I turned to Red and suggested we take off to a nice restaurant and try to put the morning behind us. She wholeheartedly agreed. I grabbed my new key and we got our helmets to head outside.

FOUND IT!!!

The key was in a motorcycle helmet that never got picked up because we realized we had no key to go anywhere. I'm beginning to wonder if embarrassment has an upper limit.

On the Road Again

There is a very common stereotype that Asian people cannot drive. And like many stereotypes, it did come from somewhere. Now that I have lived in a couple of Asian countries for the last few years, I am beginning to understand where it comes from.

It is not true at all that Asian people cannot drive. In fact, they are excellent drivers. However, if you get even a glimpse into the world in which they have to drive in their home countries, you can quickly understand why they drive radically different than the people in the Western world.

The attitude on the roads here in Vietnam can only be described as “different than America” or possibly “predictable chaos”. I have found the Vietnamese people to be friendly, selfless and humble, but as soon as they get onto the roads that all seems to go out of the window. It’s every man for himself here. If you leave a gap at a traffic light of a couple of feet or so, you can expect somebody to pull in diagonally in front of you. If you aren't already moving two seconds before the lights go green, people will get angry. If you are crossing the road at a crosswalk, people will not stop. You will be beeped at, swerved around, wheel clipped, shunted and stressed out at every given opportunity. But you have to get out there if you expect to cross.

This is not a joke.

This really is how it works

Move forward at a steady predictable pace.
And NEVER stop or step backward.

Traffic lights are a guideline. I am told that they are new here although I cannot find the facts as to when they were first introduced to back this up. What I can say is that they are few and far between for a city the size of Da Nang (1.1 million) or Hội An (150,000 and less than a dozen traffic lights or stop signs). It’s a normal thing for people to run red lights. Quite often people will start aggressively beeping horns at you if you have the audacity to stop at a red and block their way. At many junctions, it is a free-for-all, with the Vietnamese drivers having perfected the art of not slowing down. You would be amazed at just how last second people can leave the intersection to avoid an obstacle. Razor-thin margins of close calls are expected every time we venture out of our house.

Hesitation will get you killed

Define for me who has the right-of-way here

Lanes? What lanes?

So, if you grew up in this chaos and were then dropped on the streets of America, your driving may seem quite erratic to the people around you.

Despite this rectum-clenching scenario I just described, I am very excited about the events of this week.

I got my driver's license.
Sort of.

This is a license to drive a car. I have no use for this. I drive a motorbike (illegally for the last year--SHHHHH!). But it was the first step in the long process of getting a motorbike license. Similar to how you have to buy the farmer a couple of beers before he'll let you kiss his cows.

First, I had to get my American driver's license converted to a Vietnamese license. This involved a trip to a government office in Tam Ky. Then a couple of weeks later, I had to travel to Da Nang to get a medical check-up. I talked to over a dozen different doctors about my medical history, my family, my purpose in Vietnam, my job, my intentions on staying and my ranking of bún chả, mì quảng, and phở noodles. I was weighed, poked, monitored, blood pressured, blood was drawn and I was drug tested, urine tested, and questioned endlessly.

Tiniest urine sample vial I've ever used.
LESSON LEARNED: My penile aim is impeccable.
I got a tight stream, yo.

After three hours of grunting at Vietnamese doctors, I got my paperwork proving I was healthy enough to drive a motorbike in Vietnam. Or even on one of the moons of Jupiter.

It says it on there somewhere.
Just trust me. Shut up.

After all that, it was just a matter of passing the driving test. And this is where it got difficult.

Now, I know how to ride a bike. I've been doing it for over a year in all this chaos. Illegally, but still. In the States, I rode a Harley.

Much more machine than the toys they have here.

I am not in the least concerned about my ability to handle the motorbikes of Vietnam. However, I was quite concerned about the test. For several reasons:

• They provide the bike which is made for tiny Asian people (not 6'3" Americans)
• Every bike has little idiosyncracies (tricky clutch, varying brake strength, touchy accelerator, etc), but you are not allowed to practice with the bike they give you. Get on and go.
• You must wear their helmet. It did not fit on my head.
• Most people (73%) fail.
• My knees hit the handlebars.
• My big feet kept triggering the foot brake.

