Away to Franceland

I know, I know... I'm sorry. This poor blog never gets updated anymore. What can I say? Things aren't terribly blogworthy in central North Carolina, in my opinion. My lackluster updating motivation is going to change immediately though, at least for the next couple weeks.

I'm in Raleigh/Durham International Airport at this particular moment, about to board a big ole jet air-li-nerrr to Nice, France. Nice. The event I'm covering is the Partouche Poker Tour main event, which features a buy-in of €8,200. I am flying to Nice via the Greater Cincinnati Internationl Airport (which is in Kentucky, of course), then Paris, and then I have to arrange some sort of transportation from Nice to my hotel in Cannes. Probably a bus. I will be with the boss-man Garry Gates for this trip, along with blogger extrordinaire Marc Convey. Also making the trip are the multimedia team of Thomas Kinsman and Gloria Balding.

I've always had an itching desire to go to Europe, but honestly France was at the very bottom of les places I wanted to le see. Now that I am en route (the only French I speak) though, I am really terribly excited about this trip. My plan as of right now is to spend about a week in Cannes, five of which will be tournament working days. After the tournament, I still have about a week of time to kill, and I intend to plan the remainder of my trip as little as possible, damn the torpedoes. The only real plan I have so far is to check out Barcelona, Spain, where the EPT event will be going on. PokerNews-ers Marc, Logan, Aussie Thomas, and Kristin will be there, so at least I'll have a couple familiar faces across the ocean. Apart from that, Dublin, Edinborough, London, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, Prague, Naples, and Venice are all possible layovers on my way back to Nice, where I catch my return flight.

There's this feeling that I am growing accustomed to of late. It started pre-Vegas, when I arrived at the airport and realized that I was going to a new place. Somewhere that was not North Carolina. And it was great. It wasn't even excitement about Vegas so much, though I dooo love Vegas. It was more a sense of relief that I was away from the same old same old at home. And not that I don't like it here. I'll say it once so I never have to say it again in posts like this: I like it here. I just don't... love it here. I found that airport-induced feeling of freedom kicking up again when I was headed to Uruguay, and again today, as I once again leave North Carolina for places that are different. For better or for worse. Different.

It all really comes back to my nomadic instincts and disposition. I really should have been a hunter-gatherer or like a wandering monk or something, because I would never stop moving if I had my choice. I've also become quite familiar with this set of feelings. Any time I am in a place or a stage in my life for too long, I become disenchanted with whatever it is I am doing. I get lazy and lethargic and settle into a boring old rut of predictibility. The grind. I don't like it. When that starts to happen, I require a big circle changeup to knock me back off balance and get me refocused on what it is I am really doing with myself. Something has to get shaken up in my world. It gives me something to do.

The excursion to Vegas was just that cross-up pitch I needed. It shook me out of my rut and brought me back to a forward-thinking, goal-oriented place where I can actually be somewhat productive. Needless to say then, with my current job, I am really enjoying the travel and the transient nature of life these days. The fact that at any moment, I might be whisked away to some far off land all alone with a responsibility to someone other than myself. How's that for shaking things up a bit.

Adios Uruguay, Hello United States

I have spent the last six days in the southern hemisphere, and now I am in Montevideo Carrasco International Airport -- ready to be home, but not at all ready to get on that plane for the 16-hour, 2-leg jaunt that is required to get there. Since I only really mentioned the tournament before, I figured I'd kill some time and reflect a little bit while running you through my trip from bow to stern.

The story of my Uruguayan adventure actually picks up somewhere over northern Brazil, where we find Eric peacefully dozing in and out of a mild sleep. I am in the aisle seat next to a Hispanic gentleman who is sleeping soundly, and in between dreamlets I feel a tap on my shoulder. I open my eyes, and the person standing above me, I would soon learn, was a poker player named Andy Altmeyer.

Andy was flying with EPT San Remo champion Jason Mercier, and the two of them were carrying a good bit of cash between them, which was about to become a problem. International customs requires passengers to declare any amount of money over $10,000, but from what I understand, the flight attendants on the plane told Andy and Jason that it might not be a good idea to declare large amounts of money, citing a number of very logical scenarios. So Andy walked around the plane, using his people-reading skills to pluck fellow poker players out of the lineup and ask if we could each help the situation by bringing some of their cash into the country. I had a little less than $2,500 on me, so I took $7,500 for them, capping out my $10K undeclared limit. For people who make a living lying and stealing at the table, poker players are generally extremely trusting about money exchanges like this. So, a few of us on board helped the two gents out, and all the money was safely and promptly returned to them once we hit the ground in Uruguay.

