Noodle Talk

Stop laughing fucktard!

2006-03-25T22:40:00.000-08:00

Last summer in Thailand, Noodles spent every afternoon in sweaty cafes, sipping pineapple shakes and watching bootleg DVDs of all the newly-released Hollywood blockbusters. If the movie was good, we could buy our own copy for about $3. And if the movie sucked, hey, what's $3?

Well, to Tinsletown brass, those three bucks are about eight to twelve dollars less than they would have ripped you off for back home for the same piece of shit at the local stadiumplex box office or Best Buy outlet. After our last few nights out at the movies in L.A., it's clear that Hollywood is seriously pissed about these inroads into their previously pure profit vomit. And unlike that 40 baht tranny whore you got the "massage" from back on Koh Samui Boulevard, these guys aren't going to take it lying down.

On Thursday, Noodles went to a free, sneak preview of "Running With Scissors," a new movie based on the dysfunctional-family memoir by that gay guy who's not as funny as David Sedaris. We passed through four security check points, had our purses thoroughly searched before entering the theater (for cell phone cameras, not bombs), and received a stern admonishment by some asshole who thinks carrying a clipboard makes him important that making any recording during the movie was illegal and, of course, punishable by death (even Hollywood has to admit, there are some parts of the Thai legal system worth co-opting).

Turns out the movie was so bad, the studio's best chances for earning any ROI are on the streets of Phat Phyong as a free giveaway with the full-price purchase of a fake MurakamiVuitton. But that didn't stop the screening company from employing bouncer-style goons to stand at the front of the theater throughout the entire movie and scan the audience with infrared telescope binnoculars looking for bootleggers. Fortunately, any potential pirateers in the crowd were struck catatonic by the film's banality and we never got to see whether the "copyright enforcement officers" would actually shoot upon discovering such a degenerate.

Tonight, Noodles went to see "Thank You For Smoking," a satirical comedy about a smooth talking tobacco lobbyist. Although Noodles were split in their final take on the film, both agreed it was more consistently funny than most recent movies they'd seen. To the guy sitting next to us in the theater, though, this was clearly the understatement of the year. This guy laughed at every line of every joke in every scene during the entire movie. And not just a wry chuckle or two as might be expected in response to the movie's witty subtleties. No, these were full-bodied, throw your head back, I'm a professional laugh track vocalist, kinds of laughs. So annoying to nearby moviegoers who had just paid $12 each to see the movie! Yet, conveniently, so effective at ruining the sound quality of any bootleg being made in the near vicinity. Is that industry payola we hear rattling around in this guy's pockets? (Er, would have heard if he hadn't just coughed up a lung laughing so loudly at a mundane boobie joke).

Which brings us to our final movie outing in recent months in which we can't help but feel that the studios have become unconscionably bold in their intrusiveness into the movie going experience. The audience for this film featured the same giggling bafoon, strategically seated two seats away, valiantly serving the American ideals of justice, liberty and intellectual property rights with his cackle blocking of any would-be bootleggers. And studios love investing in this guy becuase his uproarious laughter and drunken, Paul Abdul seal-claps of approval also remind audiences that the mediocre movie they are watching is actually fucking hysterical. But just in case those efforts are too subtle, the studio behind this movie actually hired a team of "activists" dressed in white lab coats to descend on movie-goers after the film and plead for us to complete a survey about the movie we had just seen. Only with our help, they claimed, could this incredibly funny movie get the wide-release distribution it deserved. To feed a starving child in Africa for a week and send this movie to the mutliplex in Dubuque, all we needed to do is circle "5" for every question on the form. It feels so good just knowing that you are part of the solution.

Perhaps going out to the movies is proving too much for the cynical Noodles. Maybe we should all just stay home and see what the Tivo has dragged in. Tonight's offer: "Maria Shriver and Oprah's friend Gayle look into America's poor."

What was wrong with the Oscars - a few key bullet points:

2006-03-07T10:12:00.000-08:00

Besides being the least entertaining telecast OF ALL TIME, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is a delusional faded actress from another time period still pleading for her close up Mr. Demille.

That said, Gil Cates needs to be voted off the island. Every year, within weeks leading up to The Big Night, producer Cates makes the rounds spreading the false word that, this year's awards will be different, will be lively, and most of all will entertain. Like our own president, Cates has proven himself an insurgent of truth.

Jessica Alba. As a presenter. Come on, the Oscars are supposed to be a classy joint.

Showing movie montages with clips of movies that were made before 1950. 99.9% of the viewing audience has neither heard of or seen a movie made before 1950 unless it is Gone With the Wind. You don't see the Grammys reminiscing about the days when The Hookilau swept the nation. No, the Grammys keep it fresh. Late 20th Century is as far back as they will go to be self congratlatory as an industry. Point being, let it go Oscars. It's done, it was great, move on.

Crash wins for best picture. One Noodle loses all faith in The Academy. Crash is an unrealistic and ugly film with a message that is ever so subtley pounded into your face for a good 113 minutes. Awful. That movie is AWFUL. LA is a melting pot of cultural diversity, not an ignorant racist small town as Crash leaves one to believe.

That's pretty much it. Bahh.

2006 Choice Awards

2006-02-27T22:06:00.000-08:00

For your consideration:

BEST MOTION PICTURE:
Brokeback Mountain
Shopgirl
The Squid and the Whale
Jarhead
Melinda & Melinda
Munich

BEST DIRECTOR:
Ang Lee – Brokeback Mountain
Steven Speilberg – Munich
Noah Baumbach- The Squid and the Whale

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTOR IN A MOTION PICTURE:
Jeff Daniels – The Squid and the Whale
Heath Ledger – Brokeback Mountain
Joaquin Phoenix – Walk the Line
Jason Scwartzman – Shopgirl
Phillip Seymour Hoffman – Capote
Felicity Huffman - Transamerica

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ACTRESS IN A MOTION PICTURE:
Claire Danes – Shop Girl
Laura Linney – The Squid and the Whale
Rhada Mitchel – Melinda & Melinda
Felicity Huffman - Transamerica

BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR IN A MOTION PICTURE:
Will Ferrel – Melinda & Melinda
Peter Sarsgaard – Jarhead
Ed Harris A History of Violence
Billy Baldwin – The Squid and the Whale

BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS IN A MOTION PICTURE:
Maria Bello – A History of Violence
Rosario Dawson - Rent
Michelle Williams – Brokeback Mountain

BEST PERFORMANCE BY A KID IN A MOTION PICTURE:
Younger brother – The Squid and the Whale
Younger brother – You and Me and Everyone We Know
Rocco Ritchie – I’m Going To Tell You a Secret

BEST PERFORMANCE BY AN ANIMAL IN A MOTION PICTURE:
Bear that eats the documentary subject– Grizzly Man
437th penguin from the front – March of the Penguins
Winn Dixie – Because of Winn Dixie
Vince Vaughn – Wedding Crashers

BEST DOCUMENTARY:
Grizzly Man
Murderball
Rize
Wal-Mart: High Cost of Low Price
Madonna's I'm Going to Tell You a Secret

WORST MOTION PICTURE:
Dukes of Hazard
The Producers
Rent (sad, but true)
War of the Worlds
Be Cool
Monster in Law
Rumor Has It

BEST LINE FROM A MOVIE:
“I wish I could quit you” – Ennis DelMar, Brokeback Mountain
“Poop back and forth. Forever” – Younger brother, You and Me and Everyone We Know
“I’ve been reading a lot of books on tape.” – Jeremy, Shopgirl
"But I'm a philistine." - younger brother - The Squid and the Whale
“Don’t fuck with Mr. Zero.” – sorry, wrong decade

BEST "FORMULA" MOTION PICTURE:
Mrs. Henderson Presents – quirky British dame flouts convention by betting on naked boobies to bring the house down. Second only to the invasion at Normandy, her free-spirited, “this just might work” ideas are actually responsible for Allied victory in WWII.

In Her Shoes – Stupid girls are blond and pretty. Smart girls are chubby and worry too much about their careers. Can’t we all just get along? Just be beautiful and flaky and your dreams will come true. If you were less responsible and not so ugly, you’d have a better life.

King Kong – Giant monkey beats the shit out of dinosaurs. All boys in audience pop boners of joy. Hot girl falls for rebellious bad boy monkey and his barbaric ways.

The Upside of Anger – Rich anorexic mom has four beautiful daughters, none of which are slutty or on drugs. This makes mom miserable. Meanwhile, dad falls into a hole in the backyard and dies. White people are crazy.

Rent – Slackers hate working but love singing about AIDS.. Let’s get the original cast, now in their 40s, to reprise their roles as disaffected youth. If it works on Broaday, all we need is Chris Colombus to make it work at the multiplex in Omaha.

THANK YOU FOR SINGLE-HANDEDLY RUINING THE FILM:
Chris Columbus (director) - RENT
Winn Dixie – Because of Winn Dixie
Mike Binder (director and loser boyfriend of teenage daughter)- The Upside of Anger

MOST OVERHYPED FILM:
MatchPoint
Mr. And Mrs. Smith
Dukes of Hazard
War of the Worlds
Hustle and Flow
Crash

WORST TRAILER:
Breakfast on Pluto
Millions
Mrs. Henderson Presents
The Family Stone (a comedy without a single funny moment in the trailer)

WORST TITLE:
Because of Winn-Dixie
Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants
Must Love Dogs
Chumscrubber
The Constant Gardener

BEST 'BROKEBACK' INSPIRED PORN TITLES:
Bareback Mount Him
Humpback Mountain
Buttsmack Pounding
Must Love Dogs

MOST OVEREXPOSED IN 2005:
Eva Longoria
TomKat
Jessica Simpson
Gay cowboys
Brangelina
Vaughnifer

MOST LIKELY TO SHOW UP AT THE ACADEMY AWARDS FLYING ON OXYCONTIN:
Jonathan Rhys Meyers
Colin Ferrell
Dave Chappelle
Ryan Seacrest
Teri Hatcher
George Michael

MOST DEHYDRATED/EXHAUSTED CELEBRITY OF 2005:
Ashlee Simpson
Whitney Houston
Tara Reid
Lindsay Lohan
Michael Jackson

GO AWAY!:
Maria Menounos
Billy Bush
Lindsay Lohan
Eva Longoria

BEST DRESSED ON THE RED CARPET:
Scarlett Johannsen
Penguins from Walk of the Penguins
Johnny Depp
Charlize Theron

BEST CELEBRITY KATRINA AID APPEARANCE:
Kanye West

MOST ANNOYING THING ABOUT ACCESS HOLLYWOOD IN 2005:
Access Express (choo choo!)
Maria Menounos’ laugh
Billy Bush fighting with Jessica Simpson’s publicist
Nancy O’Dell’s perma-pose: hands clasped in front of non-existant tummy bulge, right leg strategically placed diagnalloy in front of left to make nonestistant things appear thinner

PRETTIEST COUPLE:
Brad and Angelina
Rosario Dawson and Jason Lewis
Jude Law and Sienna Miller

SPECIAL SOYNOODLES POLL - BABY BRANGELINA IS GOING TO LOOK LIKE:
Brad
Angie
Maddox
Jon Voight

Breakfast slop and a Muppet review

2005-12-15T15:53:00.000-08:00

Is anybody out there? Is this blog echoing? One Noodle is considering turning this blog into every other blog that's out there - full of gripes and moans, movie reviews, and daily ramblings about trips to Trader Joe's, holiday shopping and all kinds of other boring shit that nobody really cares about - except the writer of this blog. Se moi, Noodle.

One Noodle attended her company's annual holiday breakfast this morning. Hordes of underpaid employees packing their lovely lady humps into their $170 True Religion jeans lined up around the block to shove normally unwanted carbs into their mouths. Carbs that you don't have to pay for obviously don't count. Along with the carbs, batches of yellow runny slop trying to be eggs were scooped onto our trays while cheery white people dressed up like Mrs. Claus and her posse of plus-sized dip-shits sang Christmas carols.

When food is free, people tend to lose their fucking minds. Men stacked their trays with every imagineable animal carcus and then ran back to their cubicles to troff out. The girls pretty much stuck to the free carbs. Atkins is officially dead and buried.

The Noodle enjoyed her free breakfast. Though all things considered, she would much rather have a Christmas bonus in her pocket than a stack of undigested "eggs" in her tummy. There's always next year.

