Livin': From the Amsterdam Red Light to the African Bush

By Frankie Hogan

In spite of a lifelong passion for travel, author Frankie Hogan admits that he often fell victim to “life getting in the way” until he decided, once and for all, to stop giving in to easy excuses, stop yielding to the reasons not to—and stop the cycle of procrastinating, putting off and waiting for the right time, the right circumstances, and the right companions. It was time, Frankie decided, to get out there and see the world, to take in the history, nature and nightlife of places far away from home. It was time to get out of his own way and travel—really travel—to off-the-beaten-path, exotic, far-flung destinations. And Hogan, a South Philly native and streetwise everyman, did just that. Livin’ is the story of the ride, the road, and the reward.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998728919

Book preview

LIVIN’

From the Amsterdam Red Light to the African Bush

Copyright © 2017 by Frankie Hogan

www.livintravelbook.com

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

Edited by Gwyneth MacRae

ISBN 978-0-9987289-1-9

LCCN 2017905169

WHARTON REED PUBLISHING

HOLLYWOOD, CA

DEDICATION

To my nieces and nephews:

Eddie

Emma

Michael

Jayla

Shane

Jack

Bobby Jr.

Connor

Make sure you do some livin’ before your time is up.

Love,

Uncle Frankie

Table of Contents

PART 1 - WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO YOU IN THE DESERT, MAN?

EGYPT

GREECE

PART 2 - TWO DRUNKEN WEEKS IN EUROPE

MADRID, SPAIN

BRUSSELS, BELGIUM

AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS

PARIS, FRANCE

BRUSSELS, BELGIUM

PART 3 - GROUP TOURS

CHINA

INDIA

SOUTH AFRICA

SWAZILAND

SOUTH AFRICA

VICTORIA FALLS, ZIMBABWE

BOTSWANA

VIETNAM

CAMBODIA

PART 4 - QUICK TRIPS

ALASKA

PERU

Epilogue

I’d made the excuse of life getting in the way for too long. It had been three years since I had been in Europe, and I sure as hell didn’t want to leave this much space between global travel trips. I’d been working in finance on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. I’d made good scratch and worked sixty-hour weeks for it, and I’d started screenwriting in what spare time I had. Then, while on a four-day vacation to South Beach with my then girlfriend, I had an epiphany. Ecstatic to be away from the office and out of the city for a handful of days, we went to the beach to soak up the sun and relax one morning—and I spent two hours of my South Beach vacation on a conference call. That was that, Jack. I left my career in Manhattan and took a substantial salary cut to work part-time in Los Angeles while chasing the screenwriting dream. My passion became my focus. So pulling the trigger wasn’t foreign to me, but establishing myself in a new locale took a toll. I got caught up in all that (and a couple of Russian gals) and fuck if three years didn’t blow by. Not to say I didn’t do any traveling—just on a more local scale. I rode a jet ski in Hawaii, hiked the Grand Canyon, saw a bullfight in Tijuana, went camping in Napa Valley, and skydived in Vegas. (Woke up naked the next morning with a chub on a hotel floor with the door wide open after a night of champagne, Percocet, and dick pills. I think that was a Christmas Eve if I’m not mistaken. But Vegas is Vegas, and I digress.) Those trips were comfortable, but something was missing and I had the itch. This time, when I hit the Purchase Itinerary button with a shit-eating grin and schoolboy’s excitement, it was Egypt and Greece on the docket.

EGYPT

Back in 2011, I had been days away from booking the trip when the revolution hit. Let’s just say being white as Casper and an American to boot, I wanted to let tensions die down. When I started to tell people I was headed to Cairo in the spring of 2013, I still collected a lot of someone-just-shit-on-my-lap looks. But the way I see it is, how long is long enough? 2014? 2020? People who want to give it a few more years never get there. That being said, my flight was on a Tuesday and the two big news stories coming out of Cairo that weekend were related to an American who was stabbed outside the embassy, and three Al-Qaeda members who were arrested for planning attacks on Western targets in the city. My mom loved that. But I had some Indiana Jones shit to attend to.

