Czech Please- Oh Yeah!!

Czech Please- Yes!!

From the air, the Czech countryside is a lush green from the many rains that fall. Stepping outside the airport, I was filled with a warm feeling of invitingness, rather than a cold, grim sense of dread I felt in Moscow.
Upon entering Prague, I was struck by the cities beauty, a word I normally reserve only for nature.  The architecture is a mixture of medieval, renaissance, and modern that blends in perfectly together. Many of the side streets are cobblestone, and each building, while often with a modern façade, was built long ago and has withstood the test of time. Ancient castles and towers line the skyline, in addition to eye pleasing domes.
Prague is easily the most beautiful city I have seen.

The street I am staying on is called Narondi (National Street.) On Nov 17, 1989 it was where the protests against the Communists began that gave the Reds their queue to exit. Also on the same day during World War II the Czechs marched here against the Nazi occupation. That march was, shall we say, much less successful. The Czechs, having a less perfectionist, more “hang loose” attitude than say Hawaii, have rounded up their fifty percent success rate, using the guiding mathematical principal of the Pythagorean Theorem (developed by none other than acclaimed Greek mathematician Bob Theorom) which states, “when the hypotenuse of a triangle is exactly 50% of the sum, you round up based on the ‘what have you done for me lately’ principal,” thus making the intellectual Czech Republic the first country to justify a national holiday via mathematical proof.
(True fact: In an effort to save national face, the Russian’s have purged Nov 17th from their calendar. You jump directly from the 16th to 18th. If you think Rich is making this up, then you try deciphering a calendar written in Russian.)

Arriving on a European holiday of some sort, the streets are packed with tourists. Walking around, I note a plethora of restaurants, ice cream shops, banks, and modern stores, as well as numerous small casinos. I go into one. Nothing like Vegas, tiny, yet still turning a profit. Human nature and capitalism being what it is, there always will be people who will willingly give away their money.

The next morning I begin with a run. I happen upon the Charles Bridge, a water crossing of world renown fame which is lined with sculptures and monuments; a swan lands three feet in front of me. I pause to admire it.

a view of Prague Castle from the Charles Bridge

I come to the base of a hill and see a fascinating monument, a tribute to communism.

Monument to Communism

The inscription on a stone base nearby reads:
“The memorial to the victims of Communism is dedicated to all victims, not only those who were jailed or executed but also those whose live were ruined by totalitarian despotism.”
-- Take a good look at the forlorn, sliced open, half figures. I believe the monument speaks for itself. Powerful.

The steep hillside itself is more like a forest. I chose to jog up rather than take the tram. Atop, I ran into Prague castle.

the main entrance to Prague Castle. Friendly friendly.

Inside I found various chapels, windy spiral stone staircases, armories, and a prison. Inside the armory, replete with middle aged swords, armor, and shields, I noted one, as professional biologist, that I singled out of special importance.

Finally scientific proof of the existence of dragons

a midevil dungeon. Actual size

You often hear about midevil “dungeons” but having seen one, let me just say, do not become reincarnated as a 15th century prisoner. Your existence consists of an area so small if you’re more than eight years old you probably can’t stand up. You don’t even want to know about the toilet.
Another delightful benefit of being a prisoner during the middle ages, (aside of the living conditions) was that, depending on the King's mood, he could either put you on the rack or one the other numerous delightful devices Sean Hannity would gleefully approve for “enhanced interrogation,” or, if you were really lucky, perhaps the King would one day, lying on his freshly scented lavender silk sheets, between orgies, realize that he had been a little harsh coming down on you for sneezing in his presence, seeing that for ten years you had only the company of diseased rats, and had lost all your teeth to scurvy, and you were, after all, his favorite younger brother, the one who had rescued him from that arrow that surely would have pierced his heart had you not dived in front, for which you’ve suffered lifelong respiratory problems and didn’t even get a thank you (this was during his self-admitted "selfish stage") and recognizing that merely paying off the church for forgiveness might not totally wipe the slate clean of sin when appearing before St. Peter, so after an epiphany of mercy, he finally decides to take pity on you, and send you-- directly to the executioner, which has the double benefit of insuring once and for all you never ascend to the throne, thus putting the final stamp on your sibling rivalry. (he wins)

headsman axe and chopping block.

