Mat's Travel Journal

Out of Africa 12/28/09

2009-12-28T15:58:00.005-05:00

Atlanta, GA 12/28/09
-Atlanta Hartsfield International Airport-

Jillian and I got to Johannesburg “yesterday” and turned on the news for the first time in about a week. There was a BBC report about a guy that tried to blow up his underwear on a flight a few days ago as it was landing in the U.S. As we watched the news I turned to her and said, “This is going to make getting home interesting.” Of course by “interesting” I meant complicated and I was right, well for me at least.

I’ve probably been in and out of the Atlanta Hartsfield airport a thousand times but today I’m here in a section I’ve never seen before; the immigration waiting area. It feels a little like the waiting area at the DMV. There are rows of seats that don’t look old but very used, facing a high counter with clerks behind it. I guess they are probably called agents in this instance but either way that’s who I’m waiting to see, or at least I think that’s what I’m waiting for. To tell you the truth I’m just waiting for someone to call my name. The interview rooms that connect to this waiting area give a glimpse that there are more serious issues being cleared up here than something you find at the DMV though and in case there was any doubt the restroom I was just allowed to use was clearly made to detain someone.

You match the surroundings along with the conversations I can hear from the counter; Q & A’s that include, “So where were you before you were in Tehran?”, “What was your business in Pakistan?”, “Are you a student in Venezuela?”, “Why do you travel to Columbia so often?”… and you realize you are getting close to the stuff you hear about on the news each night.

And then there’s me...here I sit waiting for my name to be called so I can explain that I have no intention of blowing up anything most especially my underwear.

Jillian has gone on ahead in an attempt to catch our connection to West Palm. I’m sure I’ll miss that flight now but oh well. Being stuck in Atlanta and trying to hop a flight home will be a familiar feeling to transition me back to normal life.

Jillian was a little taken back and annoyed when I was taken aside and asked to wait here for further questions. “Look around! You don’t belong here!” she said.

I am the only US citizen in a waiting room of about 25 people but I am fine with it. I told her I should be asked more questions. I’m the reason that you can’t profile based on race (not that it matters but I am the only Caucasian sitting here.) My passport is a dirty faded book of random stamps that show a non-traditional pattern of travel; in and out of the US several times in the past few years. Random “holiday” visits to unusual places like Cambodia, China, Nepal, India, etc. If they didn’t ask me more questions I’d be worried.

Of course there’s a good chance that my new wife will now be returning from our Honeymoon in Africa without me. I’m sure that will be commented on by many.

I think I’ll be constructive with my time here though as I wait and jot down some memories of our last few days in South Africa.

After Kruger we said goodbye to all of our new international friends from the lodge. We had shared a few fun nights with them sipping cold beers around a camp fire. As always it is one of the things I love most about traveling and I think Jillian now has a taste for it. I think that will help ease what little anxiety she has left about my travel style the next time we are able to wander somewhere.

We have one new friend that has been with us for several days now. Mark, from England, is on a whirlwind world tour hitting some of my favorite places. For the last week our schedules have synced up and we’ve spent hours together in various transports, safari trucks, or sitting around a campfire.

The 3 of us hit Jo’burg together and managed to meet up at the airport for one last pint. Marks just starting out and I tried real hard to not say, “You should do this or that…” the best part of traveling is the lessons you learn along the way. I did give him some tips and tried real hard to hide my envy. His next few months are going to be memorable.

Our time in Jo’burg was pretty uneventful. The city lived up to its billing of being large, non-descript, and sketchy in most parts. We even tried to pick a fun artsy area of town, an area called Melville, but even it was a ghost town by 6 p.m. with only a couple decent restaurants to choose from. The place we did pick for dinner, a Thai place, was so empty the only other couple in the place invited us to join them.

We politely said no but by the end of dinner the two, noticeably intoxicated, ladies were at our table trying to buy us shots. (Well, I think they would have been happier just buying Jillian shots but I wasn’t going anywhere so they tolerated me.)
We were able to visit the Apartheid museum for several hours before leaving town and I’ll probably take that as my most vivid memory of Jo’burg. That experience made an impact for sure. I remember visiting the Holocaust museum in D.C. years ago, or even standing at the A-Bomb Dome in Hiroshima, and thinking how crazy, naïve, and down right stupid the world was “back then”. Those events were history though; black and white photos from my Grandparents era.

The Apartheid Museum made it blatantly clear to me that governmental, societal, and human stupidity is still taking place. The events of Apartheid are not from the way back when and there are decades of color pictures that document Apartheid rules. The timeline of historical events like Nelson Mandela’s release from prison in 1990 happened in years when I was not only alive but old enough to know that Apartheid was wrong. I was 16 when he was released. If an inexperienced kid in a small town in Central Illinois knows something is just plain evil how can an entire government do it and how can the rest of the world let it go on for decades?

Of course it eventually did stop but I wonder what museum I’ll be standing in 20 years from now wondering the same thing; maybe Darfur or Tibet. Then again, as I’m reminded of my current setting, I sure hope it’s somewhere in the middle east in a time when we wonder how so many were once so misguided enough to blow themselves up for any cause, or use a bomb of any kind to solve a problem.

On a lighter note this will probably be my last entry of 2009, another amazing year if I do say so myself. There was a lot of hard work this year but I think it all paid off, as usual. I don’t kid myself though and I know if I was able to add up all the hours in the year I’m sure I still had more time having fun than not. I wouldn’t change a thing.

The gang for NYE starts arriving in WPB tomorrow, a big group this year too. I’m excited. We are heading down to Key West on the 30th…and I’m still really looking forward to spraying a bottle of champagne as the conch drops and wrapping up 2009.

I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to use my passport again for quite sometime. I know this trip is the final end of a certain chapter. Well that chapter probably ended back at the start of 2008 but this was the final encore. The next few years will bring new priorities to my life; priorities that will force me to use my resources, mostly time and money, for other things besides airfare and wandering. They are all choices that I have made freely so I’m not sad about ending this era, just nostalgic. Plus I also know eventually I’ll find/make a way to resume my travel and even expand my explorations.

In Walden ol’Henry wrote, “As long as possible live free and uncommitted.” I didn’t set out to do that but looking back it seems like I followed this great advice. I lived the life I imagined and I did in fact meet with a success unmatched in common hours. Now the life I imagine for myself looks a little different.

MJF

(The last sunset of 2009. Taken off the coast of Key West)

Safari in Kruger National Park 12/25/09

2009-12-25T15:14:00.003-05:00

Kruger National Park, South Africa 12/25/09

For the first time in 36 years I didn’t wake up on Christmas morning in a house with a Christmas tree and sit down to open presents. The streak ended today when I woke up under mosquito netting in a thatch roof cabin in Africa. Instead of presents I found my dirty hiking pants & shirt, jumped back into an open air safari truck and headed into the bush. I may not have found gifts in fancy wrapping paper but the animal sightings have been of greater value than anything I might have asked Santa for.

Obviously I’m happy with the new events this Christmas has bestowed on me. While I do miss this time with family I know there will be more of the “usual” Christmas mornings with them in the years to come. Spending this special day on safari in Africa with my new wife will be a nice memory for all those years.

This is our 3rd day out spotting animals and, so far, today’s big highlight has been a very close up run in with a pack of the almost extinct Wild Dogs. They were just marching down the road. I was told that they are almost always on the move somewhere so it was fantastic luck that we happened to be on the same stretch of road when they decided to use it for a quarter of a mile or so before heading off into the bush.

Today we also officially completed the tourism standard “Big Five” sightings. Yesterday we saw 4 of the 5 with great close up encounters with a whole pride of lions and a once in a lifetime actual interaction with the elusive leopard. The photos of which from even our simple pocket sized point and shoot digital cameras could be good enough for publication I think.

Today we just needed to spot a Rhino to complete the list. We spotted one a few hours into the day but it was very far off and sleeping under the shadow of a big tree. It was fun to stare at it through my binoculars and I’m sure the photos will turn out ok but, not to be greedy, I’m hoping after lunch we’ll get a better look at one. I really want to see one standing up because I know I can’t grasp just how big they are. Much like my new found appreciation for the size of Great White Sharks I know the Rhino is bigger than the mental proportion I have associated with it. The one we saw today from probably 50 yards away looked like a parked Range Rover!

The Big Five (elephant, rhino, buffalo, lion, & leopard) started out as a hunting list but now it’s also the standard for what many photographers have to shoot to feel complete. I was quite happy with our safari experience even before seeing the rhino and getting our thumb ring.

Our close up viewings of zebras, wildebeests, thousands of impalas, water bucks, storks, and dozens of other animals always gave me an amazing feeling. Even the large gaps of time when we wouldn’t see anything I would just stare at the passing scenery, the miles and miles of authentic African bush country, spreading out as far as I could see. No buildings, cell towers, or radio antennas on the horizon. Not even a power line. Well not when we were in Kruger at least.

