Lonely Planet BlogSherpa Carnival #12 - Scary Stories

As the host of this month's Lonely Planet Blogsherpa Carnival, and in the spirit of the North American holiday of Hallowe'en, I have asked some of the best travel writers on the web to share their own indigestions, and recount to you, the reader, some scary tales of woe whilst travelling the face of the globe.

I'll go first.

"Where is the scariest place you have ever been?" declares an inquiring mind. The scariest place I have ever been? Well, apart from high school, I have to confess that given my over-active imagination, simply walking down the street after midnight in any small town in Canada can be just as fearful and mind-wringing as most of the places I've visited overseas. At various instances, even across "the true north, strong and free [Canada]," I've seen grown men howl at the moon in anger, complete strangers have asked that I punch them in the face as hard as I can, and the bus station at 4am in Barrie, Ontario, can be just as tense and thrilling as a taxi ride to the Cairo Airport.

Which brings me to a brief disclaimer. I think every place on earth has the same potential for dangerous pitfalls and shaddy people, and I would never say that a place is 'too dangerous, they have snakes and spiders, don't go there.' For me, I do not place the blame for my tales of terror on specific places, but rather, I would say it sparks from random moments that are either in or out of my control in any place and time. Simply put, if you should have a spooky encounter in Paris, that doesn't mean that Paris is too dangerous and no one should visit. Broad generalities such as this are insensitive to the place you are visiting and give an incomplete impression. With that in mind, I digress slightly, as a story does need a location.

To begin, here is a frightening event that was thrust upon me, out of my control.

My wife (EZ), a friend and I were in a taxi, riding home from a friends wedding in Istanbul. Even at 1am the highway was busy. Our driver, inadvertently or intentionally, I'm not sure which, cut off another motorist. The other car was a dented-in-12-places white FIAT, crammed with the requisite 10 family members that have all made their way into town from Central Anatolia. If you have been to or live in Istanbul, you know the kind of car I am talking about. I slouched down in my passenger side seat, just in case a bullet came through the back window (I've seen too many movies). After a few seconds pass, the FIAT screeched beside us. The driver and his entire brood started to hurl obscenities past me toward the taxi driver. Obviously, the taxi driver shouted back and vigorously raised his hands in fury. The FIAT swerved in front of us and halted in the fast lane of the 6-lane freeway. Our driver was forced to apply the brakes. Four men got out of the car and approached the driver's side. The taxi driver started to roll up his window but he was too late. One of the assailants grabbed the window and began trying to pull it off the car. Another proceeded to punch the windshield until it smashed. That was when I decided that it was time to get out of the taxi. Thankfully, the attackers had no interest in the passengers. It was like that scene in Jurassic Park where Sam Neil and the kids ran away without incident because the dinosaurs were instead preoccupied with devouring each other. Now would also be a good time to mention that EZ, a week prior to this, had undergone reconstructive knee surgery and could barely stand. I opened the back door and did my best to help her out. Amidst the screaming traffic, she steadily attempted to maintain balance on her crutches, but instead ended up looking more like Tucker in There's Something About Mary after he dropped his keys on Mary's office floor. To add more insult to this madness, we had a suitcase in the trunk. Our friend repeatedly screamed at the taxi driver to open the trunk. The driver, though understandably distracted, somehow managed to pop open the trunk. I grabbed the bag and we began our trek across the highway. Seeing the 3 of us meandering across the highway brought traffic to a halt and there must now be a video of it somewhere out there. Reading the distress signals all over our faces, another taxi pulled over, we got in and eventually arrived home safely. On the bright side, we only had to pay for half the fare home!

We currently live in Istanbul and while it is our favourite city and often, to a fault, we promote it with great positivity, we also know it can be quite manic and we are habitually prepared for things to turn sour quickly. However, what if the scenario was that we were a couple on our first trip to Turkey and taking a taxi into town? Not a good start to the 2-week 'vacay.' When I recount this story to local friends, they say that while the taxi drivers have dangerous reputations and a penchant for the dramatic, this tale of road rage is an exception and we all know it could happen anywhere.