I flew Lufthansa from Toronto to Frankfurt to Cairo. The food on German flights is always on point. It looks like globs of shit in a goulash, and all you can make out is the beef, but it tastes like heaven on a plate. When I eat goulash, I always feel like Uncle Argyle from the movie Braveheart. Sloppin’ shit on bread with my hands … eatin’ like a man … dig that. On the flight from Germany to Cairo, let’s just say the demographic changed. It made me think that airport security profilers back in the States would’ve delayed this motha something wicked. But that’s all part of the ride, man. The rush of new experience. I was in the small minority of men without a keffiyeh on that flight, and it brought a smile to my face. And flying into Cairo with clear skies is one of the best views a traveler can ask for. The roads look like lines in the sand of a giant beach. Beautiful.

When the flight landed, I walked into a sea of not-so-controlled chaos. Swarms of people moved quickly in all directions. I followed a group of Germans from my plane who looked as if they had their shit together. After a short walk, we came to a line of Egyptian men who held signs with names on them (which I thought was odd, as we hadn’t passed through customs or retrieved our bags). I saw my name and walked over. Ibraham, a slick-haired, fast-talking, fast-moving guide was there to grab me.

Hogan? All right. This way.

And we were off! Horse-racing speed. I had trouble keeping up with him through the crowds and all the twists and turns to customs. We finally made it to a stand, not so well marked.

Ibraham turned to me. Fill out this form. Give me your passport and twenty American dollars, and wait here.

He took my passport and money and vanished into the crowd. I filled out the form and waited long enough to think, Man, wouldn’t that be something if the dude got me for my passport and a Twinkie right off the plane?

But just as my worries began, he reappeared with a stamped, single-entry visa from God-knows-where and said, Here you go. Drop the form there. Let’s go.

He took me through two security points, again not marked and close to the exit doors.

You have bag? he asked as we passed the baggage claim that I had failed to notice.

When we were finally outside, I understood what a godsend he was, as only twenty-five minutes had passed since I had left the plane, and the way that airport was laid out, I could have easily spent hours getting out of there on my own.

We walked out into the mild desert air (that day, anyway) and headed toward a parking lot. A huge Egyptian man stood in front of a large van with windows covered in heavy fabric.

This is Macaade, your driver in Egypt. He is the best, Ibraham said as we all climbed in the van.

I would learn later he wasn’t just a-damn whistling. The two men sat up front. I sat in the back in the shade of the covered windows. I’m guessing they had the fabric because of the heat, but it was quite the scene as I took stock of my situation. I was in the back of a covered van with two Egyptians up front, speaking Arabic (which always sounds like an argument) as we passed rundown buildings. This was not Kansas, my friend, and I dug it. A chill hit the back of my neck and I smiled.

I was already riding a high, but once we hit the freeway, that was my official Welcome to Cairo, motherfucker! I heard the honking of hundreds of horns before we even reached the on-ramp. Ibraham turned to me and said proudly, The traffic in Cairo is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. It was amazing. First off, no turn signals. The Egyptians use their horns for pretty much everything. And when they beep, it’s a warning to everyone around them—an audible, I’m about to make a move, bitches. Then they change what might be called a lane, or cut someone off, or increase speed—as if, all of a sudden, it’s warp-speed time. Add to this the fact that women cross the freeway with pots of water on their heads as if they were in a fuckin’ Frogger game. Kids run in between cars with water and soda for sale. Camels, horses, motorcycles, mopeds, and livestock pulling wooden carts all fight for space. At one point, three men pushed a stalled, smoking car across the road while everyone honked as they dodged them. It was a fucking circus. I was in awe. I had trouble concentrating on small talk with the guys, who were not fazed at all.

At one point, I asked, Do the police regulate the freeway?