I had a familiar feeling that I have had a few times in the past couple years. It was on day two of our truck back safaris, when we came upon a small herd of giraffe. The setting was perfect. We were up on a slight hill looking down. There were some scattered trees and green bushes. You could see miles of scenery slopping away from us before finally hitting the horizon. There were a few giraffe of various heights and shades staring at us or eating the leaves from the trees. It was a scene laid out before my naked eyes that sent a reality slap to my brain. I am in Africa!

Much like I felt when I found myself alone on the Great Wall of China, the world seemed to get smaller again for me. This scene before me was real but it’s the same scene I had read about, or looked at, in the school encyclopedias at my small town grade school in Philo, IL. It was the same scene that I have imagined for decades. It was no longer a far off place. It was right in front of me and now that I’m here it didn’t seem that hard to get here. It really is a small world and the only thing stopping you from going to any part of it is yourself. However, for such a small place, boy is it packed with a lot of amazing experiences!

It’s time now to call home and wake up my parents with a Merry Christmas phone call. After that, I’ll get back in the truck for a few more hot dusty hours looking for animals. Oh, and time to apply more sunblock! It was overcast this morning so that has helped keep the temp from rising as high as yesterday but the sun is up and kicking now. In the future when I hear, “It’s like Africa hot!” as a description for a hot day, now I will have an actual point of reference to either confirm or contradict the statement.

Yesterday was possibly the hottest day I have ever experienced. The only time and place that I can remember rivaling it was Memphis, TN last August.

South Africa or Memphis, Tennessee?! Like I said…it’s a small world.

MJF

Gansbaai, South Africa 12/21/09

2009-12-21T15:28:00.001-05:00

Gansbaai,

South Africa

12/21/09

It’s a sunny morning in this little seaside town but it feels later. It’s around 11 a.m. but I’ve been up since 4 a.m. and in between the time I got up and this moment I’ve had some pretty thrilling experiences. Well actually just one experience repeated about a dozen times. At 7:30 this morning I boarded a small boat, donned a wetsuit, and climbed into a cage in the chilly, recently chummed waters of Gans Bay in the South Atlantic; home to a dense population of the world renowned Great White Shark.

There were about 15 other divers on the Shark Diving Unlimited excursion with me and I was in the second group to enter the cage. This gave me a front row seat on the deck of the boat with my trusty little Cannon to catch photos of the first sharks of the morning as they came to investigate the enticing smell of the water around the boat and also take a pass and a possible bite of the tethered fish head lure that was constantly being thrown out in front of the dive cage.

It was a calm morning and the winds and chop would not pick up for a few hours. The Captain told me visibility in the summer waters is never as good as the winter but first thing this morning you could see well to about 2 -3 meters deep and then shadows and shapes to about 4 to 5 meters.

The first shark that I saw swim by the boat didn’t surface but it came up high enough that I could clearly see its familiar gray top and white underside. It was probably 3 meters long and I was instantly excited. “Yep, that’s a shark! This is going to be amazing!”

Moments later another shape came along the same path. My jaw instantly dropped and my eyes grew wide. It was clearly a shark but much like seeing the Grand Canyon or New York City for the first time, my mind was not ready to process the size of the image my eyes were seeing. The first one that passed was a big shark in my mind. The second shark I got to compare it with was HUGE!

I’m sure I’m suffering from the standard fish sighting affliction that causes any fisherman to exaggerate but in a conservative estimate I would say the second shark was about 5 meters long. However what really shocked me was the width. It looked like a long Volkswagen swimming under the boat!

Once I was in the cage the visibility in the water had started to decrease. The water was cold but I didn’t mind. My fast beating heart was pumping plenty of blood around my body to make chilly water not a factor.

There is about 6 of you in the long narrow cage at a time. It was not the square, jail cell type cage that I had pictured in my mind before arriving at the boat. It also stays on the surface of the water, again not what I imagined but when the first Great White swam by, inches from the cage, inches from my face, my preconceived ideas of what the experience would be like went right out of my mind and all I thought about was “Are my toes inside the cage?!”

I had several great sightings in the cage. (Sorry, I don’t have an underwater camera so there are not any pictures.) The decreasing visibility only made it more intense. You closely examine any motion, any shadow, and then by the time you are for sure it’s a shark it’s a foot from your face.

I got several very close up looks at the serrated, mangled rows of jagged teeth and even once the deadly jaws had passed I never once thought about sneaking a quick touch on the back of the shark. None of the sharks that came by that close were as big as the car that I saw topside and that makes sense. They don’t feed the sharks. They just get it smelling really good and then dangle a fish head to give the sharks a direction to look. Not enough reason to bring a huge shark top side and I’m probably glad.

The sharks that grazed the cage are still large, don’t get me wrong. They were all 2 – 4 meters and capable of eating me in two bites I’m sure. So in summary, I am very satisfied with the experience but, as always, I want more.

I’d love to be here in the winter when the visibility is better and also when the seals are breeding. That is when you get to see the world famous jumping, or breaching, sharks. Oh well, next time….

This little excursion was also a nice way to see more of South Africa. It’s about a 3 hour drive from Cape Town to Gansbaai and this morning I stared out the window most of the time. It’s a beautiful day so I imagine it will be a nice drive home too. I’m looking forward to putting on some tunes and watching the scenery.

Jillian is hitting a spa today and I think we are planning on hitting the wine country tomorrow. (If Jillian was able to line up a tour) It’s a perfect Honeymoon; a little her, a little me, a lot of us.

We still have not lined up our safari or our next destination but we’ll figure it out soon. As always it’s the wandering I enjoy; the freedom. We’ve only been gone 5 days but I’m already in the groove. I wish the two of us could just keep wandering…

MJF

Cape Town, South Africa 12/19/09

2009-12-19T15:58:00.001-05:00

Cape Town, South Africa 12/19/09
Cliffton Beach (#2)

It’s a beautiful day here at/on the beach. It’s a sunny 28 c but with the ever present breeze, sometimes gusty, you don’t seem to break a sweat. In the shade it even feels cool.

I just got back from a chilly, always refreshing, dive into the surf. The water is cold here, as promised. It’s much colder than my pool at home which I have recently boasted is the perfect temp. My pool is currently about 23. The South Atlantic that I just got out of is estimated at 18. Funny, it seemed perfect at that temp too; proving once again that you can’t put a numerical value on feelings. The moment is all powerful and right now diving into the ocean, off a beach in Africa, is a moment that has me fired up on life. It would feel great probably no matter the actual temperature.

The surf is powerful here also. The kind of rolling, crashing, waves that make me regret my geographic upbringing in the Illinois. Sure I’ve lived on the coast for over 13 years now, more than enough time to take up surfing. However I still wish that surfing was second nature to me. Like riding a bike or climbing a tree; my childhood pastimes in Illinois. I’d love to be able to make the time for surfing these days but unfortunately it’s still to far down my own priority list to fit into the limited hours in a day, week, etc. Hell, I can’t even recall the last time I rode a bike let alone climbed a tree so maybe I wouldn’t be surfing much now no matter where I grew up. Either way, I’m confident that I’ll be able to dedicate some hours to surfing one day though. Maybe I’ll have some kids to “teach” eventually.

I’ll leave the rest of my surfing daydreams to myself when I’m staring at the waves without this pen and book in hand. Right now I should probably explain how I now find myself sitting on the far south west cape of the great “dark continent”.

The Honeymoon! A trip with a name, I love it! Sitting beside me, appearing for her first time in this journal as my wife, is Jillian. We were officially married back on October 4 but both of our lives were crazy busy, even by my warped standards, so we delayed our honeymoon until now. The delay didn’t bother me much, not to say I haven’t been counting the days down until this trip. No, the delayed honeymoon didn’t seem that bad because I think of the actual wedding as just a formality or rather an added bonus. I get to spend the rest of my life with this great person AND we get to have a big party too! Score! My life has been intertwined with Jillian’s for a few years now. The Wedding was far from the start of something. So putting off the ceremonial Honeymoon a few months was fine.

Don’t get me wrong. The wedding weekend was a blast and one of the highlights of my life. A 4 day celebration of both of our worlds and more rare moments packed into a few hours than you get in most of the years of your lifetime. Unfortunately there are few occasions when you are able to gather 99% of your family and friends into the same spot. This is the first time I’ve sat down to write since the wedding but I will save the re-cap for another entry….“yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back.” I suppose I can also just rely on the 1000+ pictures and countless stories from everyone that attended. Well see, now, back to Africa!

We left town, WPB, on the 16th and after 3 flights totaling almost 20 dedicated hours of fly time, we arrived in Cape Town. The flights were relatively uneventful. Well other than almost not being allowed to leave the country. That was definitely an event.