In other news...
Muppets Go to Oz is unwatchable. This Noodle laughed when they finally got to Oz and one Muppet turned to the camera and said, "If you have Dark Side of the Moon, push play now." That was funny. But even that brilliant line couldn't save the rest of the movie from getting a BOO! review.

Noodles Greatest Hits and some Misses

2005-10-02T10:53:00.000-07:00

Now that we've returned, everyone wants to know, "So,what was your favorite place?" Each and every place we visited (except for Swishy, Poland - we hated that place) had its own special trait or quality or local food that we loved. And so we've come up with a list of favorites and not so favorites.

BEST FOOD: Israel (freshest fruit and vegetables and unbelievable hummous!) and Thailand (every kind of food you could ever dream of having available for pennies and totally delicious)

BEST LOOKING PEOPLE: Buenos Aires, Argentina

WORST LOOKING PEOPLE: Swishy, Poland

MOST EXPENSIVE DRINK: Park Hyatt, Tokyo 1700 yen martinis

CHEAPEST DRINK: Bottled water, Prague grocery store, 4 cents.

WEIRDEST CULTURAL EXPERIENCE: Candomble, Brazil

NICEST BEACH: Bamboo Island off Koh Phi Phi, Thailand, Lopez Mendez in Ilha Grande, Brazil, and Kailua Beach, Oahu

BEST TRAVEL ACCESORY: Ambien and anti-bacterial gel

MOST STYLISH CITIES, AKA BEST DRESSED: Reykjavik, Copenhagen, and Harajuku

WORLD'S BIGGEST TREND: Livestrong bracelets and their spinoff colors

WORLD'S FAVORITE SONG: Lonely, by Akon

WORLD'S FAVORITE BOOK: The Da Vinci Code

WORLD'S FAVORITE ACTOR: Ashton Kutcher - no matter what mode of transportation we were on, all over the world, they were always showing an Ashton Kutcher movie

WORLD'S MOST POPULAR DOG: Weenie

BEST PUBLIC TRANSPORT: Japan. As our friend Rebecca likes to say, their motto should be, "Even if someone jumps in front of the train, we are always on time."

BEST TAN: Cousin Rochelle (also, best Guest Noodle)

LONGEST LENGTH OF TRAVEL: 17 hour bus ride, Argentina

BEST DISCOUNT AIRLINE: Gol (Brazil) and Bangkok Air (Thailand)

We'll try and think of more and add later. There's been some extreme pressure to get a new blog up - we're buckling under the pressure.

In the meantime, keep checking back at soynoodles. We will try to keep this thing going for as long as possible.

The rest of Japan

2005-09-16T19:57:00.000-07:00

We're not done yet!

While Kirstie Peen Superstar went off to work to continue generating the highest revenue at her company for the third straight quarter and Typhoon Amadeus (better known among less dramatic peoples as "rain") decended on Tokyo, the Noodles took a day trip down to Kisarazu where Ande lived for 2 years "teaching English" and showing confused Japanese kids E.T. and The Breakfast Club. Ande toured Jen around all of Kisarazu's hippest spots, including the Japanese Gemco clone, Jusco, where Ande spent all of her depressed hours in 'Pan cruising the food aisles crying that there was no hummous (but basking in the air conditioning).

Jusco!

Jusco's best selling pencil case. It speaks the truf.

We also met up with Ande's old friend Kumiko, full-time piano tuner and part-time cat groomer. Here's Kumi's cat Banana, freshly cut the day before we arrived. Banana was secretly shy that Kumi's cut left him with Ugg-like booties around his angles. Uggs are so last season.

Banana dreams of cooler, Marc Jacobs-tassled paws

Kumi and Ande pose by Rebecca's old car

Kumi-chan took us out for great okonomiyaki - a delicious carb-filled Japanese treat that you cook yourself at your table.

Kumi at okonomiyaki - yum!

Back in Tokyo, the Peen continued her efforts to be crowned best Noodle Host of all time (right up there with Kater, Ilana, Sharon, Roussenqs, and Team Aba). So she put the three of us on a Shinkansen (Bullet Train) that shot us straight to Karuizawa, a trendy, but relaxed, mountain town near Nagano where dogs run around in designer jeans and Adidas track suits and people get out of their cars for 5 minutes to ride bikes.

People come to Karuizawa to escape this grind

The girls strike a professional pose on the deck of the company cabin

You don't even need to lock your bikes in Karuizawa (or in all of Japan for that matter)

Peen and Jen take on Karuizawa town

This Karuizawa dog is wearing jean shorts (not shown is his sister in a jean skirt)

Can someone explain once and for all why we don't have a bullet train between L.A. and Vegas?

This square watermelon costs $52 USD (the boring round one is a steal at only $50)

We spent the weekend in Kirstie's company's gorgeous mountain cabin where we relaxed, played and ate. Kirstie prepared her famous (famous for about 3 weeks now) summer fruits curry. We loved it. We also took a trip to the nearby Onsen (Japanese hot spring) where the sight of three naked gaijin was too much for the locals to handle. They stared, pointed, and giggled and Ande felt suddenly nostalgic for the good old days living in Japan. Yeah, no.

A moment of serene reflection outside the onsen. Next stop: naked with strangers.

Our last few days in Japan were spent running around Harajuku, Ebisu, and Akihabara trying to take a decent print club picture. We also stopped by Mejijingu Temple in Shinjuku where Jen had sworn Kirstie had taken her to on her last trip to Japan. But as it turned out, Kirstie merely took Jen to a Burger King, and told Jen that was the famous Temple. We walked around reading the notes and wishes people had written on traditional wooden placards and tied with red ribbons onto a wishng wall, and overheard a poor, unfortunate soul utter the words, 'I wish I could get out of my loser phase' before penning it on a block of wood and adding it to the wall of wishes.

Peace on earth. Health and happiness for people and dogs. And at last, things are looking up for Joyride (see no. 5)

Hey, last time Jen was at Meijijingu, it smelled like french fries.

The Noodles also managed a day trip to Matsushima, known as 'the third best view of Japan," which after visiting and looking in vain for scenic, mountain panoramics, we think just means that it has nice things to look at, and not that it gives you a great view of something else. Anyway, it was gorgeous and had a number of beautiful temples and gardens.

Ande in Matsushima

Jen in Matsushima

From a temple in Matsushima

On our very last night in Japan, Peener outdid herself by taking the Noodles and Kumiko to the bar at the top of the Park Hyatt in Shinjuku where Bill Murray meets Scarlett Johanson in Lost in Translation. We got there five minutes before last call (12:00am - why so early??) and were able to enjoy the most expensive drinks we've ever sipped - 1700 yen (around $17) for a martini. Good thing we only had time for one drink. We closed down the bar and then headed over to Peen's friend Kei's cutest little bar.

Ande and Kumi-chan mesmerized by the view at the Park Hyatt Tokyo

Scarlett Johansen wouldn't have been as alluring if she had to down a Spciy Avocado Martini like Ande - Park Hyatt Tokyo

Can it really be that our time in Japan is over?!? We miss it already. Thank you Peen! Thank you Kumi-chan! Thank you Japan!

Not done yet...

2005-09-13T12:04:00.000-07:00

For those of you still checking in - we're not done yet. We've got a few more entrys coming. Soon. Promise!

The end of Thailand, beginning of Japan

2005-08-24T23:53:00.000-07:00

We left off with us back in Koh Samui, this time staying at the more upscale Baan Chaweng Beach Resort and Spa. It was a nice place with good deals on their older bungalow rooms. We didn't do much on Samui - ate at The Deck and got massages. In a rare moment of poor decision making, we ended up getting a foot massage one night in a sketchy room on Hooker Alley. It was by far the worst foot massage we've ever gotten. From the way the masseuses were greasing up our calves and rubbing our legs up and down, it was obvious their real skills lay elsewhere.

After another day relaxing on the beach on Koh Samui,
we took the ferry back to Koh Phangan and headed over to The Sanctuary. The hippies who worked at The Sanctuary botched our reservation and so we ended up negotiating a stay in their nicest bungalow for a cheaper rate. The bungalow was incredible - a 360 degree tree house built high up on the cliffs overlooking Haat Tien beach. With no walls or windows we had a number of guest roomates from the animal kingdom including a ridiculously large bat who flew into our room causing us, in so many words, to fucking freak out.

Our bungalow at The Sanctuary

View from our bungalow at The Sanctuary when we weren't hiding under the bed afraid of the bat

Another guest roomate. His mother was a leaf, his father was a praying mantis. We call him Mr. Overholt (shout out to our Hale Jr. High Class of 1990 readers).

Other *lesser* bungalows at The Sanctuary

People go to The Sanctuary to fast and do colonics. But the food in their restaurant is too good, so we compromised with a 2 day raw foods only "mini-cleanse" and then food free-for-all after that. We also indulged in a Balinese Body Scrub at the Sanctuary's spa that included a full body rub down with a hot ginger scrub, a cool down dunk in homemade yogurt, and then some sliced cucumbers layered gently over your face. The Body Scrub occurred on day 2 of our mini-fast. Ande tried to eat the cucumbers as they were being applied to her face.

Noodles of the Sea, Noodles of the Sand - beach at Haat Tien in front of The Sanctuary

Flowers. In Thailand.

After The Sanctuary, we headed over to the northwest side of Koh Phangan and spent a couple days on the beach at Haad Yao. We stayed at the High Life Bungalows perched on the southernmost cliff above the beach. It was a cool place and very cheap. The name pretty much says it all; the friendly receptionist didn't bother to put down his joint when he checked us in.

View from High Life Bungalows

After leaving the islands, we spent a few days in Bangkok with Ande's college friends Kate and Matt. They're teachers in Bangkok and claim to have at least 4 kids in every class named Porn. The Noodles had both been to Bangkok before and hated it. But Kate and Matt were such amazing hosts. They showed us a side of Bangkok we didn' think existed - a cool and fun side where you're not sucking down tuk-tuk fumes 24-7. Here's Kate's and Matt's expressions after the Prime Minister of Thailand walked into the sushi restaurant we were eating in (his name is *not* Porn).

Tan or just dirty? Kate and Matt take the Noodles to a Bangkok bar called Tapas. There were no tapas. Only whiskey.

Next up, the Chadachuk (sp?) weekend market in Bangkok. You can buy everything there - underwear, monkeys, pad thai. And at last Jen was able to get a good bargain on those giant, dried pea pods she loves.

Some thoughtful shoppers put together this shrine to the god of Fanta.

Kate and the rest of the Thai fitness buffs spend their days jogging, stretching and aerobicizing 80's style in Bangkok's Lhumpini Park. But when the Thai national anthem is broadcast over loudspeakers every day at 6pm, everyone immediately stops in their tracks and stands at attention. Being the superstar host that she is, of course Kate managed to get us to Lhumpini Park exactly at 6pm in time for the show.

Standing at attention for the national anthem. When the song was over, we continued with our 10 km jog.

We left Bangkok sad to say goodbye to Kate and Matt and a city we were just getting to know all over again. But arriving in Tokyo, we were greeted by another incredible host in a long line of incredible hosts - Kirstie (Peen).

Kirstie-chan and Jen embrace the madness of the world's busiest intersection in Shibuya, Tokyo

Shibuya main intersection by day

Night view from Legato Bar in Shibuya - known as one of the best views in Tokyo

Peener takes the Noodles out to lunch in a glass pod - Ebisu, Tokyo

After the glass pod, we ate Japanese food in an Indian teepee. Nawa restaurant in Ebisu

There is one Japanese hippie and we met him and his dog inside our teepee at Nawa

Noodles went shopping in Daikonyama and Harajuku and discovered Tokyo's latest boom: designer dog clothes. The saleslady helped us put the clothes we liked on these dog manequins so we could eyeball whether they would fit our dogs at home.

The real Harajuku girls.

We started another boom in Kirstie's apartment that night - kind of like reverse strip poker, but with Korean Posoi instead of poker.

Kaiten (conveyor belt) sushi in Roppongi Hills

Sculpture outside Mori Tower in Roppongi Hills; onset of typhoon Amadeus

Flied Lice Wit Wej-ta-boas

2005-08-10T23:15:00.000-07:00

We arrived in Bangkok's charming airport and took the first available flight down to Krabi on Thailand's Southern Peninsula. We ended up staying four nights on the white sandy beaches of Railey at the Railey Bay Hotel and Spa (highly recomended!). It was stunning. Pool, private bungalow, beautiful grounds. $20 a night.

