I always knew it would happen one day.

Having successfully arrived in Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Angola without the necessary visas, I had been pushing my luck.

Having challenged Belarus to a blogging duel, complete with a response by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, I was no stranger to difficult countries.

But last weekend in Eritrea, the luck ran out.

Let’s be clear: I’m not interested in taking unnecessary risks. In each case where I’ve had to take my chances on traveling without a visa, it was because all other options had exhausted themselves. I would have much preferred to have the necessary permission instead of trying to pull off an East African wedding crasher routine. Nevertheless, sometimes the best laid plans fall by the wayside, and that’s when you have to make a decision.

In Saudi Arabia’s case, the New York consulate came through with the visa at the last possible minute—and then promptly mailed my passport back to Portland, instead of holding it for local pickup on my way out of the country as agreed. Angola just kept the money and returned my passport without a word—and without the visa.

Eritrea, however, was the worst offender of all. Having paid for the visa a total of three times and waited a full 90 days with my passport at their Washington, D.C. embassy without results, I was in a quandary. With only 15 countries left on my list and 13 months to go, I couldn’t keep putting it off.

I decided to go for it and travel to the country anyway. What choice did I have? Passive resistance wasn’t getting me very far.

I managed to obtain my Egypt Air boarding passes in Madrid with only minimal subterfuge. Airlines are responsible for ensuring that passengers have the necessary approvals before traveling, so I knew there would be an interrogation of sorts. I decided I wouldn’t lie if directly asked about something, but I wasn’t above leaving out a few key facts if necessary.

It wasn’t that difficult; the agent was bored and had already printed the boarding passes when she remembered to check on the visa. I showed her my paperwork with a smile (but without the visa) and she wished me a good trip. So far, so good.

After a four-hour flight to Cairo, I powered up with an espresso and chocolate muffin. While sipping the coffee and preparing to board the final flight, I thought about the possible outcomes for the night ahead, based on ten years of experience in convincing random countries to allow me to visit.

Outcome 1: It would take some doing, but I’d get the entry visa upon arrival after pleading my case to various higher-ups. Predicted odds: 50%.

Outcome 2: I would get the entry visa upon arrival without any trouble at all, and my whole concern would be for nothing. Predicted odds: 25%.

Outcome 3: I would have a serious problem, would not get the entry visa, and would be thrown out of the country or thrown into jail. Predicted odds: 25%.

***

We landed after 2am and I was wide awake with nervous excitement. What would happen? How would the night end? Do Eritrean prisons have WiFi?

The plane parked on the tarmac and I rode a shuttle bus to the terminal with all the other passengers, most of whom were Eritrean. I began to feel relieved as the bus made the short trip; despite the late hour, everyone was smiling. Some of them caught my eye and said, “Welcome to Eritrea!”

“Welcome home!” I said in reply. The friendliness was a good sign, I thought.

Upon arrival at the first immigration blockade, however, I quickly realized that Option 2—the easy entry without any trouble—was definitely out.

“You don’t have a visa?” the first guy asked, seeming genuinely surprised.

“Not yet,” I said, projecting confidence and wearing my only nice shirt of the trip. (I had even made sure to tuck it in before landing. When crashing a country, you only get one chance to make a first impression.)

I had no visa, but I was not without ammunition. “Here is my landing card, my passport photo, my hotel reservation, and my return ticket,” I said, presenting the papers with a flourish. “How much does the visa cost?”

This ruse often works. Four years of arguing with numerous government leaders in West Africa followed by another six years of frequent international travel has taught me the power of paper. If you don’t have the right piece of paper for the job, bring lots of other paper instead.

Unfortunately, the paper-pushing trick didn’t work on the first guy, and the second guy I was referred to didn’t even look at any of the printouts. I kept getting passed off higher and higher until I finally ended up in the office of the Chief Immigration Officer. It was here I would make my last stand.

Alas, this final challenge didn’t begin well. In another ominous sign, the Chief Immigration Officer was not nearly as friendly as the smiling Eritreans I had rode in on the bus with. I tried some light banter: “Wow, I’m really excited to be here. Do you guys have a hop-on, hop-off bus? Any theme parks I should visit?”

Despite my brilliant attempt at making friends, the boss didn’t seem very interested in getting to know me. An offer of a complimentary Turkish Airways amenity kit from a previous flight was also swatted away.

I sat and waited, feeling optimistic (“60/40 odds,” I told myself. “Maybe even 70/30″). Calls were made. Officials were dispatched to check the records to see where I had previously applied for visas at the embassy in Washington. Long conversations about me were conducted in a language I didn’t understand, although naturally I assumed that the phrases “bestselling author” and “popular Facebook page” were spoken.

The longer I waited, the more the odds improved—or so I thought. Another rule of these situations is that if you keep sitting around patiently, eventually they’ll get bored and let you in. Unfortunately, every immigration rule has an exception. All of a sudden, the waiting shifted to action, and the action wasn’t good.

In Which It All Comes To An Abrupt End

I couldn’t believe it, but after two hours of making new friends while gently pleading my case, I was going out on the return flight to Cairo… which now left in ten minutes. No way! But indeed, that was the plan, and I had no vote in the matter. I was assigned a handler, marched outside the airport, and guided around to the departure area in front. I was disappointed and sleep-deprived, but as I was given a hand-written boarding pass, I remembered to ask the all-important question: “Can you add my Frequent Flyer number?”

Yes, if I was really going to be deported, at least I’d earn miles for it. It’s 1,130 miles from Asmara to Cairo, plus any special “last minute deportation” bonuses that happen to be available this week. Lesson: never pass up miles or points when they come your way.

Everyone else had boarded and the plane was ready to go. My handler, the Egyptian Airlines station manager, and a couple of hangers-on walked me back out the tarmac and up the steps of the waiting plane. Inside the cabin, the station manager handed my passport to the purser and instructed him to return it only upon reaching the transit desk in Cairo. I never like to be without my passport, but such was the price to pay for being deported.

The plane took off and I dozed against the window, looking down at Asmara as we prepared to leave Eritrean airspace on the way back to Egypt. Exhaustion was creeping in after staying up all night, but the whole time I was thinking about one important question: does this count as a country visit?

Ask the Readers: Does This Count?

People often ask what my criteria is for visiting a country. Long story short, I don’t really have any. My one rule is that I don’t count airport stops—I can’t just be in transit somewhere. I’ve been on two flights that have touched down in Khartoum, for example, but since I didn’t get off the plane, I still can’t say that I’ve been to Sudan.