These are just some of the problems I encountered when I went to the practice lot. There is a place in Da Nang that has all the markings on the ground for people to go practice. You go to a bike rental shop and rent a bike like the ones used for testing and go practice. This was how I learned that I hated the bikes we would have to use. But I practiced for hours anyway. I felt ridiculous and told my wife there was no way I would pass this test.

Two days ago, we went to the testing facility. This place is only open once a month. If someone fails, they have to wait a month before coming back again. They test for everything in that one day.

Behind the facility for big trucks, buses and cars.

We were taken in the back to tackle some treacherous stairs to the bike testing place.

If you are handicapped, you must be confused
about needing a license.

The testing site was rigged with ground sensors. If you touched the line, the system knew it.

An instructor (with a translator) walked us through the course. First was the figure 8, then a straight section followed by a zig-zag and ending with a heavily speed-bumped area. Just stay within the lines. We start with 100 points. Every violation deducts 5 points and we needed 80 to pass. This means we were allowed only 4 or less. Side note: If you put your foot down once, you fail.

One of the other Americans testing with me asked, "If we go outside the barrier, the tire hits that cord twice. Once going out and once coming back. Does that count as one or two violations?"

The instructor looked sternly at him, "Why do you ask this?

"I just want to know how many marks that will be against me."

The instructor turned away shaking his head and yelled, "Stupid question. Does not matter. Do your best. You either pass or you do not. Let's start."

We all looked at each other. No more questions I guess.

The first of my friends to try was a South African man and he was pulled off the track before he did one circuit on the figure 8. Done. Failed before he even hardly got started.

The next was a 60 y/o man from Idaho. He pulled a perfect score. So, it could be done. I was assigned my bike and did a quick circle in the parking lot while being yelled at by the instructors. I just wanted to get a quick feel for the bike. My legs were splayed straight out to prevent hitting the handlebars. I pointed my feet out to keep them away from the brakes and I noticed the gas caused the bike to jump when the transmission finally caught.

I started into the 8 knowing that I better keep a steady speed because moving the accelerator would have unpredicable results. I hit two violations within seconds of entering, but managed the rest of the course with only one more. I finished with an 85. I passed!

I still am not a legal driver until the license is in my hand. I am supposed to receive it on October 31.

No more running from the cops. I've had to do that a couple of times in the last year. YAY me!

I'm ready to be legal. I'm looking forward to not having to hide in the small town we live in. We will actually be able to get out and drive without having to worry. It's time to see the rest of Vietnam.

Chinese Kidnapping

Red and I have stated many times that we are much happier in Vietnam than we ever were in China. But we have been gone long enough that we often forget how awful some of it was.

This morning, I stumbled upon on old Twitter thread where I live-tweeted the time I thought I was being kidnapped. It all came back to me. One of the most confusing moments I had while living in Beijing.

I'm in a school van in Beijing going to a federal office to finalize my work visa and the van just stopped in the middle of a 3-lane road

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

The school where I worked had put me in a van to be taken to the Entry-Exit Bureau to get my papers completed. Halfway there, I found myself in the middle of a road rage situation. Remember, I did not speak Chinese and couldn't even communicate with my driver.

A car behind us understandably started blowing his horn for us to move off of this very busy road.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

As has been my experience in most of this part of the world, there is not much accommodation made for other drivers. People stop and sometimes even park right in the middle of busy roads. I didn't know why we had stopped but was very concerned that he had not pulled to the shoulder. We were fully blocking a lane of traffic.

The driver of my van jumped out and started screaming at the driver of the car behind us.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

Why? My driver was clearly in the wrong.

They are standing in the middle of the road (basically an interstate highway) screaming at each other as cars whip by at 80 MPH.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

I was debating whether I would be safer staying in the vehicle or getting out and standing on the shoulder. However, the lack of ability to communicate often made me give people the benefit of the doubt and just go along with whatever was happening.

I don't speak Chinese, so I have no idea what is going on, but now the driver is trying to get me out of the van to join them on the road.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

OK. I guess I am getting out.

Now the driver of the honking car is screaming at me to get into his vehicle and the van driver is encouraging this. Am I being kidnapped?

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

They were both ushering me to the second car. "What is happening? Oh, how I wish I could ask some questions!"

