Travelogue

by Thescarredman Thu 24 Jan 2013 - 23:11

Our little forum girdles the world; our members living in a dozen countries in every hemisphere. Not only do we live in about every time zone, some of us travel frequently. I thought it would be good to share our impressions of the places we live or have traveled to. Maybe a description of some foreign locale will enable one of our writers to add some depth and realism to a locale in his story, or even give birth to a plot bunny.

by Thescarredman Thu 24 Jan 2013 - 23:14

Edisto Island, South Carolina, United States

Edisto is a narrow spit of sand a short drive south of Charleston. It’s the sort of place you can get away from it all, or bring it all with you. I’ve been there twice, and will probably go there again. It’s good for the nerves.

The laid-back vibes begin on the drive there. Where else have you ever seen traffic signs that say things like ‘KEEP DRIVING CHANGE LANES LATER’ and ‘YIELD TO TRAINS’? The turnoff from the state highway onto the island, a narrow two-lane, takes you past swampland that reaches to the shoulder, trees whose branches are weighed down with Spanish moss, and quaint little whitewashed churches. A new half-million-dollar house sits next to a forty-year-old house trailer perched four feet in the air on pillars of cement blocks, with an ‘Edisto hammock’ – an old mattress on a makeshift platform, suspended by ropes from a sturdy limb – gracing the front yard.

A cloud of thick white smoke obscures the road ahead. Another head-scratcher sign: KUDZU BURNING AREA. People standing in the smoldering fields, some raking and throwing out cups of gasoline, making the fires blaze up, others leaning on their implements and chatting. It’s a party. I drive through, slowly, and leave it behind.

The view ahead changes abruptly from trees to ocean, and the road ends at a T junction. I’m on the island. The sand-drifted road parallels the shore, and is lined with houses from eight hundred to three thousand square feet, all on incredibly expensive little lots, half of them right on the beach. Almost all of the houses are raised off the ground eight or ten feet by a forest of posts underneath; the island is only a few feet above high tide, and storms send water flooding inland to the opposite side of the island to fill the marsh that separates it from the mainland. The only other place I’ve seen this sort of construction is in Galveston, which is also just above the waterline, and was wiped off the map by a storm a hundred years ago before the residents learned to build their houses on piers.

The main road is almost the only pavement. Farther back from the shore, the roads are all packed sand, lined with palmetto trees and more cottages. There are no Mickey D’s here. A weathered shack on a rickety pier serves as the local bar, offering three kinds of beer and a gorgeous view of the Atlantic. A Piggly Wiggly handles the groceries, and two tiny restaurants and a pizza joint take care of those who don’t want to cook. My favorite is the Sea Cow, seating capacity about forty people, with an uneven plank floor and tables leveled with old matchbooks – and a breakfast menu that includes breaded shrimp and eggs.

The cottages vary from rustic to luxurious. My favorite has a small sundeck on the roof, accessible by an outside stair. You can stand at the rail and look out over the palmettos shoreward and the ocean seaward, very pretty. Once while I was up there, a huge flock of small birds went flashing overhead, skimming the treetops and passing over my perch so close overhead that I could feel the wind of their passage.

by Kurosaka "Ery" Erika Thu 24 Jan 2013 - 23:28

Semporna,Sabah-Malaysia-

Semporna is a town located in Tawau division, in the east coast of Sabah, Malaysia on the island of Borneo.

Semporna was founded soon after the British North borneo company established Sandakan, and initially settled by Chinese traders. The name Semporna means place of rest and was given after the British quelled resistance from the local Bajaus in the mid-1880s, chan ging it from Tong Talun. Another story is that Semporna was called place to settle or meeting place by four admirals – Panglima Kabogan, Panglima Bum-Bum, Panglima Simunul and Panglima Abdullah.

The majority of the population is Bajau(My races),
many of whom live in sprawling stilt villages over the water on the
outskirts of town. Semporna is located at the tip of Semporna Peninsula
around Lahad Datu Bay (also known as Darvel bay), and is visited by tourists as a base for Scuba diving or snorkeling trips to Pulausipadan (Sipadan Island), some 36 kilometers southeast of town.

Marine products are still the mainstay of the local economy. pearl culturing is a major component of this industry.
Semporna is also known for the Regatta Lepa traditional boat
races which occur annually in April. Semporna was also the location of
the finish line of Eco-Challenge: Borneo, held in 2000. Off the coast is
a marine park called Tun Sakaran marines park also known as Semporna Islands Park.