We arrived in Atlanta from West Palm with only a 50 minute layover before boarding the trans-Atlantic flight to Johannesburg. So after grabbing a slice of pizza on the way to our new concourse, they were already boarding our zone when we walked up to the gate.

We zipped right up to the ticket counter to get our boarding passes stamped and our passports checked. One of several staff they had behind the counter to check in the large, fully sold flight grabbed my passport and started to flip through it. She gave me the standard “Your passports pretty full.” that I have heard before. I replied with a smile, “Ya, there are a few pages open in the back though.”

I thought we were just making small talk but next she said, “No, those pages are for amendments only. You have to have a completely clean visa page in order to board the plane. You don’t have one. I’m sorry but I can not let you on the flight.”

I’m sure the look of confusion on my face was priceless. As Jillian later said “It seemed so outrageous I thought we were being punked!”

Well we weren’t. After a few rounds of my saying, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you saying?!” and two Delta gate agents giving me options like book flights to New Orleans, visit the passport office, get more pages, and then re-book your flight to Africa; seriously THAT was there solution.

When she explained it wasn’t her rule, it was the South African’s I remembered I had heard of this issue before. I recalled reading or being told about this before entering Cambodia; that they want a completely empty page so they can put their giant visa stamp in without covering up other stamps. I had heard though that for an extra fee you could get around this.

I told her I understood, “Let me on the flight and I’ll work it out when I get to South Africa.”
She said, “They’ll throw you in jail.” I found this real hard to believe and told her I was fully prepared to take the chance. She still said no. Somehow I don’t think my possible incarceration for an overused passport was her big worry. Probably more like a chance to free up two seats on an oversold flight.

They tried to direct me to leave the desk several times. “I’m sorry sir. There is nothing we can do for you here!” I wouldn’t walk away. I just couldn’t believe as we quickly approach 2010, a little piece of paper stapled into a little paper book with little stamps on it, was the only thing standing between a flight to Africa OR spending thousands of Dollars and at least 2 more days trying to get more little pieces of paper.

I said, “Seriously?! Just change the title of the “Amendment” page to “Visas”! It’s just a blank piece of paper!” Of course she wouldn't allow it. Any change to a little, 12 point font word would surely spread anarchy around the world! What makes me even more mad now is that after further examination two of my precious amendment pages have been used by other countries so obviously these pages are only sacred to Delta gate agents.

I took my passport back and said, “There’s got to be a page that’s barely used. They aren’t ALL full!”

The agent was holding her line. Jillian was crying. The agent’s supervisor was asking me to please leave the desk so they could help the next person. I frantically flipped through my legal hall pass to the World…and there it was. PAGE 19!

“Hey, what’s wrong with page 19?!” I asked as I handed her the weathered but unstamped page.
Two other agents were looking over her shoulder and before “my” agent could say a word one of them said, “Ya, that page is fine. What’s wrong with that one?”

“I must have missed it.” was the only explanation the agent gave for the undeserved emotional kick in the nuts. She quickly stamped our boarding passes and handed us back our precious paperwork so we could board the plane. It was 5 minutes of agony but we were soon on the plane and Jillian’s tears had turned to tears of joy.

In hindsight I should have taken down all of the agent’s names and contact info so I could give this report back to them: When we cleared immigration in Johannesburg the agent didn’t say a word to me. He found the first page with an open corner and placed his stamp among the others. It was the quickest and easiest country I have ever entered. Not a single question, not even a hello. Page 19 of my passport is still untouched and ready for the next adventure!

It’s been pretty relaxing since we arrived and we have not done much to write about yet. Cape Town is beautiful and the iconic Table Mountain that sits in the middle of it looks very enticing to me. I can’t wait to hike up, down and around on it.

We overslept a little the first day, and Jillian is sleeping next to me right now, so I hope "we" won’t be fighting some jet lag issue for a week. We checked out the marina and some shops but mostly it’s been nice to just have long meals and slow drinks. I feel like Jillian and I have not sat around together in months….and that’s probably true.

I remember when we finally reached our hotel room in Cape Town at 11 p.m., the day after we started our journey from South Florida, I had the biggest feeling of relief come over me. It wasn’t just from the long travel days or the scare from Delta. It was a sense of accomplishment from six months of literally planning our lives down to the minute; of clearing one life opportunity (buying a house, planning a wedding, starting new jobs) after another; of counting pennies and planning deposits before writing checks; of meetings, schedules, and spreadsheets…lots and lots of spreadsheets; of signing our names on more and more contracts each week; of confirmations and “triple checks”; and even 7,000+ runners cooperating.

Even the planning, if you could even call it that, of this honey moon I suppose deserves a mention. One night at about midnight a few months ago, when I was just wrapping up work in the home office, Jillian brought up the honey moon that we had talked about in passing. We had talked about destinations in between the more pressing issues and Africa seemed to be the place that held the most allure for both of us. Finally that night I said, "Let's just do it." So I got on-line, cashed in miles, and booked us two tickets to Johannesburg. (A few weeks later I booked us a local flight from Johannesburg to Cape Town and Jillian found us a hotel for the first few nights....and now as we actually sit here that is still all we have planned. I love it! We'll figure it out....)

So it’s been a busy 6 months to say the least and after all this…we are finally in Africa!
When we reached our room that night I felt like there should be a finish line and people cheering for us and not just a quiet hotel room in a dark city. But then I remembered this isn’t the finish line. It’s just the last .2 miles of our marathon. The .2 when you are tired but overjoyed. The finish line is inevitable which puts a smile on your face even though your body and mind are hurting.

Our finish line is December 31, 2009 at 11:59 p.m. in front of a falling conch shell in Key West, Florida…and I can hear the people cheering already!

MJF

Groundhog Day 2008

2008-02-02T14:46:00.007-05:00

Punxsutawney, PA
2/2/08

Happy Groundhog Day! More specifically Happy Groundhog Day from the birthplace and home of the world's foremost weather forecasting rodent, “seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators”, THE most famous groundhog in the world, Punxsutawney Phil!

I’m not sure when I first had the idea, or desire, to come here for this unique festival but it’s been several years. I can remember checking the calendar a few times in the past to see what day of the week February 2nd would fall that year. It never seemed to be on a weekend and though that usually doesn’t stop me it always seemed to push the idea back just far enough for another idea to take center stage.

Back in November 2007 though the idea once again popped in my head and as soon as I saw that February 2, 2008 was a Saturday I started smiling. This was going to be the year!

I sent a note out to a select group of friends that I thought might also be interested in attending the Groundhog festivities in Punxsutawney but was surprised when nobody jumped at it. The people I talked to about it in person just laughed. I got responses like, “Why?” or “That sounds fun to you?!” Even the rare people that agreed with me were non-committal on actually going.

I guess that’s how life is for many people. Things are quickly put into the “one day, maybe” file instead of the “Yes! Let’s plan it out right now!” file. I’m not sure if I used to be this way but I know I’m definitely not like that now. I feel a real sense of urgency, desire, and passion to find new experiences every moment of every day.

In the end Jillian just laughed at me and said, “If you want to do it…lets do it.” So I booked the flights, rental car, fought for a hotel room in Punxsutawney, and packed lots of warm clothes.

My new job is somewhat flexible but I don’t want to start asking for vacation days. I’ve only been working there for less than 5 months. So we took a late flight out of West Palm on Friday and landed in Pittsburgh just before 9 p.m. After that it was a quick 2 hour drive on the small highways of Pennsylvania to the town of Punxsutawney.

Punxsutawney has a population of just over 6,000 but on Groundhog Day, or Groundhog Weekend as this year is, the number of people in town probably doubles at least. Obviously there aren’t enough hotel beds in town to accommodate everyone but through some persistent phone calls, e-mails, and then some lucky cancellations I was able to get us a room right in Downtown Punxsutawney.

We rolled into town last night around 11:30 pm, easily found our hotel, The Pantall Hotel, on the main street, and luckily got the last spot open in the icy parking lot. As soon as we got out of the car you could feel the energy in the air. Jillian and I were both excited but my condition easily reached to another level, probably best described as giddy.

We checked in, threw our stuff in the room and went directly to the busy hotel bar. Jillian and I got a couple Red Bull & vodkas to start the night but truthfully I probably didn’t need the Red Bull. My giddiness would have kept me awake for hours.

Jillian and I sipped our drinks and soaked up the atmosphere. It was a small bar that I would describe as “towny” but unless you are from the small town Midwest you may not understand that description. It was crowded, smoky, hot, humid…and fun! There was a two man band playing against the wall and the guitarist would move out of your way to let you pass right in the middle of whatever classic rock riff he was duplicating. The bar was a mix of college students and middle aged locals with some from both groups sporting homemade groundhog hats and costumes.