OK. So now I'm in a stranger's car going...somewhere? I don't know what's going on. I really need to learn Chinese.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

I probably should have been texting my wife in case she never saw me again or texting my school to ask questions, but all I could think about was "This has the potential to become disastrous. I better keep tweeting so there is a record of the events."

Alright. We're getting off the main road. The rest of today ought to be interesting

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

 I just resigned myself to the fact that I was along for the ride now. Come what may.

The shouty driver just dropped me off at the Entry-Exit Bureau. The place I was headed anyway. Angry Chinese drivers are very accommodating.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

Um…thank you. I guess.

So, this case of road rage escalated into him giving me a lift to my destination. Even though I still don't know why.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

I never did learn what that was all about.

At the very least, I have learned that I would be very easy to kidnap.

KIDNAPPER: Get in the car!
ME: Okay.

— GigaBrett (@brettminor) April 2, 2017

Probably something could be learned here. But it's been over two years since this event and I haven't been kidnapped a second time. So, I think I'm good.

Look Out, Vietnam

Last week, my entire life changed.

I have experienced what some would already call big changes in the last few years.

• My children moved out
• I got married
• We moved from the U.S. to China
• We moved from the big city of Beijing to the more rural town of Hoi An, Vietnam

Despite all those changes, last week was different. I broke down and rented a scooter for the month.

Growing up in rural America, having a vehicle is just a given. You have to have one. There is no other way to get to your destination. Even living in a bigger city, typically people have a vehicle to get around. There are exceptions, but not having a car is not the norm.

It was a bit of an adjustment going to China and giving up our cars, but Beijing literally has the best public transportation system in the world. I'm not just saying that because I was impressed. It really is ranked as the top in the world.

Once we figured out how it all worked, there was honestly no need for us to have a car. We could get anywhere we needed to be by using a taxi, subway, or bus. Plus, it was crazy cheap.

Then, we moved to Da Nang, Vietnam. Reliable public transportation is virtually nonexistent there, but living in the center of a big city (1.8 million) meant everything we might need was fairly close. We just walked everywhere. We were already used to doing a lot of walking because of our time in Beijing.

In the end, we settled in Hoi An. Hoi An is much much smaller and we live out on the edge of town. We don't even have an address. This means we cannot receive mail or order for food delivery. There is an outdoor food market near our house, but anything else requires a significant hike. We don't mind the walk, but there is a limited amount of options near us and the trips to see something new required a big time commitment and a lot of sweat (remember this is tropical Vietnam).

So, last week we rented a scooter to see how much we would actually use one.

It took me about 12 hours to answer that question.

We will use it A LOT.

There is a place I love to go for breakfast, but it would take me 30 minutes to walk there. On the scooter, it's only about 7 minutes. I've eaten there every day this week. I can pop over to the market across town that has a few more Western goods the market near us does not have.
And my favorite part…I can more efficiently explore our new surroundings.

I love to wander the streets of a new city and start discovering all the little-hidden gems as I build my mental map of how the city is laid out. This takes a long time to accomplish on foot and it is something that Red does NOT enjoy doing. Now that I have the scooter, I can tear up and down the streets and quickly discover what road meets up with what and find all those little shortcuts. I have learned so much about the layout of our city in the last few days.

And today we ventured outside the city. Having the scooter gives us the freedom to go explore without having to pay a cab to just cart us around all day. Especially when we don't really know where we want to go half the time anyway.

Today we went to Tháp Chăm Chiên Đàn to see some 12th-century towers built by the people of the Champa Kingdom which existed from 192 and was absorbed by Vietnam in 1832. We figured if we are going to start calling this country home, we should probably start learning a little bit about it.

Now that I'm mobile, no part of this country is safe. I'm ready to see it all.

Our First Vietnam Adventure

Red and I have now been in Danang, Vietnam for almost three weeks and haven't really gotten to see much outside of our immediate neighborhood and a whole lot of each other. We are a little tired of each other. Since we are not on vacation and actually live here, this time has been spent performing mundane tasks that really aren't much fun.

• Deciding which bank we should use
• Locating nearby grocery stores
• Learning our way around the city
• Discovering where the post office, hospital, pharmacy, police station, et cetera are located
• Comparing money exchange rates around town to get the best deal
• Applying for jobs
• Exploring all the little back alleys to find where the best goodies are
• Trying to make new friends
• Discovering where I can go that she won't follow me

It's not been miserable by any means, but we've been itching to get out there and start seeing some of the sites and beauty of this wonderful country. Yesterday, we decided to take a day off and do just that. Since I have now started work, we know the money will be starting to come in and we don't have to be quite as tight with our finances.