Jason Mercier

Andy Altmeyer

Since they were headed to the same place as me, I ended up sharing the 90-minute ride with Jason and Andy from the airport here in Montevideo to the beach-side resort town of Punta del Este -- or more specifically, La Barra. We were also joined by two Icelandic players who were good for a laugh. I was navigating, and we only got lost once on the way to the hotel. When we did get lost, we had our first encounter with the local folk, and I was duly impressed. We stopped in front of a house just outside of Punta del Este on some twisty neighborhood street because we saw a guy doing work in his yard. The five of us combined our broken Spanish skills to ask him for a little guidance. He spoke no English whatsoever, but he proceeded to spend the next five minutes giving us turn by turn instructions and making sure we understood what he meant. Pleasant fellow.

“Mantenga el mar a la derecha,” he said -- “Keep the ocean on the right.” We did as he instructed, and in a few minutes' time we were back on track, aiming for the skyline of our destination ahead.

Punta del Este is surrounded on three sides by the ocean, and it is referred to as the South Beach of South America. All along the coastline, there are high-rise hotels and condos. There is also a big shopping district on the interior of the peninsula. There is one big difference though. Miami is open all year.

Not so much with Punta. Now that it's winter in the bottom hemisphere, pretty much the only living creatures inhabiting the city are construction crews and stray dogs. Punta del Este has a population of about 10,000 residents, and that number might even be a bit generous during the winter. During the summer though, there are upwards of 1,000,000 people there at any given time. From what I read and hear, it is the premier summer vacation destination for wealthy cocaine tycoons and their mistresses from October to March. Boo for going there in August.

Whose idea was this?

Once you cross the stomach-churning bridge into La Barra though, things look different. It is pretty much comprised of one long road that parallels the beach, with an alternating mix of real estate offices, small restaurants and shops, and small unkempt houses. About 4 kilometers down the road is the turn off for the Mantra Resort Spa Casino, where I stayed for the duration of my trip. The Mantra is recognized as one of the top 80 hotels in the world -- which, I'm assuming, means it's #80-ish. But anyways, it was a damn fine place to stay, with heavenly rooms and magnificent service from the entire staff. I'm not used to that sort of pampering, but I was able to adjust to it rather quickly. The hotel includes one super fancy-schmancy restaurant, one regularly-fancy restaurant, a wine bar, and a snack lounge in the lobby area, where I spent a good bit of my down time. They also serve afternoon tea there in the lounge. How quaint. The property possesses a pool, a casino, a world-class spa, a movie theater, outdoor shops, an outdoor banquet area, tennis and volleyball courts, and apparently miles of forest trails where one can take a guided small or large game hunting trip, if they were so inclined. All of that crammed into what I would call a "small" hotel. It was only three stories tall and I would guess it has about 120 rooms. Really an incredible place. I can't say enough about the staff; they were unbelievably accommodating. So, PokerStars put me up there for five nights, and then I paid for one night of my own after the tournament was over. More on that in a bit.

On the tournament days, I'd wake up at 9:30 or so and hop in the shower. By the time I got out and dried off all my 2,001 body parts, there'd be a knock at the door with my breakfast, which I had ordered the night before using a handy door tag menu thingy. Perfectly-scrambled eggs, amazing fresh fruit, and the best coffee and orange juice I've ever tasted. When I finished chowing down, I'd walk from the hotel area across the courtyard over to the Mantra Plaza -- where the casino and whatnot were located -- to begin setting up to cover the tournament for the day. The tournament wasn't actually held in the casino; it was downstairs in an open area that is normally used for meetings, small conventions, and the like. I set up in the media room for the first two days, grabbed another cup of coffee, and got things rolling on the blog while servers in well-pressed white shirts rotated in and out with drinks, cookies, pastries, and tea sandwiches. The days seemed to go by relatively fast, and by about midnight, I was out of there and ready for a cold beer and a warm bed. I hung out in the wine bar or the lobby lounge most nights, drinking expensive beer and passing stories back and forth with other media and players.