Discussion Questions:
1) If you were reincarnated as a Czech King, wouldn't it be better to execute your brother right away. I mean, wouldn't he have the right to be angry with you after ten years in the dungeon? Explain.
2) If you were to equate the King versus Brother Prisoner sibling rivalry in sports terms, wouldn't it be accurate to say the King won in a "blowout?" Why?


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Laser teeth whitening in Prague if you are in Prague, this is my friend's laser teeth whitening place!

Scammed in Moscow- The Train Station

Scammed in Moscow-

I packed my belongings, took a cab (apparently a different one than Nessa had- zero troubles) and got out at Leningravsky Railway Station. As I approached the line, a Turkish man with a few gold fillings saw his mark, and asked me where I was going. Despite the fact that he spoke about as much English as I did Russian (nil) he managed to communicate with me that he would help get me on the train to St. Petersburg.
“Follow me,” he says, grabbing one of my suit cases and guiding me from the line, outside train station to a different ticket office, where they sold me a train ticket for 4,500 rubles. (about $150-- More expensive than a last second Southwest Airlines ticket in the states)

train station- Moscow

I looked at the ticket trying to see if I could decipher any of their alien alphabet, but being illiterate, I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it, and so I followed my guardian angel back out to the platform where he escorted me to my train. A security guard/policeman saw us, and came over, a glimmer and twinkle in his eye. (When you see happiness in Russia, be suspicious) I actually thought he was going to try to shake me down. He greeted my guardian, I’m positive they knew each other. As they were speaking Russian, I will translate the conversation for you as best I can.

Policeman (P): You again. How are you?
Guardian Angel (GA): Another day, another sucker.
P: American?
GA: I believe so.
P: I hope you socked it to him. Super power my ass.
GA: (proud) See for yourself.
P: Can I see your ticket?
(Rich pulls out his ticket, policeman looks at it, admiringly)
P: And how much did you charge him?
GA: 4,500 rubles!!
(Policeman smiles admiringly)
P: You’re the king man. The absolute king.
(Guardian Angel grins from ear to ear)
GA: Well it helps that the guy is an idiot.

So now, Guardian Angel is kind enough to escort me to my train. He explains to me through gestures that I am to board at 4 PM, and that he hopes Russian Mob doesn’t find me beforehand, but if they do, it’s not his problem. But, you know, at least I found my train, I tip him 50 rubles causing him to look at me in disbelief.

GA: Is this for me?
(Rich nods, GA becomes very amused as he takes the bill.)
GA: King idiot.
(Guardian Angel walks away shaking his head)

The funny thing is I was like 90% certain that I was being taken advantage of, and I kind of was like, well, if that’s the price of getting on the right train, so be it. When I got to St. Petersburg and told the story my guide, he looked over the hieroglyphics on my ticket and told me the real price was 2800 rubles.
So Rich got scammed out of $80. I sure wish I could get back that tip.

Up next- St. Petersburg

Back In The USSR

Well, for those of you in "the know" I left a few days ago for a trip, around the world beginning with Russia. For those of you who don't follow worldwide events, consider this is your update.

Over the next 6 weeks we here at Rich Has Too Much Time Industries will be travelling to Moscow, St. Petersburg, Prague, Istanbul, Egypt, Indonesia (Bali), Thailand, and Korea. We will keep you updated on our impressions, events, and sightings ... provided we have the time.

