Isn't this just precious?

The penis ashtray!

Available at several stalls in Waikiki, this piece amazed me as much for its lack of reason as for its lack of taste and aesthetics. This was the only stand that dressed its cock ashtrays up in little grass skirts.

Having gotten that out of the way, I’m now going on to a couple of so-called souvenirs that I consider the worst, rather than the tackiest. These are small animals that have been murdered, puffed up, and shellacked for the amusement of ignorant tourists. I don’t give a damn how politically correct I sound–I don’t like this practice AT ALL.

Porcupine fish, lizards, frogs, and pretty much all other animals do not exist solely for our amusement. They’re living critters, and they deserve a modicum of respect. That doesn’t mean I’m a vegan–in fact I’m a devout omnivore. I will kill a fish or an animal or condone the killing of them to feed and clothe myself. And I’ll feel grateful for my place at the top of the food chain that permits me to do this.

Killing little frogs in order to lacquer their bodies and stick them beneath little teeny beer bongs is just horrid. I saw precisely these things in Mexico. Then, in Hawaii, I saw dozens of porcupine fish blown up and shellacked, then used as light fixtures. Or just sold as-is, as cheap souvenirs.

I’d far, far rather take a hike into Mexico’s back country to see the little frogs hopping about or snorkel the reefs of Hawaii in hopes of seeing a porcupine fish swimming about in its native habitat. In fact it’s the place of these unique creatures within their home domains that makes them so special. Dead and shiny in tacky souvenir stalls, they become merely pathetic.

If feeling this way makes me a hippie, well smoke me some granola. And please, think about voting with your wallet and refusing to buy poor little dead animals to commemorate your travels. Get a penis ashtray instead–at least it’s sustainable!

The Camel’s Ass by Tim Brookes

Not only is the writing lyrical, the story itself speaks to my heart as a tourist and traveler. More than that, Mr. Brookes speaks the truth. All the oh-so-adventurous (white male American and European) travel writers in the world can’t beat down the reality–a big part of travel is leisure. Luxury. Being treated differently from the locals. Brookes even uses the plague-ridden word “tourist” as though it applies to him–a travel writer.

And that’s okay.

That is, I’m a blogger for Oyster Locals. Oyster Hotel Reviews is a new(ish) web site that provides comprehensive hotel reviews. To me, it’s like reading what a AAA Guide might say if it had the space, with a hearty dose of Moon Handbook-style individual writer’s personality. The folks at Oyster have a pretty good handle on what teh Innerwebz can offer to a travel guide, and have taken advantage of the web’s strengths and now-cheap bandwidth.

They’ve just put up their first two West Coast sites–LA and San Francisco. Turns out that most of my favorite SF hotels are “gay-friendly.” Why am I not surprised?

Oyster’s other new content site is Oyster Locals–a pro multi-author travel blog covering attractions, restaurants, and activities in the cities and islands where they do hotel reviews. That’s where I’m writing. I am the first Oyster San Francisco blogger! In fact, I seem to be the first Oyster Not-NYC blogger.

I’ll be reposting blurbs and links to my Oyster posts here and on Travels With Pain.

Let the fun begin!

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/france/6259044/McDonalds-restaurants-to-open-at-the-Louvre.html#

But I feel compelled to mention a few things:

1. Le Carousel du Louvre is not actually within the Musee du Louvre. As mentioned in the article, le Carousel is in fact an underground shopping mall that sits adjacent to le Musee. It’s not even a good underground shopping mall–it really does have a Tie Rack.

2. McDonalds awnings litter the sidewalks of Paris almost as thickly as dog crap. This has been the case for a couple of decades now. Don’t like this fact? Then on your next trip to Paris, don’t eat at McDonalds.

And while you’re at it, quit eating at McAngioplasty when you’re Stateside or anywhere else on the planet. Thank you.

3. Have you ever tasted the so-called food they serve at the Louvre museum cafe? YUCK! I swear by all I hold holy (including true Parisian croissants buerre and cafe creme) that the walk-up “cafe” under the Pyramid imports its baguettes from Iowa. Once annually.  Believe that I mean to be utterly insulting when I say that adding a McDonald’s won’t make the range of offerings all that much worse.

Photo by nallstar on flickr

Umberto Eco named the rose (well, guest curator) of the Louvre

Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum followed me all over Paris the winter I was a student there as my Metro book. Much of the novel is set in Paris. One week my dad came to visit me there, and we spent days chasing down the “locations” in the book. Our major failure in this project was the Musee des Arts et Metiers–it had just closed for renovations. Said renovations lasted for about seven years, but the Musee is finally open. It’s been rearranged, but the creepy old tracks and weird old vehicles still provide atmosphere in the room where the Pendulum sways.

We did learn that Eco pays attention to detail in his research–the street address in the bad neighborhood that’s described in the novel as a secret door to the tunnels under the city where the mystical telluric currents run. In real life, the door leads into an RER substation. That is, it’s a not-very-secret door (with little brass plaque) that leads to the tunnels under the city where the commuter trains run.

It’s obvious that I’ll need to head back to Paris sometime in the next twelvemonth. So sad!

Who are these people???

SFGate: Passenger flashes, then punches woman, strips naked

What possesses a man to get onto an airplane, sit down, and whip it out? Then punch the woman who screamed because she didn’t want to see it? Then strip naked at >25,000 feet and try to run away?

How far do these fellows think they’re going to get?

Photo by Stephen Cummings on flickr.

Please put more towel racks in the bathroom! Not hooks, racks, or bars, or whatever they call them at the OverPriced Designer Warehouse these days.

I really do want to hang up my towels so that I can save millions of gallons of water and thousands of pounds of detergent each year like the little laminated sign on the toilet requests. But if there are no towel racks, I can’t freakin’ hang up the towels. They don’t dry if they’re on hooks or wadded up on the bed. And if anyone else is staying in my room, it’s not practical to hang them over the shower bar.

Maybe you could purchase two less beaded silk decorated pillows for each bed, and buy a towel rack for each bathroom instead.

I’ve gotten a dress and shoes and jewelry especially for this event. Yes, there will be photos. Of me, of the wedding party, and the attendees. And of as many people as I can manage to photograph who are dressed more outrageously than myself and my friends. Especially those who don’t believe they’re wearing costumes.

I can’t wait!

This travel style definitely won’t work for everyone (yes I’m looking at you, Mom) but I might have to try it sometime. It sounds like fabulous fun and a great way to see the sights without the PitA of having to rush back to the hotel every night. Granted, I’d have to work something out as pertains to the nighttime restroom facilities.

Frugality now fashionable…and necessary

What I like is precisely the title of this article–that frugality is now not just a necessity, it is actually in fashion. Everyone who asks me for travel advice has a budget now. Questions run to “Where can I find a romantic B&B on the coast for under $200 per night?”

It’s not that I don’t like luxury. I *love* the occasional stay in a posh resort with a fabulous private hot tub. But I do think that this is something special, something worth saving up for, something I want to appreciate for the valuable treasure it is. If I lived at the Ventana, it would become everyday for me.

Not that this would be completely sad…