To Cambodia

I checked in at the Zurich airport and paid for my excess baggage. It was CHF 300 that is about $300 for six kilos or 12 pounds. I tried to get the seat in front of mine that was in the exit row but I could not.

I slept most of the way to Charles De Gaulle (CDG) a one-hour flight. I had four hours to kill in CDG. I found a small desk with an electric plug and went to work trying to solve a Lightroom and Photoshop problem.

Working away at a small desk I looked up and there was a crowd in the aisle, everyone was looking down the terminal toward an empty portion of the terminal, to the place where I had just checked to see if I could change my seat. Army personnel had the area blocked off. I guess someone left a bag unattended.

Some time ago, when I was at Orly airport, they had cleared most of the terminal. A while later there was a very loud bang, they had put an explosive on the bag and blown it up.

At CDG, I went back to work. 30 minutes later people were allowed back into the terminal. There was no bang.

I boarded the flight to Bangkok (BKK) just after the families. I was in the second row or coach class and was lucky I got on early, I staked out my place in the overhead. The guy that had the seat in front of me told me how he thinks he got it. Next time.

Boarding early gave me a chance to see all of the other 340 passengers come by. I asked how full we would be and the attendant said there would be about 40 seats free. Not enough to stretch out and sleep.

Usually on a plane I fall asleep during taxi, wake up for takeoff and then back to sleep. On this flight it did not work I was awake the entire flight. It must have been the nap on the flight from Zurich.

We took off from CDG an hour late. I set my watch on what I thought was BKK time. The time on the in flight display had a different time so I set my watch to that. It looked like I would have seven hours to kill in BKK. I was not looking forward to that.

I was one of the first passengers down the gangway into the terminal. A thin Thai boy was holding a sign with my name and those of four others. I introduced myself and stood by while he collected the others. I asked what time it was and was told 13:15. It did not register at the time but my flight to Phnom Penh was to depart at 13:40. It was a jog through the airport to make the Bangkok Airways flight to Phnom Penh. There was NO Way my suitcases would make it.

When I walked into immigration in Phnom Penh, a man held up a sign for me, then helped me fill in the paperwork at immigration and file the claim for my bag.

I made it.

Aftermath of the cut

I try to avoid haircuts in the winter, especially ones that really are close on the back of my neck. The Turkish haircut was a little shorter than I had planned and definitely was tight on the back of my neck.

By the time I got to the hostel in Antwerp I had noticed the lack of neck hair. In the room on the top floor, it was cool and there was no heat.

I ate one of the sandwiches that I had brought along but I was still cold. Ok, I will go out and try to find something hot for dinner. There was no one at the desk in the hostel so I decided to head toward the main street. As I crossed the street, I remembered that the Night Shop owner was Moroccan, I walked in and asked him where I could get something hot. He gave me directions, it was about three blocks. When I walked in, it felt like home, Moroccan brass lamps on the walls and other Moroccan decorations.

The restaurant was a combination of a Belgian Fruuteri (a place with all deep fried food) and a Moroccan restaurant. Everyone in the place looked Moroccan. I ordered Harira and a shrimp tagine. The only tagine they had was lamb, OK, I wanted something hot to eat.

After dinner walking home, I was much warmer. When I reached the third floor room, it seemed like I had not had a hair cut at all.

Oh No!!!!!

It was an early get up then off to the train. The train was empty. Am I on the right train? I looked at the sign on the door and overhead and it was the right train. I took a handicapped seat, because it has a power outlet. Now I can work on my journal for RedR UK.

After we left Mulhouse I unpacked and set to work. I noticed that the IPod was low on charge so I plugged it into the laptop and then I got the power supply for the laptop out. Then I went oh OH NO... The cord for the laptop has an American three prong plug. There was a white adapter on that plug to plug it into the Swiss extension cord. The Swiss plug has three round pins. On the French train there is a place to plug in the two prong French/German style plug. So I can only work as long as the battery will last.


The train stopped in Brussels Luxembourg station, then Schuman station. I wondered if Schuman would be closer to the bank than the North Station but I stayed on the train until the Brussels North Station. I went to look for the bus line. I stopped to ask at a ticket booth and two men from the tram and bus service pulled out a map to show me were to go. They had a faster and shorter route than I had obtained from the internet.