Railey Bay Beach (in front of our hotel) - Krabi, Thailand

Our hotel in Railey by day

View from our hotel in Railey by night

While in Railey we opted to skip spending several nights on Koh Phi Phi since all the research as to whether the island was completely torn apart after the tsumani totally varied depending on which Thai person/Farang/internet site we checked. Intstead we took a day trip out to Phi Phi on a speed boat with some random Euros, an unlucky Canadian and the awesome Team Intel - a group of Intel employees from all over Asia who decided to work on their tans down south before heading back up to Bangkok for workshops on synergy and team strategies.

The boat ride to the first island was only 45 minutes but Jen and Ande can now recount the worst 45 minutes of our lives. It was beyond awful - huge waves, no lifejackets, some 14 year old Thai boy at the wheel. Jen barfed. Ande looked like a key lime pie with curls. Of all the third world refugee boats we have been on throughout our travels, this was by far the roughest ride.

This boat had Jen barfing within the first 20 minutes of our 6 hour tour

But once we arrived at Koh Phi Phi, it was gorgeous. At least the parts that were not affected by the tsunami.

Beautiful Koh Phi Phi

Jen at Koh Phi Phi Don

The tour continued with stops on neighboring islands and beautiful coves where they dumped us overboard for an hour or so and told us to look at some fish.

We shnorkeled here - cove off the coast of Krabi

Bamboo Island

Jen puts on her Thai fisherman pants

Deep thoughts

Cool view of some island

Someone does not want to get back on the speedboat

After the boat trip, we had dinner with one of our trip mates Jeff, also known as Canada's unluckiest guy. All of Jeff's traveling stories ended with him in total misery. Once he was riding a baby elephant in Chiang Mai who insisted on lifting mud up by its trunk and spraying it all over Jeff's face. This was right before the baby elephant decided to go off track away from the rest of the crew marching through unmarked paths so that Jeff's dirty mud face could get clobbered with every tree branch and limb they passed. On another trek, Jeff walked 2 feet off some path and ended up in a wasps nest. The funny thing is, as he was telling these stories, a GIANT cockroach landed on him causing him to flap around screaming and squacking till the beast FLEW off. Poor dear.

After Railey, we took the bus/boat route to the other side of the peninsula to the island of Koh Samui. In typical Thai fashion, what should have been a 3 hour excursion took all day. The Thais piled loads of Farang into mini-busses, then deposited us at random pit stops along the way. At each pit stop we were forced to wait for the next mode of transport to come and get us. Conviniently, there was food at every stop. At one stop, which consisted of a thatched porch and two spaced out of their minds Thai guys behind a counter, every farang went up and ordered fried rice with vegetables. The two Thai guys took turns screaming out their orders and giggling. "Flied lice wit wej-ta-boas!" When the orders stopped coming, a cute Israeli and Ande went up to see what the delay was in receiving their rice. The Israeli scanned the menu of rice, noodles, ham and cheese sandwiches, and a huge sign declaring NO SOUP. "Eh, why no soup?" asked the Israeli. This sent the Thai guys into convulsions of laughter and repeats of the word, 'soup' over and over until one of them looked at Ande and in his most swuave manner asked, "Lady - you wan cigarette?" "Uh, no thanks. Just the fried rice with vegetables I ordered." Sure enough, five minutes later, "Flied lice wit wej-ta-boas!" was screamed out and Ande and the Israeli finally got their food.

Two busses, one ferry, and one cab ride later, the Noodles finally arrived in Koh Samui. The place has become almost unrecognizable since we were here in 2001. Shops were being built on top of shops crawling over the already crowded sidewalks. McDonalds, Burger King, and Pizza Hut are all competing for space amongst the heavy traffic of motorbikes and taxi cabs. One thing has stayed the same though - pasty white pervert guys with Thai girlfriends on their arms are everywhere. The beach too is still beautiful and there's still some good shopping, but after one night we decided to take off again for the nearby island of Koh Pangan.

On Koh Pangan, we checked into a perfect little bungalow (Sun Cliff) that hung over the side of a mountain peering right onto the beaches of the Sunset side of Haadrin (Koh Pangan's main hub). We spent our days lazily wandering from the beach to little cafes, catching up on the latest summer blockbusters - Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, War of the Worlds, etc.

The merpeset in our Koh Phangan treehouse

We're back on Samui now. Anxiously awaiting the arrival of our next Guest Noodle, Jen. In a few days we'll go back to Koh Pangan, to Hat Tien beach and spend a few luxurious nights at the Sanctuary. Can't wait!

Israel pictures

2005-07-30T13:40:00.000-07:00

We're getting lazy - can you tell?

Israel was amazing and a special thanks go out to Ilana and Aba, Nina and the Little Noodles for their amazing hospitality and touring expertise. We managed to hit all the hot spots from Haifa and the Golan Heights in the north, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv in the middle, and the Dead Sea in the south. Not to mention a hummous contest in which every Israeli wanted to take us to their favorite place. We found a winner (see below). We also hit a couple of beautiful beaches, one of which was a sort of gay beach ironically right next door to the religious beach. Ande snuck over and peeked through the wall to see the religious people splashing around. In all their clothes.

We just arrived in Thailand and are missing Israel terribly. Although we've heard enough Hebrew being spoken here to make us feel like we never left.

This guy makes the best hummos in Israel - Nazareth

Market in Nazareth - Jesus shopped here

The Kinaret with Ilana, Keren, Dorit & Usha the surfing doggie

Jerusalem
Next right, the Holyland

Jerusalem

the Wailing Wall

Visiting the Holiest of Holies

Jerusalem

Landscape on the way to the lowest point on Earth - the Dead Sea

Floating in the Dead Sea

Ilana doesn't believe she can float; Jen shows her how

Jachnun - Fast food, Yemenite-style

Yanai beach north of Tel Aviv

Israel's Little Noodles!

2005-07-26T00:41:00.000-07:00

We are in Israel now and staying at Ande's Aba's house. What a great surprise to arrive and find 3 amazing Little Noodles here awaiting us: Josh, Isaac and Rachel (Ande's brothers and sister). Here are some pictures of the Little Noodles and pictures taken by the Little Noodles...

Ande, Rachel and Aba (photo by Isaac; art direction with plums by Rachel)

Isaac and Ande and Jen (photo by Rachel)

Ema and Josh love to dance cheek to cheek (photo by Isaac)

Aba and Isaac (photo by Rachel)

Rachel swimming

Josh's art work...watch out Museum of Modern Art!

Kiss kiss kiss, ciao ciao ciao...Europa to Israel

2005-07-22T08:14:00.000-07:00

We apologize for the long delay between texts. The Noodles were not overcome by vanity and the need to show off their tans by posting two blogs in a row of only photos. We were in two very expensive countries and we thought it might be nice to eat a meal once in a while (by meal we mean slice of pizza) rather than spend the Euros in a sweaty internet cafe. Where did we leave off...

Verona, Italy. On a warm July evening under the clear Italian sky, we braved the masses of 75 year olds and fought our way into the cheap seats of Verona's 1,900 year old outdoor arena to watch a performance of La Boheme. We were lucky to plop down right behind a rowdy Italian man whose pre-show antics included farting with his armpits, throwing food into the crowd, and making rabbit ears behind concert-goers posing for pictures. But once the show began, his passion for opera took over and he was totally consumed, intently conducting along with the maestro and even hushing another guy in our section who dared to hum along with the first aria. By the end, he was crying. These people love their opera. So did we. It was amazing.

We took a day trip into Venice. We'd both been there before and when the dust settles amid the perpetual battle for preeminence among white tennis shoe wearing tourists, pigeons and the omnipresent bane of Europe, restoration scaffolding, it's still a stunning city. But why does "Let's Go" Italy recommend a visit to the Canadian bath and body chain retailer "Lush" in its Venice shopping section? Strange.

The Noodles spent the next few days bouncing between overpriced "budget" hotels in and around the Italian Riviera (As a sidenote - although the Euro has made Italy a much more expensive country to visit, the Italians have used little if any of their extra tourist dollars to fix up their hotels and trains. One hotel we stayed at didn't even have a lock on the shared bathroom that was down the hall from our room.) We tripped the shores fantastic of Santa Margherita Ligure, Portofino, Cinque Terre, and Alassio. We spent one day hiking the beautiful, cliffside trail between two Cinque Terre towns, Vernazza and Corniglia. Interestingly, the path has become overrun by troops of European and Aussie fitness buffs whose sole purpose seemed to be to walk right through us, practically stepping on our faces and caring little about the famed views as they plowed along the narrow paths,leaving two trembling Noodles clinging to the olive-treed cliffsides to avoid tumbling down the mountain in their wake. In Portofino we delighted in watching rich people do rich things like toss their Louis Vuitton water skis to their Gucci clad butler when boarding the yacht they borrowed from Valentino for the weekend. And in Alassio, home of the famous Bacci kiss, a fudge filled treat in the shape of two kissing fish (surely, this was invested by the Japanese?), we bravely toured all the city's bakeries, sampling each establishment's version of the kiss, before deciding which one was the best. Because someone had to do it.

Finally, the highlight of our last few days in Europe was spent with friends at their summer house in Lezignan, France an adorable little town just outside the Provence region in the South of France. We ate cheese and drank French wine and delighted in having real conversations with smart, funny people. We spent an afternoon touring the cheese caves of Roquefort where 70% of all the Roquefort cheese in the world comes from. We were surprised to learn that the stinky blue cheese was discovered when a man left his cheese sandwich in the cave one day while he went to chase a girl. When he returned, the cheese had molded to the delight of the recently laid Frenchman who proclaimed, "Que magnific!" at his delicious moldy cheese.

On our final day in France, we bid our friends farewell and were deposited at the Montpellier train station to begin making our way back to Italy via Nice. After having been reassured that French trains are only late on the rare occasions when there is a fire, an electrical problem or a suicide on the tracks, our train ended up taking off nearly 5 hours late after the Montpellier station was paralyzed by a fire, electrical problems and a suicide on the tracks. No matter, we simply missed our connecting overnight Nice-Rome train and, along with the other affected passengers, were herded, refugee-style, around the Nice train station for several hours in the middle of the night until it was decided that instead of the train company paying for us to stay in a hotel until we could catch connecting trains in the morning, they would board us all in empty couchette carriages on unused trains at the station. With a restful 2 hours of sleep under our belts, we finally made it onto a 5am train to Rome on which every conductor that came by to examine our tickets during the 12 hour trip chuckled at the 2 American dummies who paid 3 times as much for an overnight, direct train with a sleeper car when they in fact were riding a slow, regionale day train. Thanks for pointing that out.

Rome was vibrant and exciting as ever, although we'd both been before and missed getting to tour around the city with newbies Beck & Yancy, our intended travel partners on this leg of the tour. Next time! And next time we'll know to go straight to the Del Palma gelateria near the Parthenon for some of the best gelato in Italy. When skinny Oprah recently exclaimed, "Nothing tastes as good as being thin," it was clear that she has never enjoyed a double scoop of Del Palma's dark chocolate apricot ice cream. Twice in a day.

Now we're in Israel. El Al did their typical and reassuringly thorough interrogation of us before allowing us to board the plane from Rome to Tel Aviv. But what can you say when someone asks you whether any item in your luggage may resemble a bomb? What does a bomb even look like? We picture a black, cannon ball looking thing with a sizzling fuse and ACME printed on the side, maybe with Bugs Bunny tied to some railway tracks nearby. So depressing that we even have to consider such things. But we're enjoying being with Ande's family and staying with the fabulous hostess, Ilana, who teaches us Hebrew and takes us shopping at local grocery stores where we get to pick out our future baby-daddies among the endless throngs of hot Israeli shoppers. The hot shoppers are everywhere. So much so that Ilana doesn't even see them anymore. Where she sees 'just a guy', we see Israel's Next Top Model. Shalom for now.

I see Italy, I see France

2005-07-16T11:15:00.000-07:00

Because we couldn't keep Kieron waiting any longer...

Venice, Italia

Venice

La Boheme at the Verona Opera

Portofino, Italy

Portofino

Skinny rich lady, Portofino

Um, this is a beach?

Rich people wear this dog (recognize the T. Whitley Chandler pose?)