So the tournament ended on Saturday, and I spent Sunday laying low and catching up on some sleep -- just lazing about in general. Watched some of the Olympics finally, played lots of online poker, had a few cocktails, ya know. Sunday night was the last night I had booked at the Mantra, and my plans after that were open-ended. I was considering taking the ferry to Buenos Aires, Argentina, or else checking out Colonia in Uruguay, which I heard was both historic and modern. Intriguing. Something changed yesterday when I woke up though. I wasn't really in the mood to do much, being all alone, and I didn't want to spend a magnificent amount of money doing whatever I decided to do. Besides, both places were kinda far away, and I didn't have a way to get there in a timely fashion. I flirted with the idea of going home last night, but I decided to make it tonight instead. I snatched a cab back to Punta and rented a car for the day so that I could at least get around and see some of the sights nearby before I bounced. I drove around the beaches and wandered around taking photos. It was great.

I got preoccupied though, and neglected to book a hotel anywhere for that night. I could have gotten one at Mantra again, but I didn't want to drop another $160 really. My flight was scheduled for 10:05pm tonight, so I decided I'd pull a Vegas and just stay up all night. I went back to the lobby at Mantra and loitered for a while. I had about 9 of those delicious cafes con leches to keep me going, and got to work playing online poker at around 7:00pm. A few hours later, PokerStars pro Alexandre Gomes and about a half dozen of his boys came down to the lobby to eat and drink and play online poker as well. We're all the same, us poker players. They were having a good time, and every now and then got rowdy enough to draw good-natured "shush"-es from the gentleman at the front desk.

Alexandre Gomes (right) playing online poker in the lobby

It got to be 5:30am and I was in trouble. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, so I debated my options. I either had to drink a few more coffees or I had to sleep somewhere. I was walking back to my car to catch a couple uncomfortable hours of half-reclined shuteye when I decided to drop by my ex-room just for laughs. I slipped my expired key card into the slot in front of room #45, and wouldn't you know the friendly green light blinked at me in cooperation. I already had my apology prepared for the people I was about to wake up inside, but I found the room devoid of life... and bed linens for that matter. Who cares? I flopped onto the naked bed and grabbed at least four good hours of solid sleep. It wasn't much, but it was all I needed to tide me over.

So I woke up about 10:00am, figuring it was a good idea to get out of there before housekeeping found me occupying an unoccupied room. I splashed a little water at my face and bid farewell to Mantra and La Barra. I had to get the rental car to Montevideo before 4:00pm, so I headed back that way. Along the route, I stopped for a few hours in Carrasco, which is pretty a pretty run-down city of old condos and bad drivers. I was actually searching for a shot glass for my dad and a leather something-or-other for my mom. I found the area's market center, a miles-long stretch of indoor and outdoor shops on a street called La Calle Ocho de Octubre. It was populated and full of merchandise, but a lot of it was cheesy and many of the vendors had the same crap. Not a shot glass in sight either. Finally after about two hours and two miles of shopping, I managed to find what I was looking for -- a small shot glass with a Uruguayan flag, tucked between a marijuana-leaf zippo and a statue of the virgin Mary in some little tienda -- so I headed back to my car and got the hell out of there.

That was pretty much the end of my vacation, and I am actually halfway happy that it is coming to a close. I did indeed have a great time. But there are a lot of things about being in a strange place alone that aren't really a whole lot of fun. I speak enough Spanish to get by, but not enough to really converse on a deep level with the locals. The food is mediocre once you leave the friendly confines of a five-diamond resort. The drivers are god-awful and I'm lucky to be alive. The cities are clean, yet dirty at the same time. I'm not vaccinated for hepatitis. Everything is 15 years behind the USA. They still sell Sega Genesis, for example, and their computers still have keyboards that go “ka-clink ka-clink” when you press the keys. They still make carbon copies of your credit card with that machine that rolls over your plastic and copies the numbers onto the paper. They don't sell Marlboro Blue 72's.

I had a damn fantastic time while I was here, and I loved the country. But it's not like being home in the United States of Technology. Voy a salir!

LAPT Punta del Este

Well, here I sit, all by myself in a land far, far away.

I am in the lounge at the luxurious Mantra Resort Spa Casino in Punta del Este, Uruguay, having just checked out of my excessively comfortable room. I have been down here since Tuesday covering the PokerStars.net LAPT Punta del Este. It was really a great tournament to report on, though it was a lot of work being all by myself. I had to take pictures, count chips, record hands, and upload all that information to the blog in a timely fashion.