Back In The USSR

In a sign of our new host country’s warm intentions, whose affable easy going citizenry have brought the world such blessed memories as Communism and The Cold War, our plane was greeted and immediately boarded by well wishers consisting of Russian commando health authorities who shined a laser into the ear of every passenger. Their excuse: looking for swine flu. The truth: intimidation. The world must be remain fearful of the Russian bear.
Visit a gas station in the US and the oil company mascot is a shell, the number 76, or a smiling tiger. In Russia, they use a fire breathing wolf. My cabbie zoomed through Moscow traffic at the rate of 2 miles an hour, and got me to my hotel in what he claimed to “record time” – one and a half hours.
“Tip?” he asked, holding out his hand.
I checked into the Renaissance Hotel, across the street from the Russian Olympic stadium and unpacked my bags, and waited for the arrival of my adopted older brother Chad, and his fiancée, Vanessa Rousso who had come to town to play a high stakes poker tournament.
After acclimating ourselves to the our new surroundings, and playing some cards, Chad and I took the evening shuttle to the famous Pushkin Square, named after famed 1930’s Russian capitalist, Vladamir Square.
We were looking for Pushkin Restaurant, which was difficult, because Russians use an alphabet borrowed from alien invaders from the planet Zoxan. It’s kind of like a game show, “and behind this door we have either a famous restaurant, or an army firing range. Rich, do you dare open that door, or you can elect to take a plane home."
Compounding the problem, Russians are generally as helpful wolves, but not as friendly. Fortunately, I have been endowed with an incredibly well honed sense of direction passed down my ancestor, Ferdinand Magellen, and I don't mean to brag here, but I, in record time managed, to get us lost.
Just kidding, we found the place, and I have to say, it was one of the coolest restaurants I have been to. It had an old, dark, kind of cool, aristocratic feeling- a restaurant where Russian nobility of the late 19th century would have congregated. The service and the food was excellent.
One thing about Moscow, it's super expensive city in the world. A ten minute cab ride costs $30, and I bought two oranges for $5. (That’s the advertised price per kilo) There are no bargains to be had in Moscow, but this restaurant was well worth it.

St. Peter's Basilica

In the morning, the three of us set out to see the Moscow landmarks. First on our list was St. Peter’s Basilica, which is located in the famed Red Square.

St. Peter's Basilica- Moscow

Take a good gander. It’s even more impressive in person. Definitely my favorite thing I saw in Moscow.
Interior walls are painted with various religious figures, and I know that the 15th and 16th century were slightly rougher than how we live today, but at least in some Italian art you can occasionally see a smile. Not Russian. Most of the depictions of Jesus and the saints are of pure unhappiness and suffering.
I pointed to an especially mean looking angel, and asked Chad, “How’d you like to have her give you a helpful visit in the middle of the night?”
“No I wouldn’t” replied Chad.

(I’m not sure whether this is supposed to be Ivan The Terrible, or Jesus Christ, either way he’s a site for sore eyes cause he’s probably the friendliest looking person we’ve seen in Moscow.)