Soon after we got our first drinks a guy in a tuxedo and top hat, a Groundhog Inner Circle member, came through the bar with some friends. Everyone started cheering as he passed and a woman with him gave Jillian and me some beads with Phil’s little groundhog face smiling at the bottom. It was a simple trinket but I instantly felt like I now belonged. We were now officially part of the Groundhog festivities in Punxsutawney!

In an attempt to get the lay of the land I struck up a conversation with some college students from down the road; Geoff, Matt, Katie, & Sarah. Katie new the closing time for the current bar and had already researched the name and location of the next one that would be open. Like I said, it was crowded, so we helped each other order and grab drinks from the bar, which kept the conversation going too. Well that and early on when they asked what I do for a living, I told them some tall tale about working in the industry of artificial animal insemination….that always leads to some fun follow up questions and a lively conversation.

They were great “kids” and of course I could see a lot of similarities to my gang. It easily could have been us in the mid '90’s on one of our classic road trips. Hell maybe they even saw their possible futures, more near than they know, in Jillian and me. The atmosphere probably helped a lot but we all clicked together very quickly. Kindred spirits so to speak. I’m probably making this deeper than need be; must be the lack of sleep that I’m still feeling.

The six of us became a group. Geoff and I exchanged numbers at bar one and while we missed each other at bar two we all met up at the last bar open in town located in the old YMCA. Not only was it the last open bar in town but it also featured live entertainment from a full band. Score!

We wrapped up the bar portion of the night with the hair metal glory of “Twist of Faite” at about 3:30 a.m. We poured out into the cold with a few hundred other people and made our way along the ice covered sidewalks back to the hotel. It was time to really bundle up and head to Gobblers Knob! Phil would make his prediction at dawn.

There was a little debate among the group on how to actually get to Gobblers Knob. We were told you could walk there but the actual distance to “The Knob”, as locals call it, varied from 1 mile, to over 3 miles depending on who you talked to. Always the anxious person to experience every aspect of an event, and for some reason the more challenging the better, I casually lobbied for walking up. I didn’t find much support though and with the Punxsutawney School Bus/Gobblers Knob Shuttle sitting right across from our hotel even I knew the decision was obvious. Plus none of us had any idea where we were going and it’s not like there is a nice sidewalk that leads from town out into the woods. I knew our famous last words could have easily been, “How hard could it be to find a weather forecasting groundhog, in the woods, in the dark, in the snow…”

Taking the shuttle turned out to be a good idea because the hike looks to be closer to 3 miles than 1 mile. (Probably just over 2 if I was betting.) The downside to the shuttle was that Geoff and Matt lost a few bottles of alcohol at the small, informal, National Guard security check before getting on the bus. Note I said “few” not “all”.

When we arrived at Gobblers Knob there were probably a couple thousand people there but you could see more folks steadily arriving. The Knob is basically a large slopping, open area, cleared of most trees. About 50 yards downhill from the top, just before the tree line, is a small 3 tiered stage carved out of the dirt by railroad ties. The crowd in front of the stage was pretty thick when we arrived but it was still possible to weasel, or should I say groundhog, your way up front.

On the stage were the Phil Dancers, which looked to be the local high school cheerleading team wearing colorful "Phil" T-Shirts. A couple members of the Groundhog Inner Circle were up there too and basically they were all just helping pass the time. They played music over the PA system and danced around. They told jokes, announced raffle winners, brought up people celebrating birthdays, or people visiting from other countries, etc.; Over 3 hours of “fill” time. As an emcee to many special events in my day it was painful to watch for very long. I’m not mocking them of course. What else are you going to do?

We all watched the stage entertainment for a few minutes but then went to find the bonfire to warm up. I’m not sure how cold it was and I don’t think I even want to look it up when I get home. It was cold and what the actual degree was doesn’t matter. I had enough layers on that if I kept moving I was good…if I kept moving. The minute I stood in one spot for a few minutes I could feel the chill start to work its way around my bones pretty quickly. Jillian’s a South Florida native so it’s hard to tell when she is really cold or just shocked that the temperature is below 65. I think she had enough clothes on but she didn’t keep moving enough and eventually it caught up to her. From 5:30 a.m. to 6:30 a.m. I don’t think she had a very good time.

The bonfire was huge but the problem was all the people gathering around it. The front row of people surrounding the fire formed a wall. If you were on the outside of them you couldn’t feel the heat at all, but if you were lucky enough to get into the front row the heat was so intense you could only last a minute.

The 6 of us would gather in a tight group, as close as possible and pass around the drinks that made it up to the Knob. It reminded me of the movie, March of the Penguins. No, the penguins weren’t passing around a bottle of Jager but they would rotate which penguins were on the outside of the group and which ones were in the warmer middle. Instinctively we took up this penguin custom.

It wasn’t all standing around and shivering. For most of the time we all talked, laughed, and told stories. I talked about traveling with Geoff and politics with Matt. Katie had imparted some wisdom to me earlier in the night; that if you have your arms up in a picture it always looks like you are having a great time whether you actually are or not. I cracked up each time a camera went off and I saw her arms up. We all grazed on mini-bagels that Geoff was smart enough to bring and finished off the liquids. It’s hard to think of having a better time just standing around in the cold at 4:30 in the morning.

Around 6:45 a.m. I was surprised by the first fireworks that exploded over the tree line. I remembered seeing it on the groundhog schedule of activities but I had forgotten about it through the night. I don’t know if it was the lack of sleep, or the thought that it was almost time for Phil to come out but as soon as the first starburst exploded I started laughing again. Giddy.

As the explosions lit up the sky and gave a quick break from the darkness I could see how big the crowd was that had gathered on the Knob. I had gotten so used to just huddling in my own little group I had not realized how big the crowd had grown around us. It was a pretty impressive fireworks show too; I would guess a professional company and not just some volunteers randomly lighting some wicks.

I’m not quite sure what they were going for with the musical soundtrack though. It was an odd mix of instrumental music and obscure adult AC. I’m not complaining though, it just made Jillian and me laugh more. Plus I’m sure picking the music for a Groundhog Day fireworks show is not the easiest thing; not a whole lot of groundhog songs out there as opposed to 4th of July tunes. Anyway, the fireworks were a fun addition to the night and it even helped give Jillian her second wind.

After the fireworks show the sky seemed to get lighter almost instantly; from black to gray in one blink. It was sunrise and time for the official ceremony. The crowd soon parted down the middle and in marched the dozen or so members of the Groundhog Inner Circle.

The Inner Circle took the stage, made a few announcements, some introductions, and then it was time. The reason we came by plane, car, and foot to see; the reason why we had not been to bed yet; the reason why we waited out in the cold for hours, it was time for Punxsutawney Phil to check and see if he saw his shadow.

The whole crowd, probably 10,000+, started chanting PHIL, PHIL, PHIL, PHIL… the handler opens the little door and brings Phil out of his stump to a loud cheer. The president of the Groundhog Club speaks to him in whispered “Groundhogese” and then translates Phil’s prediction to the crowd. The crowd was silent…he saw his shadow…6 more weeks of winter! The crowd immediately and in unison started booing. I laughed out loud again.

The President reminded the crowd to not blame the messenger but most of them were already heading back down the hill to town. I took a few more pictures and then followed my fellow penguins as we marched back to town. The plan was to get some breakfast but the limited number of restaurants in Punxsutawney were quickly overrun by Groundhoggers anxious to eat and even more anxious to get warm. It’s probably just as well I don’t think Jillian would have made it through a meal. She crashed as soon as we got back to the hotel, a little after 9 a.m.

Geoff asked us “When was the last time you pulled an all nighter?” I thought about it and was happy to say it was only about a year ago…of course the “kids” all said last week. On this trip they didn’t have a place to stay and never planned on getting one. They just sucked it up, got in Geoff’s car, and drove the 4 hours back to school. Boy I remember those days. Like I said…kindred spirits.

Jillian and I slept until about 2 p.m. today and then got up to find some food, and do some touring of the Groundhog festivities around Punxsutawney like a visit to the local town museum, cultural center, and genealogy office. We strolled through the town square with the craft tents and chainsaw sculpting. Unfortunately we didn’t make it to the official Punxsutawney Store but we have time to hit that in the morning.

It is about 7:30 p.m. now and Jillian is taking a little nap before we head out again in search of dinner. In the morning it’s a leisurely drive back to Pittsburgh and a 1:45 p.m. flight back to West Palm…where 6 more weeks of winter is fine with me.

I’m so glad we did this little trip; little only in time spent I guess. Most people don’t understand it but I truly love these kind of things; basically carefree celebrations of life.

There is a movie out right now called The Bucket List that has spawned a few articles and e-mails about creating lists of things to do before you die, or “kick the bucket”, to quote the movie trailer. This comes to mind because someone said it to me last night when they asked me what made us come all the way from Florida just for Groundhog Day. “Is this on your Bucket List?” They asked.