Semporna is the gateway to diving paradise in world-renowned islands
like Sipadan, Mabul, Kapalai, Mataking, Sibuan, Mantabuan, Siamil &
Pom Pom among others. Visitors to Semporna are mainly sun seekers
looking to relax or to take up water sports activities such as scuba
diving or snorkelling.
For the language;Sabahan Malay Creole is the main language spoken in the area. Semporna is also unique in that it boasts of the only zamboangeno-chavacano-speaking community in Malaysia, a spanish based creole whose speakers can mainly be found only in the Zamboanga area on the neighbouring philipine island of Mindanao.

currently, this town is the place where PASKAL special force were based in, the second PASKAL base out of 2 bases(The other is in Lumut,perak) and and only town in the Borneo area to house the PASKAL special forces base.

for the map of my town; here's the coordinate in google maps: 4.4859,118.617396

by Guest Sat 26 Jan 2013 - 21:12

Lake Placid, New York

For those of you who are into the Olympics, sports buffs, or have aged like a fine wine, you have probably heard of Lake Placid, sight of the Miracle on Ice. I have had the pleasure of visiting Lake Placid three times and it is one of my favorite rural places to visit. Yes, despite all of the hype around the Olympics and other events held at Lake Placid it is still out in the boonies.

It takes several hours of driving into the Adirondacks before you even reach the exit for the town. Despite being a long and boring stretch of highway the mountain views are exquisite with several lakes running along the highway which look more like giant mirrors reflecting the mountains and sky than a lake. Now being a rower it was all I could do from stopping and tossing my shell into the water for a quick row on glass like water.

http://su78crew.deviantart.com/art/Untitled-350772062?ga_submit_new=10%253A1359248809

However I digress, once you leave the main highway for a two lane blacktop road, your mind starts thinking do people actually live out here in the middle of no where, but then you spot random cabins and houses hiding away in the woods. The drive continues on and once you start to feel like you are completely lost, bam!!! you hit down town Lake Placid. Well its more of a one lane town but you get the idea. The town is very small and takes maybe five minutes to drive to the other end with all of the stop signs and lights.

Now here is an interesting little fact the lake in the middle of Lake Placid is actually mirror lake, the actual lake placid is several hills over. Now I had the pleasure of staying at the hotel at the top of the hill over looking lake placid. It's pricey but worth it. (Also the fact that when I stayed there I didn't have to pay, hoorray for penske). Now for me the allure of lake placid is the ample hiking, biking, and other outdoor activities offered on the surrounding lakes and hills. There is a great little hike just outside Lake Placid which when you reach the top offers a stunning view of the surroundings.

http://su78crew.deviantart.com/art/Untitled-350771147?ga_submit_new=10%253A1359248551

Now just be careful on the way down or you might trip and run over a few trees. One other highlight of Lake Placid is the movie theater. It's nothing new and exciting, but it offers and old school charm that makes you think you are sitting in a majestic old theater. The best part is that a ticket, popcorn, and drink all costs less than 10 bucks. All of the eateries in and around lake placid are top notch and there are some wineries that offer free tasting if that is your thing. I would how ever try the Sarnac Root beer it is a small local brew that is some of the best I've ever had.

I could at this point enrapture you with stories of the Olympic Training center but that is another story entirely. I will leave you with this even if you don't visit any of the old olympic venues you will still see the ski jump ramp on your way in and out of town. If you are anything like me after seeing it up close you will being to wonder what the hell is so wrong with some one that throwing themselves of of one of those things seems like a good idea.

by Thescarredman Thu 7 Feb 2013 - 11:10

Churchill Downs, Louisville, Kentucky, USA

The site of the Kentucky Derby, when you see it on television, appears to be a genteel remnant of the antebellum South, with its elegant whitewashed stands and steepled roof. One imagines it far from the bustle of the city, surrounded by fields of bluegrass, hosting elegantly dressed men and women looking down at the straining efforts of the finest thoroughbreds in America’s stables, a temple of the last gentleman’s sport.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Derby Day at the Downs is like a mixture of NASCAR, Mardi Gras and a Brazilian soccer match.

The famous racetrack was probably located a good ways to the south of the city limits when it was built, back when horses carried people and pulled wagons to the races. But the thriving river town has grown and engulfed the old track; Churchill Downs is an inner-city venue now, and not in the best part of town. Rundown houses crowd right up to the stadium on three sides. The parking lot is about the size of a grocery store’s, barely large enough to accommodate its everyday crowd; on Derby Day, all the driveways, carports, back alleys and car-sized patches of lawn within a mile of the track are packed with cars whose owners pay scalper’s prices for a few hours’ easement. On the advice of a friend who lives in Louisville, we arrive hours ahead of the race, but still park our car no closer than a quarter mile away.

