Killing Batteries

Just north of Chisinau, on the road to the Cricova winery, there’s a devious little speed trap in a 300 meter long, little buttfuck settlement, barely large enough to be named and nowhere near large enough to appear on any maps. The two cops in this almost-town have absolutely nothing else to do, but spend their days pulling people over for invented infractions and then intimidating them into on-the-spot bribery. This is a highly successful operation, seeing as how most Chisinau cops putter around, squished inside old Ladas while these countryside swine have relatively swanky Skodas.

Like everyone else, I usually slow to a groveling crawl as I pass cops like this, giving them little reason to pull me over. But this time, I was trying to get around a truck belching out exhaust at a toxicity quantity of about 999,999 parts per million and at the precise moment that I careened around the effing thing, the Lead Swine waved me to the side of the road.

Though there’s no posted speed limit here, the Lead Swine gravely informed that I had broken the 60KPH (37MPH) speed limit on this six lane highway that otherwise has a 90KPH limit by going 72 KPH. Having suffered through Moldovan Swine harassment repeatedly in 2006 when I had the unfortunate notion of driving my Romanian car into Moldova (which is akin to driving around with a neon “Please Stop and Intimidate Me” sign bolted to your roof), I knew the drill and was determined not to pay these swine.

Indeed, I put on a show that would’ve made Daniel Day-Lewis proud and walked away without ever having opened my wallet. In fact, it’s really not too difficult, so for the benefit of future visitors to Moldova and other locales with similarly honorable and motivated law enforcement, read and learn:

1. Whether you speak their language like an angel or only know a few phrases, do not speak a single word to the swine in their language, not even ‘hello’ – the less communication, the less effective the intimidation
2. When you are invited to get into the Swine Mobile with the Lead Swine’s Co-Swine, do so nonchalantly, remaining nonplused
3. Stay cool. Pretend you have all the time in the world, even if you’re trying to cover 300 kms that day for critical guidebook research
4. When the Co-Swine mimes putting your driver’s license in his pocket and leaving with it, show absolutely no sign of understanding
5. When the Co-Swine makes gestures that you go with him and repeats over and over “bank” and “lei” (Moldova’s currency), just repeat the same thing back with a hopelessly perplexed look on your face
6. When the Co-Swine starts ominously filling out a form with all your personal information, remain placid
7. Show no sign of recognition or understanding when the Lead Swine – who meanwhile is still pulling hapless people over, not even bothering to use the speed gun anymore – sticks his head in the window and says “Igor! What the fuck? Hurry up with this guy! If we don’t net another 1,000 lei before the end of the shift, I’m not gonna make my pool payment!”
8. When the Co-Swine, sensing defeat, sighs heavily and slumps his shoulders, do not show any sign of satisfaction
9. Simply say ‘thank you’ when the Co-Swine hands your documents back to you and says ‘goodbye’
10. As you return to your car, continue to look perplexed by everything that’s occurred, maybe even scratch your head for the Lead Swine’s benefit as he watches in disbelief while three months worth of pool payments walks off
11. Drive away carefully as you start mentally composing a blog entry about what’s just happened
12. Post pictures of the swine and Swine Mobile on the internet and mock them mercilessly, maybe adding a little comment about the caliber of swine mother that produced such pitiable swine offspring in their swine trailer park, on Swine Boulevard, in Swineville, home of the “Fighting Swine” soccer team with a record of 0 and 36 because they play like such hopeless swine

[Pictures courtesy of my co-pilot Elfin, who discreetly shot through the back window of our car with her tiny point-and-shoot digicam, conveniently armed with a Swine Filter to better capture swine in action.]

Share on Facebook

Hi, my name is Paul Kilduff and I have written the book that has been Ireland’s best selling non-fiction work for the past two months – Ruinair.  It’s a humorous travelogue around Europe.

Why does Ryanair ’suck’ as an airline? I will allow their Chief Executive Michael O’Leary to reply …
 
‘If a plane is cancelled will we put you up in an hotel overnight? Absolutely not. If a plane is delayed, will we give you a voucher for a restaurant? Absolutely not.’‘

‘Are we going to apologise when something goes wrong? No, we’re fucking not. Please understand. It does not matter how many times you write to us complaining that we wouldn’t put you up in a hotel because there was fog in Stansted. You didn’t pay us for it.’

‘We don’t care if you don’t show up‘.

‘You’re not getting a refund so fuck off.’