I don’t have any lists like this and I don’t see myself ever starting one. Sure I have things I want to do or see but the idea of writing them down seems odd to me. I think about them all the time. Why would I need a list to remind me? Also they are not things I want to do before I die. They are things I want to do right now!

Plus a list to me conveys the idea that one day I would complete it. I already know that’s not possible because what I want to do its not cross things off a list but rather love everyday; truly live every moment; whether that’s running in the morning before work, sitting in my office learning a new career, hiking a mountain in a far off country, spending time with friends and family.... or celebrating the 122 year tradition of a groundhog predicting the weather.

MJF

http://www.groundhog.org/prediction/

“When Chekhov saw the long winter,

he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope.

Yet we know that winter

is just another step in the cycle of life.

But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney

and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts,

I couldn't imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.”

Phil Connors
WPBH-TV Action News

New Years Eve In Key West 12/31/07

2007-12-31T14:20:00.002-05:00

Key West, FL 12/31/07

My first visit to Key West was January 2, 1994 and since that time, with the exception of 2 random years, I have ushered in the New Year here. I have described this annual pilgrimage as a bookend for me. I start the year here. Then I place a bunch of experiences together. Before they fall over I come back to Key West and put a timeline holder in place.

Bookends probably aren’t the best analogy though because it conveys a certain degree of ending something. That never seems to be the case. For me each year just seems to flow into the next. There is no stopping. I love my life and honestly feel that each year just gets better.

Also, and more importantly, if there is one thing I’ve learned this year it is that numbers, days, and dates, are not tangible, only experiences matter. So I guess with that in mind, I would truly say that starting, stopping, and then starting another calendar year in Key West are some of my most favorite experiences and I look forward to many more.

This year’s trip has been fantastic; one of the best ever. This year’s contingent is small in numbers; lean but mean is a phrase that jumps to mind. MJ is back along with his new girlfriend, Nicki. Flick, after years of me lobbying him, finally made the commitment to join us and it’s been great having him here. I think he is really looking forward to seeing the conch drop and putting 2007 behind him. He was coming solo but then talked an old Boston Santa Con friend, Michelle Buckley, into joining the team.

Jillian of course is here too, marking the first time I’ve ever had the same date for two consecutive New Years Eve’s. (I’ve only brought a few other girls with me ever to New Years Eve in Key West and none of them were ever around for the next year. Look at me grow!) The 6 of us all cruised down from West Palm Beach on the 29th.

We had not been in town more than an hour when we were walking down Duval Street and ran into our old friend Mark Holly, who lives in Louisville mind you. It was the standard hilarious “Hey, what are you doing here?!” followed by laughter from all of us. He is down here with his older brother Mike and another SIU buddy of there’s, Joe, along with Joe’s girlfriend, Madi. They all live in Illinois but Joe has a gorgeous 60 foot Carver that he keeps in a marina in Miami. They arrived in Key West on the boat on the 28th.

Crossing paths with friends in far off places is always a welcomed bonus to any trip. Running into friends that are there with a boat is like winning the lottery!

They immediately invited us back to the boat and it has been the focal point of our 2 nights out thus far, as well as an all day cruise yesterday. We left the marina at about 10 a.m. and pulled back in just after sunset. Man, what a great day! Some fishing, some swimming, lots of beverages, loud music, and lots and lots of laughing!

Today has been a lazy day. We just got back from the beach. Well, to be more specific, from our old sleeping spot, Smathers Beach. During the early years of our visits to Key West we would drive down from Illinois. We were just “poor college kids” on tight budgets with high allocations for beer, moderate funds for gas, and no funding for actual accommodations. The many nights I fell asleep under the third cluster of palm trees to the left of the public restroom had a very large impact on my life and solidified the wanderlust spirit that has shaped who I am today. But I digress....

Today was my first trip back to Smathers in many years. This time we had free chairs and towel service compliments of the Double Tree where Flick and company are staying. We’ve come a long way…but then again we are still here so I suppose in more ways we have not progressed anywhere. I think that’s a nice segue into a quick reflection on this past year.

Each year, as I stand in the middle of Duval and “patiently” wait with thousands of other revelers I am flooded with mental images of the experiences I have had since I was last here. This year looks to be one of, if not the best. Wow! 2007! What a year?!

I wandered Europe and the Asian sub-continent. I started a new career and cashing bigger paychecks. I ran another marathon and broke another bone. I read several books, some bad, some good, and some new all time favorites like The Fountain Head and The Sun Also Rises. I heard great live music; at huge concerts by The Police, Wyclef Jean, and Lucky Dube; in the small pubs of Ireland; even at a random music festival in East Asia. I toasted liters of beer at Oktoberfest and did yoga in India. I went skiing in the Swiss Alps and Scuba diving in the Caribbean. I hiked in the Scottish Highlands, The Black Forest, and the Himalayas.

I gave the toast as Best Man in another wedding and tried to help another close friend deal with divorce. I was a camp counselor at my old Boy Scout camp where I got to teach Swimming Merit Badge one more time. I accepted invitations to conferences and dinners around the country to speak, and hopefully inspire. I attended more Pike board meetings and interacted with more amazing leaders that inspire me.

I spent nights in 5 start hotels and dirt cheap hostel bunk rooms. I took naps in city parks and on ocean side cliffs. I touched the Golden Gate Bridge, the Eiffel Tower and the Taj Mahal. I stood in reverence before amazing works of art by Michelangelo, da Vinci, and van Gogh. I stood in awe at natural works of art like the Giants Causeway, Machhapuchhare, and Annapurna. I wandered around the modern buildings of Singapore and the ancient ruins of Hampi.

I made more friends like a Sherpa in Nepal, a boat captain from South Africa, and dozens of others that now dot the globe. I became the Godfather to 2 amazing little girls. And, finally, I moved in with an amazing woman and I’m closer to getting married than ever before.

….It’s going to be hard to write a year summary off the top of my head like that ever again. Of course, I’m up to the challenge. That’s what life is all about.

Well , I’ve just been told its my turn to hit the shower. After that I’ll put on another outfit put together from the Good Will thrift rack in WPB and go meet the gang down at Mallory Square; another beautiful Key West sunset; another end to an amazing year.

Nice job Mat. Keep up the good work!

MJF.

Heidelberg, Germany 9/30/07

2007-09-30T15:08:00.006-04:00

Heidelberg, Germany 9/30/07

It’s getting late in the afternoon and the sun is starting to set on a gorgeous day here. I just walked along the river Neckar into the heart of the altstadt (old town) and have finally picked a spot on hauptstrasse to have an afternoon cappuccino, which was the reason I set out on this walk probably 2 hours ago. The riverside walk was so pretty though I just kept walking and I was distracted by a few dozen great photo stops too.

It was a bittersweet walk. I was passed by many runners, rollerbladers, and cyclists. On the other side of the river I could see even more of them. God I want to go for a run here!!! The scenery and weather are perfect for it!

My foot is doing much better but of course I’m nowhere near running condition. I ditched the crutches completely today and will get by on just a cane and a limp, hopefully for just a few more weeks. I think I’ll be fine like that. Each morning my foot feels great. However by night I’ve always overdone it and when I peal off my make shift brace, my toes are very swollen and I can’t wait to lie down so the throbbing will stop. It soon does though and, like I said, it feels fine by morning…so I strap the brace back on and head out for another fun day of international adventure as if I wasn't walking on a broken foot.

And what an adventure it has been! I really want to go for a run here not only for the views but also because my body desperately needs it! My 12 days here in Germany have been a blur of beer tents with pit stops for sausage and cheese. I wouldn’t change a thing but I’m ready to replace the liters of beer with liters of water and eat a few salads. I think my companions over these many days would agree with me, especially Jillian who is currently laid up in the hotel feeling miserable. The lack of sleep, traveling from town to town, and liters of beer practically each day, finally took her down this morning.

We will now skip Frankfurt tonight and instead just get up very early, 3 a.m. kind of early, to catch a shuttle from here to the Frankfurt Airport and our 6 a.m. flight back to the U.S. The end to another amazing trip!

Usually when I wrap up a trip like this it is bitter sweet; obviously a feeling I apparently have often these days. I’m never ready to “stop” but I’m usually traveling alone so I’m always excited to get home to friends and family. This trip is ending more on the bitter side though because for the last 10 days I have had old friends with me; I don’t want to go back. I just want us all to continue!

It’s unfortunate that Jillian’s sick because now we won’t get to meet up with my backpacking buddy Manuel, and his girlfriend Diana, who live in Frankfurt. Jillian has hung with the guys though for most of this trip so I don’t feel too bad missing just one last dinner.