The Honest Cabbie

Having explored St. Basil’s Basilica together, we decided to get lunch at the shopping mall in Red Square. Yes, Dolce Gabana in Red Square, is there a surer sign Communism is dead?
We were set to go into the Kremlin next, but the Venus Fly Trap of the mall had ensnared the more impressionable member of our party. In the interest of hiding this person’s identity due to the nature of the ensuing events, let’s call this person “Vanessa R”. … no wait, too obvious, we’ll go with “V Rousso.”
V Rousso wanted to shop. Shop shop shop. Shop til you drop!!
Chad and I, on the other hand, being men, (the sane gender) had zero interest in joining her, and V Rousso found distressing the idea of taking a taxi home by herself in Big Bad Moscow at 3 A.M. (or whatever time mall management decided time away from their loved ones was not worth the next several thousand dollar profit they would earn by selling V Rousso another set of Versace shoelaces,) but after several reassurances from Chad, her fears were assuaged and she dutifully set about her tasks of adding fancy labels to her closet, and concurrently eliminating Russia’s national debt.
When the mall finally closed (3 AM) our girl asked security to escort her to a cab, noted that it had old fashioned roll down windows and that the cab driver seemed incredibly surly - nothing out of the ordinary for Moscow. She got in and told him to go to the Renaissance Hotel.
Now cabs, like EVERYTHING else in Moscow are pretty damn expensive. V Rousso thought she was going to be paying $35, $50 max, so when our friendly cabbie offered the bargain “friend” rate of $500 our girl said, “Niet!!”
“You pay! You pay!” the cabbie stated in what I am sure was an incredibly sweet tone, as he locked the child proof doors.
V Rousso started screaming, “Let me out!” jostling the door in effort to free herself.
“You pay! You pay!” the cabbie yelled.
So being clever, V Rousso pulled out her credit card, and handed it to him, knowing she could charge it back, but unfortunately in opening her wallet, exposed the $10,000 in cash she had on her, which was like pouring blood in the water during a shark feeding frenzy.
The cabbie, being a clever Moscow scammer, first ran her credit card, had her sign the bill, THEN grabbed her purse. While they wrestled for the it, he decided that now would be a good time to try to kidnap V Rousso, and put his foot on the accelerator.
V Rousso, with one hand wrestling for her purse, used the other to open the rear window, managed to yank her purse away for a split second, grabbed her $20,000 Armani sweater bag, and jumped out the window with the cab going ten miles an hour. (saved by heavy 3 AM Moscow traffic)
The poor girl was in a state of shock when she walked into the hotel and nervous wreck as I tried to calm her down.
Come to Russia – we treat you right.

The Kremlin
Skip it, they don’t let you meet Putin, and all you’re going to see is more unhappy figures in old cathedrals, although, I did see a carved statue I thought was very cool.

the sword in one hand, and a castle in the other, an example of a saint having being venerated because he is able to protect the town.

On my own
The next morning I headed out on my own to explore Moscow. Having nearly mastered the subway, I managed to get to a gigantic cathedral (more unhappy faces) and then headed up the street to Pushkin Museum (named after the famed Russian industrialist of the 1960’s Alexander Museum)
I have to say, they had quite a collection of paintings and artifacts ranging from Greek, to Egyptian, to Italian sculptures. It was pretty cool, but I am no art connoisseur, and there is only so much I can take, so I headed up the street figuring out how to navigate myself around Moscow.

Unlike Los Angeles, which has a restaurant at every corner, Moscow seems to have very few. (either that or illiterate Rich doesn’t know the sign, and thus chose not to open the door for fear of releasing the velociraptors ) I did however, see a Heineken awning, and starving, I ended up eating a Mexican restaurant in Moscow. (paella for those of you keeping score at home)
That evening, while Chad was still playing the tournament, I took Vanessa out to Pushkin restaurant, and had a really nice conversation with her. She felt a lot more comfortable getting into a cab with me beside her. How can you blame her?

St. Petersburg, Russia- the Hermitage + Pros and cons of visiting

St. Petersburg

There was a very nice woman who looked out for me on the train, (she must not have been born Russian) and with her help, I arrived safely in St. Petersburg, where I was picked up by a friend of a friend, St. Peter.

True fact: During Communist rule, the city was called Leningrad, after the Reds fell, they renamed it after my new friend. Or so he claims.

St. Pete doesn’t let his fame and power go to his head. He is really down to earth, honest guy who makes a great host. He works at a major real estate company, whose “for sale” signs adorn every major building in the center of town. I have memorized their phone number, because Pete points to every single one of his sale signs. He’s a proud boy.

St. Petersburg sits on the Finland Bay and the city is known as the Northern Venice, as various rivers and canals cut through the city. Also, the sun sets at midnight here which means that I have no sense of what time it is. Businesses close down while it’s still light out, and the streets are deserted at what seems like noon.

After chatting over food, it was either 11:30 at night, or noon if you’re looking at the sun. St. Peter drives me to what was advertised on the Internet as a 4 star hotel, which I was getting for the bargain price of $90 a night. The lobby was okay, the elevator itself a bit dodgier, and I opened my room door and the only thought that went through my head was “Am I in prison?”
If you told me this was a jail cell, I’d believe you. I literally cannot lay down width wise because it is less than 6 feet across. The shower gives me at best water 3 degrees above freezing, and in order to bathe, and the water pressure and unchangeable angle of the shower-head forces me to lean in at a 60 degree angle for any water to hit my skin.