Ibraham turned with a smile. We regulate the freeway.

These motherfuckers are Vikings, was a steady thought in my head.

We pulled up to the hotel. I tipped Macaade and was happy to be alive. An X-ray machine and a metal detector stood in the parking lot of the hotel. I asked the police officer who operated the checkpoint if I needed to take off my belt or my iPhone to go through, and he replied, No, sir. This is mainly for bombs. Suck me sideways. Well, I guess that’s one less thing to worry about. Ibraham saw me to the check-in, and we bid each other adieu until the next day. I entered my room around dinner time, dropped my bags, and walked onto my private balcony to check out the Pyramids view I had paid extra for. Worth every penny. Just across the street were the Great Pyramid of Giza and the Pyramid of Khafre. The Great Pyramid, the only remaining wonder of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World and the world’s tallest man-made structure for over 3,800 years, was just a golf shot away. It was a sight that stays with a man the rest of his days.

It was time to inspect the many views from the hotel, not just the surreal one from my room. After passing the pool and climbing the stairs to the roof bar, I sat at a table with a view centered between the two pyramids, ordered an Egyptian Stella lager and an appetizer, and took it all in. There they were, man! The iconic monuments. Man’s greatest architectural achievements. All of the history I adored of the Egyptian pharaohs and Khufu and Khafre flooded my mind as my eyes supplied the framework. I had arrived, brotha. Not just from the long flight but from dreams I had had decades before. It was a great feeling that came over me on that roof. It was relaxation. It was humble appreciation. It was satisfaction.

The next morning I was up with the sun, which rises around 4:45 a.m. in Giza. By five o’clock, everyone seemed to be out and about. Horns were honking, and traffic and people were moving around the hotel with midday speed. I guess it was a beat-the-heat pace, but it contrasted strikingly with the breakfast crowds of Los Angeles. I went to the free breakfast at the hotel restaurant and was pleasantly surprised. Usually, free breakfast at a hotel means you get some hard muffins and cakes. This was a full breakfast with fruits, breads, yogurt, eggs, cheeses, meats, and cake. I piled it on with tea and OJ. It was badass for 5:30 a.m.

I met Ibraham in the hotel lobby two hours later. He introduced me to Nader, my Egyptologist for the upcoming tours. Nader was a young guy who wore a soccer jersey and introduced himself by giving a full bio of himself, which I thought was hip. He was in his mid-thirties, married with a couple kids, born and bred in Cairo. A history major. The thing I dug about Nader from the start was his passion for his country and history in general. You could tell he loved the stuff and was genuine, not just doing it to earn a paycheck. He loved history, and since I do as well, it was hard not to connect with him and feed off his energy.

As we passed the bomb check and climbed into the carpet-windowed van, Nader began, with intensity, a short synopsis of Egyptian history. He explained why ancient Egyptians worshipped certain things. I can still hear him exclaim, They worshipped what was good to them and they worshipped what was bad. Sun! You give us light! I worship you! Nile River. You give us water to drink and grow! I worship you! Crocodile! You kill us! I worship you! These became their gods. Simple and profound Nader. I could dig it. History began with the Scorpion King, the legendary unifier of Upper and Lower Egypt over 5,000 years ago and quickly brought us to where we were headed that day. We were on our way to Saqqara, a vast necropolis that served the ancient capital city of Memphis and included the first pyramid ever built: the Step Pyramid of Djoser.

Saqqara is forty-five minutes south of Giza by car. We took a road that was two-way but separated in the middle by a man-made waterway. Nader said it was for irrigation, but it looked as if the Egyptians used it for everything. We passed animals drinking from it, men in boats fishing in it, and women cleaning clothes in it. Lots of vegetation lined the canal. It was the greenest part of Egypt I saw. The houses along the sides of the road were run-down and antiquated. More horses and camels sat outside than cars. The road had a real, old-world feel.