Alternatively, there are the scary moments, rather, activities, that I have the power to choose. I'll keep this short as there is other, more important business to feature. Suffice it to say, any thrill embarked upon with my own prior approval satisfies this second category. Among others, this activity could be paragliding in Oludeniz, Turkey; bungie-jumping at Victoria Falls; ascending a Himalayan mountain; and/or going to the washroom at a rest stop in middle China. All of which provoke fear in the pit of my stomach, but afterwards I am usually happy and proud with my accomplishment.

Now, on to the point of this exercise.

Firstly, here is a bone-chilling story from Barbara at Hole in the Donut Travels that loosely involves the US military, Moth Man sightings and Richard Gere. Her story begins peacefully enough with an arrival to the town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. She checked into the Lowe Hotel - the only hotel in town. In Barb's own words, "I got a room for the night and was pleasantly surprised to find my room decorated in antiques and outfitted with a queen-sized poster bed. It didn't take me long to climb beneath the fluffy quilt, prop myself up with two down pillows, and get to work on the computer. And that's when the noises started..."

As we hear in the news almost everyday, climate change is one of the scariest things on earth. All that Kate at Kate Rambles wanted out of her birthday trip to Nha Trang, Vietnam, was some sun and seashells. Instead, she got the aftermath of a typhoon and had to grin and bear it through a haunted airport.

I didn't have too much luck in Nha Trang myself. In fact, I ended up in the hospital for a couple days to receive treatment for a ruptured ear drum that was caused by swimming in giant waves that were far too big for casual jumping and splashing.

Bret, at I Moved to Africa sent me a spider story. I hate spiders. In hindsight, perhaps I should have known that my solicitation for scary stories would bring out a tale about these eight-legged freaks. I have even hesitated to 'cut' and 'paste' an image, but in the spirit of Hallowe'en, here goes nothing.

Yuck.

Okay, I've got to bear down and confront this fear... Here is my own scary spider short story. When you get off at the public bus terminal in Siem Reap, Cambodia (the city close to the famous Angkor Wat temples), children will offer to give you bananas and if you decline to purchase, they will give you an offer you can't refuse. These little brats will put a tarantula on your shirt until you agree to buy a banana. Here are a couple pics of some fellow backpackers immersed in this local prank (photo credit: Kevin Naughton).

Moving forward, lets inject an action-packed thrill ride into this piece. Jason at Alpaca Suitcase takes his son and daughter on a self-proclaimed Death Ride In the Andes. This ride is complete with stray dog attacks and a torrential visit from Mother Nature. Fun for the whole family!

Living in Istanbul, I know first-hand the joy that a stray dog gets from lunging out at passing motorists.

Continuing along on the same theme, Shanna, from Grand Cycle Tour writes of a harrowing cycle through Albania's Llogara Pass. Cycling past countless roadside memorials she and her husband attempt to move forward without thinking about statistics surrounding Albania's shockingly high number of road deaths.

People returning home from time spent abroad always have stories about how they averted a gypsy scam or a dishonest cab driver. It's one of my pet peeves of travel; the fact that a lot of the time it's difficult to trust locals that randomly approach you. Jaded, you stand patiently listening to their story, wary of a scam, waiting until you hear the true objective of their visit. "My uncle owns a suit shop. You should come with me to buy a suit." "My brother has a guest house. I can get you in for a good price." "Hello... Pineapple?" No, thank you.

Vibeke at Photito's Blog shares a very common tourist scam from the City of Light. If you have been to Paris, the 'ring scam' has likely been perpetrated on you by a wandering gypsy. How you fared depends on how suspicious you are towards strangers. Don't get me wrong, I love meeting new people (it's why I travel) and some of my best friendships were born out of chance encounters on the road, but if you are a traveller, you have to know that more times than not, people that approach you around the famous sites do not really want to be your friend. Again, it's the hardest part of travelling for me, feeling jaded.

Okay, let's hear some more ghost stories. Anne-Sophie at Sophie's World has been to 'the most haunting place in the Pacific'. According to legend, this honour belongs to Norfolk Island, one of Britain's worst convict colonies.

Liz at Travelogged rummaged through Rufford Abbey, one of Britain's most haunted places. Read on, only if you want to get spooked. The 'ghost baby' stories are really creepy. Though, if you made it through the spiders, you'll probably be fine.