This case is trickier, though. I’ve paid to go to Eritrea on multiple occasions. I did make it to the airport, and even outside the airport. I had an extended interrogation session with several interesting people. It wasn’t like going on a tour of the interior and stopping by a few villages, but it was certainly a story-worthy experience.

Even if it probably shouldn’t count as a true visit, the honest truth is that I really don’t know if I’ll be allowed back into Eritrea, at least anytime soon. After 90 days of pestering the embassy and paying the fee three times, they still returned my passport with no visa.

The Eritreans I talked with have all been very friendly, much like the Ethiopians I know. But the government has a reputation for being hostile and highly secretive. Eritrea is in a long-standing conflict with Ethiopia, and the U.S. government is on the side of the Ethiopians. I’ve never held any position in the government and don’t have anything to do with politics, but when it comes to immigration and travel restrictions, these things matter.

When I visited Angola last year, I also had visa problems and wasn’t expecting to be able to enter the country, instead planning an extended transit. After much stress with the embassy and repeated payoffs, I had finally made my peace with accepting that the Angola visit might need to have an asterisk next to it. Much to my surprise, however, when I went there I was actually allowed free reign of Luanda—thus obviating the need for the asterisk. I’m tempted to put this visit in the same category, but I’d like to know what you think.

For those who are still reading, have I officially been to Eritrea, or will I need to regroup yet again and make another plan?

Share your opinion (yes/no/something else) here.

Go easy on me…

###

Next week is the final round of ticket sales for the World Domination Summit! Tickets will be offered on a first-come, first-served basis to this waiting list.

Image: Mike

After a product launch and a few frantic days copyediting a book manuscript, I got on a plane and left to see the world.

It began with a 4:30am alarm and a taxi to the airport. I hopped the early Alaska Air flight down to LAX, took an afternoon American Airlines departure to Kennedy, and another late-night AA flight to Barcelona. Non-stop travel with a lot of stops.

In BCN I wandered the empty concourse at 5:45am. Boarding to Madrid was an hour later, but I had to switch to the Euro zone flight area, which means going through immigration and getting an entry stamp.

In Madrid I went through another process—shuffling down to baggage claim, out to the terminal shuttle bus, and over to Terminal 1. I then transferred to the non-Euro zone area and went through immigration again. Stamp-stamp. (The extra stamps are annoying, filling up my passport page for no good reason.)

The check-in with Turkish Airways was efficient, and I wandered off to board for Istanbul and beyond with only a slight delay in the departure lounge. By this point I was exhausted and slept for most of the four-hour flight. I perked up just in time for the fourth transit stop of the weekend.

Istanbul is a place I like but hardly know. I made a mental note to add Turkey to the list of places I’d like to spend more time in when the quest is over.

I went to the lounge, ate some Turkish pizza and prepared for the final flight: destination Dushanbe, Tajikistan. This flight was to board at 7pm and arrive at 3:45am, but with a three-hour change in between.

Where’s Tajikistan, you ask? It’s in the heart of Central Asia, a region that intimidated me until I actually went there and discovered it can be both welcoming and fun. Once this visit is complete, I’ll have only one “stan” remaining. Turkmenistan, the final frontier, will be coming up soon.

But I’m not so sure about showing up in January. Walking outside to meet my driver, I’m reminded of my Canadian book tour, which was also in the dead of winter and involved lots of walking around in cities without a coat.

Fortunately, the heat in the minivan is blasting, and I enjoy the ride as the driver points out various sights along the way. When we pull up to the Dushanbe Hyatt at 4am, I attempt the traveler’s trick of being naïve about check-in times.

I had emailed the hotel in advance to ask about airport transfers, and they offered to add an existing night to my reservation. It was fairly expensive, though, and I knew I’d have at least some chance of early check-in. In the past I’ve shown up as early as 8am, playing it cool and pretending that it’s normal to check-in several hours in advance of the advertised check-in time.

When informed of the policy, the best response is to be surprised: “Oh, really? Well, I suppose I can sit over on this bench until you have a room.”

I’ve never sat more than an hour when using this strategy. Most of the time, I sit for a few minutes, then all of a sudden a room becomes available. But 4am is really pushing it, and it doesn’t work this time. I decide to change tactics. “How much will it cost to check in now?”

“There is a 100% penalty,” the night clerk says, meaning that I’ll have to pay for a full night’s stay.

“100% is a lot,” I say. “How about 50%?”

And here’s the difference between a place like Russia itself, which I found inflexible and harsh, and a place like Central Asia, which retains the bureaucratic essence of the Soviet Union but also has a heart. The clerk picks up the phone to call the manager, but then puts it back down, making his own decision.

“OK,” he says. “Pay 50% for the extra day, and you can check-in now.”

Half price for a real shower, real internet, and a real bed is worth it. I head up to the 10th floor, enter my room, and settle in. First step: Always unpack everything before doing anything else. Put the running shoes by the door, the shirts in the closet, the laptop on the desk, and the watch by the bed.

I look out my window and see the morning light slowly beginning to shine in. There is snow on the ground below, mountains off in the distance, and a mosque next door.

The hotel is a good base for writing and catching up after the 72 hours it required to get here. Tomorrow I’ll bundle up and go on a city tour, and then I’ll decide what to do after that. I’d love to run down the wide streets I saw on the way in, but with temperatures of 28°F / -2°C, I might stick to the hotel gym.

***

The upcoming weekend’s adventure involves an attempt to visit Eritrea. For months my visa service has kept me waiting on the application, telling me everything is normal even though I learned at mid-point that the service has never done a successful application for a non-Eritrean applicant.

I was frustrated at their lack of urgency in badgering the consulate, which is exactly what you pay a processing service to do. Finally I talk it over with myself and realize the obvious lesson:

Stop pushing on something that isn’t going to happen. Forget about the rules and get on the plane anyway. Think of a good story that will allow you to purchase a visa upon arrival that isn’t supposed to be available. You’ve done this before and haven’t gone to jail yet, at least not as an adult. (Knock on wood.)

That’s the adventure for Friday through Sunday, and I determine to make sure to have a post ready to go for Monday just in case Eritrean jails don’t have WiFi hotspots.

But first, I’ve made it to country #178, and I’m glad. I lay down on the bed and fall fast asleep.

