Shedd aquarium: “Save seahorses, buy our souvenirs!”

The seahorses were sleeping, tails wrapped around branches, lights dimmed. Beneath them glowed a sign:

Buy crafts made in our giftshop, made by Filipino seahorse fishers and their families. You’ll help the families earn a living without having to catch sea horses.

Huh?

Where did the Shedd aquarium get their seahorses? I would guess they bought them or their progenitors from those Filipino fishers they’re so valiantly trying to wean off of capturing and selling seahorses.

But what really irks me is the fact the aquarium is encouraging its patrons to spend money in their gift shop as a solution to helping the endangered seahorses.

I’ve spent over a month of my life under the ocean’s surface and, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the ocean is big. There’s lots of room to swim around. In the museum’s aquariums there isn’t. Whether with zoos or aquariums, I’ve always validated their existence as a place for the average Joe to go and see why we need to protect our world and the creatures with which we share it. The seahorses in the aquarium sacrifice their freedom for the protection of their free-swimming brethren, as does the lion pacing the cage for those hunting on the open savanna.

Zoos and aquariums have the responsibility to educate and conserve, not feed us lines of bullshit that by spending $29.99 on a basket we’re saving the world.

I’ve never seen a seahorse underwater, and I hope someday I will. If I do, I’m pretty sure it will not be a result of deplorable, self-promoting propaganda like this…

Uncle Kelsey uncovers a case of child labor

Look at me Ma, I’m on ABC news!

I was browsing around today and stumbled across my latest contribution to the CS Monitor on the ABC news website.

It’s a funny thing not knowing when and where something you write and sell is going to show up. The Monitor has 90-day rights to do whatever the heck they want to do with anything I contribute to them. I suppose if they wanted to turn the Fantasy Kingdom piece into a mini-series starring Ricky Schroeder they could.

It would be nice to be in the know about where and when my writing is going to show up, but I don’t have much of a problem not knowing. Really, I think it’s pretty cool that someone at ABC News liked my story, too. And it’s a nice bio booster to say that my work has appeared on ABC News.

For the record, I’m not going to hold my breath on the Rick Schroeder at Fantasy Kingdom mini-series.

Where in the World is my Where am I Wearing Winnings?

Kent, Rachael, and Melissa, I owe you all a WAIW t-shirt. Melissa won this contest and Kent and Rachael this one. Email me the address you would like your shirt sent to and I’ll get right on it. Or if you would prefer to receive a coffee mug I could do that, too. Just specify.

I’m about to place my annual Touron Attire Christmas gift order and I’ll have your winnings shipped to you directly even if you live half way around the world in New Zealand!

(Note: Kent and Rachael, you were supposed to win a year’s subscription to National Geographic Traveler, but the offer from NG was only good for the USA. Sorry, hope the T-shirt makes up for it.)

Iceland #1 place to live, USA not in top 10

Reuters reports that Iceland is the #1 place to live in the world and that the USA has slipped out of the top 10.

Don’t worry, Iceland will be melted soon and we’ll regain our place in the bottom of the top 10. Go global warming!

A thousand words

In case you are sick of Turkey

Here’s a bit from the Onion:

Gap Unveils New ‘For Kids By Kids’ Clothing Line

Great Moments in Travel

I’m thankful for a lot of things; among them are Great Moments in Travel. I wrote a column about a few a couple years ago.

Read Away…

Great Moments in Travel
By Kelsey Timmerman

Baja, Mexico-

Moonlight Sonata is a creepy song, especially when it’s played by a vampire.

His white hands pick out the tune across the dusty keys. The notes drift out of the old baby grand and, weighted with misery, fall to the dirty concrete floor. Each one slowly crawls up the paint-chipped walls. Soon the room is filled with a multitude of lurking notes, which slowly fade, only to be replaced once more by the ghostly white hands on the ivory keys.

Senor Nicholas, owner/haunter of the piano museum in the ghost town of El Triunfo, south of La Paz, is wearing a yellow shirt that is disturbingly see-through. His neck and his face are powdered white, his lips are painted red; his hair looks freshly perm-ed and newly dyed orangish-red. I can’t decide if he looks more like an old woman after a particularly unsuccessful trip to the beautician or an androgynous vampire after a particularly unsuccessful trip to the beautician.