Ahh, Lezignan, France with the McCarters and Roussenqs

Cheese at the market in Pezenas, France

Crabs at the market

Pezenas, France

Noodles and the Peen (people shop for years at this certain market in order to receive these coveted bags. We got them on our first shot.)

LouLou, France's cutest baby...peeing dans la piscine.

Pictures

2005-07-07T07:46:00.000-07:00

Noodles at Polapalooza (Wianke Festival) on the banks of Wstla River - Krakow

Polapalooza concert heats up

Krakow's finest toilet (Take notice, Mr. Tesier)

Prague at night

Charles Bridge hordes

Fred & Ginger - Prague

Jen in Prague

Cesky Krumlov castle (second largest in Czech Republic)

Cesky Krumlov

Ande in Cesky

Cesky tea house

More Cesky

Cesky Krumlov central square

Verona, Italy

Opera set pieces - Verona

Prague and our favorite place in Europe (east of Paris and north of Italy)

2005-07-06T07:18:00.000-07:00

After partaking in Krakow's annual Wianke Festival (pronounced "wank"?) and joining the entire town on the banks of the river to watch a "Polapalooza" of eastern European rock on a floating stage, we packed up and headed west to Prague.

Ande fondly recalled her $2 days spent in Prague back in 1998 and both Noodles eagerly anticipated golem haunting and touring the Charles Bridge from which young Joseph Kavalier once jumped. The $2 days are long gone, and although the sites are still beautiful and definitely worth visiting, the city is overrun with drunken UCSB grads ready to "party...party hard...very much" (as proclaimed by a guest at our hostel to the indifferent receptionist he was asking for clubbing advice). One night, our daily budget having dwindled to $1 a piece, we took on the challenge of finding a cheap dinner feast. Ande bought herself one slice of pizza. Jen went to the TESCO supermarket and came out with half the store - a yogurt and roll, 2 bananas, 2 plums, large chocolate bar and a big bottle of water (con gas). Jen shared her $1 dinner with Ande for lunch the next day. Our favorite "friends" in Prague were these 2 American Idiots we met outside of Ande's pizza place who were so excited that we had all just purchased a slice of pizza for 20 cents. Uh, since the exchange rate is 24 to 1 and the pizza cost 24 Kc, we're pretty sure it cost a dollar (Even Ande's "Math 9" skills could figure that out). But they were emphatic in their exhuberance that Prague was the cheapest city in the world and that the real way to calculate the exchange was some bizarre formula that involved dividing by 2 and dropping some zeros. We were equally excited to imagine their faces when they got home and saw their credit card bills.

We left Prague on a rainy morning and headed to Cesky Krumlov, a town about 3 hours south of Prague. At a miserable bus stop way out of town (and way out of English-speaking realm), Ande plopped down on a bench with the bags while Jen ran around in the rain trying to figure out which of the 400 dicrepit buses would take us to Krumlov. When she returned, she found a drenched, forlorn Noodle who had just been splashed by a surprisingly powerful passing decrepit bus. A lone maxi pad stuck to the bench behind her head made the scene all the more pathetic. The Noodles said screw the bus and got back on the subway and back to the train station where they should have been all along. In any event, we finally made it to Cesky Krumlov and were in no mood to like this town at all. But as we walked through the peaceful midieval town with it's picturesque lazy river flowing through it and the castle perched high up on its hills, our spirits started to lift. By the time we checked into our penzion and the smiling proprietress asked us what time we wanted our homemade breakfast delivered to our room in the morning, we were ecstatic.

We ended up spending 5 days in Cseky Krumlov, after originally having planned to stay only for a short time. We ate amazing vegetarian food on the banks of the river at the charming Laibon restaurant. (On our third visit, we discovered the place was clothing optional, as 2 guys decided to strip down and take a swim mid-meal.) We walked all over the town and up to the castle each night to visit the stinky bears who lived in the castle's waterless moat. Each time we turned a corner in Cesky Krumlov, we would gasp anew at the views. By the time we left, we felt revitalized, rested and eternally grateful to our favorite Turkish twins for recommending that we go there.

Now we're in Verona, Italy after a brief and rainy afternoon in Vienna. Although Cafe Central where we hung out sipping mediocre hot chocolate was cool, and Demel, the chocolatier recommended by Let's Go, would have been great for omiage if we had buckets of Euros and a way to keep it from melting in Thailand, the highlight of Vienna was definitely the Korean Mini Series Drama that took place in our couchette on the ride to Italy. The Noodles shared a 4-person sleeping cabin with a friendly Canadian girl and a silent Korean guy who slept with his shoes on and liked to spit his Tic-tacs onto the floor like sunflower seeds. Around midnight, our group was awakened by sharp knocks at our door and a Czech accented, "POLIZIE!" The stunned Canadian opened the door and the 2 police officers shoved a Japanese passport in the Korean guy's face and kept saying "False document. Do you speak English? False document." He stared back blankly. Ande saw the passport and thought maybe he spoke Japanese although she knew he wasn't Japanese and asked him helpfully, "Nihon-jin desuka?" ("Are you Japanese?") Again, Simpsons face. Now we were convinced along with the police that the passport was false document. Poor guy. They dragged him away and we locked the door. As the train lurched forward, his sticky, half-eaten Tic-tacs rolled around the floor and lulled us back to sleep.

4 Days in Iceland: Priceless

2005-06-27T01:42:00.000-07:00

By Guest Noodle: Ryan

As the Noodles have correctly observed, a visit to Iceland is not easy on the wallet. However, lured by tales of natural steam bathes, black sand beaches and copious 6-foot-tall blondes, your Guest Blogger and Honorary Noodle could not pass up the opportunity to meet the Noodles at 65 degrees North latitude. And it was worth every krona.

Fresh from sleepless overnight flights, we met just after 7am at Keflavik airport and boarded the Flybus for the 52-kilometer, 45-minute ride to Reykjavik. We thought we were headed directly for Guesthouse Centrum, our humble abode for the next 4 nights, but found ourselves confused by the abrupt stop at the main bus terminal. Still a bit disoriented and puzzled by the porter's unloading of all baggage except ours, we approached the drivers of several nearby minibuses hoping that they would be our transfer to the guesthouse. In each case, we were told to wait where we stood and the drivers then proceeded to get into their minibuses and drive away without further explanation. Huh?

Undaunted, we managed to walk to the guesthouse and drop off our bags. As we watched other visitors eat the complimentary breakfast, we wondered: Could we join in? No. The guesthouse owner tersely informed us that breakfast on the first day was not included but could be purchased for 600 kronur ($9.50). We passed. Your Guest Blogger, however, makes a habit as he travels of noting what the locals eat for breakfast. In this case, it was ham, pepperoni and cheese, typically placed on toast and eaten as an open-faced sandwich with tomatoes and cucumbers.

We spent the remainder of Day 1 acclimating to the surroundings and exploring the city (somehow "town" or "village" seems more appropriate). One of our main observations about Iceland is that it's empty. Or mostly so. The country has about the same land area as England or the state of Kentucky. But while that subsection of Great Britain is home to 48 million people and the Bluegrass State hosts 4.1 million residents, Iceland's population is less than 300,000. And 180,000 live in Reykjavik or its outskirts.

But what the locals lack in numbers they make up for in style. As we walked down the main shopping street, we were struck by the trendy appearance of the natives. It was difficult to tell whether fashon in Reykjavik was following New York's lead or vice versa. One Noodle even remarked that "there are no uncool-looking teenagers here". There also were no visible bums or college-graduate backpackers in Reykjavik. Presumably neither could afford it.

We kicked into gear on Day 2, first spending three hours in the afternoon cruising several miles off-shore in search of whales. In the end, we did see a couple of Minke whales (see brown dolphin) and quite a few "chubby" web-footed puffins nesting on an island along the way.

Consulting the guidebook, we also learned that Icelanders love swimming and the natural hot springs provide the fuel for numerous public pools. That night, in our next adventure, we visited the largest of these, Laugardalur. Located just steps from the youth hostel, it still managed to retain the flavor of the place the locals go.

Subsidized by the government, a visit to the pool provides one of the least-expensive diversions in town. In the return for the admission fee, 300 kronur ($4.75), we each received a small token designed to unlock the wristband-key to our lockers. Once in the locker room, one of us (who shall remain nameless) had so much trouble with the token/key removal process that he had to seek the assistance of a naked but not particularly shy man who also happened to be the only person we met in the country who didn't speak perfect English.

The pool provided an excellent spot for people-watching and if you're looking for a way to achieve total relaxation after an afternoon (10pm and the sun is still out - that's still afternoon, right) spent whale-watching (and mostly sea-seeing), there really is nothing better than a little hot pot.

Icelanders channel the naturally heated water into jacuzzi-like tubs called "hot pots", which range in temperature from 39 - 45 degrees Celsius. (In Fahrenheit terms: Extremely Hot - Unbearably Scorching.) And by the way, when you exit the locker room for the pool, leave your towel on the shelf rack by the showers.

The Noodles and their honorary visitor parted ways on Day 3 as your Guest Blogger headed off on a guided tour called the South Shore Adventure. During the course of the 10-hour trip, your author's closest traveling companion was a Swedish E-N-T doctor who was in town for a conference and whose name was probably spelled "Per" but was definitely pronounced "Pear". This later produced tremendous amusement among the Noodles.

On the tour, we visited the Skogafoss and Seljalandsfoss waterfalls, stood on the edge of the Solheimajokull glacier during a brief but heavy cloudburst and walked on the black sand beaches of Vik. The drive from point to point was a study in geographic contrast as we passed from barren moonscape to grassy sheep-filled flatlands and finally by seaside mountain peaks. In the course of our journey we passed nearly no trees and almost as few people. Outside Reykjavik, the population is sparse, with a 20-40 mile stretch of road separating each 500-person village. Upon stopping in the larger villages, one notices that commerce tends to center on the gas station, which in addition to the typical pumps and mini-mart also often contains a full-scale restaurant in which you can, and your Guest Blogger did, purchase a $10 bowl of mushroom soup.

Reykjavik, popularly known as the "smokeless city" for its total adoption of geothermal heat and power, actually means "Smoky Bay", a name coined in the 9th century to reflect its seaside location among steam-gushing thermal springs. But such sights are less common twelve centuries later in the world's northernmost capital city. So to see a geyser in action, we needed to hit the road.

On Day 4, our last full day in Iceland, we rented a car to pursue an ambitious adventure on our own. With the Soy Noodle in the driver's seat, we headed out on the first leg of the journey -- popularly called the Golden Circle.

Our first stop was Pingvellir National Park, the site of the first Icelandic parliament in the 10th century and where we stood in a crack in the rift valley formed by the separating North American and Eurasian continental plates. Along the way, we stopped at a viewpoint and had a surprising amount of difficulty figuring out the trick in the rental car's automatic transmission to get it from Drive into Reverse or Park. A foreshadowing of things to come?

Next on our agenda was the Geysir thermal springs area, home to the original geyser itself: Geysir - "the Gusher". Unfortunately, the Gusher is today just a staid pool but nearby sits another gurgling unit which, in response to geothermal stimulation, shoots off a 30-meter high spurt every few minutes. We stayed around long enough for a few blasts from this one, which was named, apparently without consideration for cross-border pun, Strokkur.

After hitting the last viewpoint on the Golden Circle, a two-tiered waterfall named Gullfoss, we began to backtrack toward Reykjavik on the way to our final, and not-nearby, stop: The Blue Lagoon. Your Guest Blogger was behind the wheel for this leg of the journey and as we approached the city, he began to notice the OIL light flash on and off periodically on the dashboard. Cause for concern? Well, we had noticed an odd burning smell earlier in the trip so we decided to stop at an Olis gas station to check things out.

That turned out to be a particularly good move given our friendly gas station attendant's highly technical diagnosis of the engine after we had unknowingly driven 228 km with virtually no oil: "I think it is majorly fucked up."

The last person to service the engine had inadvertantly left a cap off and nearly all of the oil in the engine had sloshed out, presumably throughout our trip. The car was no longer drivable, but after about an hour's work interacting with our local rental agency, Berg, we had a replacement Daewoo and were back on the road.

The Blue Lagoon, an artificial hot spring next to a geothermal power plant with its own line of cosmetics and sundries, is almost the definition of a tourist trap. It's a nice setting and we still had a great time, although you'd never find a local there. Where else would people pay 1300 kronur ($20) to smear grainy white paste ("silvery-grey silt," says the guidebook) all over their upper bodies and share a bath with hundreds of other tourists?

