Category Archives: Where the Crazy Is

The Khe San Slambook

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Khe San Today

Along the old DMZ zone in Vietnam, the war is still being played out, this time between the tourists. The battle is played out in the pages of the Visitors Book at Khe San, the notorious battle site outside of Quang Tri where the Marines were under siege by the North Vietnamese for over four months in 1968 during the Tet Offensive. The government memorial proclaims a victory for the North Vietnamese Army – a notion disputed by Americans. Lying in the back, behind bomb remnants, pictures of Americans “fleeing in fright!” (boarding a carrier during Operation Charlie), and mannequins of VietCong women sewing a flag ala Betsy Ross, is the visitors comment book. Which reads like an international high school slam book:

“Never trust an American – they speak with fork (sic) tongue, Vietnamese, you guys rock!” – Jeff, from “The World.”

[Underneath the previous message]:  “FUCK YOU,” – USA

Let’s be clear. Khe San was a horrific, long battle. And the wounds have yet to heal for many people [From militaryhistory.com: Lasting 77 days, the “siege” of Khe Sanh saw American and South Vietnamese forces suffer 703 killed, 2,642 wounded, and 7 missing. North Vietnamese losses are not known with accuracy but are estimated at between 10,000-15,000 dead and wounded].

It gets worse. For more fighting words and pics of the pages, continue after the jump.

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The Hottest Party In Baghdad [Read: I’m Too Hungover To Post Words Today. Don’t Judge. The Superbowl’s In Town]

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It’s one of those days (don’t judge – the Superbowl has come to NYC and I’m off to the Miami Heat/NYC New York Knicks game tonight).

The Italian troops partying at the Italian embassy in Baghdad.

The Italian troops partying at the Italian embassy in Baghdad.

So. yeah. There’s no partying per se in Baghdad (except for that one club, but that’s a story for another time). So what’s an expat gonna do when he/she just needs to let off some steam?
The best time in Baghdad is found at the Italian embassy – which every Friday and Saturday used to (and presumably still does because really, not much has changed) host parties in the back yard which consisted of booze, bars and a bunch of Italian paratrooopers busting their shirts off and getting on the bar to shake their stuff. I think the “HOLY CRAP IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!” look on the blonde lady’s face says it all. And, just because I really love you all, after the jump, the rear view:

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Brazil: Home Of The Worst [read: Best] Trinkets Ever.

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I can't get enough of this - the reverse Romulus and Remus painting. This little guy went on to build the wolf version of Rome.

I can’t get enough of this – the reverse Romulus and Remus painting I found in Morretes, Brazil. This little guy (on the left) went on to build the wolf version of Rome.

Everyone knows I love a good market. I even pack collapsible bags on my trips for countries [Laos, Vietnam, Iraq, Guatemala] that have really good markets where I can pick up things to either decorate my apartment or give out as gifts. So, it was with high hopes that I went to Brazil – specifically Iguazu, Morretes and Curitiba.

I had visions of the indigenous market at Chichicastanenga in Guatemala or the night market in Luang Prabang, Laos… I was so wrong. So, so very wrong.

While I didn’t end up buying anything, I did photograph the wares on offer for your viewing pleasure.

Side note: the only reason I didn’t buy every single one of these mementos is because I live in a tiny Soho apartment. In my fantasy world, I have an apartment that is so big I have an entire room dedicated to awesomely bad art. Until then, I only have the pictures. Sad face.

Behold, some awesomely bad art/weird tchotchkes and so much more (including a wooden dildo) after the jump :

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Meet Penny: The Hedgehog Snatched From the Bowels Of the Bamako Death Market

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Penny, the hedgehog I saved from the Death Market

Penny, the hedgehog snatched from the bowels of the Bamako Death Market

Fun fact: People in the West African country of Mali will say, “The country is 80 percent Muslim, 20 percent Christian but 100 percent Animist.” Which means that everyone carries amulets, “passports” (leather pouches) and rings that are all full of magical potions created by a witch doctor… and that are made with all sorts of animals parts. Which also explains why Mali has almost no wildlife to mention, as every animal has been hunted to the point of extinction (Which is awful, except for the times you are forced to camp on the side of the Niger River in No Man’s Land and have to get up to pee at night. The absence of crocodiles comes in handy then, and only then). The dearth of crocodiles in Bamako is even more ironic as “Bamako” is taken from a Bambara word meaning “Crocodile River”… not so much anymore, just saying.