We rented a motor scooter first thing in the morning and decided to tackle the city traffic to get out of Danang.

I recorded that video the first time I was here back in March. Since then, I've decided I'm just going to have to get used to it.

We hopped on our hog and drove off into the jungle-covered mountains of the Son Tra peninsula with no idea what was out there other than the monkeys that I was really hoping to run into.

But we never saw any

However, we did discover lots of other things. First, we stumbled upon a large Buddhist temple, Chùa Linh Ứng.

Nestled way up in the mountain

Inside one of the smaller buildings

Many statues of Buddha on various animals

The main temple

Inside the main temple

The entire area is covered in beautifully-kept gardens

The tallest Buddhist statue in all of Asia

All signs are in Vietnamese.
If you want to know what they say, 
you have to learn Vietnamese.

We eventually ventured further up the mountain and just enjoyed the view. Vietnam really is a beautiful country.

My wife likes to remain anonymous online.
Because of...ISIS, I think.

We tackled a few jungle paths.

After running around the jungle for a while and not seeing even one single stupid monkey we came out to discover we had a flat tire. We were parked at a small lean-to where three guys were hanging out in hammocks renting life vests to people who wanted to venture down to the water. Luckily, one of them had a tire pump. He pumped us up and frantically pointed down the mountain.

GO! GO! GO!

We got about halfway down when I could feel that the tire was getting low again. There was no way we were going to make it back into town. We were way out in the middle of nowhere on a jungle road in Vietnam and had no idea what we were going to do. We pulled up to a little shack that had drinks for people venturing up to see the temple.

Using our skills of American pantomime that we perfected while living in China, we got the guy running the shack to understand our problem. We needed a tire pump to get us a little further down the mountain. Our plan was to do this as many times as it took to get us back to Danang.

Instead of airing up our tire, he parked our scooter to the side of his little place and started taking off the tire.

Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. He had patched the leak and charged me only 50,000₫ (just over $2). That patch took care of us for the rest of the day. Thank goodness for people who know how to do stuff.

From there we headed south to the city of Hoi An to check out the ancient city and explore their marketplace.

I wandered off while Red was negotiating prices for some cinnamon boxes and was grabbed by a woman who told me my ears were too hairy. Not the best pick-up line, but she was cute so I followed her to a small bed. She sat me down and set to work on cleaning me up.

My ears were hot the rest of the day.

That was not at all what I was hoping for and it cost me 60,000₫, but now my ears are really sexy.

The rest of the day, we ate amazing food, saw more beautiful sites, discovered places to go back and visit later and got horribly sunburned (the tropical sun will do that when you spend the day on a scooter). It was an amazing day and we cannot wait to venture out and tackle it all again.

Once our peeling skin grows back, of course.

Fortune Cookie #10 - Adventure Is Where You Find It

Time just gets away sometimes.

It has been 1,033 days since my last Fortune Cookie post. I've forgotten to write these for a while, but never forgot to keep collecting my fortunes. I will try to get caught up. It may take a while.

Since I have been saving my fortunes and not writing about them right away, they are not in very good condition. However, they are still legible.

Not according the the makers of Pokémon Go

I am a complete believer in the philosophy that "life is what you make of it", but adventure is within? I'm not sure I believe that one. Having an active imagination may be great for helping you pass the time during times of extreme boredom (while doing menial labor, sitting in a doctor's office, looking at a friend's vacation slide show, spending time with your children, etc.), but it is far from an adventure. Adventures in my head are just thoughts about adventure. They are not adventure.

Unless we want to redefine the word, adventure will have to include the venture part of the word.

Whether we are talking about the verb or noun, both definitions involve doing something and the only thing I do within is process food stuffs into an inedible sludge to be expelled the next morning. An extreme meat and cheese day may require much more effort to accomplish the expulsion part, but it is still far from an adventure. Adventure is outside. I don't care what the fortune cookie wizards have to say about it.

To test this theory, we left the apartment last weekend to visit downtown Indianapolis. GenCon was in town and we love to go nerd watching and be jealous that we aren't in costume also. However, before even getting there, the adventure of being outside found us.