“The Guys” in this instance covers some great old college friends of mine and consist of Ryan “Flick” Flickinger, Mike Niesel, Jason Richardson, and Mark Holley. Flick and Mark arrived on the 22nd where they met up in Frankfurt with Chris McMahon and his crew (Joe, Dave, and Chris’s brother Brendan). They immediately made their way to Munich by train to meet up with me and Jillian. Jason and Mike were hanging in Amsterdam for a few days and eventually made it down to Munich on the night of the 23rd.
Munich became the focal point for me to meet up with Jillian, and this group of college buddies, thanks to Chris McMahon. Actually to be more specific it is probably thanks to the US Army. They are the ones that stationed Heather in Germany that eventually led to Chris and Heather being married here in Heidelberg 2 days ago, at the Heidelberg Castle.
The Castle was a beautiful setting and the wedding was a beautiful day. Fall is in full force here and all the leaves are in shades of red, brown, orange, and gold that matched the sky and architecture as the sun set at the end of their wedding.

McMahon has been a good friend of mine since my later years at SIU. He’s one of those great friends that would be there whenever you need him but luckily has probably done more to push me up rather than catch me. I was happy to be with him on his wedding day but even happier to see him marrying Heather. I have only met her a couple times now but I’m a quick study and I really like her. It’s a sappy thing to say, an emotion I like to avoid, but I really do love it when I see my good friends find equally great people to spend their lives with. In my humble opinion Chris has done that.
So if I’m thanking the Army for the location I don’t know who I need to thank for the date of their wedding because it was just as important to the AMAZING experiences I have recently had. When Chris told me last year that he was going to get married on September 28, 2007 in Heidelberg I think before I even said congrats I said “That’s right in the middle of Oktoberfest!”

Chris said happily, “I know!”
It was a bonus from the start, not a conflict.

So add it to my Life Resume...........

Oktoberfest 2007; Munich Germany
September 22 (opening day), 23, & 26, 2007

- Developed, participated, and excelled at revelry and merriment.

- Initiated cultural exchange with the local market.

- Expanded social network and potential sites for further networking.

- Stimulated the local economy.

- Surpassed previous physical benchmarks for consumption of the finest international meats, cheeses, and beers.

- Sang loudly and badly!

References available upon request including photos and, unfortunately, video.

I’m running out of pages in this book and could easily fill half of another book with Oktoberfest play by play. Even if I had the space though I think I’ll skip it. It doesn’t really matter who was there on each day or what tents we visited. I’ll just let those facts all melt together. It will be more fun trying to figure it all out with everyone years from now. Instead I’ll just remember that I was there with great friends, I met fun Germans, drank delicious beers, ate the occasional giant pretzel, chicken, and Mega Schnitzel, and sang “Ein Prosit” probably a hundred times. Ahhh, good days!

Ein Prosit, Ein Prosit,
der gemiitlichkeit
- Repeat-
Eins, zwer, Dreif…g'suffa!

Translation provided in the field on a Post It note by Hans

Cheers, Cheers,

Due to the harmony

- Repeat -

1, 2, 3…We drink it!

A little video snap shot of an Oktoberfest tent....

As if 3 days at Oktoberfest wasn’t enough we also hit the Stuttgart Beer Fest the day after McMahon’s wedding. The Beer Fest is basically the same kind of experience as Oktoberfest but not quite as traditional. While many things were similar to Munich, the Stuttgart day will always be set apart in my mind because it ended with me trying to find a way to get back, 120 km, to Heidelberg at 1 a.m. with the McMahon’s (Dad, Mom, Sister, Brother, & even Grandma), Jillian, and one of Chris’s co-workers, Pia. It was hard, late, tired, crowded traveling and we didn’t all make it. We lost Dad and Brother before we even left Stuttgart. How and when they made it back I still don’t know.

We made it by train about half way and then Jillian stopped a cab, literally stopped it. She jumped right in front of it as it was pulling into a parking lot. Then she walked around to the side and got in without saying a word. Classic move! As the rest of the caravan piled into the taxi-van they left me to negotiate a fare for the 70 km ride to Heidelberg which I did for 120 Euros. It’s a good thing counting is probably the best thing I can do in German because the driver didn’t speak any English. It was a temporary miserable evening that will result in lots of laughs over the years when we all look back so I’m not complaining.
I ran into Flick and Mark this morning and they both had equally memorable evenings trying to make it back from the Beer Fest. Mark especially had a crazy night that found him in random small towns in the German countryside and had to rely on a host of international good samaritans to find his way back to Heidelberg. (So much for all of us “taking it easy” that day.) It seems Mike and Jason’s choice to sit this one out was a wise decision for them. I might be the one using a cane to get around but I think we all will be limping our way out of Germany.
So there it is. Another trip wrapped up and only one page left in this journal. Kind of spooky because I remember it was time to start a new book almost exactly a year ago when I was leaving San Fran for Japan; the first trip on my full year of wandering. Wow this year flew by!

I get back to WPB tomorrow, head to Virginia for some Pike meetings next weekend, and start my new job and career on Monday, October 8. I’ll put the backpack in a closet and drag out the “work” clothes from storage. I hope there isn't much dust on the clothes and I hope the pack doesn’t collect too much dust before I get a chance to use it again.

I feel like I have learned a lot in this past year. The world is definitely smaller then when I started and yet the list of places I want to go is longer than it was a year ago. I think there is a law of nature in there, well at least for my nature that is.

There’s a quote from Ralph (Emerson) that jumps to mind:
“I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from.”

Now I chose this last year not as a means of getting away from myself but as an evolutionary step for me. I just hope I don’t forget what I loved the most about being out here when I get back into the routine of a standard job and permanent residency. I’ve never agreed with Lennon’s definition that “life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans.” That’s not what I call living and is therefore not life.

I want to remember that the passage of time should be marked by experiences and events; not by numbers on a calendar or days of the week. A Tuesday is the same as a Saturday. It’s time in life that should never be wasted.

So I’ll see you on the next page, in the next book....in the next destination.
MJF

Kathmandu, Nepal 9/17/07

2007-09-17T16:30:00.001-04:00

Kathmandu, Nepal 9/17/07

Well I think I’m number one on the standby list for a flight to Delhi. Now I just have to wait 2 hours to find out if I make the cut. I have found a seat about 10 meters directly in front of the ticketing desk. I plan on sitting here, making eye contact as often as possible with the staff at the ticketing desk, and looking as pathetic as possible. After 2 hours of that I’m betting they’ll probably bump their own mother just to get me out of their sight! Sorry but it’s a dog eat dog world and I have connections on another airline to make in Delhi and then Milan! Not making this flight out of Nepal will mean more “change of reservations and difference in fare” charges. In between my desperate pleading stares at the crew I’ll jot down some paragraphs and sum up my days here in Nepal.

Wow, what a great country! Even now as I sit here with a broken foot begging to get on a flight part of me doesn’t want to leave. I love it here!

After I wrapped up my trekking days with Ngima, and some wandering around Pokhra, I headed back to Kathmandu. I have pretty much been here for the last week.

The guys from Karnali Excursions gave me a great tour around Kathmandu one day. The tour included visits to the Boudhanath Stupa, Pashuputi, and Durbar Square in Patan. Each spot was an amazing cultural experience and I probably took a hundred pictures. The structures have stood for over a thousand years and are basically still in use for the same religious purposes that they were built. I was totally shocked at Pashuputi when I realized the fires next to the river that I was photographing were actually bodies being cremated. After that the smell of smoke in the air made each breath really shallow.

On the 10th I went into The Last Resort office in Thamel (an area of Kathmandu) to sign up for two of my most favorite activities; bungy jumping and canyoning. Unfortunately all those rains I talked about in other entries raised the river and water levels to high in the canyon areas so canyoning wasn’t possible. (insert heavy sigh) I was very disappointed. For those of you keeping track I was too early to go canyoning in Interlaken last Spring and now I’m to late to go canyoning in the Fall. Very frustrating! I guess I need to plan my canyoning trips better.

I can’t really complain though because the Last Resort also offers rafting options and with the high water levels it tuned out to be the best rafting trip I have ever taken. I’m getting ahead of myself though. First I have to talk about actually heading to the Last Resort, all the friends I made there, and the 160 Meter Plunge I took off the bridge.

I gathered in front of the Last Resort office at 5:45 a.m. on the 11th. I was the only one there besides a security guard but soon more sleepy eyed backpackers started showing up. The plan was to take a bus about 3 hours North East of Kathmandu, close to the Tibetan border, to The Last Resort.

The bungy bridge is a small suspension bridge that crosses over a 166 meter wide canyon with the ragging Bohte Kosi River about 160 meters below. The bridge is only a couple meters wide and in the middle is the jumping platform. The bridge also leads from the main road to the Last Resort compound. I had signed up to bungy on day one, stay the night at the “Resort”, raft the next day, and then head back to Kathmandu.

