Travel Bug Robert
Finding the funny in the world.

A Good, Old Fashioned Carriage Ride: no turn on red

What better way to see New Orleans’ French Quarter than than on a horse drawn carriage ride?  It harkens back to a simpler time in history, a time when Henry Ford hadn’t yet thought of that newfangled horseless buggy.  The only thing is, if you take a ride, you’ll have to deal with all the modern technology N’awlins has now.  Like, horseless buggies.  I wonder if one of the steeds is named “Anachronism.”

I didn’t take a carriage ride when I was in New Orleans.  I have taken one before, though, in New York City.  My family and I, after eating at Tavern on the Green, chose to digest with a clip-clopping ride through Central Park.  This was the mid-90s, right after Home Alone 2: Lost in New York came out.  Well, it just so happened that our carriage driver was in the lesser-quality-but-still-highly-enjoyable sequel to Home Alone.  There’s one scene–more like a five second shot–where Kevin hides in a basket on a carriage.  Our driver was the guy that drove Kevin away!  To a young kid (which I was, at the time), this was big time stuff.  For a few glorious minutes, I was one degree away from Kevin McCallister, the kid that had a Talkboy tape recorder and ordered room service ice cream sundaes.

Perhaps deep down, I’ve never entered another carriage because I knew I would never top that New York ride.  I flew too close to the sun.

Robert Goes Souvenir Shopping in Buenos Aires

It’s pretty easy to find the standard souvenirs walking through the city center of Buenos Aires.  Shot glasses, t-shirts, magnets–they got all of ‘em.  Postcards?  Oh yeah.  Why wouldn’t they have postcards?  BA is like any other city with tourism as a major part of their economy; they’re ready for your money, so go shopping!  I did notice a few differences from other cities when looking at the keychains they sold, though.

The only time a balloon means “I don’t want to have fun”

So I was at a little place called the Disneyland Resort this Labor Day Weekend.  Feel free to get jealous.  Perfect weather, surprisingly manageable crowds, and since I was staying on property, I got one of the coolest perks ever: a Fastpass Special Exchange Card, which granted me two immediate Fastpasses on any ride, even if the Fastpasses ran out for the day.  For the uninitiated, a Fastpass lets you get to the front of attraction lines, and you usually have to wait at least an hour to use one.  Not this guy.  Thanks to that summer promotion, I got right on the new Star Tours, sans 70 minute wait.  I felt a lot cooler than I should have.

But this post isn’t about the wonders of Fastpass.  It’s about the joyless people living among us.  Early one Sunday morning, my group and I put our names down for breakfast at the Storytellers Cafe in the Grand Californian Hotel.  I’m a fan of the Arts and Crafts architectural movement, and the restaurant matches the rest of the hotel’s Arts and Crafts stylings, so it seemed like a good choice.  Also, being a sit down restaurant, it has more of a hearty breakfast to really get you ready for a day at the parks.  Anyway, they eventually called our name, and we approached the hostess.  And then I saw them: the cartoon chipmunks Chip and Dale walking table to table in the restaurant and interacting with the diners.  I turned to the hostess and unenthusiastically asked, “This is a character breakfast?”  I already knew the answer.

You see, a character breakfast for many–especially kids–is great.  Different Disney characters greet you as you eat!  And you can take pictures with them!  I like Disney characters.  I’ve taken many a picture with them in my lifetime.  But when it comes to eating, leave me be, Rafiki.  I want to focus on eating my Denver omelet and talking to the people I’m with.  But I don’t want to be a total jerk to these creatures.  I have to at least acknowledge them when they come over.  You know, wave to them or something.  Maybe smile and say hello.  But they always seem to come over mid-bite, so then I have to chew really fast so I can talk to them.  The whole thing’s an ordeal.