###

Do you have an iPhone? I finally caught up to 2007 and have been posting travel photos on Instagram (user: 193countries). You can also follow me on Google+.

Image: Neil

On my last trip, I made it to a country I’d been wondering about ever since beginning my quest more than five years ago: Somalia.

Technically, I went to Somaliland, also known as the safe part of Somalia. Somalia itself is a mess, arguably the world’s most dangerous country, and with hardly a functioning government of any kind. (One of its recent prime ministers now works at the New York State Department of Transportation.)

People often ask me about visiting dangerous places, and I have a stock answer: there aren’t that many. Most countries around the world are about as safe as where you live now, so for the most part you don’t need to worry.

But it’s true there are a couple of exceptions, and Somalia is at the top of the list. That’s why I went to Somaliland instead, an autonomous region that should probably be its own country, but for the political situation of the African Union. Somaliland is practically it’s own country, with its own immigration procedures, currency, and easy way of life (no need to travel with a group of machine-gun carrying youth, as is the case in Somalia proper).

Getting There, Part I

Regular readers may recall that I first attempted Somaliland a couple months back, but was blocked by an unreliable travel agency and a questionable airline. This time, I switched agencies and airlines, but still almost got stuck. Up to the night I arrived in Nairobi from the Central African Republic, I still had no ticket for the early morning flight the next day.

Fortunately, this time everything worked out well. I rolled up to the African Express check-in counter at 5:30am and was able to buy a ticket in cash. $420 would get me to and from Berbera, Somaliland, via Mogadishu, with an additional stop in Wajir, Kenya on the return.

African Express offers no Frequent Flyer benefits or other travel hacking opportunities, so by making the mistake of boarding late I headed to the back of the plane—way back, to the very last row, as every seat was taken and the overhead bins were jammed with luggage and cargo from returning Somalis.

All Abord for Mogadishu (et al)

African Express

Questionable in-seat emergency instructions

A Colorful Passenger

Everyone was crammed in and we sat for another hour as the sun warmed up, but I was glad to be getting underway. I’d finally make it to Somalia! We eventually took off, flew for an hour and a half, then landed in Mogadishu. I was excited about landing in a city I’d read so much about (virtually nothing positive, unfortunately) and also happy that I wasn’t staying there.

We took off again, flew for another hour, then landed in my real destination: Berbera, Somaliland. Success!

Getting There, Part II

For better or worse, the journey that had begun with a 4:30am wakeup call to get to the African Express ticket counter wasn’t over. I was traveling to Hargeisa, the capital and major city of Somaliland, but until that morning, I didn’t realize that African Express flew only to Berbera, a much smaller, coastal city. (I later learned that the runway in Hargeisa is too small to accommodate the plane from African Express, though other airlines with smaller planes are able to use it.)

The two cities are connected by highway, but it’s at least a three-hour journey each way. This is kind of like flying to Seattle to go to Portland—possible, but not really ideal. And in the horn of Africa, a three-hour journey is a lot different than jumping on Amtrak or renting a car and heading down I-5.

Oops. I decided to look on the bright side: traveling via Somali minibus would definitely give me a chance to experience more of the local culture. Otherwise, I might have been tired and headed straight for my hotel, but this way, I’d have more of a chance to see Somaliland as most people see it.

Traveling in Somaliland: Notes from a Real Source

I’m always impressed with the people who read AONC, and after my last attempted visit to Somaliland, I heard from a young reader who recently spent a year teaching in a school there. Sophia wrote in to advise me on things to do on my next trip. (She also advised me not to attempt to travel on Jubba Airways again, a recommendation I was happy to take.)

With her permission, I’m sharing some of her notes here in case anyone else ends up in this part of the world.

Ambassador Hotel has the best coffee in the country (Maansoor hotel comes in a close second place). The other places to go for coffee are the Ethiopian cafes that cater to migrant workers and refugees. These are also worth visiting because they have very good food.

Somali food mainly consists of meat (goat, beef, or camel) and rice or potatoes. If you want camel meat (definitely worth trying), ask at your hotel—they’ll know the best places to get it. One cafe that specializes in camel meat is near the livestock market in Hargeisa, which is also quite cool. Livestock is one of Somaliland’s main exports, so markets like this one represent an important part of the economy and culture.

Finally, my favorite restaurant is called Daus Cafe. Run by Somali-Canadians out of a house near the downtown, the place serves up fresh food (best burgers in Hargeisa, hands down!). It’s seen as a secret hangout spot for members of the returned Somali diaspora, and speaking with some of them is a good way to get a sense of contemporary culture and politics in Somaliland. There are also a lot of foreigners who work in the various aid and development projects around the city. You might be able to find it by asking at Ambassador—one of the women who owned Daus was related to the people who own Ambassador (everyone seems to be related—clan is a major part of life in Somaliland).

Other things to do:

Waheen Market in downtown Hargeisa. Chaotic, congested, and colorful. Closed on Fridays.

Hargeisa School for the Deaf. A school run by local volunteers in the capital. Trains the hearing impaired in different trades and vocational skills (for example, henna). It is the first and only school in the country that remotely caters to students with special needs. Ahmed Shire is the contact person, but you can probably talk to people at Ambassador about arranging a visit.

Abaarso Tech. This is the school where I worked. It has two facilities—one in Hargeisa and one in the village of Abaarso, 20 minutes outside the city. The Abaarso campus is definitely worth checking out. Started as a premier English language boarding school by former Wall Street exec Jonathan Starr, Abaarso Tech is home to some of the most dedicated students in the world. The teachers are all native English speakers. The school is an interesting example of DIY development (think 3 Cups of Tea, a la Somaliland).The son of the owner of Ambassador is a student at Abaarso—they may be able to help you arrange transport there.

Las Geel. These are cave paintings located about an hour outside of Hargeisa. Securing a permit can be a bit difficult, so email me if you need help, or ask someone in Hargeisa. They can probably point you in the right direction. The person responsible for maintaining the site is an archaeologist named Sada Mire. Very interesting lady. Definitely talk to her if you get the chance.

***

For the rest of my brief visit I was happy to follow as much of Sophia’s itinerary as I could, with the exception of eating camel, a dish that isn’t normally on my menu. However, four years of vegetarianism were briefly threatened when my guides stopped for a meal on the ride in and I was presented with a big bowl of goat. No offense to any goat-lovers or Paleo followers, but even if I did still eat animals, I think goat would be at the bottom of my list, right next to camel.

