China Cracks Down On Fire Extinguishers Filled With Flour

by Kyle Ellison on

China is notorious for knock-off items. Fake Rolex? Sure. Fake Gucci handbag? Why not? Maybe even a fake degree from UCLA?

While such items have become commonplace in the Chinese economy, the world’s most populous nation may have just one-upped itself in a scandal involving fake fire extinguishers.

Yes, according to a recent post in Weird News Asia, officials in the inland metropolis of Chengdu seized close to 10,000 imitation fire extinguishers last month, which were instead filled with basic cooking flour.

Sure, the white puff of smoke, which emerges from the nozzle looks like flame extinguishing chemicals, but in reality it took two entire bottles of the flour bottles to suffocate a relatively small blaze. Probably better to find this out now than when your commercial oven is on fire during a packed evening rush hour.

To see a video of the fake fire extinguishers in action, head over here for some entertaining knockoff ingenuity, and as a bonus, some classic Chinese television.

[Photo credit: samantha celera on Flickr]

Train In Vain: Four Days With A Pair Of Uzbek Prostitutes, Part Four

by Gadling Staff on

Read parts one, two and three of this story.

Day Four

I woke up in a sweat and was told by Marina that we had crossed into Turkmenistan, a country I had no transit visa for. The compartment was a white-hot crucible of heat that was exacerbated by the fact that none of the windows would open.

The train stopped at a dusty little outpost and the conductor, Ermat, already drunk at 10 a.m., came by with a hammer and began smashing out an entire large windowpane. I stepped out onto the platform to take some pictures of the train for posterity and was immediately accosted by a soldier. Marina rushed over and interpreted for me.

“He says you took a picture in a military area – you must give your film,” she said.”But all my pictures of this train trip are on this roll,” I said. “And I just took a shot of the train, not a military area. Tell him I’m keeping it.”

“Dayveed, please give it to him – you will be in trouble!” Marina protested.

Noticing that some kind of brouhaha was taking place, a crowd began to form behind me. After 70-some odd hours on the train I was in a foul mood, and almost didn’t care what happened to me. A small entourage formed behind me as I was asked to follow the soldier into an office in the station.

“Marina, tell him we don’t have time for this, our train could leave,” I protested.

“Just give him the film and we can go,” she pleaded.

“I am NOT giving him my film!” I insisted.

We were led into a large room where four other soldiers stood around below a framed photo of Turkmenbashi, the country’s mad dictator, who named days of the week and months after he and his mother, and banned opera, ballet and the circus, among other things.

After I refused once more to cough up my film they asked to see my visa for Turkmenistan. I handed them my passport and pointed out my Uzbek visa as well as my ornamental Kazakh one. It seemed logical at the time, but was probably akin to a Guatemalan showing up at Kennedy Airport with Mexican and Canadian visas and demanding to be let in.

“Day-VEED,” Marina said with a greater tone of urgency. “They say you must give them the film or you cannot leave!”

I opened up my camera and pulled out my film, stretching the whole roll in a highly theatrical manner and then spiked it down into a garbage can at one of the soldier’s feet and stormed away leaving the circle of onlookers shocked and speechless.

I stalked out of the office and back towards the train half expecting to be clubbed from behind, or placed into a gulag, but nothing happened. As I sat in my compartment a few witnesses came in and just looked at me as though I were a mental patient, and I began to think that perhaps I would be if we didn’t get to Bukhara soon.

A very well dressed young man who turned out to have been from Tajikistan approached me, and said, in flawless English, “I think you just did a very foolish thing. You have to realize where you are and be more careful. These people will put you in jail – they don’t care if you are American.”

A few hours later, our train passed across the Uzbek border and a couple of moneychangers began working the train. Marina explained that if I changed money at a bank I’d get only 200 Uzbek Som to the dollar, compared to 700 or more with a moneychanger. The rub was that the largest denomination was a 200-som note, so if you wanted to change $100 on the black market, you’d have to be ready to carry a huge bundle of notes. Changing money on the black market was technically illegal, so one needed to be discreet and have a big bag to carry the notes in.

An hour after my neighbors tricked me into believing that we’d arrived in Bukhara, we did in fact pull into the station, but I didn’t believe them until I actually saw Marina alight onto the platform. Aliya and Dima, who seemed like a married couple by this point in the trip, still had several hours to go until Tashkent, but joined us out on the platform to see us off.

I felt utterly exhausted, like some starving, island castaway who’d just been rescued. We had boarded the train on Monday at 11:30 a.m. and it was 3:40 p.m. on Thursday as we arrived in Bukhara. We had spent almost a full workweek on board.