I went to the lower level and hopped on Tram 25 for five stops, then to the number 66 bus for eight stops and I was at the bank. Great!

At the bank I picked up my new credit card that will expire in 2013 and a new electronic ID for PC banking. I said that I did not want the battery in the old electronic ID to run out while I was in Cambodia so the lady gave me three of the new electronic IDs just in case. Then back on the bus to the tram. When I got off the bus, I looked around and on the corner was a barbershop.

I wonder what a hair cut will cost there. I walked in and looked at the price list, €9 for a haircut. That's great. The last haircut I had in Brussels was €25 and the last one in Switzerland was CHF 40. I asked the guy if he spoke English and he said "medium", "short" and "what's your name". I told him moyen in French and he went to work.

He snipped and snipped as the locks of light brown and gray fell on to the Towel. He trimmed my eyebrows and mustache. I thought he was about done. He reached into his tray of tools and pulled out a huge old brown que tip. I thought me must be going to use that to oil his clipper. He squirted some liquid on the to que tip and then he reached for a lighter and lit it. There was a flame about three inches high. NOW WHAT? He placed his flat hand between my eye and ear and flicked the flame at my ear singeing off any hair that he had missed, then to the other side. I have had many haircuts but never this treatment. He had told me he is Turkish; this may be a specific Turkish treatment. Not a bad cut for €9.

I walked up to a crowd of people at the tram stop. Come to find out they were all going my way. A few people got off the tram but it was packed. I had my back pack and the computer. I waited and boarded last. I set my computer bag on top of my backpack and reached back into the crush of people to stamp my ticket. As I pushed my ticket down into the machine, the tram lurched forward, then backward. Forward was not a problem but when it went backward, my computer fell off of the backpack and crashed to the floor. OH NO. I sure hope it is OK. Nothing I can do now I will wait and check it out in Antwerp. I worried all the way to Antwerp. Would it still work?! Back in the North station, I purchased a plug adaptor and wondered if I have just put a bad spell on the computer, purchasing the adapter. As soon as I got to my room in the hostel, I carefully plugged the computer in and check it out. It WORKS!!

I can finally sleep, Fasnacht is over.

I can finally sleep, Fasnacht is over. For the past three days Basel has been engulfed in Fasnacht 2010. (see my photos of Fasnacht on Flickr) Fasnacht is an annual event that has between 15,000 and 20,000 participants and up to 500,000 spectators. This truly Swiss carnival starts on the Monday after Ash Wednesday at precisely 4:00 am. At that moment, all of the street lights in the old town are turned off and the "Three Most Beautiful days" begin. Fasnacht is the Protestant's way of poking fun at the Catholics, by holding a carnival during Lent.

On Monday and Wednesday afternoon, Cliques (groups of participants) parade through the old city. Months before Fasnacht, the Cliques determine their themes, and design costumes, masks, and lanterns to represent the themes. As they march they hand out explanatory leaflets written in the Basel dialect.

During the parade I work my way thought the crowd photographing the marching bands, floats and spectators. Spectators read the handouts that describe the Clique's Sujet (theme). Masked characters known as Waggis toss confetti, covering spectators, and from time to time me and my camera. It's all in fun. The Waggis also hand out treats ranging from oranges and flowers to small bottles of schnapps.

Monday evening the large lanterns pulled by the Cliques are parked on the Munsterplatz (the square in front of the cathedral). This is a chance for me, the spectators and Clique's members to have a close look at the messages on the lanterns and the fabulous workmanship.

The children's parade is on Tuesday afternoon. On Monday and Tuesday evening the Kellers (cellars where the Cliques meet) are opened as bars for Schnitzelbängg, which is singing and acting out humorous sayings and jingles about current events and happenings from the past year. I don't understand the Basler dialect but watching the way the crowd respond to the comedians it is clear that the rhythmic lyrics lead up to a punch line that really hits the spot.

Gässle is the wandering through the narrow alleyways of the old city by masked individuals and groups at all hours of the day and night. As they play fifes and drums, spectators march behind them. Fasnacht continues until exactly 4 am Thursday morning. When the clock strikes four this time the city falls silent. I can go back to sleep.

For information on Fasnacht 2011 see www.fasnachts-comite.ch

Monks quarters

The training center must be a very old house or some type of orphanage, lots of small rooms. The upkeep has not great.