When we turned off the road, the green became more and more of a sandy tan. We approached the gated entrance of a complex that was all desert. The area by the gate looked modern. We parked in a paved lot and walked to a small theatre, also very modern. There were rows of benches on three sides, all facing a flat-screen TV. In the center of the room was a small model of the Saqqara complex. Nader let me know that the first part of the tour was—a DVD. He dimmed the lights and I watched a twenty-minute video on the Saqqara complex. It was a tad askew, but I dug it because I watched those documentaries all the time on National Geographic and the History Channel. It also built my excitement for what I was about to see. To put it in perspective, the Step Pyramid at Saqqara is over 2,700 years older than the Colosseum. My nuts were a-tingling!

The DVD finished and we walked back to the van to drive up to the pyramid complex, a five-minute ride through the desert. We stopped when the road ran out and still had 100 yards to the complex entrance. Macaade drove away and left us with a small hike, all Lawrence of Arabia-like, in the Sahara. Desert on all sides, complex in front of us. The only other person in sight was an old man with a donkey, between us and the complex, walking toward us. What the fuck? Where was he going? The donkey walked faster than the man. When we reached him, the man (who must have been eighty) looked up at me, and in a perfect American accent, said, Taxi? I shook my head in bewilderment, and he and his donkey continued into the nothingness of the desert. Wow. I was in the shit.

We entered a tunnel built into a twenty-foot-long stone wall that opened into a room filled with rows of large columns, which were in great condition, considering that they were 4,700 years old. The roof hadn’t fared so well. But when we reached the other side of the room and went back outside, I realized that we had just gone through the outer wall entrance of the complex and the Step Pyramid was in front of us. What a complex! There were scattered tour groups, camels, and merchants, but it was mostly empty on a ninety-degree morning (pretty fair for the desert). The Step Pyramid was built in the twenty-seventh century BC, not just as a grave site but to assist the king’s transition into the afterlife. It was the earliest large-scale, cut-stone construction in history, light-years ahead of its time. This was something special. Imhotep, the first known architect, doctor, and engineer in history, had designed this place. Imhotep isn’t a common name nowadays, but he is an important historical figure. Nader told a story of how the Romans, when they first came to Egypt, believed that Imhotep was part god, and they gave him a divine title (one of the first non-Romans to receive this honor)—2,000-plus years, mind you, after his death. Jesus-like. The godfather of modern civilization. Nader and I roamed around the complex talking history for an hour. I was in heaven.

We returned along the columned path, went back through the opening in the wall, and walked the few hundred feet back through the desert to the van. We then drove to another pyramid within the Saqqara grounds. The Pyramid of Teti doesn’t look like much from the outside, but as Nader explained, it is one of the best-preserved, if not the best-preserved, inner-chamber pyramids. Pharaoh Teti ruled in the Sixth Dynasty of Egypt, from 2345 BC to 2333 BC, and was rumored to have been murdered by a bodyguard. What he left me over 4,300 years later was a chance to fulfill a dream. It was time to trek beneath the surface of the Sahara, several stories below the sand, to a tomb room. A relic of archaeology. Any wannabe explorer from grade school onward has fantasized about this moment. Nader couldn’t go in with me, so he handed me off at the entrance to a young Egyptian who operated the pyramid tour. He told me to give him my camera, as pictures were not allowed inside the pyramid. The guide and I then moved forward, squat-walk style, along the narrow passage into the pyramid. The corridor went down a few stories (and my thigh muscles paid for it the next two days), but once at the bottom, it was everything I could have dreamed of it being: ancient hieroglyphs filling the walls, divided rooms, narrow passages, and sunken ceilings around thick stone tombs. It was a sight of a lifetime. We squat-walked through a four-foot-high tunnel into the high-ceilinged Pharaoh’s tomb room, where the tomb was still intact.

The guide explained some of the countless hieroglyphs, and asked, You want pictures?

Fucking right I do, I thought, which became Sure!

