This picture is framed in my parents' house

Every time I go back for my annual pilgrimage to Motown, I enivatably see this photo. It sits in the bedroom I shared with my older brother alongside pictures of my 3 siblings, their spouses, and my parents now 9 grandchildren.

It never ceases to make me laugh. Ever.

The picture was snapped by my then future Peace Corps post-mate Becky outside Bohicon, Benin ... the town where we would spend the next two years. It was our first visit to our future home and we had just been out to the neighboring village of Lissezoun to get introduced to a future friend and all around great dude named Mathieu.

Like any good Beninese host, our meeting started and ended with shots of local moonshine know as Sodabe. Lonely Planet calls this very local beverage (the palm tree it is distilled from grows in like a hundred mile range) an alternative jet fuel for NASA. We had some local fried snacks, toured a small library Mathieu built for the local youths and downed a few shots.

Only having been in West Africa for a month or two, my stomach was not yet ready for prime time. The parasites (ghardia, amoebas) and bacteria (of various flavors) were just moving in and getting acquainted with my insides and all lubed up with grease and thrice fermented palm sap.

Needless to say, I was far from regular.

Local travel in Benin is usually via small beat up mopeds called Zemijahn's. Going outside of any decent sized town means bumps on dirt/sandy/rocky roads. I was in a line of four of these, with a current PCV (Xotchil), Becky, and our new French friend (Delphine) when I just couldn't take it anymore. We bouncing around on sketchy shocks halfway between town and this village and I made my driver pull over. I was set to eminently explode.

I hadn't been around long enough to learn to carry a role of toilet paper or better yet a 99c pack of baby wipes hand carried from Walgreens to the Dark Continent, and I had just enough time to grab some maize leaves.

I ran up a small hill looking for a semi-private place to unload.

My three female traveling companions were losing it, and asked that I pose for a quick picture. Somehow I held off the ensuing deluge long enough for this photo to be captured before retiring further down the other side of the hill for some much needed privacy and a deep cleanse.

Please don't tell my mom, I'd hate to have her take the picture down :).

the broom closet

I was on my way home from a month of solo backpacking in SE Asia and had scored no charge 4 day layover in Japan. My brother had spent and MBA summer internship in Osaka and loved nearby Kyoto, so outside of Tokyo it was to be my only stop.

I arrived late on the bullet train, and found some sort of room booking service at the train station. Not the sort of thing I normally do, but useful. That was until I found that the guy manning the booth spoke nothing in English other than "super" and "terrific". It was getting late and I was looking screwed.

Somehow I cajoled him into calling a place in my guidebook, and I had a room for the night.

After a long flight from Bangkok, the airport train into Tokyo and the $250 one way bullet train to Kyoto I was sick of transportation. I had a map in the guidebook at surely I could find my way across the river to this little guesthouse. Tragedy narrowly averted.

One thing guidebook maps suck at is scale, I got lost leaving the station and after writing myself it took me nearly an hour to even get in the vicinity of the place. I was tired, hungry, and getting irritated.

Somehow I managed to find the place against all odds, and I took my shoes off and dropped my bag at the door. Tragedy #2 narrowly averted.

The sound of some guests using English words other than "super" and "terrific" was lightening my spirits until the guesthouse owner explained it took so long for me to find the place they gave the room up. This probably took like 15 minutes for him to communicate to me, given our language barrier. I was yet again, crushed. Thankfully the guy was super nice, and called around for me.

He found me a place, and I hopped in his car for a literal video game high speed dash around Kyoto ... across the river somewhat near the train station I had originally left. Spirits uplifted by Japanese pop songs and clinging to my seatbelt, I was sure glad to find this place.

Then there was another problem. They were pretty obviously stalling at the small hotel. Finally a guy somehow conveys that there was something, but before I pay he wants me to take a look. Hell, I was in SE Asia for a month with no reservations but the first night ... I always look first. We walked up row of stairs after stairs until getting to the top floor where there was a door at the end of the staircase.

It was small even by Japanese standards. The guy opens the door and inside they had thrown a mattress in the middle of a broom closet, cleaning supplies and all. He was hugely apologetic, probably made more so by how excited I was just to see a bed ... frantically telling him over and over again "it's good!"

When we got back down stairs he was struggling to get something out in English ... "no ch", "no ch", "no ch", and finally he muddled "no charge". In some order: I smiled, thanked him in surely awful Japanese, and gave him a big hug.

Tragedy narrowly averted.

why would anyone read this blog?

About while back The Onion used to ask a few simple questions to a band in an attempt to "Justify Their Existence" ... so I'll do the same substituting "read & blog" for "buy & record".

The Onion: Why would anyone read your blog?

Tom: They shouldn't. Well unless they like laughing at me, poking fun at the current generation of commercialized yet not travel writers, or enjoy a story that ends with someone pooping their pants. Then they should.

The Onion: Do you think your blog will help people?

Tom: Absolutely not, if anything it will hurt them.

The Onion: Do you think your blog could save lives?

Tom: It is far more likely to endanger than save lives, depending on interpretation.

The Onion: Is this blog your ticket to heaven?

Tom: I certainty hope so, but fear not.