‘I think we certainly have democratised flight, in that there’s no curtains anymore, there’s no business class anymore, you’re not made to feel, you know, two inches tall, like, ‘Here you go, down with the poor people at the back.’ Everybody is the same on Ryanair.’

‘We don’t fall over ourselves if you say ‘My granny fell ill’. What part of ‘No Refund’ don’t you understand?’

‘Onboard our flights we don’t allow anybody to sleep because we are too busy selling them products.’

‘At the moment the ice is free, but if we could find a way of targeting a price on it we would.’

‘We recognise your right to object. But good luck, somebody else will have your seat.’

‘You want luxury? Go somewhere else.’

’No, we shouldn’t give you a bloody cup of coffee. We only charge 19 euros for the ticket.’

‘Our customer service is the lowest prices guaranteed, on brand-new aircraft, flying safely, on time, with the least risk of a cancellation or a lost bag. Did you get that service? Yes, you did? Fine. Shut up and go away.’

Having learned a few things on my travels, here are my tips for pithy travel writing:
 
Don’t write about the same old things to see and do in your destination. Instead find one theme or common thread. If I was writing about my home town of Dublin I would not go to Trinity College nor the Guinness Storehouse. Being me, I would only go see all the U2 sights in the city including a trip to Bono’s nice home in Killiney.
 
Don’t try to make everything funny. Very often in vaguely humorous travel writing, less is more. Don’t end every sentence with a bon mot nor every paragraph with a punchline. Try to leave the reader wanting more.
 
Pray that something goes wrong. If everything goes to plan then it’s not very interesting for a reader so hope for a missed flight, a wrong train connection, a lost wallet.
John Cleese once said that Fawlty Towers was only funny because everything went wrong all the time i.e. guests dying, kitchen fires and no Waldorf salads.
 
Use the tourist office. When I arrive in a city I make first for the official tourist office and I grab all the free literature I can. And I book an official city walking tour.
 
Omit the boring stuff. No one wants to read about meals in restaurants, drinks in bars, rooms in hotels. People want to read about something new and different.
 
Don’t write about the weather. First of all it’s not very exciting and secondly it will jar at a later date. If you write about freezing winds in the Artic, chances are your reader will be on a beach on the Costa del Sol, or when you write about searing temperatures in Monaco, your reader will have received the book as a Christmas present.
 
Don’t research destinations on the web before you go.  This is not travel writing. It’s called cut and paste plagiarism and it does not lend itself to originality. Read one good guide book for a basic orientation. Check your facts out later on reputable web sites but only after you have been on your trip and written a first good draft.
 
Don’t rush your writing. I make rough notes on loose A4 pages in pen when I travel (usually on the reverse side of my Ryanair flight itinerary which I dare not lose). I don’t bring nor do I even own a dreaded laptop. When I return home I wait a week before I write anything on my home PC. If something in my notes no longer seems valid or relevant or funny then I don’t use it. I keep only what I like seven days on. Maybe that’s why some folks say that Ruinair works.

Good luck.

Paul Kilduff

www.paulkilduff.com

I’d be happy to hear from anyone out there with questions for me about the book, my writing or what’s next, so feel free!

Share on Facebook

My 12-odd regular readers may have taken note that I never have guest bloggers here at KB. If you’ve assumed that this is because I’m not very good at sharing, you hit it right on the button. I drink wine alone with the lights out and the shades drawn for the exact same reason. Effing freeloaders, try to get my wine… I’ll fix your wagons.

I mean, let’s say I let someone post here… What are the chances they’re gonna write at great length about the exquisite contours of my bootie or further my epic struggle to get a reality TV show (about my bootie)? Slim, obviously, despite the limitless range of the subject matter.

However, I have decided to make an exception tomorrow for two reasons.

1. I’m probably fall-down exhausted (I’m actually writing this post two weeks ago and post-dating the live-date, so I can’t say for sure what my condition will be, but from prior LP Romania road research experience, it’s a safe bet I’ll be a basket case by this stage)
2. The guest blogger, Paul Kilduff, will be discussing one of my favorite topics on Earth: why “discount airline” Ryanair sucks so goddamn much ass

Paul’s doing a virtual book tour, supporting his latest effort Ruinair. I haven’t read the book yet, but I’m holding a crisp new copy of it right now and I intend to devour it during my flights tomorrow, laughing, squirming and commiserating with Paul’s wretched self-inflicted quest to fly Ryanair to 15 different countries for the sake of, well, apparently baffling self-flagellation.