The hostess at Storytellers Cafe looked at my face and knew I wasn’t excited about what was about to transpire.  She then said the saddest phrase I’ve ever heard at Disneyland: “We could put a balloon on your table, and the characters won’t bother you.”  Can you believe that?  They actually will put a balloon–a delightful, simple pleasure of life–on your table so that exuberant, childlike animals will avoid you.  “Stay away from that table, Dale.  He’s got The Balloon.”  For her to even provide this to me as an option made me feel like the Grinch, before that day his heart grew three sizes.  I sure hope “The Balloon” isn’t filled with helium, because that’d be too happy a symbol for the message, “Don’t bother me.”  It needs to be one of those oxygen-filled balloons that’s maybe three, four days old and kind of wrinkly.  There’s still a little air in it but so little that you can’t even pop it anymore.  You have to cut it with scissors.  But you don’t, you just kind of let it wither away, until finally you toss it with the dried out birthday cake.  That’s the balloon they need to put on your table.

I immediately saw the error of my ways and told the hostess no to “The Balloon.”  I could handle the characters, at least more than I could handle looking at myself in the mirror after agreeing to her proposal.  And you know what?  The characters weren’t so bad.  Chip and I shared a laugh about Dale, and I got to talk with a bear about how hungry he was.  And really, if you can’t talk hibernation tactics with a six foot grizzly while sipping your morning coffee, you shouldn’t be at Disneyland.  And if you’re close enough to talk with a grizzly outside of Disneyland, run!  Bears are dangerous!

What would Don Draper say about this?

I saw this sign at a general store in Reykjavik, Iceland.  Now, I know that Europe has heightened its efforts in dissuading people from purchasing tobacco products.  They put giant-sized warnings on cigarette boxes, and if memory serves me, they sometimes include hideous pictures of lifelong smokers’ lungs.  But Iceland, at least let a guy get in the store before telling him not to buy something.

I’m not a smoker myself, but I do recognize the odd place in society smokers now dwell.  They want to smoke, and tobacco companies want to sell them cigarettes, but now in order to do so legally, companies need to say how unhealthy their product is.  It’s like that waiter at a restaurant who, after you order the brownie sundae for dessert, condescendingly asks, “You’re actually going to order the brownie sundae?  Do you know how many calories are in that?”  No, waiter, I don’t know how many calories are in the brownie sundae.  But you’re selling it.  It’s on the menu.  So why don’t you just tell the chef and brace yourself for a crappy tip?

I don’t know how this turned into me defending cigarette companies.  That wasn’t my intention.  Tobacco products cause harm to millions of people a year.  And people should be aware of the dangers of smoking.  But if governments are so concerned about people’s health, why not just make smoking illegal?  It’s already banned from bars and restaurants.  Just stop producing and selling tobacco products.  But that’s never going to happen, because this vice is more acceptable than other vices.  Or, at least the money’s better.  But now Europe (and the World) face a bigger problem than smoking: obesity.  I wonder if one day will come when, on every dessert menu, we’ll see a picture of a morbidly obese person in a much-too-small jumpsuit with a written warning that “eating highly caloric desserts can lead to heart disease, diabetes, and rolls of fat.”

Oh, and I think I finally understand why an Icelandic store might put up a sign like this.  They’ve had enough ash in the air from all the volcanoes erupting.

Robert Gets Wired at Cafe Tortoni in BA

One place to check out next time you make it to Buenos Aires is Cafe Tortoni.  From what I hear, it’s gotten a bit touristy over the years, but that just means they’re used to people like you.  Yes, “tourists.”  It does feel a little dirty calling you that, I’ll admit.  “Traveler” sounds much more palatable, doesn’t it?  It’s like how “liberals” are now “progressives,” or how in Disney theme parks buffets are no longer “all you can eat” but “all you care to enjoy.”  Oh, George Orwell would have so much fun writing about the power of words in modern day society.  Wait, I think he already did.

With that tangent safely typed up, watch the video to find out more about Cafe Tortoni.  I don’t like repeating myself, if I can avoid it.  If I can’t avoid it, I will, but I don’t like repeating myself.