We returned to Reykjavik, refreshed by the Lagoon, tired from the day's activities and in time for a hearty meal to close this chapter of the Noodles' journey. Interestingly, Iceland does not follow the typical Western European practice of sitting down to dinner no earlier than 11pm, so we barely beat the 10pm food-service cut-off.

Dining at the trendy-chic Solon, we opened a bottle of Fat Bastard chardonnay and reflected on the trip. In particular, as we looked out on the still brightly day-lit street at 11:30pm, we commented that it had not ever gotten dark during our stay in Iceland. While the sun officially sets at around midnight this time of year, a twilight remains until sunrise at 3am. We took our last $10 beer at a local bar on the main street while the 3 Noodles admired the local DJs mad skillz and the fashionable decor of the bar's other non-Noodle patrons.

Alas we've reached the sunset of the Honorary Noodle's participation in this worldwide journey, so with envy he passes the blog back to the Noodles at the sunrise of their Eurasian excursion.

New pictures!

2005-06-24T07:47:00.000-07:00

Old biddies go whale watching in Iceland

Jen in Reykjavik, Iceland

Strokker blows its load - Golden Circle, Iceland

Geothermal waters in Iceland

Iceland's Blue Lagoon + therapuetic sillica mud

More Blue Lagoon

Reykjavik at "sunset" - 1:30am

Ande healthy and happy in Copenhagen

Jen healthy and happy in Copenhagen

Drunk Danish grads in sailor hats

Michael Belivacqua exhibit at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, DK

Art appreciation

Typical beach goer in Swinoujcie, Poland - We hate Swishy!

Jen handles some important business from our hotel phone in Swinoujscie

Old town, Warsaw, Poland

Castle, Krakow, Poland

Denmark & Poland

2005-06-23T11:31:00.000-07:00

And we're back... Sorry for the delay. We were waiting for our Guest Noodle to post about Iceland, but apparently he has been held up by work or something like that. But he's promised to deliver a masterpiece in just a few more days.

In the meantime...Copenhagen! While cheaper than Iceland (what isn't?), our budget only allowed for a few precious days in this cutest of Scandinavian cities. We spent our time there walking around the winding streets and oggling all the cute Danish people on their bikes. Their style was awesome - the girls in flippy, tiered skirts and low-slung belts (same as LA), but worn with black leggings without feet. (Have the feetless leggings hit LA yet? Noodles love them.) The boys were not as cute in those uber-Euro long shorts (um, they're capri pants, ok) and sandals. But the real style stars were
"babies as accessories". Everywhere you looked there was another adoreable couple pushing their adoreable baby in an expensive Apple Paltrow Martin stroller. We wished we had Ella Grace and Jill Madison with us to blend in with the crowd. And finally, the inexplicable, but endlessly fascinating Danish fashion statement: the mini-sailor hat. I think we were in Copenhagen the weekend that either high school kids or college kids (you know you're getting old when you can't tell the difference anymore) were graduating. All around the city, at all hours of the day, hordes of drunk kids were riding around in open-sided trucks decorated with tree branches, singing and shouting and blasting air horns. And they all wore small, white sailor hats perched on top of their blond heads (or, in the case of the not insignificant Mulsim Danish population, on top of their head scarf). Snoop Dogg was in town for a show as well and we hoped he'd be wearing a sailor hat too.

We took a day trip from Copenhagen north to a few towns to visit the world famous Louisiana Museum of Modern Kunst (er, Art), and the castle where "Hamlet" was set. The castle was kind of boring, but oh my god, the museum was AMAZING! Set on the grounds of an old Danish estate, the museum's stunning galleries and extensive sculpture garden overlook the narrow causeway separating Denmark and Sweden so, as if the art were not enough, the views are amazing. To give credit where credit is due, we went out of our way to go to the museum on a tip from Jen's Mom who visited the Louisiana 35 years earlier when she was backbacking through Europe, and who still remembers it as one of the highlights of her trip. And as Jen sat on the museum's lawn, next to its famous Henry Moore sculpture, looking out at the blue waters of Scandinavia, and the numerous sailboats in the channel and Sweden in the distance, and thinking about the strange twists and turns of life that lead her to be sitting in exactly the same place her Mom did when she was 29 and looking out at this same view, she looked down at her picnic lunch and realized she was thinking the same thing her Mom did so many years before: Why can't these Europeans embrace the peanut butter? We LOVED the Louisiana and if you are ever nearby, peanut butter or not, you must go.

On our walk back to our way overpriced (and disgusting) youth hostel in Helsingor, we stopped at a middle eastern joint to share a dinner. The friendly man who served us wanted to know if we were American. Our gut reaction was to say we're Canadian, 'from the Okanagen...you know in BC' (shout out to Rebecca), but he had a nice face, so we told him the truth. Turns out he was an Iranian who had immigrated to Denmark and was now living in Irvine. He chatted us up for a bit and then told us that we were eating in his brother's place and that dinner was on him. So nice! So we told him we'd catch him later on the 405 someday and headed back to Copenhagen to catch our Polferrie to Swinoujscie, Poland (Where? Yeah, we know. Trust us, ignorance is bliss on this one.)

So the all-night Polferrie was actually pretty nice. At first we were worried since to catch the Polferrie we had to consult a "fartplan" (the Danish word for timetable...doesn't bode well, does it?), but with a quiet private room and a little Ambien, the trip was a breeze. Swinoujscie (or "Swishy" as we called it because how are you ever supposed to pronounce this word?) was like the Polish Del Boca Vista, or Del Polka Vista, as we ended up calling it. We were by far the youngest people in the town...by about 45 years...and at the end of our enforced 12 hours there (waiting to catch the train to Warsaw), we were ready to kill ourselves. Worst of all, what should have been the real highlight of Swishy, the "Alf Zone", an internet cafe raved about in Let's Go and decorated entirely as an homage to '80s TV icon, Alf, was CLOSED! Permanently! Unfortunately, we didn't discover this until we had walked 3 miles through the Del Polka Vista hood to get to the bolted up "Alf Zone". And just like Swishy to kick us while we're down, after trudging back to our hotel room and submitting to the banality of Polish TV, what should be airing in all his wise-cracking, Polish-dubbed glory? Of course, Alf. Aagh, these pretzels are making me thirsty! Buh-bye, Swishy.

We then moved on to Warsaw en route to Krakow. Warsaw was actually cooler than we'd expected. The old town is well-restored and picturesque, and the more modern commercial district has lots of cool coffee places and decent looking shoping and restaurants. The famous former Jewish Ghetto of Warsaw was much less remarkable to visit than its storied history. The Nazis completely razed the ghetto during the war and although the Poles seem intensely interested in meticulously restoring other historical areas in Warsaw, the Ghetto was allowed to sink into communist, concrete square-building oblivion, so there's really nothing to see except for a few small monuments to the ghetto's former occupants and the ultimately unsuccessful uprising they tried to mount to save their lives there.

Now we're in Krakow. Just arrived but it looks good so far. Castles, fire-breathing dragons, and a town that Let's Go consistently writes is "mostly untouched by the ravages of WWII". Well, at least as far as the buildings are concerned...

More soon.

The Valley, DC, Reykjavik sneak preview

2005-06-17T00:56:00.000-07:00

So the Noodles made it home for a matter of hours. We were able to clean ourselves and our belongings, hug mommies, refill our depleted products, and hit the Nordstrom half-yearly sale. Suddenly we were off again with a quick stop-over in DC. We were greeted by the greatest host of all time, Sharon. She fed us and walked us around her cutest neighborhood of Dupont Circle. Jen also made a quick visit to Virginia's cutest baby, Jill Madison. 24 hours later we were on a flight to Iceland. We met our first Guest Noodle, Ryan, at the aiport in Iceland and have offered him the opportunity to be the first Guest Noodle Blogger. His Iceland report is coming soon. In the meantime, the Noodles LOVED Iceland even though it was ridiculously expensive. Sample pricelist:
Use of internet for 1 hour: 9 dollars
Slice of veggie lasagna: 21 dollars
Our 3 person guesthouse room with no bathroom: 180 dollars per night
Corona: 10 dollars
Medium pizza, one topping: 25 dollars
More on Iceland coming soon, right Ryan?

Why does the little camera do all the work?

2005-06-09T19:55:00.000-07:00

Here are a few more pics from the baby 2.0 mgp camera, but these are pretty old news. We take all our pictures with the big fancy camera, but then they are impossible to post. Someday. Or maybe you just come to the slide show in September.

On the road in Argentina

The big birthday cake in Salta

Small church in an even smaller town - Argentina

Ande hangs out at the El Amigo

Iguazu Falls

There are no words.

Where is Brazil?

Salvador de Bahia and Praia do Forte

2005-06-03T10:45:00.000-07:00

This is the true story...of 45 people picked by God to live in a house...to find out what happens...when the drumming never stops...and people start losing their minds. Real World: Candomblè.

Candomblè is a religion with African origins practiced by some people in Brazil. The practice involves almost daily ceremonies in honor of different gods. During the ceremonies, the practioners, who typically all live together in a compound-like terreiro, do a ritualistic dance to an ear-piercing and constant drumming. Some people´s eyes roll back in their head and they go into a trance (for the Candomblist, this is a good thing...we think). Then they are dressed up in costumes by the people who didn't go into a trance, and the trance people dance around the room according to the direction of the drumming and, on occasions which are entirely mysterious, let out long, deep growling sounds. Sometimes the power of the beat and the trance is so intense that one of the dancers flies out of the dancing circle and right out the front door of the building. Usually they come back, eyes still rolled back and squawking, but this time dancing backward down the center aisle of the room and back into the performing circle. In addition to the performers, the room is filled with spectators sitting on several rows of benches. The ones with pink sunburned skin who paid R$50 to attend the ceremony are generally very confused. Our English speaking guide spoke English words but wasn't all that good at putting them together into a coherent sentence, so unfortunately we missed a lot (ok *all*) of the meaning in the nearly 4 hour ceremony. Still, it was fascinating and if you ask nicely (and promise to give one of us a job when we´re done with all this travel business in September), we will perform our interpretation of a Candomblè ceremony for you. Of course in the spirit of sharing another culture and not ridiculing it (stop shaking your head Jeff Payne).

The rest of our time in Salvador was spent in Pelourinho, which generally refers to the old part of the city built by the Portugese founders (or more precisely, built by the African slaves brought to Brazil by the Portugese founders) on top of a high bluff overlooking the Atlantic ocean on one side and the Bay of All Saints on the other. Pelourinho gets its name from the small square in town that housed the whipping post (called a pelourinho) where disobedient slaves were publicly punished. Pretty gruesome stuff. The entire old city feels haunted by its history and the pastel colored colonial buildings, rotting under the tropical sun and showing the decay of years of abandonment, have a tragic beauty about them.

The nightlife in Salvador is famous and there are many outdoor venues (including the ultimate outdoor venue...a street corner) featuring different kinds of live, Brazilian music where people dance and drink and hit on foreigners and generally have a good time. Paul Simon was inspired by this music when he made "Rhythm of the Saints" and we saw a really cool all girl drum troop performing the style of drumming featured in the first song on that album, "Obvious Child". Then we managed to narrow in on the hippest Salvador scene and catch a forro show (a type of music which the Lonely Planet says Brazilians think of as "rustic" and "for maids and taxi cab drivers") and a guy singing early ´80s American adult contemporary hits while backed by what looked and sounded like a junior high jazz band.

Now we're in Praia do Forte, a small (as in one street) beach town north of Salvador, trying to work on our tans in our last few days in Brazil. Sadly, the weather isn't cooperating and most of our view of Praia do Forte has been from the hammocks on our veranda at our awesome hotel, the Pousada dos Artistas. But we did go to the TAMAR Turtle Experience today, one of the Brazilian government's educational and research facilities set up to protect and study endangered sea turtles, so we feel pretty accomplished.

Oh, and we made friends in Salvador! Smart, cool, normal friends! One Noodle said to the other, "Finally, we've met some cool people in Brazil...people just like us." Uh, Christina and Brandon are way cooler than us. But we've had an awesome time hanging out with them in Pelourinho and now in Praia do Forte and hopefully this shout out on Noodle Talk will get them blogging as well. And maybe they'll even move to L.A., and we can be friends forever, and... Is this moving too fast?

Bye for now...the Iceland cometh soon.