Here’s a snippet from the promo material:

“Stung by a ten hour delay and a E300 fare to Spain on his native “low-fares” airline, Dubliner Paul Kilduff plots revenge – to fly to every country in Europe for the same total outlay, suffering every low-fares airline indignity. Armed with no more than 10kg of carry-on baggage, he endures 6.00am departures, Six Nations-style boarding scrums, lengthy bus excursions, terminal anxiety and cabin crew who deliver famed customer service.”

It’s funny cause it’s true.

And a passing note to Paul’s P.R. people: you guys wanna sell a squillion of these books? Set up a book stand in the ‘arrivals’ hall of every airport RyanAir flies to. You’ll sell one book for every passenger, guaranteed.

Welcome Paul!

Share on Facebook

Bucharest was pretty dreadful, but I’ve had worse. Naples comes to mind – and that hellhole Andorra la Vella. Or that time in Los Angeles, when I drove from UCLA to Orange County… Nevertheless, I won’t be buying property in Bucharest soon or even investing in a 10-ride metro card. In many ways Bucharest is like a port town, but without the port. People arrive by plane and train, then promptly flee for more agreeable destinations.

I’ll grudgingly admit that there are worthwhile things to see here, but having visited every notable patch of grass in Romania, I can say with complete authority that anything and everything in Bucharest exists in much better form and surroundings at several other places in the country. If you’ve only got four days, fine, stay in Bucharest, if not, you’re doing yourself a disservice by lingering here.

Though not nearly as demoralizing as driving in Bucharest – which has unbelievably gotten worse in the past three years – five days on foot in Bucharest could break the patience and love of Gandhi himself. Hell, just sitting on a street corner can drain the hardest man’s will to live. The incessant car horns, the dense pollution, people screaming at each other, half-dead dogs and filth… Vlad Tepeş wouldn’t last 10 seconds in modern Bucharest. The first time someone drove by with a cigarette in one hand and a mobile phone in the other, splashing him with a totally avoidable puddle, he’d completely lose his shit. If only skewering wrongdoers from asshole to neck was still legal, people would probably have better manners around here. (more…)

Share on Facebook

Actually, I don’t really have anything else to say to you guys. I board a flight in just over 24 hours and as soon as I touch the ground in Bucharest, I’ll be a blur of over-Red Bulled, under-rested, stress-addled, bilingual jabbering motion for the next four weeks. I could promise to submit trip reports here at least once a week, but I really have no idea if that’ll be possible. On the surface, this research trip appears to be a cakewalk, but this is a Romania and Lonely Planet perfect storm we’re talking about here. Two entities that on their own virtually guarantee unpredictable chaos. When put together, be terrified (on my behalf). Be very terrified (on my behalf).

For you guidebook groupies, this research trip is only to update the chapters on Romania and Moldova for Lonely Planet’s Eastern Europe and Europe on a Shoestring books. So while the total number of pages that I’m writing/updating is far less than if I were also researching for the Romania & Moldova book, the geographic area that I’m covering has nearly doubled (I didn’t cover Bucharest or Transylvania last time, that was Robert’s job). So, while there’ll be less facts to check in each city and therefore less time spent pounding the pavement, there’ll be more time driving and as I’ve already testified, despite improvements in road conditions and driving behavior, driving in Romania and Moldova largely remains white knuckle, ass-tightening anarchy.

(more…)

Share on Facebook

Although it breaks all the rules of travel writing – I say that like I ever learned them in the first place – I’m going to start this destination report on a negative note, so I can get the bad juju out of the way and spend the rest of this space talking about fun stuff like white beaches and Happy Ending massages.

The fact is that I’ve been struggling with an awkward ethical dilemma while writing nice things about Saipan. I liken it to writing nice things about breast implants. Saipan is really nice to look when it’s under clothes or in a scandalously small bikini, but when viewed up close and naked, laying hands on the real estate if you will, it suddenly becomes less sexy.

Why am I being so helplessly judgmental about beautiful, interesting, affordable, gangs-of-fun Saipan? Mainly because I’m still a little web-shocked after having read Saipan Sucks from top to bottom. Talk about an ass-flogging smear campaign… I thought I was pissed off about stuff. I don’t have anything on that Saipan Sucks guy (or guys as they want us to believe).

(more…)

Share on Facebook