Happily, there was also a big bowl of rice, so I was able to successfully deter eating most of the goat in lieu of being really excited about rice with my guides. (“I love rice! Thank you SO much.”)

Homeward

Coming home, I had to reverse the process I had come in on—all the way back to Berbera (three hours by minibus, plus two additional hours waiting for the minibus), three hours waiting at the tiny airport, a long boarding process by airport shuttle bus, a flight to Mogadishu, another flight to Wajir, and finally to Nairobi, where I had—wait for it—five hours of sitting in the terminal before my midnight flight to London.

I often get tired when I travel, but I was even more exhausted than usual that day. After arriving in London I flew to the U.S. and was thrilled to travel on Virgin Atlantic for the first time in several years. I smiled at the difference in experiences: thanks to Frequent Flyer Miles, I traveled in Upper Class and enjoyed a nice meal with wine and dessert. I took a nap in my lie-flat seat and said several prayers of gratitude, while sipping a Bailey’s on the rocks.

Flying through Heathrow’s Terminal 3 before Christmas, I felt a bit of culture shock compared to declining my bowl of goat and riding Somali-style through one of the world’s most interesting countries just the day before. Then in the U.S., I met Jolie and we went to vacation-land for our Annual Review, another big contrast from where I had been.

I don’t think it’s bad to go on vacation or enjoy nice things. The reality is that there will always be people who have more than others (“the poor will always be with us”). Instead I think it’s important to remember the poor, to think about our place in the world and what we can do to to help.

Hearing Sophia’s story about volunteering in Somaliland was inspiring. It was a tough trip for me, a seasoned traveler, and personally I couldn’t imagine living there for a year. I was glad to visit, and I was glad to come home.

This trip brought me to just 16 countries left. I’ll be heading to my next two in just another two weeks, right after launching the Unconventional Guide to Publishing on January 10th.

More on that project next week. But first… a nap.

###

Portland Area: The AONC Holiday Party is tomorrow night! A few tickets are still available—and we’re even giving away a hammock.

As part of the Annual Review series, I look back at everywhere I went in 2011.

As usual, it’s a long list! Despite a lull when I spent several months at home writing a book and preparing for WDS, I still made it to a decent amount of places.

All told, I made it to at least thirty countries, including twenty that were new to me. Highlights included a visit to a gorilla reserve in the Eastern Congo and running a half-marathon in Cuba, my final country in the Americas. I also traveled to every province in Canada for the conclusion of my first book tour, and lots of U.S. cities for various meetings, talks, transit stops, and adventures.

In rough chronological order, here’s everywhere I went in 2011:

Afghanistan, Iran, Libya, East Timor, North Korea, Monaco, Angola, Madagascar, Comoros, Rwanda, Burundi, Congo (Kinshasa), Gabon, Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Palau, Uzbekistan, Australia, Mauritania, Ethiopia, Kyrgyzstan, Djibouti, Cuba, Central African Republic, Somaliland, and South Sudan

Note: this is the list of new countries. I also visited approximately 15 countries I’d been to before, on every continent except South America and Antarctica.

A Few Highlights

• Completed an “Axis of Evil” tour to Afghanistan, Libya, and Iran
• Successfully arrived in Angola without a visa
• Nearly got stranded in Comoros, but fortunately made it out (a tough one)
• Began my adventures in several Pacific islands (Palau, Micronesia, Marshall Islands)
• Got shut out of Nauru, but detoured to Australia
• Visited the world’s newest country, South Sudan
• Visited the gorillas in the Eastern Congo
• Ran the half-marathon in Cuba with Stephanie (that’s her photo in this post… see more here.)
• Traveled in a Somali bus for two three-hour trips (this just happened last week; full story in January)

***

Update on the Journey to Every Country

The reason I go on many of these crazy trips is because of the quest to visit every country in the world. I began this journey about five years ago, and I’ve been dutifully traveling the world ever since.

Much to my surprise, I’m not falling behind on the goal—I’ve had plenty of hardships along the way, but I’m now well on track to finish in April 2013. In fact, I’ll end December with only 16 countries to go. Woop woop!

Yeah, I’m psyched… but I’m also a little afraid and uncertain of the future. Traveling the world has been a big part of my identity for a long time, and while I expect to keep wandering after 2013, there’s no doubt that some things will be different. I’m still processing what these means, and I’m sure I’ll be doing so for some time.

I’d usually say something like “next year will be even more intense,” but this time it may be different, since I’m down to less than 20 countries to go. I’ll still be traveling a lot over the next year, but the itineraries will become more specific. I’ll be visiting Sudan, Guinea Bissau, Turkmenistan, and several other countries that can be challenging to get to. I’ll also be preparing for the big finale in 2013. Everything is on track! And I’m still having fun.

Your Turn

Feel free to share your own travel list, high point, or misadventure of 2011. And by the way, don’t worry if you haven’t been to many countries this year… remember, I’ve been doing this a while.

I’m grateful I can do this and looking forward to another great year of travel in 2012.

What about you—where did you go in 2011?

###

New to AONC? Check out The Art of Non-Conformity book, now on sale at Amazon for just $10.19.

Last weekend, I finally made it to Cuba!

It was a significant trip for me, since Cuba was my final country in all of the Americas. I now have only 19 total countries remaining, and this was an especially fun one.

During my time on the island, I ran a half-marathon with a friend, spent another couple days walking around Havana, and made sure to sample mojitos from as many restaurants as possible.

Keep reading for the full report, or click any image for a larger version…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How to Visit Cuba as an American

When I came back and mentioned I was in Cuba, lots of messages popped up for me on Twitter and Google+ asking the same question: “How did you do that? I thought Americans can’t visit Cuba?”

Ah yes, here’s the thing. Americans aren’t “supposed” to visit Cuba without a license, which is kind of like a visa. But it’s weird, because the visa isn’t issued by Cuba—on their side, Cuba is happy to welcome Americans with no hassle and very little paperwork. Immigration officials will even go out of their way to avoid stamping your passport to ensure there is no evidence of your visit. Instead, it’s the U.S. government that doesn’t want its citizens visiting the small island 90 miles south of Florida.

When I first began my travel quest five years ago, I always assumed I would wait until I could get a license to visit Cuba. After hearing reports from many other travelers, however, I finally decided to just go for it. Almost every report said the same thing: the travel restriction is no big deal, no one has ever been prosecuted for visiting Cuba, and besides—it’s an amazing place. Don’t wait!