I’ve done several of these kinds of excursions on my travels and have always had a blast. Not only is the actual activity always a thrilling adventure but I’ve also found these type of activities are GREAT for making friends…another favorite past time of mine. I figured this overnight trip would produce some people to have some dinner and drinks with back in Kathmandu. In the end I actually made some of my best backpacking friends of this year there.

Before I even got on the bus I met an American named Angela from Michigan. We continued our conversation on the bus and chatted until the first rest stop. The bus was crowded and increasing in temperature with every passing minute so as we began to board again, after the 20 minute rest stop, Angela and I decided to join a couple English guys on top of the bus and ride like the locals for the second half of the trip.

Nepalese roads are pretty bumpy, as one probably would imagine, even when not going through a recently cleared landslide area. Riding on a luggage rack on top of a bus you feel every bump but the seats inside aren’t much better. On the top you at least have the wind in your hair and full view of the amazing scenery as you bounce along the road. I loved it!

Nothing in Nepal moves real quick, one of the many things I love about this place, and once we arrived at the Last Resort we all just sat around for awhile as the staff leisurely got organized. Eventually they gave us a briefing on how the bungy jumps would be organized.
Each of us was weighed and then we were divided into two groups depending on your weight. I fell into group two.

After we were weighed those of us staying overnight were shown the tents that we’d be staying in that night. Nice accommodations; simple but nice. Basically just a large wall tent on a stone slab; hot showers in an outhouse nearby, and an open air lodge/bar with low Asian tables surrounded by pillows. My kind of place!

Everyone started talking and getting to know each other as we milled about waiting for our groups turn to jump. There’s nothing like knowing you are all going to be jumping off the same bridge soon to build instant commodore. By the end of the day I think I had chatted with everyone there but I was spending most of my time with 4 in particular; Angela (Michigan), Eric (Portland), Andrea (New Orleans), and Claire (England).

The actual jump doesn’t take long; a few seconds of free fall, maybe a minute of bouncing, another minute to lower you to the bottom where you are unhooked and then about 20 minutes to hike back up. Waiting your turn to jump is what takes forever. Out of the 30 or so jumpers that day I was the 3rd from the last to go. At 11 a.m. when I saw the bridge I was excited to jump. By the time I actually jumped it was after 3 p.m. I was past excited. I just wanted to jump! So as soon as I got to the edge that’s what I did. I screamed and jumped.

When I was at the bottom I kicked myself for not waiting on the ledge longer; soaking up the view, letting the adrenaline build. It was great fun, like past jumps, but it was over to quick. I could have gone again for another $25 but frankly I just didn’t feel like waiting. I’ll have to check the heights when I get online but the Nevis seemed much bigger in my mind. (Further research: Nevis Bungy, Queenstown New Zealand = 134 meters…it still seemed bigger than this one.)

That night at the resort was a blast. Sipping beers, telling stories, playing card games…without a doubt my best night out since I left the States in July. The night went late but again it was a slow morning getting ready to go rafting. I felt pretty good by the time we eventually started putting the rafting gear on and I felt great as soon as my toes hit the chilly water.

There were 3 rafts in our group and my raft was Clair, Andrea, Angela, Eric, and a drill sergeant of a rafting guide. He seriously barked the commands at us and I quickly forgot that I was the one paying him. It was understandable I suppose because the river was kicking! There were almost continuous rapids the whole way.

Eric and I got our asses kicked in the front of the raft and when we stopped for lunch we both looked at each other slightly stunned.
“Are your legs killing you?” I said.
“Yes! And my shoulders feel it too! Let’s switch sides after lunch so I’m equally sore on both sides of my body when we are done.”
“Agreed!”

When we got back to Kathmandu Eric, Andrea, Clair and I all checked in together to the Kathmandu Guest house and got 2 double rooms (Angela already had a place in Patan). I went on the Last Resort excursion hoping to meat some people to share some meals with and I ended up with someone to split a hotel room with for a few nights. Score!

Andrea and Eric only had a day to hang in Kathmandu before Eric started the Annapurna Circuit and Andrea flew to Pokhra. Claire, Angela and I hung out for a few days in Kathmandu. They even stuck around a day extra to fit in a rock climbing trip with me. Now there was an adventure! And the actual climbing part wasn’t the highlight of the day.

The whole climbing day was a fiasco from the start. We were supposed to go the day before in the afternoon but when we arrived at the office there was some Nepalese confusion taking place. Eventually we learned that the King had decided to visit the park where we were going to climb…and apparently the park is not big enough for the King and a few climbers. So Angela & Claire changed their travel itineraries and we made plans to go climbing the next day for a full day. Well it turned out to be a full day adventure but only about 2 hours of actual climbing.

We got to the same park as we had planned the day before, at about 11 a.m., already behind schedule because they couldn’t find shoes that would fit us. After 2 hours of sitting outside the gate of the park, it became evident that the one guy that needed to be there in order to sign our climbing permit wasn’t coming to work that day. You gotta love bureaucracy. They don’t have running water, or power in most houses but government bureaucracy is thriving. And who says they are a “developing” nation?

After some debate with our climbing guide on our options he tells us there is another place we can go; a natural climb (not a man made wall) but it was an hour away. “Sounds good! Let’s get moving!”

Soon into the ride I realized “an hour”, converted from a tour guide trying to keep a client happy into actual time is more like at least 90 minutes. After 90 minutes we then had to stop and ask directions because our guide had not been to this spot in about 8 years. By the time the cab turned onto a steep uphill dirt/rock road I was laughing out loud at the experience. We are talking steep! Full off roading in a tiny Toyota taxi. At one point the 2 guides (did I mention there were 6 of us in this taxi) had to get out of the car to reduce the weight so the little car could make it up one of the switch backs. I just kept laughing.

We eventually make it to the top of a ridge over looking the Kathmandu valley and the cab dropped us off at the gates of a monastery. The view of the valley was nice but there were no rocks to climb in sight.
“So this is the spot?” I said with a confused look.
“Close. Now we walk.”
“How far?”
“Oh, about 40 minutes.”
This time I did the conversion to actual time in my head and I started to laugh out loud again. We all did. It was one of those things where you just say…”We’ve come this far, there is no going back now!” So we started to hike.

I was at least wearing my Teva’s but the girls just had on simple flip flops. Not good for hiking and really bad for the steep downhill, uphill, and contour hiking that we had to do in order to get to the climbing site.

Oh, and remember my great leech record from my 12 days of trekking? Only 2 small bites; well I shattered that record quickly on this little trek. By the time we got to the rock face I was bleeding from multiple spots on both feet.

We eventually found the spot and started climbing. The actual climbs weren’t that great but I still think of it like a great day. I won’t forget it that’s for sure and Clair, Angela, and I laughed most of the day. That’s never a bad thing.

Amazing culture, great outdoor adventure and scenery, more friends from around the world that I hope to cross paths with again: it’s pretty easy to see why I love this country. To be fair though, I have found these things in other spots around the world. There are a couple other incidents that help set Nepal apart from the rest, and these incidents could be summed up simply un the title: The amazing Nepalese people that I met.

One example happened on my day of wandering in Pokhra. It was a great day of wandering and just looking around. I started off to walk about 45 minutes to the Tibetan Market that Ngima had given me directions to before he left town. Well after 1 hour of walking I realized I missed a turn along the way. After 2 hours of walking, and getting lots of stares from the locals because I was obviously not in an area they see many tourists walking, I decided I’d hop in a cab...as soon as I saw one again...and have them take me to the Tibetan Market. Eventually I found a few cabs sitting together and between 3 of them they knew enough English to figure out where I wanted to go and then they explained it to a 4th driver who didn’t speak any English at all and he took me to the spot. I guess it was his turn in the queue. 20 minutes by cab and I was finally at the market.

Once there I had wandered for about a block through various stands and booths that were selling jewelry, carvings, etc. before I finally stopped to talk to one of the booths. All over Nepal I had seen various beaded necklaces that I knew had Buddhist significance but I wasn’t sure what. When I saw a set of beads at the market that caught my eye I asked the guy what they were and he said, "Buddhist Prayer Beads”.

He explained how they use the beads, which is similar to Catholic rosary beads. While I liked the beads I had no intention of buying them. I have always felt weird turning religious symbols into tourist souvenirs. I know that might be odd for a person that does not ascribe to any organized religion but in my mind it’s a matter of respect.

As the booth owner was explaining to me the standard prayer they say at each bead, “Om Mani Padme Hum” I felt a tug at my arm from behind me. It took me a second to recognize who the Nepalese man was that wanted my attention but then I realized it was the cab driver that brought me there. He gestured for me to follow him away form the booth which I started to but then realized I still had the prayer beads in my hand.