A stall in the Death Market

A stall in the Death Market

The main Witchdoctor (aka Death) Market is in the capital, Bamako, where you can find every animal that roam(ed) the country in a state of decay. There are hippos, hyenas, snakes, birds, dogs, lions… and hedgehogs. All waiting to be ground up into powder, blessed and put into a pouch so the wearer can traverse the Sahara or the Niger safely. For $2 you can videotape the stalls and take pictures – all while trying not to gag on the smell which is… potent, to say the least.

So there I was, in the Middle of the Death Market, when a vendor pointed out a ball of bristles. It was a tiny hedgehog-y ball of life in a sea of death. It freaked me out – I mean come on, can you imagine being stuck in a pile of rotting corpses just waiting for your turn? UGH. So I started haggling and walked away with Penny, the hedgehog, who was a little expensive, but how often can you save a life for $20?

The full story, WITH VIDEO of the rescue and release, after the jump!

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Oh, So THIS Is What ET Looks like: Proof Of Ancient Aliens In Baghdad

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It's 5,000 years old. And proof of ETs.

It’s 6,000 years old. And proof of ETs.

I found this guy, let’s call him Xorx, on some pottery in the National Museum of Iraq. Due to some looting and the place being a general mess, the jar was marked “4000 – 6,000 BC” and they left it at that. Now, I know that artwork back then wasn’t exactly realistic but, seriously, WTF? They drew what they knew – and this does not look human. I don’t care what your Uncle Bubba says.

But, it makes sense – think about it: Iraq is the birthplace of the Old Testament – The Garden Of Eden (Basra), The Ziggurat of Ur (Hello, alien architecture!), Babylon, etc. etc. – and how the heck did humans all of a sudden learn how to build all these things? Aliens, that’s how!

Let’s look a closely at Xorx. Large bulging eyes: Check. Weird wiggly arms: Check. No Hair: Check. More than five fingers (or is that less?): Check. No lips: Check; Weird elongated body: Check. Therefore, Xorx is an alien.

Okay, fine. I’m not nuts. Nor am I a faithful watcher of the (new) History Channel. I’m just saying there’s some weird, unexplained art in the National Museum of Iraq in Baghdad.

After the jump, more extraterrestrial art – If this shizz ain’t proof of aliens, I don’t know what is:

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The Night of The Tortured Turtles (Or: How To Make Organic Viagra)

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The final concoction: Blood (red) and Bile (green) mixed with 120 proof liquor.

The final concoction: Blood (red) and Bile (green) mixed with 120 proof liquor.

During my trip to Hanoi, I got along so well with my guide Lan and my driver Thang that they invited me to Thang’s anniversary – and I (obviously) said HELL YES! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Okay, these are the guys who took me to a brothel and introduced me to the hangover cure, so maybe I had a small clue, but damn, was I not ready for this mixology lesson.

The party was at a multi-floor restaurant 20 minutes away from my Hotel. It was the same crowd as the day before – except this time everyone brought their wives and children. The main entertainment was the torture of the turtles.  Two restaurant employees brought out a bucket of the doomed reptiles. While one held the wriggling body, the other employee took out a sharp menacing knife, grabbed the turtles’ heads and slit their necks – collecting the blood in a large glass while the dying turtle gave me the hairy eye ball [ed note: can’t say I blame him, but what was I gonna do?]. Minutes later a waitress took a hypodermic needle and extracted all the green bile-y goodness from the dying reptiles’ gall bladders. It was like watching the Coconut Tree Prison display come to life, with reptile stand ins for the mannequins.

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The Redneck Mecca of Stage Coach: Where America’s Stereotypes Come Alive

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Once a year, Rednecks from all over the world convene in the desert outside of Palm Springs for the Stage Coach festival where a bunch of (mostly) white people become inebriated, perform assless chaps dance offs (see video above) and listen to country music.

There are stereotypes for a reason and Stage Coach represents what much of the world think of when they think of Murrica. I, obviously, try to go every year (Ed Note: Little known fact, the Broad loves country music. And Stereotypes. And Bad behavior – which abounds). By the final night of the festival, brains have been fried by the sun, smokes and gallons of booze. And that’s when it gets really interesting.

Last year, to Stage Coach’s credit, they did try to integrate the stage (and thus the crowd) by having Darius Rucker and Charlie Parker perform – but frankly, only Charlie Parker counts.