Sr. Nicholas may not be physically able to smile because of the amount of makeup he is wearing, but he sure can play the piano. He plays one song after another and when he finally comes to a dramatic run of the keyboard, every one in the room applauds at its finish.

He insists that each one of us signs his guestbook.

No matter how hard we try, we are unable to coax him into the sunlight.

Kathmandu, Nepal-

Buddha likes Coca Cola? Who knew?

The young lamas fill a brass cup before the straight-faced gold Buddha on the ornately decorated shrine. All of this world is suffering, but Lord Buddha needs his Coke. They light two sticks of incense, back away from the shrine, bow, and leave.

I am sitting across from the shrine on the floor, a steaming cup of putrid, buttery, salt tea before me, wishing that I could get a splash of Coke to wash down my heaping bowl of noodles.

At the head of the room, Khenpo Sange, who is your exact mental picture of a monk - chubby, menacing grimace, glowing smile, shaved head, and bright robes - holds court. A steady stream of worshippers coming to pay their respects enter the room, do a double take at in my direction, bow three times, and discuss matters with Khenpo. Conversation takes place in Tibetan, Nepalese, Taiwanese, and, occasionally, even a little English directed at me.

Hours pass in this manner, marked by a cheap, rip-off of a traditional Swiss cuckoo clock, which pathetically chimes out “Happy Birthday” on the hour.

Upon entering the deserted desert town of El Triunfo, I could have never guessed that down one of its few side streets and through a weathered old door in a dilapidated building, was a piano museum where a very odd pianist waits days, weeks, and likely, months for an audience to entertain. Likewise, on a plane somewhere above the Himalaya Mountains, watching the movie starring Chris Rock’s voice as a white blood cell with an attitude, “Osmosis Jones,” I could have never dreamed that I was about to enter a world with Coke drinking Buddha, saffron clad monks, and cuckoo clocks.

What is more out of place: The androgynous vampire’s sonata in the Mexican desert, the Coke awaiting Buddha’s belly, the cuckoo clock interrupting a monk’s prayers with “Happy Birthday,” or me?

Sometimes the stars align properly and the travel gods bless us with a Great Moment in Travel, a moment or two where we think, “Wow, I can’t believe I am here!” It’s important that when such an experience is playing out that we soak it all in. Breathe it. Taste it. Smell it. Feel it.

Before we set out on any new adventures to places where we have never been, we create mental images of where and how our time will be spent. We try to picture the mountain trail we hope to hike, the ruins we intend to visit, the cobbled streets, the markets, and the friends we will make. These preconceived notions are fueled by images we see in brochures, on the internet, and on TV. We have expectations. We have plans. We think about the unexpected and we get nervous. The trip we plan is often worlds apart from the trip we take.

Trips start at A and end at B, just as we had planned, but it’s the unique characters and unexpected experiences in between that we will remember for a lifetime.

I can still hear Senor Nicholas’s haunting notes. I can see and smell the burning incense with its sweet musky wisps of smoke surrounding the golden Buddha. With time, and with each telling, the notes from the baby grand become clearer and the incense sweeter. Unforgettable experiences. Unexpected. Great Moments in Travel.

Uncle Kelsey

The other day my nephew Jared wanted to play with the mic I use to do interviews. So, I decided to interview him. Ahh…the things 3 year-olds will say. Actually, he’s this many now (holds up four fingers) because he just had a birthday.

I thought it would be fun to share my buddy Jared’s thoughts in a little reoccurring feature called “Uncle Kelsey.”

In this first episode, I teach him the basics.

(Note: You may not recognize Jared without his body cast)

Three reasons why I think cyclones suck

Masum and his family live in Jhalakati, which is specifically mentioned in this story about the devastating cyclone that hit Bangladesh.

I met Masum on a paddleboat from Dhaka to Khulna. He had been in Dhaka for an eye surgery. This is why he is wearing those glasses. He is not a Bangladeshi Elvis impersonator, just in case you were wondering.

Later, I tracked him down in Jhalakti. He let me stay in his hotel for free. I ate meals at his home and listened to his wife and daughter sing a duet.

I suppose my feeling helpless to do anything for them is a selfish way to feel. The only way I imagine I can help is to pull out a credit card and hope that what little I contribute can make a small difference to a big problem.

Here’s where I’m donating.

I hope Masum and his family are in their home tonight, high and dry, singing another duet.