Give me pounds, you take picture.

I passed him a fifty and started taking shots with my phone. He offered to take one of me, and I handed him my phone and posed.

Give me American dollars and you can take picture in tomb. He motioned for me to crawl inside the empty tomb.

No, no, I’m not doing that, I said as I laughed and took my phone back. I thought they were more superstitious than that, but money talks in Egypt.

Back in the van, we took the short drive to the ancient city of Memphis. On the way there, Nader mentioned that this area was known for its carpet schools and we could stop on the way back. Bring it, brotha. I wanted to see everything at that point.

We reached Memphis, where palm trees and grass surrounded an outdoor sculpture and art park. Vendor stands lined the open-air museum. We walked into a large building off to one side, where a colossus of the Pharaoh Ramses II lay on its back. This limestone statue, thirty-three feet long, depicts Ramses the Great, ruler from 1279 BC to 1213 BC and now recognized as the most celebrated and powerful pharaoh of the Egyptian Empire. Again, it was in pristine condition for something over 3,000 years old, and as big as a boat. You can view it close up, on ground level, or go upstairs and see a full view from above. Either way, it’s a can’t-miss. The rest of the sculptures were great too—Memphis has a Ramses II sphinx that is the second largest in Egypt—but the colossus was jaw dropping.

Leaving Memphis, Nader mentioned the carpet school again. The children are taught the craft very young, Nader informed me as he encouraged me to take pictures.

When we pulled up to the school, we were met by the owner, on the front steps. He smiled and said, My name is Abubakar, but everyone here calls me Big Daddy. As Big Daddy led the way inside, little by little, I understood where I was. I looked around at large pallets of fabrics and threading stations. The kids, many in the five-to-ten-year range, each at a different station, worked as Big Daddy emphasized how well they treated the kids at that school and how they paid the kids for a job well done after weeks of work on one carpet. While Big Daddy went through his sales pitch, it all came together. Sweet fancy Moses! I was taking pictures of a real-life sweatshop! Just as I put two and two together, he ushered me into the school’s store.

Any questions, my friend? Big Daddy asked, engaging as ever.

Yeah, Big Daddy. Do any of the kids stay and work here after they are finished with school?

That is a good question, sir. Most of our students, as adults, go on to other professions.

Amazing. I guess a more moral man than I would have walked out at that point, but I thought, shit, how often do you get to visit a sweatshop? I even told Big Daddy to wrap up three carpets for me. Quality, hand-made shit right there.

We stopped at a paper institute next, which gave a demo on the first use of paper in Egypt. The history of it was worth the stop, but truth be told, it was just a shop full of hieroglyphs drawn on older-looking paper. Not long after, we were back to Cairo again, and then Giza. Nader knew that I was planning to go out on my own the next day, and it was fun to see him try to give a warning while at the same time squirm to keep it positive.

You picked the one place I believe you should not go alone. The Great Pyramid. Don’t misunderstand me. You are very safe. It is safe there. But the vendors are very, very aggressive. Do not trust anyone! Do not ask anyone anything. Only bring money you need. No wallet. No passport. And most of all, do not trust the camel men.

A camel ride was on the checklist, so I had to ask why.

They will negotiate a price and put you on camel, then bring you out far into desert, then say triple price to go back and get down from camel.

Aha! Good to know.

I dropped anchor back at the hotel at dusk with a stoner’s appetite. I hit the hotel restaurant for the dinner buffet and wanted to get into everything. I gotta say the spread was top-notch. There were rows and rows of fruits, veggies, and meat and rice dishes. Chefs cut lamb chops and roasts of beef. I didn’t know what to expect, but the food was three thumbs up. I had kofta (beef and lamb meatballs) with rice, some fresh greens, potatoes, and baba ghanoush (mostly for the name). It all went down with the quickness. After dinner, I stopped at the hotel bar. My first full day in Egypt matched any dream I could have conjured up before arriving there. What else