The egg is the worst - Ilha Grande, Buzios, and Jeri

2005-05-26T18:14:00.000-07:00

It´s been a while. Sorry. Last we left off, our two protagonists were circling the four square blocks of Ipanema, their safehaven in Rio de Janeiro (a beautiful, exciting city, but unfortunately one deserving of its sketchy rep.) The Noodles then hopped on a bus, followed by a big sail boat, and explored the wonderful island of Ilha Grande, 2 hours southeast of Rio. The island is indeed grande, with steep, tropical-forrested mountains sloping gently downward to meet the cool, clear sea, but its only inhabited town is tiny and filled with nothing but pousadas and restaurants (and a cart of homemade sweeties that the Noodle with the sweet tooth tried to climb into and make her home). No cars. We spent our days there hopping on schooners which took us to and from Praia de Lopez-Mendez, one of the best beaches either have us have ever stepped foot on - sand as white and fine as baking flour and dazzling clear, turquoise water. Every day we lined up at the dock with the rest of the youthful backpackers and cute Brazilians. Every day boats would take off one by one until the only people left standing at the dock were the Noodles, some 65 year olds, and a weird German dude. We don´t know why, but for the rest of our time on Ilha Grande, we never made it onto any of the boats with anyone under 65.

Next stop - Buzios. A very cute and upscale beach town 3 hours north of Rio(technically it´s around 2 hours but the bus likes to stop every four minutes. For the return we thought we could avoid the unnecessary extra travel time on the bus by booking a mini-bus private transfer, but the mini-bus driver thoughtfully decided to stop en route for a car wash so I guess the Brazilians will do what they have to in order to make the Rio-Buzios route a 3 hour tour). We checked into our cute pousada, Buzios Guesthouse ($100 Reales), and immediately it began to rain. Boo. We checked out the town anyway and ran into a kid we went to high school with. Weird (the kid and the coincidence). The next day was exactly the same, sans high school kid. It´s too bad it was raining. Buzios seemed really nice.

After Buzios, we began our 2 day journey to Jericoacoara, a coastal town in the northeast. We flew into Fortaleza, a hooker´s paradise, and hopped on a bus early the next morning that arrived in Jeri 7 hours later (including 1.5 hours in an open-air 4WD Universal Studios tour type tram that made the last leg of the journey to Jeri driving on the beach and over the sand dunes). The landscape of this place is like nothing we´ve ever seen before and in many ways is more what we'd expect from a Saharan oasis than an equatorial fishing village. Miles and miles of enormous golden sand dunes, all within meters of the ocean. Throw in some cows, a few horses and palm trees and lots of growling dune buggies, and you've got Jericoacoara. We´ve spent the last few days lazily wandering around the tiny town with no paved roads. At 5:30 every night, the entire town walks up the enormous dune and watches the sunset. Once the sun goes down, the capoeira guys gather on the beach and defy gravity with graceful flips and maneuvers so powerful and swift that we get chills watching them. We got up enough courage last night to inquire about capoeira classes. We asked a guy who spoke some English, ´When are the classes?´ His answer went on for about 25 minutes during which his name changed from Elin to Wesley, he told us classes are held every day on the beach at 4:30pm, except for Sunday when there are no classes, but on Sunday the classes are at 7pm, and so I'll see you tonight at 6pm. Huh? (blank Simpsons face). We have no idea when the classes are.

And now for some general ranting. To all those out there who hate America, hate Bush, hate Americans - we hear you. And the reason we hear you is because you talk about these things in front of our faces and direct your comments at us while we are all eating papaya together for breakfast. No, the Noodles did not vote for Bush. No, not EVERY single American spends their days hopping between Home Depot and Wal Mart with a Dunkin Donut in one hand and a Starbucks Frappaccino in the other. Especially not the two Americans sitting right in front of you! And then there is the persistent ripping on Brazilian culture for being so "Americanized"? What is this American influence? The traffic! Yes, America is solely responsible for the overcrowding of city streets worldwide with diesel coughing vehicles. Fuck off! (A British couple we met today practically suggested that Brazilian culture would be much more authentic and interesting if the Brazilians were poorer and lived in mud huts by a river.)

But perhaps this criticism of America is part of the general tendency of travelers to be overly blunt and opinionated. Last night we dined with an Italian friend and the following conversation ensued when it came up that Ande is a vegetarian:

Italian: Ah but you don´t eat the meat.
Ande: I eat fish.
Italian: But the fish is the worst. [Meaning the most toxic?]
Ande and Jen: Why is that?
Italian: Yes, it is a proven scientific fact.
Ande and Jen: Blank Simpsons faces.
Italian: Ah no. The egg is the worst. Unless the chicken lives together with you in your home. Then the egg is okay. Then the shrimp is the worst.

The waitress comes and the Italian orders a giant plate of shrimps.

I hate reading

2005-05-17T12:33:00.000-07:00

Salinas Grandes, Argentina

Ande salt-skates

We made it!

Obligatory tourist pose

Remember the glacier? (Perito Moreno, Arg)

Look how big it is (see the people at the bottom)

South America´s Next Top Guanaco Supermodel

Ciao Argentina, Bom Dia Brazil

2005-05-16T07:34:00.000-07:00

We spent our last two days in Argentina in the tropical border town of Iguazu, the base point for trips to the magnificent 2 km stretch of jungle-forrested waterfalls in Parque Nacional de Iguazu. As soon as we stepped off the plane we liberated our bodies from the fleece and our feet from the confines of closed-toed shoes. So happy to be out of the cold weather, we wandered around town with perma-grins on our faces. There is not much else to do in the town of Puerto Iguazu besides see the breathtaking falls. The town is like any other in the tropics - slow, hot, and full of toucan tsotchkes.

We shared a cab to the falls with a mis-matched British couple (he was nearly 40 and she was maybe 18 and had the look and demeanor of a Russian mail order bride) and decided to skip all the Disney-esque excursions (jeep trek and boat ride that sticks your face right under a booming waterfall so that you come up soaking wet like Roaring Rapids at Magic Mountain) and walk around on our own. The falls are stunning and really do-able in a single day by hiking along numerous well, maintained, easy to follow paths and trails. They stretch across the corners of 3 countries - Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay - and viewing opportunities (e.g., opportunity to suck tourist $$) are available from all 3 paises. But most people agree that the Argentine side offers the best views, and by the end of the day, we had seen enough pouring water for a lifetime and so skipped the more arduous than necessary border crossings and bus rides to see the falls from the Brazilian or Paraguayan point of view.

The real highlight of the falls is the giant El Gargantua Diablo (or something like that...we happily tossed our outdated Encyclopedia of Lies Argentina (a.k.a. Lonely Planet) on our way into Rio). This is the biggest waterfall in the park and it has to be seen to be believed. The sheer power of the water plummeting to indeterminable depths below is both breathtaking and a little horrifying. You view Diablo from a platform that you know in your mind is safe, and yet on first glimpse of the enormously powerful waterfall, your first instinct is to recoil with fear. But then with the cooling spray of the fall on your face, you become mesmerized by its size, and the raw gracefulness with which the water surges and plummets over the rock face. Watching the water carefully, you notice a brief moment as it passes over the lip of the falls where the water looks weightless and seems to pause - almost as if in a moment of prayer in anticipation of its upcoming fate - before regaining its heft and thundering furiously down, down, down. It´s like that small, gravity-defying instant at the top of a rollercoaster when you are perfectly poised between the upward and downward slope of the tracks, and you feel just a second of weightless, tranquil freedom. But you know that drop is coming, and then it does and you lose your breath and your stomach and then bye-bye. El Diablo was awesome. Don´t miss seeing it if you are anywhere close by.

Our plane leaving Argentina the next day was at 6:00 am. We ordered a cab to come at 4am and take us over the border into Brazil. That sucked. The Gol Air flight was cheap ($120 US), but made 3 stops on its way to Rio. It was pretty much a flying bus.

We made it to Rio and took an air con bus (Real Bus, $2 US) to our hotel in Ipanema. The favelas (slums) we witnessed as we were leaving the airport were enormous and we understood the reason for so many tourist muggings in this country. The beach in Ipanema is gorgeous and exactly how you picture it from movies and postcards - lively and packed with umbrellas and chairs and volleyball and vendors sweating up and down the sand selling everything from fried cheese to ice-cold coconut juice to brightly-hued sarongs, and all the people in tiny Brazilian bathing suits and tan, tan, tan! The Noodles gave everyone something to gossip about with our bone white bodies. But if we are persistent, and carefully follow the instructions of the Brazilian masters, we may end up coming home a lovely shade of off-white. Success!

Salta and the Andean Northeast

2005-05-11T12:05:00.000-07:00

Not all bus companies are created equal. We found that out the hard way as we piled on to our Flecha bus (which was supposedly cama - meaning full fold-down bed) and braced ourselves for our 17 hour trip from Mendoza to Salta. Unlike Andesmar, Flecha bus did not provide blankets, pillows, or a clean chair. And where was our flat cheese sandwich to welcome us aboard? Our old host Martin was nowhere to be found and in his place was a family of flies, screaming babies, and soccer hoodlums. They were the perfect audience for the Polish teenage lesbian drama that someone decided to pop into the VCR. Huh? Anyway, the entire ride was bad. And long! Fuck you Flecha bus!

But we arrived, dirty and tired, and were pleased to find friendly faces and pleasant accomodation at our fabulous pueblo-looking hostel Las Rejas ($18 USD per night). Salta is a cute mini-metropolis, famous for its wealth of well preserved Colonial architecture. On one side of the city´s central square, Plaza 9 de Julio, sits a giant pink birthday cake of a cathedral which rivals in gaudiness and grandeur the best that Florence or Madrid has to offer. On the opposite side of town is the Cerro San Bernado. We climbed Bernado´s 1,070 steps to its peak, were kind of ¨eh¨ about the view of the sprawling, smoggy urbanscape below, and then enjoyed a leisurely ride in the cable car (also known as ¨the scary box on the string¨) back down the mountain. (We later learned from a native Salteño that Cerro San Bernardo is hated among the city´s youths whose monthly P.E. exams involve racing their instructor up the thousand steps of San Bernardo and only passing the exam if they beat the instructor to the top. Clearly Argentina has much more fit gym teachers than the gray and paunchy ones we remember from junior high; must be the futbol.)

The thing about Salta, though, is that while at first blush it appears all quaint and picturesque, it´s actually driving one Noodle insane right now. Too much diesel exhaust being sprayed in your face in front of the big pink birthday cake, too few mufflers as you try and enjoy the serenity of the courtyard of the Franciscan monastery near the central square. We´re hoping to find sanctuary in the Museo de los Montañas Altas which supposedly has some baby Inca mummies on display and is set away from the street and insulated in glorious silence by thick, double-paned glass.

Having to skip Bolivia because of a yellow fever vaccination complication (Brazil requires one for Americans if you´ve been in Bolivia 90 days before entering Brazil; Noodles are not vaccinated) we were stoked to find out that Salta had some equally impressive salt flats. So we ponied up the $195 pesos ($60 USD) and went on the excursion to see the impressive salt. In the morning, we followed the tracks of the Tren a las Nubes (Train to the Clouds - a 17 hour trip that goes up a beautiful mountain and then comes right back down it - in the dark. It´s supposed to be great, but only runs on Saturdays this time of year. Ande was secretly excited we missed it.) By mid-day we were at 4,000 meters (around 12,000 feet) and feeling the high altitude effects. Both of us felt slow and heavy and a little short of breath. Jen had a strange tummy feeling and Ande fell asleep in the car while the breathtaking multi-colored mountains passed us by. Hours later we saw the salt flats in the distance. Our guide Luis explained that they look close, but are actually 100km away. Some more hours later, we drove right onto the Salinas Grandes - both of us hanging out the window in anticipation of the stunning sight before us. In the middle of the desert, for as far as the eye could see, was bright white salt - literally an entire dry lake bed composed of salt crystals compressed into broad, hexagonal tiles. We jumped all around it, licked it, and took a zillion pictures. Having traveled to a lot of places, both Noodles agreed, the Salinas Grandes was one of the coolest things either of us had ever seen.