This used to be the home of the Czar and his posse, so most buildings in the center of town are quite exquisitely designed in a 19th century sort of way.

Of course, I made my  obligatory visits to the Cathedrals, as well as paying to get into a Russian navy exhibit where I understood absolutely zero. Not a word of English, Spanish, or Italian. (probably a good way to keep 19th century Maritime secrets seeing as I’m a spy)

Then there's the Hermitage, the former  palace of the Czar, now a first rate Museum.

Rich + St. Pete in front of the Hermitage. Pic taken 10:30 PM

Tickets have two prices- one for Russian nationals, and one for tourists. Pete instructed me to walk in and say, “Priviet” (meaning hello,) in a harsh, authoritarian tone (so I might be mistaken for Russian) and if the worker asked me anything , to raise my left arm up and drop it rapidly while making a harsh, unfriendly guttural tone as if to say, “Leave me alone woman, I just might be a crazy Russian”
So I walk to the ticket counter. “Priviett,” I scowl, placing down 100 rubles (the Russian price) on the counter.
She looks up at me, “350” she states.
I raise my arm up and drop it in disgust, “leave me alone woman, I’m a crazy Russian.”
She looks at me blankly, “350,” she expresses to me in an un-amused tone.
“Ya Ruskie! Ya Ruskie!” I retort absolutely outraged.
She takes a beat, leans into the window ever so slightly, “350.”
We might have won the cold war, but the Russians won this battle. What a warrior, my hat’s off to her.
Inside I saw art ranging from ancient Egpyt, to Greek, to Roman, to Russian and Spanish. I have to say though, my favorite part of the museum was a section devoted to Russian school children. At least I think it was Russian kids …

Children’s art, or 18th century master? Rich couldn’t tell you. As he’s been told, Rich would be unlikely to succeed in a career as an art dealer.

I also a saw a statue of Marcus Aurelias and his son Lucius (both of whom were depicted in the movie Gladiator, leading me, as a trained historian, to conclude that the movie was not only based on historical events, but is rather an accurate account of what transpired (word for word as the producers took a time machine back to 100 AD!) Probably the simplest way to write a script. I'm envious.

statue of Marcus Aurelius

Still, there is only so much time I can look at art without getting a weensie bored, and so after a few hours, I departed the czar’s palace and headed out to find some new adventure.

St. Pete and Olga

Each night I was in St. Petersburg joined by Peter and his girlfriend Olga after they got off of work. I have to say, they were both very very nice people, and Olga snapped 90% of the photos that I took in St. Petersburg.

The last evening I spent there was the nicest. I frankly get tired of the city and it’s concrete, I need green. Pete and Olga took me to an island (many nearby islands in the Finland Bay) and we took a walk down a road lined by trees in all direction. It was very close to being in a Russian national forest, and I’d imagine this is as pretty as Russia gets. (not exactly Thailand or Fiji)

We had a great time running around, throwing a tin foil ball back and forth and at each other. We also happened upon a miniature zoo, where we saw, in the middle of Northern Russia, and I swear I am not making this up, an ostrich.

(Russia's favorite native bird)

(Russian Fox- if this isn't the best picture of a fox ever taken (by Olga) I'd like to see what is)

On the whole, I probably allotted far too much time for Russia. Aside of St. Pete (the man) and Olga, there wasn’t much about Russia I liked. I think it has to be the most tourist unfriendly place I have been to outside of, let’s say, Northwestern Pakistan.

Nevertheless, as I deeply care about you guys, I have compiled an exhaustive list of travel tips and recommendations about Russia which are below.

Rich’s exhaustive list of travel tips for the USSR—skip it!