I wasn’t sure whether Marina was going to share a cab with me into town or if she didn’t ever want to see me again. Dima and Aliya hugged me goodbye, and I felt like I’d miss them. I hardly knew them, but I felt as though we’d been through a terrible ordeal together. Aliya, who had the top button of her Al Pacino Couture jeans unbuttoned, Al Bundy style, said, “Dayveed, can you fax me a visa to America?”

“Fax you a visa?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, I want to come to America – Cal-eee-forn-ya.”

This is a five part series that will run in installments this week. Check back tomorrow for the final part of this story.

Read part one, two and three.

Click here for the final part to this story.

[Photos by peretzp and David Stanley on Flickr]

Apparently People In Georgia Live Longer

by Kyle Ellison on

According to this recent release from the Independent, a woman from Georgia has documents, which claim she passed away at the tender age of 132. Contrary to what you might think, however, Antisa Khvichava didn’t live a long life thanks to eating buckets full of peaches. Mrs. Khvichava instead spent her years in the village of Sachino, a remote village in the Caucuses Mountains in the country – not state – of Georgia.

Allegedly having spoken Mingrelian, a language that is classified by UNESCO as being endangered, relatives unfortunately hold no legal documents that date back to Mrs. Khvichava’s actual birth. Instead, all of her legal birth documents were destroyed during times of civil war, and those legal documents which remain – including the one stating her birth as July 8, 1880 – were created long after her actual birth.

Nevertheless, everyone from townsfolk to relatives all vouch that Mrs. Khvichava was, in fact, 132 years old. Furthermore, they claim she attributed her longevity to a daily dose of brandy.

The U.S. state of Georgia, on the other hand, has the ninth worst life expectancy of any U.S. state, with the average resident living for 77.1 years.

Nevertheless, the world’s oldest verifiable living person at the time of this writing was Besse Cooper, a 116-year-old resident of, you guessed it, the U.S. state of Georgia.

[Image courtesy of justin_vidamo on Flickr]

10 Ways To Experience Bizarre Natural Phenomena

by Jessica Festa on




To experience something out of the ordinary on your next trip, check out some of these bizarre natural phenomena.

Morning Glory Cloud, Gulf of Carpentaria, Australia

While you can occasionally see a Morning Glory Cloud or roll cloud in other parts of the world, the Gulf of Carpentaria in northern Australia is the only place it can be predicted and observed regularly. A Morning Glory Cloud can be up to 620 miles long, 1.2 miles high and is often only 330 to 660 feet off the ground. Additionally these clouds, which sometimes appear both solo and in groups, can move at speeds up to 37 miles per hour. While this phenomenon is not clearly understood, certain theories do exist, such as effects from mesoscale circulations linked with sea breezes that develop over the area and high humidly and pressure mixed with strong breezes. You can visit Buketown in Queensland for the best chance of witnessing the phenomenon.Experience The Phenomenon Of “Mystery Spots” In Mooresville, Indiana

For those who’ve never heard of mystery spots, there are areas all over the country that defy the laws of nature and physics. Water may flow up an incline, people are able to stand on walls and balls roll uphill. The most famous mystery spot is located in Santa Cruz, California, although many are skeptical of the authenticity of this pay-to-see attraction. To experience the phenomenon in nature, you can head to Mooresville, Indiana. Here you’ll find Gravity Hill, an unmarked hill that pulls your car upward instead of down. You can put your car in neutral and see what happens to test the mystery spot out for yourself. To get there, you’ll get off at Exit 59 from I-70. You’ll drive about a mile heading south before turning left onto Keller Hill Road. Head east about 4.5 miles until it ends, and near here is where you’ll find Gravity Hill.

Some other known mystery spots are located in Spook Hill, Florida, Marblehead, Ohio, Gold Hill, Oregon and Franklin Lakes, New Jersey.




Aurora Borealis (The Northern Lights), Near North Pole

Aurora Borealis, or the northern lights, may be the most well known natural phenomenon that exists. This astronomical curiosity features shafts, swirls, arcs, rays and curtains of vibrant colors on the night sky, putting on an awe-inspiring neon light show. What you’re really seeing is the colliding of electrically charged particles from the sun as they enter the Earth’s atmosphere. This occurs over the North Pole and South Pole.

While technically it’s possible to see the northern lights anywhere, it’s best to view them from areas closer to the poles, like northwest Canada, Alaska, Iceland, northern Scandanavia and northern Norway. Visit between the autumn equinox and spring equinox, or September 21 to March 21. It is also said that 2013 will be a peak year to view the lights.