Let's conclude these scary stories on a humorously violent note. When friends visit me in Istanbul, I usually drop them off at a Turkish Bath (Hamam) for a couple hours. The Hamam I take them to is extremely authentic and the experience is very traditional. This is not a watered down, pun intended, tourist experience. Upon entering, I can always tell by my friends' expressions and body language that they are not comfortable and quite tense. When it's all over however, every time, they come out feeling like a million bucks. Shawn at Shawn Was Here articulates his hamam experience. Like most things in life, as a smart man once told me, "you just have to let it happen."

Thank you for stopping by. I really hope you enjoyed these stories and my contribution to the LP BlogSherpa Carnival series.

For more Lonely Planet Blogsherpa Carnivals check out Carnival #11 (Food Around the World), hosted and posted by Kat at Tie Die Travels. Carnival #13 (Magical City Experiences) from Denise at Travel With Den and Den will be up and running in early November.

What is a BlogSherpa? Lonely Planet has signed up the best travel bloggers they can find. They bestow the title of 'BlogSherpa' to the blogger and then publish the blogger's articles on lonelyplanet.com.

Day 1 - Is that a Rat In Your Pants?

Having finished watching the sunset behind the Royal Palace, and participating in some evening calisthenics with the locals in the main square overlooking the Tonle Sap River, we were ready to dine out in Phnom Penh, the capital city of Cambodia. Even on a budget, we never went hungry, as I'm sure you know, food comes quite cheap all over South East Asia. The best eats for us all over the region came at the neighborhood street stalls or make-shift dining patios that families would set up in front of their homes. Tonight we would find a typical stall close to the Independence Monument that served a heaping veggie-noodle plate for 5000 Riel ($1CAD).

We settled onto our two tiny stools and watched our chef at work. His massive wok clanged and rattled as he shook all the ingredients together on the propane stove. While everything we ate in Asia was essentially a variation of rice/noodle/vegetable/seafood/oil/sauce, amazingly each stall had it own unique dish of fresh and local ingredients, and no two meals were ever the same.

Beside us were a few other locals. Teenagers, very interested in our every move. We smiled at them. They laughed at us. Beside the teenagers was an older lady washing the dishes with water from who knows where.

At night, Central Phnom Penh is very dark for a capital city of almost two-million people. Not too many street lights. In fact, the only significant light at night came from the cars and motor bikes that crowded the streets. Sitting on the tiny stools, we could barley see past the circumference of the street stall.

Which brings us to the meal service. Our food is delivered proudly by the proprietor's teenage daughter. Oddly enough, she is wearing flannel pajamas, as is her mother, and the grand mother who was still washing the dishes. We unwrapped our chop sticks and dug in. After the first bite we give a 'thumbs-up' to the anxious chef who was probably hoping for some repeat business from these two chubby Canucks. It is an excellent meal. However, and this is the moment you've been waiting for. About a half-dozen bites in to my dinner, I feel a little tickle at the bottom of my tucked in shirt, around the tail bone. You know when you are squatting, or sitting in a very low chair like I was, the back of your pants creates a little triangle opening. Not a plumbers butt, but just a little opening. An opening big enough for something tiny to jump inside. That was where the tingle was happening.

This was an odd sensation, that does not normally accompany a meal, so I perked up a bit. I sat up a little more straight. With that gyration, the tickle became less playful and a touch more violent. I still did not react, rather, I simply stood up. And what you may ask fell out of my pants with a 'plop' onto my dining chair? A chubby little rat. Yikes. The rat didn't even give me time to react. In a flash, he leapt off his perch and into the grass. He instantly disappeared into the darkness of Phnom Penh.

I looked up to the family expecting some sort of sympathy for this incident that went down on their turf. This did not happen. They laughed at me. I finished the rest of my meal standing and nervously staring into the darkness, accompanied only by the cackles of my beloved and a half-dozen Cambodians.

After dinner, we picked up a 6 pack of Angkor beer and went back to our "hotel" to watch the Oscars on a four-day tape delay. We were woken up around 3am to the sound of a woman screaming hysterically, first in her suite, then in the hallway. I'll save that one for another day.