Back to the city of Salta we went with a short stop in the small Argentine willage of Pumamarca. Finally, a willage! With the small mestizo looking ladies in the black hats selling fuzzy llama hats. We had a go at some Te´ de Coca (tea made of coca leaves). Our guide told us it would wake us up, supress our appetites, and help with digestion. What a miracle this coca is. We finished our glasses and Ande fell flat asleep, but not before complaining of starvation. Both of our tummies felt great though. I guess one out of three isn´t bad. Pumamarca is a small cute town on the side of a multi-colored hill. That´s all there is to say really about Pumamarca.

More pictures are coming soon...we promise.

Mendoza, Argentina

2005-05-06T18:02:00.000-07:00

We came to Mendoza with the promise of, 'with every breakfast...a cuddle.´ (After a long and tiring internet search for accomodation in Mendoza, Jen had found a hotel which charmingly extended us this special, if not slightly mysterious, offer.) Believe it or not, the 13 hour bus ride between Buenos Aires and Mendoza was great ( Andesmar $US 40) and included plush leather seats that folded all the way down into beds, a host named Martin who played Bingo with us, and fine cuisine (purchased from someone's trunk off the side of the road before we hit the highway no less). But when we arrived in Mendoza, Argentina's wine capital, the cuddling hotel was nowhere to be found. Instead we ended up at the comfortable and centrally located Hostal Confluencia ($US 16 /nt). It's a decent place with the real benefit being its super friendly and helpful owners. (For their mug shots, click on the link).

Mendoza is located near Argentina's eastern border on the other side of the Andes from Santiago, Chile. The city is small, but bustling, and the streets are lined with old, stone aquaducts once used in an irrigation system developed by the area's indigenous people. Diesel cars and teenagers compete for space in Mendoza's tree-canopied streets and plazas, while Argentina's omnipresent cadre of old, distinguished gentleman in fine gauge wool sweaters conspire in corner cafes. Each one looks like a retired professor working on a Gabriel Garcia Marquez-esque novel.

We took a tour of two local wineries - the bodegas Lopez and Guadron. Lopez was the larger and more commercial of the two - probably run by J.Lo herself. The wine we tasted there was so bad we were instantly struck with headaches. Family run and more intimate, Ande liked Guadron much better. Especially when the guide instructed our group during the tasting, 'OK, everyone nose in the wine.' The tour even included a special moment of politically-incorrect awkwardness when our guide enthusiastically (in her broken English) asked the group, 'So, who picks the grapes in your countries?' Silence. 'Come on now, you two from South Africa, who picks your grapes? And the California girls?' Uh. 'Well, here in Mendoza, we have the people from Bolivia pick the grapes. Yes, they are very hard working people.' Without missing a beat, the guide then turned her attention to the next topic. Some kind of tree.

We were invited to a BBQ tonight. It starts at 11:30pm. It's still pretty cold so we will be wearing the fleece. In a few days, we're moving north to Salta and Jujuy in the Andean northwest, and then on to the warm climes of Falls de Iguazu in the east and Brazil. Countdown to fleece burning: 7 days.

Baby steps

2005-05-03T18:50:00.000-07:00

Someone bought a fancy camera to come on this trip. Someone forgot the fancy camera´s UBS string at home. Boo. We will buy a new one. In the meantime, here are a few pictures from the cute, but much less fancy camera (not many pictures have been taken with her, so excuse the crap selection). But, as proof that we are not in fact still in L.A. blogging from the corner booth at Norm´s...

Torres del Paine, Chile

The picture Ande is taking is probably much better

Cows in the mist

¨Survivor¨-style supper (um, nice deodorant in the background)

Noodle or egg?

Recoleta Cementerio

Dios?

Be careful or they spit you - and The Vile Human

2005-05-01T14:23:00.000-07:00

We´ve just re-settled into our fancy room at the El Calafate Hostel (or, as we like to call it, ¨home¨. Did we mention it also has a heated floor and a bidet?) after spending a day and night in Chilean Patagonia. We left for Chile way too early on Saturday morning and along with some seriously geared-out Spaniards were driven fast and furiously for five hours through the darkness and dense fog to Parque Nacional Torres del Paine in the southern-most stretch of Chile. Our time in the park was long, freezing and sometimes raining, but was nevertheless spectacular. The park is enormous, with numerous turquoise-colored lakes (some sprinkled with icebergs), red and amber-hued trees changing color to mark the beginning of autumn, and lots of interesting and unusual wildlife. All of this is set against the backdrop of the snow-covered mountains and the three distinctive ¨towers of blue¨ granite which jut out above the other mountain peaks and give the park it´s name (¨Torres del Paine¨ means ¨Towers of Blue¨in the language of the local indigenous people).

The color of the lakes is hard to describe and difficult to believe. It´s bright turquoise like the Caribbean ocean (due to the minerals carried by the glacier ice), but with a slightly milky tinge so that it appears etheral and not quite real. At one point during the day, we hiked to a raging waterfall created by the run-off of some of the park´s glaciers. It looked like liquid blue neon thundering onto the rocks below. Our guide, Daniel, was awesome and showed us a lake that is salty in the winter, but has fresh water in the summer, another lake that is 10 times saltier than the Dead Sea where flamingos like to congregate, and introduced us to the cousin of the camel, the South American guanaco (face of a kangaroo, body of a llama, ´tude of a camel). The guanacos are protected from humans within the park (they still have to contend with resident pumas) and so are very docile and don´t mind if people get close to them to take pictures (although Daniel famously warned us, ¨Be careful or they spit you.¨) There were a couple professionals in the herd that we stopped to gawk at and Ande got an amazing picture of South America´s Next Top Guanaco Model posing seductively on top of a hill, with postcard-perfect, snow-capped mountains in the background.

The journey back to El Calafate from Torres del Paine was long and shared with a hideous man and the two Spaniards. We first encountered the man the night before in the lovely fish restaurant we retired to in Puerto Natales, Chile with some awesome people we met on our trekking trip. Although Daniel´s plans to drop us off at a vegetarian restaurant in Puerto Natales didn´t work out (much to the dismay of Ande and our two new veggie, British friends who bonded over shared stories of eating nothing but bread and potatos for days on end in South America), the fish restaurant turned out to be great (and non-smoking...holla!) and we enjoyed a brilliant dinner with new friends and shared travel stories. As we were about to leave, the vile man approached. He was a head-to-toe British stereotype, from his mangled teeth all the way down to his drunken feet. He put his arm around Jen and our veggie friends and asked if we´d join him at the Club later on. We were in a town of about 4 people, what the fuck club was this drunken fool talking about? We politely turned him down and went off to pass out at the Alcazar Hosteleria.

Bright and early next morning, we and the chain-smoking Spaniards woke up and hopped on our mini-bus for the 5 hour ride back to El Calafate. We jetted 3 minutes down the street of the tiny town and suddenly stopped in front of another hostel. Our driver rushed in to fetch another passenger but came out empty-handed. Some Spanish was exchanged and we pulled away, drove around the block and came right back. The driver went in a second time and this time returned with the ´let´s go clubbing´ Brit from the night before (hereinafter referred to as the ¨Vile Human¨). The Vile Human stumbled onto the mini-bus reeking of alcohol and other odors and announced to no one in particular that it was quite a night he had and that he had been passed out the first time we came to pick him up. By quite a night, we imagine he pounded cheap tequila, gyrated to 80s techno, and went to bed with a 13 year-old prostitute (who we hoped was really a 20 year old man who robbed him blind). The Vile Human took his seat in front of us and we prayed to Dios that he did not barf all over our fleeces. We immediately plugged into iPods and closed our eyes. Some time later, the Vile Human turned around and started speaking at us. He was relentless and Jen finally opened her eyes and gave him a few sentences before re-closing them moments later while he was still talking. It only got worse once we hit the Chilean-Argetine border and our driver for the second leg of the trip realized he had forgotten his keys for the next mini-bus back at the hostel in Puerto Natales. We piled into a small roadside cafe to wait 2 hours for someone to go retrieve the keys. Despite our best efforts, the Vile Human plopped down at our table and continued to talk at us, this time with half of his sandwich hanging off his face and the other half flying out of his mouth in little chunks as he spoke. He was awful and rude and burping and STILL drunk. We found solace in our driver, the two Spaniards, and every other person within a 10 mile radius who shared a mutual disgust for the man. As he started blurting out his interary for the next 6 weeks in South America, we shuddered as we realized it was nearly identical to ours. Would we have to cross paths with the Vile Human in every city we visit from here on out, dodging his drunken, projectile spittle like he were some sort of backpacking, Queen´s English-spewing guanaco? Bahhh. Hopefully he was too drunk to remember us.

El Calafate, Argentina

2005-04-28T19:19:00.000-07:00

We´re pretty much at the bottom of the planet. So cool. We took a 3 1/2 hour flight on Aerolineas ($200 roundtrip) from Bs As into El Calafate today. Not much has happened since the last post, but we are in a fancy-shmance hostel (El Calafate Hostel) with free internet access IN our room, so why not take advantage. Tomorrow we head out to the Perito Moreno glacier. Not yet sure if we are walking on it (in crampons nonetheless - how pads appropriate), or just staring at it. If it is the former, we might be dangerously close to sinking it as we have just ingested yet another enormous, delicious meal for under $30. The middle aged couple sitting next to us at the restaurant was celebrating a bumple and shared their flaming tiramisu with us. Tomorrow is Jen´s bumple. Yet another excuse for a fat-ass meal. More tomorrow.

PS - We leave the country for 5 days and all hell breaks loose at the Scientology Center? Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes?? WTF. His star has officially fallen. Ande called that two years ago.

PSS - Um, is that Ashley Simpson singing that Led Zeppelin song? Maybe that song will only get released outside the US.

PSS - Jen is lying in her bed simultaneously trying to mainline dulce de leche and find non-Spanish dubbed Titanic on the TV. We have a TV. So fancy.

¡Feliz Bumple!

2005-04-26T16:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was Ande´s birthday. We celebrated with dinner at a fancy restaurant on the water front of the Rio de La Plata in Buenos Aires (Cabañas Las Lilas - $25 US pp) After the meal, Jen pulled the old ´going to the bathroom trick´ and secretly told the waiter (ín spanish! after 5 yrs of high school and college spanish, she was so proud!) that it was Ande´s special night and wink-wink, was there anything he could do. A few minutes later, he showed up with 2 glasses of champagne and a delicious blob of chocolate on a plate decorated in chocolate icing to read ¨¡Felize Bumple!¨ Two Argentine naval officers looked on approvingly (no doubt admiring our fleeces), and we chalked up the Bumple to ¨Argentine¨ spanish being different from the ¨Mexican¨spanish we had learned in school. (The bus boy later enlightened us that it´s just hard to write in chocolate and ¨Bumple¨was in fact ¨Cumple¨ and perhaps we were just thrown by the whole missing ¨anos¨part.) Ah yes, just like the time Ande and Kirstie (full name Kirstie Linda McCarter) were traveling through Vietnam on Kirstie´s birthday and the old ¨going to the bathroom trick¨ resulted in a cake that said ¨Happy Birthday Linda Carter¨and a rousing rendition by the Vietnamese waiters of the ¨Wonder Woman¨theme song in place of ¨Happy Birthday¨.

Back at the Virtual Tourist-recommended Milhouse Hostel, a party was in full swing. By party we mean 18-yr old Polish Edward Furlng DJ spinning the latest electronica circa 1999. (Earlier in the hostel´s events del dia, Beer Bong Challenge at 7pm; Remembering Jacques Derridas at 9pm. No joke, Chandra!) The typical grungy backpacker crowd was in attendance, chainsmoking and trying to get into each other´s pants. After only interacting up until that point with one other person in the hostel (an Israeli guy who popped by our room looking for an iron for his wrinkled Seder shirt), Ande struck up a conversation with a couple cool American guys. She jokingly (we thought obviously so...sorry, Ande) told them it was her 21st birthday. But after numerous missed 90´s references...¨Hey, doesn´t that guy look like he stepped off the set of ´Singles´?¨...Ande revealed to the young, blank face staring back at her that she was actually 29, not 21. The blank face then morphed into one of horror, as if he had just seen Large Marge herself (not, of course, that he would get that Pee-Wee´s Big Adventure reference). Clearly no one in a backpacker´s hostel contemplates the fact that life goes on after...23?

So here we are, day four of our trip. Buenos Aires is a cool, friendly, large and very European city. We´ve been getting around using the tagteam approach to Spanish - Jen speaks and Ande interprets the response, relying on her life long skill she has acquired growing up around incomprehensible Israelis. We´ve had fun doing typical tourist things like visiting the Casa Rosada, touring the Teatro Colon and shopping for antiques at the San Telmo flea market, bouncing among all of Buenos Aires´ distinct neighborhoods - Palermo, Recoleta, etc.