On the other hand, if you ever thought of moving to Russia, I have also carefully weighed in on the pros and cons of doing so--

Con: friendliness that make New Yorkers seem like Fijians,
massive corruption, the Russian Mob, Vanessa’s taxi driver and others like him, you’re automatically illiterate with the alien alphabet, bottles of Evian available for $7, bone chilling winters

Pro: The absence of black people gives you an excellent shot at making the Russian national basketball team.

That’s all for Mother Russia- up next—Prague!

Prostitutes, and Tranny's in Pattaya, Thailand

Pattaya

The first place I headed after the two hour road trip from Bangkok was the beach. I'm not sure if it was the narrow brown beach littered with European whales, or the choppy, mixed color water, but Pattaya beaches rank low compared to the rest of Thailand.
In the evening, everywhere you go there’s a bar, full of ladies, and um, ladyboys (transsexuals)
Thailand has the greatest number of trannys in the world? Why? People are poor (although not like in India) and money hard to come by.
If you’re a young woman (or girl in some sad cases) you can chose to make $200 a month working ten hours a day as a maid or toll collector, or you can make that much in a day (if lucky) selling your body. Uptight “moralists” in the West may scoff at this so called “choice” but when you’re living in a shack, and have no food on the table, I wonder how many of them wouldn't do the same.

Thai Tranny

Well, the allure of “easy” money is so great to some, that boys, lacking the earning power of their female counterparts (how many ladies out there pay for sex? Generally all it takes to turn men on is to utter the word, “hello.”) save up thousands of US dollars to have a sex change performed so they can join the girls in the upper echelon of Thai earners, and appeal to the variety of fetishes of the 'farang.' (farang meaning "foreigner") It is what is, it’s just a different reality than wealthier countries.

Project Tiger- Searching for Tigers in the Thai Jungle (Khao Yai National Park)

tigger!

Project Tiger

I’m a nature lover, minus mosquitos and ticks which I pray daily to my Lord and savior JC (Jim Carrey) to use his Bruce Almighty powers and wipe them off the earth.
(Editors note: Some of you readers might be getting tired of Rich’s unceasing references to Jim Carrey as God. Not that I disagree with him, but frankly, I am tired of him using our space and readership to evangelize his religion. After a frank discussion with him about the importance of separation of church and blog, I have allowed him his religious dogma, one, and ONLY ONE final time, on the condition that all of you immediately watch “Liar Liar,” and pray Northwards towards Canada (where JC was born) five times a day. I had to draw the line somewhere.)

So, today’s adventure took us to an Asian rainforest, Thailand’s first national park, two hours outside of Bangkok. Actually, more like three hours. Traffic in Thailand comes to a crawl when it gets busy. That, and the fact that you often have to sit at traffic lights for four, (yes four!) minutes.
Oftentimes in the US, on newer traffic lights, you see a counter letting you know how long before the light turns yellow. Generally, it’s 30 seconds max. In Thailand, they have a red light counter as well (to torment you) letting you know that it’s 240 seconds before the light turns green. Welcome to hell.
It was afternoon by the time we got to the park. My dream of course was to spot a wild tiger. This has been a dream of mine of mine since I was a child, when I had an infatuation with, and learned all things tiger. I was the original Calvin from “Calvin and Hobbes.” And the national park was home to over 20 tigers. I figured my odds were good.
Driving through the park, the first thing we spotted was a band of monkeys walking the roadways. they just meandered down the road, perhaps in hopes of being offered food, which I'm sure some tourists oblige them.

(See if you can guess this monkey's gender?)

Male Monkey?

A little later, I spotted a small red deer in the bushes. A rare sight, the first time my guide who had spent substantial time in the park had ever seen one. When deer are here, tigers must be near. The deer slipped into the undergrowth before I had a chance to snap a picture of it.
Tiger tiger, burning bright, in the forests of the night …. Where are you.