Play began on Thursday with 351 players, most of them semi-local South Americans. Also on hand were PokerStars Pros Humberto Brenes, Vanessa Rousso, Chad Brown, Greg Raymer, Barry Greenstein, Andre Akkari, and Alexandre Gomes, who managed to make the final table. Not exactly a star-studded event, but there were enough of the big names kicking around to keep things interesting. UltimateBet Pro Mark "P0ker H0" Kroon was also in the field, and he and I got acquainted with each other. I'm a die-hard UB fan, so I was excited to be covering and photographing H0. He's a really nice guy and has a damn good sense of humor.

Out of the 351 runners, only 93 of them manged to make it to Day 2. It took about 11 hours to whittle that down to our final eight who returned the following day to play for it all. After all was said and done, it was the Spaniard Jose Miguel Espinar who captured the title, taking home $241,735 and an enormous glass vase of some sort. I'm not sure who owns a shelf tall enough for that thing. Anyways, Espinar is a good story for all the new poker players out there. He just began playing in December 2007 and has already racked up some very nice cashes early in his career. He plays very solid poker and makes good decisions throughout the hand. During the final table, he never really won any monstrous pots, but his chip count steadily climbed all day until he was the only one left with chips.

The one big pot he did win came heads up with Alex Brenes, brother of the aforementioned Humberto. The two men had been playing one-on-one for several hours with the chips being passed back and forth like a tennis match. Finally, after a break, the blinds went up to 50,000/100,000 with a 10,000 ante, and that got play rolling. The two were dead even in chips when Jose Miguel Espinar raised to 250,000 from the button. Alex Brenes moved all in over the top, and it took Espinar just a second to make the call. The hands were shown down:

Brenes:
Espinar:

With a pot of more than 3,000,000 chips in the middle, the dealer spread out the flop: . The nine right in the door vaulted Brenes into the lead and put Espinar in very big trouble. Not to worry for him though. The ripped off on the turn, pushing Espinar back in front. By this time, there was a huge crowd gathered around the two men, and the throng of spectators was going ballistic. The river was a blank, and Espinar raked in the massive pot, leaving Brenes with just 40,000 funny money. The tournament ended on the next hand when Espinar's topped his opponent's .

So that was the end of the LAPT for season one. It included only three stops this year: San Jose, Costa Rica; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; and Punta del Este, Uruguay. All indications were that it was a resounding success, and there are plans to expand the series to include more venues next season. I certainly wouldn't mind getting the opportunity to cover some of those as well.

Bienvenido a Miami

I'm writing this from a cool, dark, semi-quiet corner of the Miami International Airport, about to jump on a nine-hour flight to Montevideo, Uruguay. I paid $9.95 for wi-fi here, and I'll be damned if I'm not going to get some productive use out of it. It is an overnight flight, and I arrive in South America sometime mid-morning tomorrow. When I get there, I have the rest of the day to tend to the 70-mile trip from the airport to my hotel in Punta del Este utilizing my broken Spanish and combating a lack of sleep. It can't be too hard, he says self-assuringly.

I have been looking forward to this trip since the day I was told about it, but I have just recently become a bit... intimidated by the responsibility I have taken on. I pause because I'm not really intimidated, but I'm becoming ever-more cognizant of the importance of doing a good job. I am on this event all alone, with no one but myself to do the reporting, chip counting, interviewing, photo taking, and blog updating. I certainly feel that I am capable of handling the duties, but I understand the need to really perform at a high level on this one. As far as my mindset goes, I have been a complete slacker in the four days since I returned from Las Vegas, and now I need to flip that switch back into work mode for a solid, long three days of reporting. I am confident, but aware of the weight on my shoulders.

Those three days are going to be spent working awfully hard, but the rest of my time there is all for me. I have an extra four days after the event concludes to loiter around the country, and I have no direction or plan in particular. I will eat wherever happens to smell particularly inviting when my stomach growls, and I will sleep wherever I am able to stumble to when I am feeling tired. Having never been in South America -- or any truly "foreign" country, for that matter -- I am curious about how easy it will be to get around and how readily available the things I need will be. I have no idea what to expect, and I have no lofty preconceptions to be disappointed by. Regardless of where I find myself over the course of the next nine days, I will be lugging around my trusty camera, and I can't wait to show you the high points of my little adventure abroad.