With that advice in mind, I reconciled myself to visiting Havana without the license, and I almost made it there earlier this year during the Axis of Evil trip when I visited Libya, Afghanistan, and Iran. On the way home from Kabul, I stopped off in Chicago and flew down to Cancun for the connection. Alas, my AA flight was two hours late due to a maintenance issue. While we were taxiing in on the tarmac, I saw the Cubana jet take off for Havana. Foiled!

I had been traveling for two weeks by then and had already made it to several police states, so instead of waiting a few more days for the next available flight, I spent the night in Cancun and returned home to the U.S. the next morning.

Visit with Wandering Zito

It was probably for the better that I didn’t visit earlier this year, because when I started planning the return attempt, my longtime friend Stephanie Zito decided to come along. Stephanie has been to more than 100 countries of her own, and was one of my original inspirations when deciding to visit every country in the world.

Traveling with Stephanie is fun because we are each experienced travelers in our own way, but we both tend to forget things. For example, even though we had planned to run the half-marathon, neither of us had done anything about registering for it before we got there. No problem, right? We had cash with us and figured that they wouldn’t turn away two healthy runners who showed up at the runners’ area the night before.

Unfortunately, the first guy we talked with didn’t seem especially eager to help. Our cumulative Spanish was fairly limited to phrases like “Dos más mojitos,” which didn’t help us with this guy who ignored our entreaties and kept motioning us to leave.

Steph and I looked at each other and silently decided on a common travel strategy: when things aren’t going your way, wait it out and see what happens. Just keep standing around looking friendly, and more often than not, all will be well.

The strategy worked. The marathon organizer, who also didn’t speak much English, came out to see us and kept repeating “Welcome to Cuba!” over and over.

“Dos más mojitos!” I replied.

We were now on friendly terms, but still had no way to register for the race. Eventually a third person was fetched, who grew up in Miami and was happy to help us sort out our registration. Success! We were officially ready to go.

The Half-Marathon: Tour De Havana

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next morning we woke up early and headed for the race entrance. At least two thousand runners were there, mostly from Cuba and other Latin American countries. A troupe of dancers was positioned on the steps of the capitol building, and everyone was full of energy.

We set off at 7am, and the crowd thinned out after the first kilometer or two. After the first 5k or so, I was slightly worried as the temperature rose. I usually run at least 10 miles every Sunday, so a half-marathon (13.1 miles) shouldn’t be a huge challenge, but running in the rainy Pacific Northwest is a lot different than running on an island in the sun. Fortunately, all was well—after warming up around 7:30, it was still hot for the rest of the morning, but never become unmanageable.

We ran past the seafront, into New Havana, and through a bunch of different neighborhoods. We had heard that the water stations were sparse and poorly run, but this wasn’t the case at all: Almost every kilometer or two, eager volunteers were handing out small bags of water that you open with your teeth and then drink.

We ran a slow pace, which was a good decision since neither of us felt super exhausted toward the end. In fact, we rounded the corner to the finish sooner than we were expecting. All of a sudden, it was over. A volunteer marked our number as completed, and another volunteer gave us a medal. Victory!

At the end of the race, several runners approached us and asked for our shoes. We had read online that this request was common, and when we saw the shoes that most Cuban runners wore for their races, it wasn’t a hard choice. We picked out two guys based on the poor quality of their shoes, made sure ours were a good fit for them, then handed them over.

Havana Photo Walk

After the marathon, I felt slightly dehydrated and took a short nap after drinking lots of water. Stephanie has endless energy, so she left to explore the city and take photos. After a while she came back to fetch me and I joined her for the second half of the excursion.

My grandpa was in Cuba in 1941 right before Pearl Harbor. The funny thing is, I’m not sure how much has changed. Due to the U.S. embargo, almost every car in Cuba dates back to the 1950s or even before. Walking around Havana is like visiting a car show, although some cars need a little work.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Random Facts

• The Cancun airport has no transit section, despite seeing a lot of travelers transit through to third countries, usually Cuba. Ironically, the Havana airport does have a transit section… for everyone traveling on to Russia or China, I guess.
• There are essentially two economies in Cuba. Our trip wasn’t super-cheap because we paid tourist prices: taxis are mostly fixed-price, and restaurants are clearly divided into tourist spots and non-tourist spots.
• With employment opportunities being fairly limited, almost every restaurant in Cuba has a band. There is no Burger King in Havana, but if there were, I’m sure it would have a full salsa band at the entrance as customers ordered their Whoppers.
• The unofficial “mojito index” ranged in price from $2 to $6, depending on how far one walks from the main tourist areas. Perfectly reasonable.
• If you’re an American hoping to visit Cuba, check out Cuba Travel Network. They arranged my flights and hotel, and ensured that my credit card was charged in a country other than Cuba. (This wasn’t a sponsored trip of any kind, and I paid full price.)

***

The only problem with our trip came when we almost missed our flight back to Cancun and on to Dallas. Yikes! It was totally my fault, as it almost always is. For some reason I thought we were leaving at 3:15pm, but our flight (the only one to Cancun) actually left at 1:15. Oops.

Thankfully, after a mad dash to the airport, a successful attempt at jumping the queue at the Cubana Airlines check-in counter while avoiding eye contact with fellow passengers, and impatiently waiting through a long immigration process, we made it to the gate just in time. In fact, we even had a moment while boarding to exchange our final ten Cuban dollars for Mexican pesos, which could be put to good use with another friend of mine in Cancun.

If you’re looking for a place where time stopped in 1941 and hasn’t looked back, check out Cuba. As many independent travelers said to me, don’t wait.

Oh, and… only 19 countries to go! Wow.

Question: where are you going on your next trip?

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I’ll share more on the experience next week, but for now, here’s a preview.

I went to Ethiopia and was driven around on an afternoon city tour. “The streets are so bad here,” my guide said. “And the traffic in Addis is terrible!”

I looked out the window. Sure, it wasn’t Scandinavia, but I’d seen far worse. “You should visit Liberia,” I said. “This looks pretty good to me.”

Over two weeks of travel, I flew a series of random airlines: Royal Air Maroc, Ethiopian, and Aeroflot. It was my first time on Aeroflot, and I’d heard plenty of horror stories. “You’re flying Aeroflop?” someone asked. “The safety card in the seat pocket has a warning about not bringing goats on board.”