Mosquito Bay, Vieques, Puerto Rico

While there are a few instances of bioluminescent bays around the world, this one is the brightest one recorded by the Guinness Book Of World Records. Listed as a national natural landmark, the bizarre site glows a bright neon blue due to Pyrodinium bahamense, Dinoflagellates (dinos), living in the water. When these “dinos” touch another organism or are shaken they produce the burst of bright blue light that makes the water glow. Travelers have the opportunity to not just look at the bizarre bay, but also snorkel and kayak the waters.




Dead Sea, Jordan/Israel

Along the Jordan and Israeli borders you’ll find the Dead Sea. At 1,388 feet below sea level, its surface and shores are the Earth’s lowest elevation on land. The sea itself is 1,237 feet deep, making it the planet’s deepest hypersaline lake. What’s really amazing about this body of water, however, is how it allows people to effortlessly float, as shown above, due to the high salt content. Moreover, the salt and minerals from this water specifically provide a plethora of health benefits, like helping with arthritis, allergies, skin aging and psoriasis.

Spooklights, Various Locations

Spooklights are bizarre visual phenomena that are often mistaken for ghosts and UFOs. Most sightings happen at night, when people see globes of light in all colors, shapes and sizes. Some explanations for the occurrence include headlights, swamp gas, electrical discharges from tectonic forces, ghosts, aliens and hallucinations. Generally, the word spooklight refers to a bizarre case that occurred just west of Hornet, Missouri in an area known as “Devil’s Promenade.” However the phenomena, also known as Ghostlights and Earth Lights, can now be experienced regularly in certain areas all over the world, for example: the Paulding Light in Watersmeet Michigan, Mafra Lights in Marfa, Texas, St. Louis Spooklight in Saskatchewan, Canada, and the Min Min Lights in Australia.




Sailing Stones, Death Valley, California

Located around Racetrack Playa in Death Valley you can find sailing stones, also known as moving rocks or sliding rocks. These names refer to a geological phenomenon where rocks move without any help from animals or humans along a level surface. The reason as to why this happens is still undecided, but trails left by the stones differ in direction and length, and even texture and design. Because the stones only move every two to three years, it may be hard to see one in action; however, you’ll be able to admire the natural sand art formed by this unusual phenomenon.

Naga Fireballs, Mekong River, Thailand/Laos

The Naga Fireballs is a phenomenon that has been occurring on the Mekong River in Southeast Asia for centuries. Most notably around the time when the Buddhist rains end in October, glowing balls of differing shapes and sizes rise up from the water and disappear. Some are just a few sparks while others are the size of basketballs. While the Mekong gets the most attention for the bizarre occurrence, other bodies of water near Phon Phisai town also experience naga fireballs. There are certain theories behind the phenomenon, like methane gas buildup, surface electricity discharging into a solution and even that the entire thing is a hoax caused by tracer fire from soldiers. If you ask a local villager, they’ll most likely tell you it’s Naga, the mythical snake living in the river. At this time, however, nothing has been proven.




Foxfire, Forests Around The World

Despite its name, foxfire is not hot, nor fire. Notes on this natural phenomenon have been documented since the times of Aristotle, who talked about a light that was cold to the touch. Foxfire is a bioluminescent fungus that sometimes appears on moist, decaying wood, occurring during wet seasons all over the world. For your best chance of seeing it for yourself, get away from any artificial light sources.

Rain Of Fish, Yoro, Honduras

Apparently, it really can rain animals. Each year around the first major rainfall in May through June, still-living fish pour down from the heavens onto one department in Honduras. The phenomenon is said to have been happening since the 1800s, and today is known as Festival de la Lluvia de Peces, or Festival of the Rain of Fishes, complete with a parade and carnival. While scientists are still unsure as to why this happens, certain explanations do exist. Some believe strong winds pick up the fish from the Atlantic and shower them down over Yoro, while others think heavy rains wash the fish up out of their natural habitat and leave them on land. Others cite back to Father Jose Manuel Subirana, a Catholic priest who visited Honduras in the mid-1800s, who prayed to God to feed the hungry people of the area and was granted a sustainable gift.

[Images via Mick Petroff, Shutterstock, Shutterstock, PD Photo.org, Cas Liber]

Train In Vain: Four Days With A Pair of Uzbek Prostitutes, Part Three

by Dave Seminara on

Read part one and two of this story.

Day Three

On my third morning on board an increasingly hellish train ride, I found a fully intact piece of excrement resting on the train’s only toilet seat I could get to. It seemed not to have been an accident; in fact, the feces looked as though it was carefully placed there by some very malicious, or very inaccurate person. I marched down towards car number one to talk to my Western compatriots, Brian and Sherry. Now it was my turn to be outraged. But Brian thought it was hysterical.