And then there’s the fashion. Check out the best selling T-Shirts/bikinis from the stalls. It is all sorts of wrong. Trust.

(After the jump) Behold: AMERICA!

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Sallie Ann Glassman: The High Voodoo Priestess of New Orleans (No, Really!)

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Sallie Ann Glassman

Sallie Ann Glassman

Meet Sallie Ann Glassman – a Jew from Maine who also happens to be the high voodoo priestess of New Orleans. Not what I expected either.

Fun fact: I spend every Thanksgiving at Joan River’s house. A few years ago, I was at Joan’s house and she told me this story: “When I bought my (NYC) apartment it was haunted. Doors would open and shut, things would fall. So I found (Sallie Ann Glassman). She came up to New York and did an exorcism of the whole building. Apparently something really bad happened in the basement once. After she came all the stuff stopped. So now I have her do all my houses.” When Joan found out I was going to NOLA she introduced me to Sallie Ann. Separately, when I went to New Orleans, several business people in the town said, “You’re doing a New Orleans story? You should talk to the voodoo priestess – Sallie Ann!”

Outside the Island of Salvation

Outside the Island of Salvation

So, of course I had to talk to Sallie Ann, right? The Island of Salvation Botanica is on the edge of the Ninth Ward and crammed full of… stuff. The temple room has candles, statues, booze, cigars, altars and just things everywhere. Apparently voodoo spirits (and there are a ton) like to party.

Sallie Ann claims that during Katrina, the water stopped at her block and didn’t damage her house, temple or store because of her voodoo. Believe, don’t believe – either way, she was never under water and after Katrina that’s pretty amazing. She also says she can talk to spirits that will tell you about your past, your present and your future. She went into a trance and… Apparently I was a Buddhist monk in my past life. Go figure. I’m also supposed to be wildly successful in this life (I’m still waiting).

Photos of the voodoo after the jump:

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Deep Thoughts: How To Travel Anywhere And Not Get Killed or Maimed.

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I love a bodyguard

Yes, I know how to work that.

I’ve been known to travel to  places that some people [ed note: 99 percent] think are dodgy. I went to Iraq in 2011, was at the Essakane Music Festival outside of Timbuktu in 2013 (in my defense, Bono was there too), and hung out with a few “former” cocaine dealers in Colombia.

At this point my family has given up. Daddy (a right-wing, born again Tea Partier), now just shrugs and says, “God Bless and Hallelujah – I’ll call the prayer group.” Mom (a left-wing liberal Jew) just says, “Ah shit. Fine. Whatever.”
Over the years, I have developed a system that works for me in almost every country. Oddly enough, I’ve found people should be even more vigilant in “normal” places, because your guard is down – you just expect everything to be super fine and fun and cool – whereas in say, Cairo or Kirkuk, you are vigilant.
So, I present a by-no-means-cohesive list of How To Stay Safe. Or Alternatively, Paula Froelich’s Paranoid Guide To Travel.

The Dark Side of Phu Quoc : The Idyllic Island That Comes With Torture Instructions

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IMG_3845Subtlety just seems to confuse people and so the Vietnamese government has good-naturedly sought to make its war homages as literal and interactive as possible with the use of life-sized mannequins, no matter how dull or inappropriate the theme may be. They are placed in mundane situations, like the ones chilling on hammocks at Cu Chi, or the UN inspector models at the DMZ line which are being served tea by a gorgeous little Vietnamese paper mache model. And then there are those placed in situations that are just… unfortunate. Like the re-enactment of the My Lai massacre – where American GI’s are frozen in place, forever terrifying women and children – or the torture scenes at the little known, un-publicized prison museum on Phu Quoc Island.

Phu Quoc is a tiny, idyllic island at the very southern tip of Vietnam that takes about three hours to traverse over dirt roads. An airport was installed about two years ago, roughly the same time a small patch of road on the West Side of the island was paved and resorts were built, including the exclusive La Veranda, where honeymooning couples go to snuggle on the beach and get their tan on. The hotel’s brochure lists activities to do on the island, like “snorkeling, reef diving, waterfalls, hiking in virgin forests, shopping at the market…” at the very bottom of the list, on the back page is “Coconut Tree Prison.” Located at the far end of the island, the prison is not a very popular destination for La Veranda guests – the hotel employees gave me a strange look when I told them where I wanted to go and it cost me a whopping forty dollars for someone to take me there.

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