That sounded fun. But my three hours to Moscow and four hours to Bishkek, all in Economy class, passed peacefully and uneventfully. There was more seat pitch than any U.S. airline I know. The safety card didn’t say anything about goats. I had half a cup of awful white wine, but no vodka.

Had I finally become the jaded traveler I so dreaded? I hoped not… I just decided I was experienced.

***

My current trip has been a challenging one, with lots of middle-of-the-night arrivals and departures, and the afore-mentioned Egypt Air, which provides three complimentary children with every row of coach seating.

On the final leg, I landed late at night in Abu Dhabi with no plan. Technically, I had a proposed plan—I was supposed to go on to Somaliland the next day, and then to Djibouti a few days later. The tickets had come down to the wire, and when I boarded the flight to Abu Dhabi in Frankfurt, I was assured by email that all would be well. In a perfect storm composed of an unreliable travel agency and a non-existent airline, however, I got stranded.

The travel agency I attempted to work with was called “Timeless Tours and Travel,” an appropriate name since their response time was… wait for it… timeless. The airline was called Jubba Airways, and the best thing that can be said about them is that you should probably find a different carrier on your next trip to Somaliland.

Thanks to the useless timeless travel agency and the “don’t call us, we’ll never call you” airline, I found myself in Abu Dhabi with no onward ticket for a flight that left in eight hours, and strange as it sounds, absolutely no way to buy another one. The messages in my Inbox were confusing: supposedly a backup ticket via Nairobi might have been issued, or it might not have been. Who knew? It was also nearing midnight, and I had nowhere to go.

I set up shop at Costa Coffee and ordered an emergency macchiato and iced donut (I always eat healthy on the road). I used Google Voice to call Kenya Airways, which confirmed that a ticket had in fact been issued in my name, but was already canceled by the great Timeless Tours and Travel. Wow. Experiences like these are why I prefer to handle my travel arrangements myself, but the good news was I now had the opportunity to do that again. An Alanis Morissette track was playing in the gates near Costa Coffee, and I decided to take her words to heart: you live, you learn.

An hour later I was on the road, riding up to Dubai and making a plan on the go. I first went to DXB Terminal 2, home of every Middle Eastern budget airline known to mankind. When I mentioned Jubba Airways at the information desk, the Pakistani woman burst into laughter as if it were the funniest thing she had heard all night.

“Uh, what’s so funny?” I asked.

“Jubba is kind of a joke around here,” she explained. “We don’t know how to call them, they have no office, and sometimes their staff doesn’t show up for the flights, leaving fifty Somalis waiting around for three days.”

I looked around at the rest of the terminal, which hardly inspired confidence. I remembered coming here a few months back when I flew to Kish Island, Iran with a planeload of Filipino visa runners. Elsewhere, flights were being announced to Yemen and Libya. Africans were returning to their home countries with microwaves and TVs as carry-on luggage. If Jubba Airways was the bottom rung of this ladder, perhaps it was for the better that the flight hadn’t worked out.

It was nearly 3am at this point, and I decided to take the news as a sign: I’m not getting on that Jubba flight, certainly not now and hopefully not ever. I went to a cheap hotel and fell asleep as the sun was coming up.

***

I finally ended up in Djibouti two days later, where I’m writing this update. Upon check-in at another hotel, I was informed that my entire minibar was complimentary. What, a free minibar? And not only that, but this free minibar was extremely well-stocked. Some places give you a bottle of wine; in Djibouti they give you three full liters of liquor. I’m not sure if this fact reflects on the hospitality of hotels in Djibouti, the extremely cheap price of tax-free alcohol for travelers coming from pricey Dubai, or the lack of things to do in the nearby vicinity. I didn’t actually need or want three liters of liquor, but I appreciated the gesture.

That night I ran for half an hour around the small city and the port, making it as far as I could with the difficult conditions of African heat and too many iced donuts consumed over the previous week. On the run I thought about my usual things: where I’ve been and where I’m going, what I’m trying to craft and build over time. Lately I’ve been unfocused, unable to summon the energy or concentration to work on the projects I’m excited about. What’s my problem?

I’m still not entirely sure, but I think I’ll make it. I also think part of the answer is to find the magic in different ways. To value experience, to appreciate the iced donut, the midnight bus ride, the 3am arrivals and departures. To say a little prayer in appreciation that I’m not actually flying Jubba Airways after all. To face the challenge that comes through travel without letting it get to me. And when actual hardship comes my way, in visa denials and timeless travel agencies, to swallow it down, like a jagged little pill, and to keep pressing onward.

One of the things I frequently remind myself is that I get the chance to do things that almost no one else does. For years before I started actively traveling, I dreamed of it. I read everything I could and envied people I knew who traveled for work or simply in pursuit of adventure. I don’t read much about travel anymore; I live it instead. As I’m on the road to Djibouti and beyond, I call places like these “strange,” implicitly understanding that they are mostly strange to me and not necessarily to people who actually live there.

I also think you can find the magic wherever you are. True, not everyone gets the chance for a midnight adventure through the United Arab Emirates, or a twilight run in the port of Djibouti with a full bottle of gin waiting back at the hotel.

But every day, you might find yourself in strange and random places of your own. When it happens, I hope you’ll pause for a moment and think about how unusual it all is, and how beautiful it can be if you remember to appreciate it.

***

Question for those who are still reading: What’s the strangest place you’ve ever been?

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Image: Noise

I think it was Pico Iyer who said that every flight to Calcutta arrives at 3am.

Whoever it was, they were right, and it’s not just Calcutta—all over the world, travelers are coming and going at odd times. In some places, the arrivals and departures happen mostly at night.

Technically, a red-eye flight refers to an eastbound flight that leaves in the evening of the local time, flies several hours across several time zones, then arrives in the early morning local time on the other side—thus causing most travelers to lose a night’s sleep. An example would be SFO-JFK, or YVR-IAD. You leave at 11pm, you arrive at 6am—but you’ve also lost three hours along the way.

More commonly, people tend to refer to any overnight flight as a red-eye. If it’s 4-6 hours long and leaves in the late evening, thus ensuring I won’t get a real sleep cycle, and it’s some kind of morning when I arrive on the other side, I call it a red-eye too.

When traveling in the U.S., I prefer to avoid these flights whenever possible. Unfortunately, I lack the superpower of not needing to sleep. I can make it the next day, amped up on coffee and travel adrenaline, but if I don’t get a nap at some point, the immediate future bodes poorly. Thus I prefer to fly during the day, usually connecting via Dallas or Chicago in an easterly direction.