The red car is the one I hit.
The girl is only crying because her Pokémon got away.

Due to me gawking at a motorcycle, I rear-ended the car in front of us when the car in front of her stopped suddenly. The sound of metal on metal told me immediately, "YOU ARE IN THE MIDST OF ADVENTURE!"

This sort of thing just doesn't happen when you are sitting at home having an adventure "within". I'm still not even sure that I know what that means. Real adventure is outside beating up your car, talking to police, driving up your insurance rates, giving you seat belt bruises, and traumatizing teen-aged girls in cute little red cars.

Ignore the fortune cookie gypsies. Get outside and have some adventures!

Last Day in Indy: Part 3

You may want to read my last two posts to get up to speed on the events of the last couple of days.

Day 1: Dealers and Winos and Pimps - Oh, My!

Day 2: Dealers and Winos and Pimps Must Sleep In

My last post was written on the morning of the third and last day we were in Indianapolis. The plan was to get our van back that morning, see as much of the city as possible (now that we were mobile) and head back home. However, it did not work out that way.

I called at 9 a.m. to get an estimate of when they thought the vehicle would be done so I could get a cab and head in that direction. He said they were close to having it finished and they provided a free pick up service, so there was no need for a cab. HOORAY!!!

Since they were close to being done and we did not know how far from the car shop we were, we decided not to venture from the hotel. They could call at any time and we had no idea how long it would take them to get there.

The hotel requires checkout at 11 a.m., so we moved to the lobby. Kirsten surfed the web while I read a book. It was hard to relax knowing that every passing minute is another minute that we are NOT out enjoying the city.

The mechanic finally called at 12:30, but said it would take a moment for the driver to get to us, because he had just left for a 30 minute lunch. As soon as he got back, he would be on his way.

After 3 hours of leading me to believe the driver was going to show up at any moment, the driver calls to get the address and tells me it will take 30 minutes to get to us from the shop. He shows up 45 minutes later at 4:15. I learn from him that he was delivering a part out of state and was not on a 30 minute lunch. Had I known that, I would have hopped in a cab and had my vehicle back by 1 p.m. However, due their messing around and trying to cover for each other, we sat in a hotel lobby for 4 hours longer than necessary and missed half a day of exploring the city. We drove away in our van a few minutes before 5 o' clock and $600 poorer.

Finally back with our vehicle, we decided to visit the Indianapolis Children's Museum because one day a month they are open until 8 and it is free during that time. Plus, the other things we wanted to see were closed at this point. This seemed like a good plan at the time, but there were things we had not considered.

This children's museum is ranked as the best in the country by three different children's magazines and it offered free admission for only four hours once a month. This means that it is the most popular place in the state during that time and is the last place you want to be if you actually want to see anything. About 5 blocks from the museum, traffic stopped. In the next 30 minutes, we moved less than a half block. Everyone was trying to get to the museum. At the rate we were moving, we would never make it to the museum parking before it closed. Luckily, a person pulled away from the curb right beside us, so I nabbed that spot and we walked the remaining distance.

The last children's museum I had visited was more of a hands-on science center and it had been several years since I had taken my children. This place, while impressive, was designed for children. By children, I mean 5 to 8 year olds. My daughter is 16. We gave it a go anyway.

They had an Egyptian market for the kids to dress in Egyptian clothes and play like they were working in various jobs, There was a mirrored maze play area, lots of interactive activities and places for parents to sit while their children ran wild. I was most impressed by the LEGO exhibits.

However, what I hadn't considered was the thing I should have been most concerned about. There were children everywhere. Thousands of them. Because of the museum being free at that moment, the entire tri-state area showed up with their kids...and their grandkids...and the neighbor's kids. 

They were screaming and pushing and fighting and crying. It was awful. Parents were yelling for their kids to come back despite not having any idea in which direction they had run off to. Those parents that like to walk their kids on a leash spent their time trying to untangle from other safety minded parents. It was a complete madhouse. It was wall to wall screaming banshees.

Kirsten and I decided that even without the wailing midgets, this was not what we had in mind and decided to leave. Nothing on this trip had gone according to plan and it was time to give up. We vowed to return to Indianapolis on another day. Next time we would plan better.