A line already stretches fifty yards out the stadium’s only ticket entrance. The air at the gate is festive and a bit raucous, with folks in the back of the line shouting at the ones in front to have their money ready to speed up the line. Many of the people waiting are dressed as if for New Year’s, in bright colors, sequins, and plastic derbies. Many more are wearing the colors of their favorite horses. Some of the ladies are more appropriately dressed for a beach in Miami than for Kentucky in May, but it’s all part of the fun.

Once you pass through the gates, the stadium shows its age. Overhead, the lacy wooden trusswork supporting the oldest part of the stands is in need of paint. Dark corners are grimed with dirt that may well have begun accumulating around the time the Yankees surrendered Fort Sumter. Following tradition, I stop at the Downs’ tiny post office and mail a few commemorative postcards, proof that I was here on Derby Day. I also visit the betting window – nobody goes to the Derby without putting money on a horse. Feeling clever, I bet on every name in the race, just for the smug pleasure of watching ‘my’ horse cross the finish line first, whichever one it may be.

Ticket prices vary widely. On Derby Day, a box seat on the finish line may cost as much as a used car. We choose infield tickets which set us back no more than a day’s pay; we don’t mind watching the race standing up. We enter a tunnel that dives under the ground, come back out into the light again, and turn all around, looking for the track. All we see are tall wooden fences, with more stands beyond. The infield side of the track is lined with temporary bleachers that block all but a section of the back turn; you have to pay an additional fee to pass the fence and take a seat if you want to watch more than three seconds of the race.

But a great many people don’t seem to have come here to watch the race at all. They hammer tall stakes into the ground and string ropes from them, leaving aisles wide or narrow for foot traffic, and spread blankets on their claims. Then everyone heads for the nearest mint julep stand.

Mint juleps are an indispensable accessory to the adult Derby-goer. The sweet alcoholic drink is in everybody’s hand. Surprisingly, they don’t come in paper or plastic containers. The stands serve them in commemorative glasses with the names of every previous winner silkscreened on the side. I heft the heavy glass, thinking it would make a fine weapon in the hands of a drunk. I observe the crowd, some of them already half-lit; the ones seated in their roped-off areas eye passers-by suspiciously, and one jumps up, ready for a fight, when a man stumbles and drops a hand on a rope. I begin to think there may be another reason the infield is enclosed and hidden from the stands.

It occurs to me that I have seen no policemen among the crowd. However, there are a number of cinderblock buildings of unknown purpose scattered throughout the infield, and atop every one I can see stands a uniformed man with binoculars and a radio, scanning the crowd. I surmise that any police presence on the ground is in plainclothes. I also surmise that said police are expecting trouble. I resolve to get out of the infield as soon as the race is over.

Post time draws nearer; we sip our drinks, watching the crowd thicken. The spaces not roped off are jammed shoulder-to-shoulder now, and traveling even to the booze shops is becoming problematic. Ten feet away, a reveler who just had her drink jostled out of her hand addresses the man with the wayward elbow with a torrent of shrill words. My friends turn their heads at a call: someone they know has a roped-off area nearby, and is offering sanctuary. We gratefully accept.

The post-time call sounds, not from a real bugle but from the loudspeakers in the stands. We can’t see the starting line, of course. A singular sight rises into sight from beyond the stadium: a hot-air balloon shaped and colored to exactly resemble a sixty-foot-tall Jack Daniels bottle. Whistles and hooting follows as it lifts over the Downs. These people know how to party.

Beyond the stands, the crowd roars, drowning out the sound of the bell and the chute gates opening. It’s curious: even though we can’t see the race, we can track the horses’ progress around the track by the volume in the stands, which peaks at the front of the pack and is circling the infield in a sort of audible wave. The volume increases as it approaches the finish line, then crashes and dissolves like surf on the rocks. Overhead, I see commemorative glasses arcing through the air like mortar rounds.

Time to go. I gather up our friends and join the stream of people seeking the safety of the tunnel and the stands outside. I don’t bother cashing in my one winning ticket; I’d need the teller to tell me which one it was anyway.

The next day, the Louisville paper runs two stories above the fold on the front page. On the right is a picture of a horse standing with a wreath of flowers around its neck, its owner and trainer holding a big trophy; on the left, two plainclothes cops carrying a bloody-faced man by his upper arms. My native friend tells me the paper typically carries the infield ‘score’, the number of people injured and/or arrested, right next to the story of the race; in Louisville, both ‘contests’ are regarded as part of the day’s entertainment.

This reminisce took place in 1993. I Google the Downs now, and see that it’s undergone a massive extension and renovation – including a huge parking lot. The infield seems much more structured, with a number of permanent buildings. Maybe they restrict the number of infield tickets they sell now.

I long ago lost all my tickets. But I still have the glass.

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