***

When roaming the world, you have no choice about night flights. Many flights, especially to remote places, operate only at erratic, nighttime schedules, often planned that way to account for connections, cheaper gate slots, or the limited number of airports around the world that allow for 24-hour departures.

I’ve flown out of Dubai at least five times, in at least three directions—and every flight has left between 1am and 4am. Walking through the terminal, a snoring brigade of sleeping travelers lies stretched out on the floor, looking like it has been infected with Nyquil. Tourists with backpacks doze next to migrant Pakistani workers on their way home. I always wonder if many people snooze through the departure of their flight, especially since gates don’t open until an hour or so before boarding time.

While I’m frequently sleep-deprived, I’ve never actually slept through the last call for boarding. Every time in DXB I eventually make my way to the gate, go through the (always extra) security check, and manage to board before it’s too late.

One time I was flying British Airways First Class, but my scheduled flight wasn’t until the next day. I showed up early and tried to change the ticket, waiting in the cramped landside area for hours for staff to arrive. I enjoyed the irony: a First Class ticket to London, but here I wait. I know that waiting is good for me; a traveler must make his peace with long stretches of solitude.

It’s not all bad: another time I was in Doha on Qatar Airways Economy Class, but I successfully snuck into the premium lounge. Free merlot and vegetable samosas! What a night. I actually slept on the four-hour flight to Columbo, dreaming of the 100th country I would soon arrive in.

***

When leaving Africa, flights are timed to connect to various European cities and over to North America, so it will almost always be a night flight. Going the other way, Africa is a destination rather than a hub. Nobody connects in Africa—well, nobody except people like me. I show up as the only guy in the transit area of airports like Dar es Salaam or Harare, looking for a staff person to come and open the desk. “You’re transiting?” they ask, surprised.

When the time comes, you finally board the flight with the other zombies and settle in. Alas, sleep is brief: we still have a safety video, takeoff, some sort of drink service, and then… three hours to go.

Forget about the laptop; night flights are no time for work. Flying at 2am is a time for napping, and if that’s not possible, for thinking about the world and your small place in it. Put on your earbuds and see what Air Zimbabwe and the shuffle feature on your iPod decides to send your way.

The best night flights arrive at their destination just as the sun is just coming up—you look out the window and see the world coming to life. Arriving early when it’s still dark, as my YVR-JFK flights tend to do, feels like cheating. I don’t want a 4:45 arrival; just give me one hour more and we’ll call it good.

I walk toward immigration (usually quick in the early mornings) and to baggage claim (always quick, since I never have a bag). “You’re now entering the MOVING SIDEWALK,” a robotic voice tells me over and over. Is this Brussels? Amsterdam? Am I back in the States? No matter. The janitors are finishing the late shift and heading for the bus.

I step out into immigration, then to the terminal, then to the street outside. “Taxi, sir?”

No thank you.

I’ll figure out transportation later; for now, I’m just saying hello to another morning in another city. It might take a while, but I’ll find my traveler’s high sooner or later.

Keep going, traveler. All good things eventually come to an end, but not yet. You have miles to go before you sleep, and you’ll be glad you made the trip.

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I’m on the road to Mauritania and beyond for the next two weeks. Comments will return with Monday’s post.

Image: Vissago

It was all going so well. I had made it to three island countries in the Pacific: Marshall Islands, Micronesia, and Palau. All of them were interesting in their own way, if a bit small.

OK, small isn’t the word: they were tiny. There is literally one road in Majuru, the capital of the Marshall Islands. Someone wrote me and said they had spent two years as a Peace Corps volunteer. What did I think of it? I said it was nice enough, but would have been a long two years for me.

After that I had a side trip to Uzbekistan, which greatly exceeded expectations. I went for a long run and wandered, feeling like my old traveling self.

Then I flew on to Brisbane, Australia—a major country I’d never made it to for some reason. Yep, I’m well over 150 countries now, but had never been Down Under. I had hoped to do a book tour in Oz this year, but it’s been pushed into 2012.

At any rate, my visit to Brisbane was only transit—I was going on to Nauru—so because Australia is such a special place, I wasn’t going to count such a short stop as a country visit. The plan was to put it off until I could appreciate it properly, the theory being that I’ll count a short stop in Micronesia as a country visit, but not one in the great Australia.

Until, that is, I got stuck.

After a fun day trip in the city (I actually played the role of tourist for once), I pulled up to the counter of “Our Airline” in BNE airport. Yes, the airline is actually called Our Airline—it’s on the shortlist for “most random airline name” in the world.

I was glad that everything had gone so well on this trip. Four new countries! Getting so many at one time is tough for me these days, with less than thirty to go. And now I’d be going to my fifth, and a difficult one at that.

Most people haven’t heard much about Nauru. You can get the gist of it here—in short, it’s the world’s smallest island that is also a country. About 7,000 people live there, and as I soon discovered, less than ten people visit on the average week.

I said hello to the friendly Our Airline representative.

“Do you have any baggage?” she asked.

Of course not. I might travel with vodka in 3-ounce bottles on occasion, but I’d never, ever check a bag.

“And where is your visa for Nauru?”

Uh…. my visa?

That’s when I realized I had a BIG problem. A visa for Nauru? No visa, no boarding pass? You’re kidding.

Oh, I guess you’re not. Wow.

Of course this was all my fault, but I had at least dutifully checked with my visa service before leaving on the trip. You can see what they said about tourist visas and Nauru in this screenshot:

“Visa not required… but actually it is.”

Of course, VisaHQ is not the judge of who actually gets to visit the country. For that, I met the consulate at the airport, who was working an adjacent check-in counter. Yes, it appears that Nauru’s high representative to Australia (and therefore the world, since they don’t seem to have any other embassies) works the night shift at Brisbane airport. This makes for a good story, but didn’t help much with my visa—she was busy arranging oversized baggage and said that immigration questions could only be handled at her day job. What to do next?

I immediately began thinking of alternatives. What else could I do? Where else could I go? I knew I’d need to get online to figure things out as quickly as possible. It was almost the next day and I had no plane ticket, no hotel, and no plan.

On Australia and the Internet

At this point it would be good to mention an interesting fact about Australia. I’ve long been obsessed with visiting Oz, and there are many great things about the country. One challenge for the modern traveler, however, is that for all practical purposes, the internet has not actually arrived in Australia yet.