Our search continued to the visitor center where I spotted Sambar (a tigger delicacy) nearby.

sambar in Thai jungle

I stopped in at the center and saw exhibits and read up on all the wildlife the park contained. Yes, sure enough there were tigers here. I asked one of the rangers if he had ever seen a tiger.
“Yes,” he answered nodding.
I got excited, maybe he could introduce me. “How many times?”
He held up two fingers. I frowned.
“And how long have you worked here?” I inquired.
“Sixteen years,” he replied.
Could it be? Really? I had better chances of winning the lottery than having an encounter with a wild tiger?
“I have many baht (Thai currency.) I will pay tiger for privilege,” I stated, forgetting that Eastern tigers lack the guiding principles of materialism so prevalent amongst tigers living in the United States.
My guide gently escorted a somber and disheartened Ricardo outside. I had to check with another ranger.
“How many times have you seen tigers?”
He shook his head.
“You don’t understand me?” I asked hopefully.
“I understand perfectly,” he replied with the accent of someone who probably spent four years at Oxford, “I just haven‘t seen one in the five years I’ve been here.”

Sighing, we began a trek to a waterfall a couple kilometers away. I gazed around the jungle hopefully as we walked, but only spotted a salamander, the sound of rushing water in the distance subtly soothing my frazzled spirit.
I scaled the rocks, which in the rainy season are covered by water fifteen feet high, and came to the edge of a pool of a thirty foot waterfall. Carefully, I climbed into the water, and felt the rush of cold water enliven me.
I swam out a couple hundred feet, and sat under the cascading water from the falls. I stood there, as long as I could comfortably endure the force of the gushing water, and then swam back to shore, where I sat, peacefully on a large boulder, in harmony with the surrounding jungle for half an hour, meditating, praying to JC to get rid of the mosquitos swarming around me.

(me and Hobbes, my tiger friend I tamed in the forest) ... sighhhh

good ole' Hobbes

Invest In Crocodile Bank- the Crocodile Shows of Thailand

Crocodile Bank

So it’s my second full day in the city. I found a local guide to show me around, or rather, he found me. Everywhere you go in Bangkok, people are trying to sell you something (usually sex) My guide was no different.
“You want to meet nice girl,” he asks, “I show you best.”
“No thanks,” I reply.
“Come on, I show you best girl in city.”
“I want to eat,” I replied, my stomach growling, walking away from him.
“Very nice girl,” he echoes, chasing after me.
“No,” I reply in a deep authoritative tone.
“Why not?” he stupidly asks.
“Because I am hungry,” my tone getting deeper.
“Well let me recommend restaurant.” Finally, he speaks my language.

When you travel around the world, you get to see how lucky we are in America, where most everyone’s basic needs are taken care of. In Thailand, people work extremely hard for very little in an effort to put food on the table.

He waits for me to finish dinner and asks if he can show me around Thailand. he recommends I visit the world’s largest crocodile farm. "Over 100,000 Crocs!!" they advertise. Talk about a come on.

No Swimming without a  lifeguard on duty!

When we got there, the first thing we did was go to the Crocodile Show.
10 hungry man eating monsters up to 14 feet long in an enclosure consisting of shallow water and a small island in the center, where two handlers dragged, by the tail, a couple of the beasts out of the water. Once on dry land, they teased the croc, poking it with a stick. I suppose the purpose was to demonstrate the amount of power of the croc’s jaw, cause when it snapped down on one of the pieces of bamboo, the force of the jaws meeting sounded like a nuclear explosion.

Grabbing a croc by his tail

Then they proceeded to get the croc to open it’s massive jaws. Once opened, the handlers began to pray. Yes, right there, on a tiny man made island, surrounded by the hungry beasties, they put their hands together and broke into prayer.
Apparently they worship the God of Stupidity, because they proceeded to place their hands in the jaws of the croc, pulling them out before the croc chomped down. Tips rained down onto them, thrown by spectators in the coliseum type seating. I was amongst the tippers. Stupidity deserves to be rewarded.
After another, longer prayer, the handlers opened the croc's jaw, and I swear I am NOT making this up, placed their head in the mouth of the croc. I had to wonder who was on drugs, the croc, or the handlers. Probably both.

head in the mouth of a crocodile

To say it was a spectacle is an understatement. Putting your head in the jaws of a massive fourteen foot crocodile! And they did it several times. Needless to say, tips and applause rained down from the stands.