Despite our horror at being forced to run around in a stupid fleece, we´ve been trying to fit in as much as possible and have taken to eating dinner at 11:30 pm and polishing it off with a bottle of wine. The fleece is really our only complaint. Jen looks like an Outward Bound leader and Ande in her white fleece looks like a polar bear that has lost her way. Needless to say, the fleece will not be joining us on leg 2 of the trip.

All is good. Ande has opted to stay the veggie course and has not partaken in any famous Argentinian beef. But shortly after our arrival she was slipped a ham roofie in her tomato y queso tortilla. Jen was a good friend and swears the jambon was not actually in the piece she put in her mouth.

We´re off to Patagonia on Thursday. Perhaps we will have a new appreciation for the fleece.

So, are you flying directly to Antarctica? (The Itinerary)

2005-04-15T15:47:00.001-07:00

Well, not exactly. But the itinerary does have us tackling glaciers near both the north AND south poles. Pretty cool for one trip (and, yes, somewhat surprising for people who have built their lives around wearing flip-flops year round. Really, you should have seen us trying to buy fleece.)

So, after much deliberation and many visits to Keponi the wonder travel agent (STA Westwood: 310.824.1574 – complicated trip planners, he’s your man!), the bare bones of our itinerary are finally settled. Most of where we’ll be going and what we’ll be doing will be planned on the fly, so things are likely to change, but the itinerary below should give you a rough idea of where you can picture the Noodles over the next 4 months. (Click on the link for “Interactive World Map” on the right for visual aids).

We’ll be updating this blog regularly with stories from the road instead of sending long trip emails. Hopefully we’ll even be hi-tech enough to post pictures. So bookmark Noodle Talk and let us hear from you on the comments pages. Even better, pick a leg of the itinerary that looks good and come meet us!

Here goes…

WEEKS 1-3ish (April 22 – May 17): Argentina and Uruguay (Buenos Aires, Montevideo, Punta del Este, Patagonia (El Calafate, El Chalten, Parque Torres del Paine, Usuaia, Bariloche, Mendoza, Salta, Jujuy)

WEEKS 4-7 (May 18 – June 6): Bolivia and Brazil (Salar de Uyuni, La Paz, Falls de Iguazu, Florianopolis, Curtiba, Buzios, Salvador?, Rio de Janeiro)

WEEK 7 (June 7-11): Los Angeles (3 days for laundry, Mommies, and burritos!!); Baltimore (Welcome to the world Jill Madison Keehan!)

WEEK 8: (June 11 – 16) Reykjavik, Iceland (Blue Lagoon, glaciers, whales, clubs, Bjork worshiping)

WEEK 9: (June 17- June 22) Scandinavian highlights (Copenhagen to Stockholm, ferry to Poland?)

WEEKS 10-11ish (June 23- July 9) Travel south over land from north-eastern Europe to Rome (Poland, Czech Republic, Hungary, Austria)

WEEKS 12-13 (July 10 - July 21): Italy (Assissi, Ravenna, Sienna, Rome, can we afford Amalfi in July?)

WEEKS 14-15 (July 21 – Aug. 1): Israel (Tel Aviv, Jerusalem, Sinai Peninsula, Dead Sea)

WEEK 16 (Aug. 1 – 10): Turkey (Istanbul and southern Mediterranean coast (Fethiye, Kas, Olympos via gulet!!)

WEEKS 17-18 (Aug. 11 – 22): South East Asia (flight into good ‘ol Bangkok, from there maybe Koh Phangan? North to China?)

WEEK 19 (Aug. 22 – Aug. 31): Japan (Hi Peen! Tokyo, Kiserazu, Hiroshima, Osaka, World’s Fair and company mountain cabin in Nagano, onsens!

WEEK 20 (Aug. 31 – Sept. 2): Hawaii

HOME!!

Here are a few pictures of what we hope to find:

Buenos Aires
Perito Moreno Glacier
Ushuaia (southern most city in the world)
Falls de Iguazu
Rio
Buzios
Salar de Uyuni, Bolivia
Reykjavik (our second glacier)
Copenhagen
Prague
Good times in Krakow
Budapest
Salzburg
Assisi
Amalfi Coast
Dead Sea tourist circa 1984
Kas, Turkey
Koh Phangan
Pan
Kailua

Quit job...Check!

2005-04-03T22:21:00.000-07:00

Friday marked the last day of life in my cube. I dreaded the day. I can't stand being the center of attention. If I ever get married, I will surely die. When my co-worker picked me up in the morning, I begged him for some of his Ativan.

As predicted, people stopped by my cubicle all morning to drown me in cries of, "you're so lucky, I wish I could do the same thing, stay in touch, and where are you going?" Truth was, yes, I am lucky - and yes I do feel a tremendous amount of guilt at being able to travel the world for four months. Also, with no ticket in hand, I had no idea where we would really end up going. I threw out various countries at these people while they stared at me, with the same blank look. I imagined after the first two countries I named, they stopped paying attention and focused more on what an asshole I was to be able to take such a trip.

At 12:30, my regular lunch crew began sending IMs demanding to know where I wanted to go for my final meal. In a city with so many choices, the daily decision of where to eat was one that always plagued us. Our best week ever was when we decided to eat ethnic every day. We covered Korean, Ethiopian, and Mexican, and by Thursday we were all out of ideas. We were simply apathetic. That and 3/4 of the crew had various tummy issues and couldn't always handle exotic ethnic fare.

I chose Ethiopian for the final meal to the protest of one of the lunch crew members. Said member loathed the special Ethiopian spongy bread as she claimed it reminded her of a spongy penis. We promised her a trip to 7-11 afterwards, and off we went.

The remainder of my final afternoon at the office consisted of me lifting papers from my file cabinet and depositing them into the trash. I then hosted a garage sale, giving away various desk trinkets - a small frog, a pair of Thai chopsticks, a few pictures of Gael Garcia Bernal (who two people told me thought was Keanu Reeves the entire time he was up at my cube), and loads of left-wing rhetoric. Hillary 2008!, Bush/Cheney axis of stupidity, that Jesusland map of America. The good stuff had been tagged weeks earlier and was promptly picked up at the beginning of the sale.

For my dreaded final department meeting, the thunder of my last day was shared with not one, but two other people. It was our executive producer's birthday and another girl's last day. When the time came to talk about where we would be headed, the other girl spoke first. She began calmly and within seconds was sobbing. She talked about moving back east to be near her family and how much she would miss everyone. When it was my turn to talk, I peaked out from the person I was hiding behind and announced I was leaving to go traveling. "You shallow bitch!" someone screamed out from across the room. Hilarity ensued and I was saved from giving a longer speech about the trip I was taking without actually knowing where I was going. I was also spared having to rationalize my decision to walk away from a stable job that offered me health insurance and a 401k plan that enabled me to save hundreds of dollars.

I woke up the morning after my last day at work and completely freaked. What the fuck was I thinking quitting my job? The other Noodle had quit working about a month earlier and told me the same thing happened to her. She said it takes about a week to get used to and then you settle into your decision and realize it was the right one. I freaked less today, but when I met up with two former co-workers I admitted to them that when I looked at them, what I saw staring back was two people with health insurance.

This is all very scary and exciting. The other Noodle had this to say to ease my woes, "You can always buy health insurance, but you can't buy back your 20s. Let's go see the fucking travel agent and get going."

Passport....Check!

2005-03-24T17:52:00.000-08:00

The new passport arrived this morning to the sheer surprise and delight of my mom who begged the question, "You didn't tell me you got a new passport?" in the same tone she would have would have stated, "You didn't tell me you got a B- on your Algebra test" should I ever have scored so high on a math exam. (To all those in the know, it is now plainly obvious which Noodle is posting this). My mom then went on to tell me that if it not were for Chi Chi, the passport would have marched back to its Federal Building in the Mid-West. Apparently mom was upstairs and Nati was blogging her recipe for Kasha Varnishka and the only one who heard the doorbell ring was The Chi. Beloved Chi Chi.

A Strange Cold

2005-03-24T14:48:00.000-08:00

I have a strange cold. My head feels loopy and sometimes when I'm walking with someone, I secretly hope they will scoop me up and carry me like a suitcase. That way I can enjoy the sensation of being weightless while lying horizontally. This is what the loopy cold is causing my body to crave. That's the cold. No coughing, no snot. That's it. Fascinating. Everyone that has a blog thinks that everything they write is fascinating. I love me.

Support Terri's Law and Shed Pounds!

2005-03-22T23:05:00.000-08:00

Thanks go out to Everybody Loves Raymond star Patricia Heaton for premiering a new Hollywood diet on Entertainment Tonight this evening: the Euthanasia Diet! Yes, dear Patty "rocked" Hollywood when she told an ET reporter that she intends to fast and forego all foods and liquids in symbolic support of Terri Schraivo. Patricia plans to start her fast "soon...maybe tomorrow...maybe Friday, yeah, it's Good Friday, maybe on Good Friday" and end her fast when the ink dries on her TrimSpa contract and Mel Gibson's lips begin to slowly disengage from her ass.

Stars known for battling both the bulge and a rep for being vapid came out as early supporters of Patricia's plan and enthusiastically embraced the opportunity to try on political pretense while taking off pesky pounds. Jessica Simpson, for one, appreciates the diet's simplicity, 'Know nothing, eat nothing...it works for me!" And Lindsay Lohan, formerly a devotee of the popular "Blow Only" diet remarked, "If necessary, I will take my fast all the way to the Supreme Court. Or to the President. Or to Benson. Or whoever it is that works in a big white house and is responsible for these things."

Other observers might say that starving is what actresses like Patricia Heaton do for a living...voluntarily. If Patricia really wanted to show the world what it's like to walk in Terri's shoes, perhaps she should lay in Terri's bed. Immobile. For 15 years. Without any brain activity whatsoever. (Although, maybe Patricia already knows what that last bit is like.)

Yes, I'm in Jail - What the Fuck Do You Want?

2005-03-22T10:49:00.000-08:00

Is every phone call you make (aside from the ones dialed directly to friends, aquaintances, and moviefone) sent directly to someone in jail? Have these car thieves, pimps, and rapists completely taken over the customer service industry? Is their reward for good behavior our punishment for having to return a cable box? And if this reward system is a sort of rehabilitation program that will one day benefit these raging attitude assholes, can they at least reserve these jobs for white collar criminals? I mean, really.

The Downside of Joan Allen

2005-03-21T23:21:00.000-08:00

All the critics are raving about Joan Allen's performance in "The Upside of Anger". She's a good actress. Those "daisy chain" scenes in "The Contender" couldn't have been pulled off by any second-rate hack (read: Kelly Preston). But I don't know about this most recent performance. It was a little overwrought. Too "Ben Stiller-I'm so highstrung and flummoxed by the incompetencies of others". I mean, we get it. The title of the movie tells us it's a film about anger. The moronic opening voiceover by the preternaturally wise youngest daughter tells us to watch out because Joan's character is one crazy bitch on the edge. So do we really have to see the same clenched teeth, speechless, neck veins bulging "I can't take this anymore" face from her in every scene? Is that great acting nowadays? In this movie, Joan's neck is just too long, her body too rail thin and her clothes and hair too impeccably assembled. All four of those daughters of hers would be majorly drug addicted, eating disordered sluts. Instead, each daughter mildly dabbles in one or the other of these vices and the movie misses out on a great opportunity to show how perfect moms fuck up their daughters way more than imperfect ones.

haaaa

2005-03-21T22:53:00.000-08:00

Upside of Kevin Costner

2005-03-21T22:38:00.000-08:00

For a nip/tucked, monotone buffoon, Costner was the best thing about the Upside of Anger or what black people would call (should they ever see this movie) White People Are Crazy. Things I learned from this awful movie: 1. White people are crazy. 2. In the future, avoid seeing movies that are mainly dramas but have occasional funny scenes. The audience will mistake the entire movie for a comedy and laugh at points of very serious dialogue like someone just got kicked in the nuts. 3. I love Kerry Russell.

Year of the Walker

2005-03-21T21:51:00.000-08:00

I've noticed a trend in 2005 - retirement parties. I'm all for them. Better than the other big trend of 2005 - crazy right wing fundamentalists.