My room is on the second floor, above the large classrooms, and behind a set of double fire doors. As soon as I walked onto the floor, I saw three very basic toilet stalls, which reminded me think of a military barracks. I walked down the long gray corridor floored with a very worn carpet and opened the door to my room.

Aha, I thought, this is quarters for a monk. The room is small and Spartan. There was a small sink, an old Ikea cabinet for clothes, a chair, and small table. Behind the door is the bed which just fits in the small space.

When I unpacked, I opened the old cabinet to find a half dozen non matching hangers and an old gray wool blanket in the bottom and. I hung up my shirts, and then opened the cabinet again to put away socks. Hmm, there is no shelf. Ok, socks can stay in my back pack.

I went to the sink and turned the cold water knob. It spun freely like a top. I guess there's no water. Finally I pressed down on the faucets and that did work. When I pressed the faucet it starts running and keeps running for a minute or two. The faucets are also reversed from what I think of as normal, with hot on the right and cold on the left. I'll get used to it.

Why are you coming to the UK?

4:00 am came early, but I had time for a bite before heading for the airport.

The plane was full and I was in the center seat of row 20, the last row before the toilets. The noise in the back of the plane with an engine on each side was almost more than my earplugs and noise reduction headset could handle.

Little did I know this would be a small irritation.

When I arrived at passport control I was at the end of the line. My line, those not having a UK or EU passport was rather short, but I was at the end of it. The immigration official asked where I was staying; I dug around in my computer bag and found the instruction to the training center and handed that to her. Then she asked what my occupation was, and why I was coming to the UK. When I said I was going to a training course, she asked for my invitation letter. I looked through papers for something that might say that I had two training courses for my future volunteer assignment. Nope, nothing like that printed out.

She told me to take a seat and kept my passport while she disappeared for 10 minutes or so. She called the training center and they thought I was a Dutch national. This is not looking good. After a few minutes more, she let me go with a stern warning, If you come to the UK again, be sure to have a copy of your invitation with you.

I walked into customs and headed for the "nothing to declare" door, where I was stopped by the immigration lady's friend. This one went through my back pack and asked the same questions her colleague had asked. This is getting a little old.

After clearing customs, I passed a policeman, and expected him to stop me and ask me questions. I am sure I had Terrorist American stamped all over me.

From the airport arrival hall to the training location is about an hour of monorail, rickety old train, and an even older bus. When I arrived at the training center, there was a closed automatic gate at the entrance. I pushed the button and waited. Then I pushed it again, and nothing happened. I thought there should be someone around, after all the immigration people called the training center. OK, I hate to use my Swiss mobile phone because this will be an expensive call but I was getting cold. I called and the training center manager said she would open the gate as soon as she could.

I have made it.

From Today

Today was another packing and cleaning day.

At 17:30 it was off to the tram, to the train to Zurich for a very early morning flight tomorrow to Birmingham where I have a weekend training course.

At the train station there was long line waiting to purchase tickets, so I used the automated ticket machine (There is an English option, thank god). It took about 100 punches on the screen, my right index finger is a bit shorter after this, but in the end I managed to purchase a ticket to Rumland, the train stop for the Holiday Inn Express. I'm on a roll; I will try to purchase the ticket from the airport back to Basel. Another long set of punches but I did it! The machine asked "from today" I punched yes. I assumed that means that the ticket is good today and into the future.

I made the 18:07 to the Zurich main train station, ate my three-sandwich dinner, and listened to the Economist.

When I arrived in Zurich, as I reached the bottom of the escalator, a train powered its way past me. It was the 19:07 train to Rumland. I now have half an hour to wait.

In the main station, I asked at Information if my return ticket is OK, because it said From Today. The lady in the blue train uniform looked at the ticket and said it was only good for today. I had that feeling. Could I exchange it? She pointed to a glassed-in area behind her.

In the ticket area the ticket agent confirmed that the ticket was only good today. She could not exchange it; I needed to try in another office at the other end of the station. Exchanging the ticket was easy, and I was back at the platform at 19:25.

The ride to Rumland was short, only four stops. As the train pulled into the station, it was raining, but I could see the Holiday Inn Express, great it will not be a long walk. I pulled up the hood on my coat and walked the kilometer to the hotel.

At reception, they said the first bus to the airport is at 05:00, with breakfast available from 04:00. WOW, I will get a bite before I leave.