Craazyyy!

But did Dumb and Dumber take their loot and run. Nooooo, that would require intelligence, and would be considered blasphemy by their aforementioned God. Instead, they decided to bank the money.
In all fairness, it probably is the world’s most secure bank. Also, the dumbest.
They collected all their tips, every last bill, and threw them all into the crocodile’s open jaws. This  "sound investment strategy" is probably why Thai people are so poor.

The world's safest bank! Dumber attempting to withdraw a deposit.

Crocodile Bank- the world’s most secure bank. Sure we pay no interest, and occasionally swallow your deposits. On the plus side, when you come to withdraw, we’ll do our best to relieve you of an arm.

With these thoughts racing through my mind as the show ended, Dumb and Dumber pointed to me (and only me), apparently stupid people are able to recognize their brethren, and asked me if I wanted to have my picture taken with Crocodile Bank.
Getting up close and personal with a man eating monster croc was simply something I could not pass up.
“Yes!” I yelled back to Dumb and Dumber, “YES! Oh God Yes!” I joyfully exclaimed as I, Dumberer, raced down the slick ladder to Croc Island.
I approached the beastie cautiously, wondering whether this was the greatest idea in the world (probably not.) I put my hand down on the tank armor that comprises crocodile skin, and waited vigilantly for my picture to be taken. When I heard the beastie start hissing, I figured it was time to go.

Me and my my crocodile

But you know what they had at the croc farm? My favorite animal in the world- tigers! And baby white tigers too. I decided that it was my sacred duty to pet them. That’s right, white tiger cubs. Jealous? You’re jeeealllouss.

feeding a white tiger cub!

NO SEX- In Bangkok?

No Sex - In Thailand

At least that’s what the sign said. Having just taken a chartered flight into Bangkok, the first thing I did was look for a Thai massage to help soothe my aches from the bumpy twenty four journey it took me to get here. And who wouldn't, an hour massage costs like $6. Try that on for size.
Stopping in to use the only rest room in the facility, I looked up at a hand written sign which stated emphatically, “No Sex.” It gave me pause for a moment, was this just another comical Asian translation for “Uni-sex,” or was this an explicit warning to their employees not have sex with their clients … at least not in the bathroom.

You actually have to question the meaning as prostitution is probably Bangkok's biggest industry. It's impossible to walk down the street without women throwing themselves upon you. Doing my best Barry Sanders imitation and dodging a thousand hookers on my way back to the hotel, I suddenly felt my ass being pinched. Aggressive aren’t we.
I turn around, some chubby girl states, “I like you.”
“No thanks,” I respond, turning to walk away.
She jumps in front of me. “Come on, why not.”
“I am tired, need sleep.”
“I don’t want money, she replies, just to have fun.”
This was a refrain I hadn’t heard much in Asia, “I don’t want money.” In America, you might hear this more commonly, as most people have their needs taken care of. In Asia, life is much harder, money more scarce; you have tailors accosting you, begging you to come into their shop, women on the street selling their bodies, vendors anxiously hawking pirated film DVD’s.
“You don’t want money?” I asked suspiciously.
“No, you handsome. You have nice eye.”
“Which one?” I asked jokingly, confusing the poor girl.
“Come on. We have fun. No big deal,” she cooed hopefully.

My mind raced furiously to "Yes Man" where my Lord JC (Jim Carrey) taught me to say "YES," to any opportunity, and who am I to defy JC. This was no strings attached, free sex with ... a chubster.

Has there ever been a man in history to turn down no strings attached sex. I’m not sure I’m the first, but certainly among the few. I felt bad though, here she was in Bangkok, where millions of men go each year with the express purpose of paying money for sex, and this poor girl couldn’t give it away.