I had been warned of this fact by fellow travelers, as well as numerous Australians who have traveled abroad and experienced the wonders of easily accessible WiFi, only to return home to the dark ages. (Presumably they pop over to New Zealand to read their email.)

This fact is relevant because Brisbane airport is quite spiffy and modern, but seemingly has no WiFi of any kind in the landside area. I was directed instead to an “internet cafe” where I could attempt to sort myself out. The “internet cafe” consisted of an old desktop computer sitting in the middle of a food court (seriously) where users insert coins in $6 increments (not making this up) to pay for some sort of ancient connection that allows for a single browser tab at a time. I had seen a setup like this once before, about ten years ago, somewhere in rural Africa. I felt like I was in a museum: “Kids, this is what the internet used to be like before you were born.”

Conceptual model of Brisbane internet cafe — slightly exaggerated

Anyway, I was stuck—at 11pm with nowhere to be except the world’s smallest island country, which wasn’t able to welcome me due to my lack of a visa. My coinage at the vintage Internet cafe (“the world’s best 1994 internet service”) had expired, and there was… nothing… I… could… do.

In situations like these I try to take a mental step back and think about possibilities. Sometimes you can fight out the visa argument with the airline staff and win. Had I been better prepared, I have little doubt I could have got on that flight. My first mistake was not further researching the visa situation, but the second one was not having a good story at check-in. A good story goes a long way, but looking dumbfounded usually doesn’t.

I eventually made it back to my transit hotel in Brisbane, where I was actually able to get online and explore options. I ordered a drink right before the bar closed at midnight and considered various ideas. Vanuatu… wouldn’t work. Solomon Islands… the flights were all sold out.

Kiribati and Tuvalu, the final remaining countries in the region, were too far and also had limited flight schedules. (I’m going there in January, and will now need to see about adding on Nauru.)

Accepting defeat, my next thought was to pack it in early and return home. I was booked for four days later on a Qantas award ticket out of Melbourne, so I called American Airlines to see about changing the date… no luck. Everything was filled up.

Then I thought of a novel idea: hey, maybe I could be a real traveler instead of a country-collector. Whoa. What an idea. Let’s visit Sydney!

Impromptu Visit to the World’s Greatest City

I thought about renting a car and driving down the coast, and if I was with someone or had more time, I might have done so. But I found a budget flight for $145 and hopped on down. And let me tell you… I had a magical visit to Sydney.

I went to the Opera House and was appropriately awed at the view.

I went on a three-hour tour and actually stayed for two hours of it, a record for me. I heard jokes about Australian convicts and New Zealand sheep-lovers. I learned about boomerangs.

I ran in the Botanic Gardens.

I drank Americanos and lattes during the day (translation guide: these are known as long blacks and flat whites in the local language) and merlot and cabernet sauvignon at night (no translation required).

I wandered and wandered. In short, I had FUN. People ask if I “have fun” when I travel, and I always find this a bizarre question. Fun? Travel is not always about fun; sometimes it’s about self-discovery, challenge, and connection with others.

But in Sydney, I did in fact have fun, and I wanted to stay longer. Now I see what all the fuss was about. Australia is still working on the internet, but they do coffee, wine, and wandering as well as anywhere.

I’m not sure why I never made it before, but I hope to come back… often. Sign me up, Australia. I wish I could have made it to Nauru, but I’m grateful for the detour.

***

Question for anyone who is actually still reading:

Have you ever been on an unexpected detour? What happened, and where did you go?

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Image: LGM

My first observation on the region known as Micronesia is that it takes a long time to get there. With forced layovers, I’ll finally arrive at stop #1 after 40 hours of travel—and I’m starting on the West Coast!

Fortunately, I love travel and I’m excited. This is going to be a fun trip.

***

Micronesia is both a country (The Federated States of Micronesia, to be precise) and a region. The broader region of the South Pacific is a laid-back place, but can be difficult to hop around due to limited flight schedules. Until now, I’ve only been to Hawaii, New Zealand, the Cook Islands, Easter Island, Fiji, Tonga, and Samoa.

This leaves many unvisited islands, and the following islands that are also countries: Kirabati, Tuvalu, Federated States of Micronesia, Marshall Islands, Palau, Nauru, Vanuatu, Solomon Islands, and… wait for it… Australia.

Note: this map is somewhat inconclusive. Guam and Nauru aren’t listed, for example—but hopefully they exist, since I’m flying there next week.

For some reason, I still haven’t been to Australia. I had hoped to visit later this year for a full book tour to every state (there’s only six, so it’s easier than the U.S.), but it didn’t work out.

This time I’ll technically be in Australia due to a quick transit in Brisbane, but I’m not counting that as a real stop. Everyone down under, I definitely hope to make it in 2012 as part of the next, fully international book tour.

The Uzbekistan Side-Trip

Most of my time will be spent on the islands, beginning in Majuro, the capital of the Marshall Islands. I’ll then continue to Micronesia itself and (eventually) Palau. Before continuing on from Palau, I took advantage of a lull in flight schedules to book a side-trip to Tashkent, Uzbekistan. Getting to the “stan” countries can be a challenge, and I’ve only been to Afghanistan and Kazakhstan so far. After Uzbekistan, I’ll still have a few tough “stans” left—Tajikistan, Krygystan, and xxcvadfadf-stan (Update: actually known as Turkmenistan).

Also, even with two weeks in the region, I still can’t get around to all the islands that are countries—I’ll need at least one more extended trip back to Fiji and Brisbane to polish off Kirabati, Tuvalu, the Cook Islands, and Vanuatu.

Getting There And Around

I’m starting out on a Continental award ticket to Majuro, then moving to a string of one-way tickets down to Palau (via Micronesia and Guam). The Uzbekistan side-trip is with a Delta awards ticket (PNI-NRT-ICN-TAS-ICN). The trip to Nauru is through Brisbane (via HKG).

When I finish my two weeks of island-hopping, I’ll head home and start planning the next trip. All’s well on my country quest—eight years in and I’m now at 163 countries down, 30 to go, with 16 months remaining. After staying (mostly) at home to write my book and host the 2011 World Domination Summit, I’m now firmly back in travel mode.

Wherever you are in the world, I hope all is well.

Travel note: I work from everywhere, but responses will be delayed on this trip due to expected internet challenges.

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Image: MrLins