“You know they stand on top of the seat,” he said, chuckling. “It’s just not an accurate way to go to the bathroom.”

I had been eating Chips Ahoy, a box of cereal and some noodles I brought on board with me but decided I should probably fast for the rest of the trip to avoid having to move my bowels in the appalling bathroom.

Aside from the fecally ornamented bathroom, the train was becoming even more nasty and unbearable. Ermat, the conductor, dropped by to chat, brandishing a bottle of cheap vodka, around 1 o’clock in the afternoon. He was already piss drunk and sweating profusely. We were passing through the massive Kyzyl Kum Desert and the train was sweltering. He was a diminutive, balding man with too many buttons undone on his short-sleeved uniform shirt.I did a few shots with him and the rest of the gang in my compartment just to be sociable and Ermat began to recall his days as a Russian soldier in Afghanistan in the ’80s.

“He wants to tell you about some battle but I don’t understand him very well because he’s too drunk,” Marina complained.

Undeterred, Ermat took matters into his own hands, drawing a map on the bunk’s tattered blanket with his finger and repeatedly pointing to a spot and emphatically declaring “Jalalabad” over and over again.

“He says that out of 500 men at this place, over 300 were lost and for nothing,” Marina said, grudgingly playing the role of interpreter.

Ermat started crying like a baby and half-keeled over onto Aliya’s lap. She looked disgusted initially but eventually took pity on him by stroking his head. I tried to change the subject by asking him when we’d arrive in Bukhara, but he had no clue.

“It could be tomorrow,” he said.

“It could be?” I asked. “But it might not be?”

I never got a straight answer and eventually Ermat left for a nap. The conversation turned to the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. I opined that the Russians shouldn’t have invaded to begin with and Dima immediately pounced.

“Why did the Americans invade Vietnam?” he said, springing to attention from his top bunk.

“That was different,” was the only response I could muster in my increasingly inebriated state of mind.

Outside the train was an endless vista of flat desert boredom; think of the Indiana toll road without the radar toting Gestapo or unlimited breadsticks at Fazoli’s. After determining that the piece of excrement was still safely perched on the toilet seat, I hopped up onto my bunk and dove back into the book I’d been reading – Dostoevsky’s “Crime and Punishment,” which seemed to fit the occasion.

Dostoevsky had been forced to endure five years of military service (after five years in a convict prison in Siberia) in Semey, Kazakhstan, for his revolutionary activities and judging from what I could see out the window, his punishment definitely did not fit the crime. It’s fascinating to note the grave frame of mind Dostoevsky was in at the time he wrote what was to become his most acclaimed novel. A lifelong roulette addict, he was always in debt, looking for a way out.

According to Bruce Lincoln’s “Between Heaven and Hell- The Story of a Thousand Years of Artistic Life in Russia,” Dostoyevsky managed to gamble away most of his wife’s jewelry, her fur coat and her wedding ring.

My fortunes didn’t seem to be much brighter. The heat had sapped all my energy; I was starving and was beginning to hate the sound of Aliya’s voice. Just as a cockroach scurried up my thigh and right into my shorts, two hefty women who were perched on sacks of rice on the floor outside knocked and asked to see my passport.

The older of the two women who had a thick moustache and dazzling electric blue eyes took it from me reverentially with two hands as though she were receiving a diploma.

“Day- veed- Sem- ee- Nar- Ah,” she said, reading aloud, and doing a better job of pronouncing my surname than 95% of American telemarketers.

As night fell on the third day aboard the Bedbug-n-Cockroach, Hookers-n-Drunken Afghan War Veteran Conductor Express to Tashkent I asked my compartment neighbors about Uzbekistan’s notoriously corrupt and autocratic leader, Islam Karimov; I was curious to know how three young people felt about him.

Marina was characteristically tight-lipped.

“Karimov is good,” she said.

“Good in what way?” I asked.

“He’s good,” she said. “Will you give me a massage?”

I didn’t want to give her a massage, or succumb to her flirtation, so I asked Dima and Aliya about Karimov but neither was ready to offer an opinion.

“Aliya likes him and Dima says he doesn’t care, his parents live in Tashkent but he’s Russian, so he doesn’t care about Uzbekistan,” Marina said, interpreting for the others.

“Why do you want us to say something bad about him?” Marina asked. “Karimov – he’s a good man.”

This is a five part series that will run in installments this week.
Read part one here. Read part two here.
Click here for part four of this story.

[Photos by Dave Seminara, Steve Phillips, and the US Army on Flickr]