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For this post I am participating in the Get Fit! Challenge presented by Pish Posh. She is challenging her readers and other bloggers to write about an area in their lives to could stand improvement. Please visit her site.

Dealers and Winos and Pimps - Oh, My!

This week my daughter is on Spring Break and we try to go somewhere every year. A few years ago, Christian and I went to Cleveland to visit the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame. Great trip. Two years ago, Kirsten and I ventured to New York to see the Tim Burton exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art. I could write a dozen different posts about the times we had on that trip.

This year, we planned to go to Nashville, Tennessee. We were only going to stay for a few days since we are taking a trip to Portland this summer for a wedding. Nashville would be a short inexpensive trip, but still something to do on her Spring Break. However, our plans got changed.

One of our friends died a few days ago, so we changed our Spring Break plans to go to Indianapolis for the funeral. We packed up last night and left this morning to get here in time to see a little of the city before going back to the hotel room.

Once we got checked in, we decided we should locate the funeral home for the next day. According to Google Maps, it was less than 15 minutes from the hotel (4.7 miles). We hopped in the van ready to find the funeral home and then start checking out the city. It's almost a straight shot from the hotel, but it may not have been the safest route.

A few days ago, when  I contacted a friend from the area about hotels, he stated not to get a hotel in the area of the cemetery. He said it was not a part of town we would want to spend the night in. This is why our hotel was so far away; he was concerned about the neighborhood. As we drove further in, I quickly understood his concerns.

The buildings were falling down and I counted half a dozen drug deals as we drove through with our windows up. We kept the windows up for safety reasons and because the area smelled like a mixture of disability checks and gunpowder.

We found the cemetery without any difficulty and went in to confirm where the services would be since the place was so big. After getting the information we needed, we hopped in the van to head to a nearby museum. After backing out of my space the van died and would not start again.

It was just after 5 o'clock, so I had trouble finding any place that was open to help. I finally located a service that would tow my vehicle for free if they got the business. However, they could not send anyone until morning. The funeral home agreed that I could leave the van there for the night.

Being the beautiful day that it was, we decided to walk back. It was less than five miles, I sill had the Google Maps printout that we could follow backwards and being a country boy, I just can't bring myself to spring for a cab. We started walking. About ten minutes into our journey, I remembered what we had driven through to get here.

Someone destroyed this church

As soon as I realized we were in the same area that we had rolled the windows up in earlier, we were approached by the first of many people that needed money for a variety of reasons. His was for food at Dairy Queen (not joking). Another wanted to buy cigarettes, one lady was insistent that she needed change for a dollar, and another guy wanted money to help find his dog. I still don't understand that one, but he really didn't understand it either, so I didn't feel too bad.

They even killed SPIDERMAN!!

We had planned to eat after leaving the cemetery and were getting very hungry, but Kirsten was unwilling to enter any of the eating establishments we passed. I can't say I blamed her. We kept our heads down and smiled when we did make eye contact with someone. Kirsten, convinced she was going to die very soon, sang These Are a Few of My Favorite Things to distract from the situation she was in.

We stepped over the broken bottles and needles, sidestepped the winos, ran from stray dogs and dodged the beggars, all while avoiding traffic. On three separate occasions someone called for us to come to them. Twice into an alley and once from their front door. We got very good at playing deaf and looking straight ahead.

After about an hour of walking, we began to see signs that we were coming out on the other side. The condition of the roads began to improve, there were more houses with intact windows and the sound of screaming was getting further away.

I was overtaken by local wildlife once.

It took us about 90 minutes to get back to the hotel and we began to go over our agenda for the next day. Tomorrow morning, we have to check out of this hotel and get back to our vehicle. Despite the night's experience, we will be walking back through the area we just came from. However, this time we will be carrying our stuff. Just like the Dread Pirate Wesley and Princess Buttercup in the Fire Swamp, we now know the secrets of the area and can survive there for many years if needed.

We have to get back to the van before they tow it at 8:30 to put our  stuff into it. We must then stay for the funeral and then somehow find our way to wherever it is being worked on. Hopefully, it will be fixed tomorrow, so we will have a vehicle again.

Getting back to the hotel was the easiest part of this. I expect the worst parts to come tomorrow. Getting back to the vehicle. Getting to the garage (which is on the other side of town). Getting around while it is being worked on. I really don't know what to expect. Tune in tomorrow for the rest of the story.