“What do you want?” I asked, thinking there must have been some confusion on the fare and now he wanted more money. In my head I was thinking there was no way I’m paying him more money now. We agreed on 100rps before we left and that’s what I paid him. My guard was up which made me crumble even more when I watched him pull my camera out of his pocket.

I practically dropped to my knees. He handed the camera to me as all the pictures that I knew were on it…EVERY picture I had taken in 2 weeks in Nepal; ALL my trekking shots, my only copies of these pics…they all flashed in my mind and I got goose bumps on my arms. I started bowing my head and repeating, “Dhanyabaad” (Thank you)
I pulled out my money and doubled what I paid him for the fair. He just smiled and walked away.

To give you an idea on what this taxi driver did, he had driven me across town for 100rps. Probably one of the farthest fares he could earn and still be in town. He found my camera in the backseat of his car. He didn’t wait to see if I came back for it, he came and found me. He could have easily sold it for at least half the camera’s value, which if bought new in Nepal would be about 20,000rps! It might be the kindest thing a stranger has ever done for me…and it happened in one of the poorest countries on the planet.

The Tibetan booth guy saw the whole thing and was blown away too. He started thanking the driver also, then he turned to me, pointed at the beads I was still holding and said “Those beads good luck for you!” My look of shock turned into a big smile. Anything to make a sale…but he had a point I thought “How much?” I chuckled.

I bought a few things from that guy and spent a lot of time talking to him. I was such a good customer he even bought me a dal baht lunch at a stand across the street. We talked about Tibet, his homeland, and how he hopes the world won’t forget them and will help persuade China to free them. It reminded me a lot of talking to Cubans in Miami. Immigrants that have been waiting over 50 years for something to change…anything to change…so they can go home. We also talked about the trustworthy cab driver that returned my camera.
“He does not know how much he just did to help Nepal?!” the Tibetan booth vendor said, “You will go tell many people this story and more people will come to Nepal and spend money.”

Well I don’t have many readers on my Blog but I’ll do what I can to help spread the word.

Eventually I said goodbye to my Tibetan friend and I walked on up the hill to the World Peace Pagoda…with my new lucky Buddhist Prayer Beads around my neck and my camera safely velcro-ed in my pocket.

My other example of the endearing Nepalese people didn’t come from one single encounter or moment. It started as soon as I left the airport and it didn’t stop until I finally returned to the airport to fly out today. It was the service, dedication, compassion, kindness, and overall friendship that I received form the trekking company I hired, Karnali Excursions.

I found the company on the internet while I was in India. I was just exploring my trekking options. I sent several inquiries out to companies on different routes and when I settled on the Annapurna range Karnali sent me an 18 day itinerary with a price. Their price was better than other sites and I decided to just go ahead and book it on-line instead of waiting to get there. I figured it would be one less thing to think about and I could focus on just navigating Kathmandu. By the time I left the country on day 25 Karnali Excursions had under charged me the agreed to price and WAY over delivered on their services.

Hira with Karnali Excursion

http://www.trekkinginnepal.com/

I’ll save the professional testimonial on their company (like putting me in the nicest rooms possible on the trip, always being on time, etc.) for their website if requested. For my journal I’ll just document how nice they were to me.

I don’t know if they are like this with every customer but from the start I thought of them as friends. “Them” I keep saying “Them”. It’s just an easy way to sum “them” up. “Them” is actually Hira, Shree, Ramesh, and a couple other guys whose names I could never remember but they still lit up and said “Mr. Mat!’ whenever they saw me. Oh and Ngima of course, but I only met him in the office once so it’s hard to put him into that “Them” category.

I think most of their clients leave after their trek is done. I had about a week to spare after the trek so things like the standard farewell dinner and a ride to the airport didn’t quite fit with my schedule, or so I thought. While floating around Kathmandu after my trek I’d still stop in their office to ask questions. They would let me use the internet for free and they also gave me tips on other things I could do with my time in Nepal. We made plans to grab some food before I left town but then my rock climbing fiasco wrecked that plan.

I was bummed that I missed our dinner but I sent them an apologetic note that night explaining what had happened. I figured that would be the end of my time with the Karnali guys, until I came back to Nepal on another trip of course. I was wrong.

When I checked my e-mail 2 days later, after the accident, hospital, and flight juggling, I found a note from Hira. They had been searching for me to make sure everything was OK and take me to the airport. When I never responded they started checking random guest houses to try and locate me. When I finally hopped into their office I just found one of the nameless assistants. He immediately dropped his jaw “Oh my Mr. Mat! What happened?! Hira knew something was wrong!!”

He got Hira on the phone and then Shree came to the office to get me and take me to a nearby café where they were having tea with some friends.

I don’t think Hira is much older than me but when I got to the café and cruised up on crutches with my swollen toes he had the look of a parent. That look of I’m gonna hug him…and then I’m gonna kill him. It’s a look I’ve seen in my Mom’s eyes many times…and probably would see right now if she was here. (BTW…I have not told them, the “P’s”, about the foot yet and I’m not sure I will. There’s nothing they can do and it will just stress them out more than they already are. Maybe when I get back to WPB :-)

Like a parent Hira gave me a hug and then began the cross examination. “What happened? Why didn’t you call me when you needed help? What doctor did you go to? What did he say? Are you in pain? Do you need anything? What about your flights?” It was seriously a barrage of questions and a minor debate. I kept smiling and saying “I’m fine. What were you guys gonna do? I got hurt so I put myself in a cab and went to the hospital. What would you guys have been able to do?”

Seriously it was a conversation way past that of a tour operator and a client. A client who’s trek ended over a week ago and had long ago paid in full.

“Mat you are very independent and that is good but sometimes you need to ask for help.” He said.
I laughed “Have my parents been calling you?!”

I stuck around for coffee with them and their friends and eventually the topic got off my broken foot and we were back to our laughing conversations about life and the world.

The next morning Shree arrived at my guest house at exactly the time he said he would. He brought a guy to box up some items I wanted to ship home, (books, souvenirs, my new mandala, a few left shoes that I wouldn’t need for the rest of the trip, etc.) and he got on the phone with the airline to help me move from standby to confirmed. He was on the phone for 15 minutes in a heated, fast, conversation in Nepalese. He didn’t get me confirmed but I’m pretty sure he moved me to the top of the standby list.

Eventually Shree put me in a paid for taxi and sent me to the airport. “If you don’t get on that plane you call us.”

Got it! No way am I crossing Hira again….and since I’m now sitting on the plane waiting to take off it doesn’t look like I’ll have to worry about it.

So “Viva Nepal! Viva Nepal!” I have not even left yet and I’m already trying to figure out when I could come back and how I could learn Nepalese in South Florida.

Thoughts like these; thoughts on the future, my future, are heavy on the brain these days. More so than normal. I have come to another fork in the road of life and I have chosen a path to follow. I am excited on where this path will lead but part of me still worries that I have chosen the path more traveled by. …..No change that. I don’t care who has or has not traveled the path I’m taking. It’s my path and I’m an individual able to accomplish anything I set out to do. I still worry this path will cloud my mind, perception, and goals for a lifetime of happiness but I will deal with these things one step at a time. I just hope I continue to feel as alive as I do when I wander.

MJF

Kathmandu, Nepal 9/15/07

2007-09-15T17:57:00.002-04:00

Kathmandu, Nepal 9/15/07
- CIWEC Clinic -

It’s 1:35 p.m. In less than 45 minutes I’m supposed to be on a flight to Delhi. After that I would have about 12 hours to kill before flying to Prague, the next destination on my self organized itinerary.

About 10 a.m. this morning I started to have doubts that I would make these flights but, always the optimist, they were only minor doubts. Deep down I thought surely I’d pull it off somehow. Ten minutes ago it become official that I would not be flying today when the doctor here at the CIWEC Clinic came back with one single x-ray film and said “Yep, it’s broken.”

In the last 3 weeks I have been trekking along mountain paths, and riverbeds; through waterfalls, rice paddies, and rain soaked forests. I have been bungee jumping, white water rafting, and rock climbing. Aside from some recent leach bites, I made it through all of these adventure activities without a scratch. Instead I miss a single step in a hallway of the Kathmandu Guest House, roll my left foot out, and fracture the bone that runs along the outside of my foot. Through this recent event, oddly enough, I’m still happy.

This incident reminds me of my accident filled childhood, a time best described as extremely active. I was no stranger to sprains, strains, stitches, and the occasional fracture; all of which happening when I wasn’t doing anything forbidden. It’s been about 20 years since my last injury of this level so I suppose I was just due.

My flights today won’t be happening but I’m still hopeful that I’ll be able to salvage the Prague section of the trip before I have to be in Munich to meet Jillian and the boys. I’ll find out in an hour or so. I’m now waiting on the orthopedic doc to get here and determine what to do with my flat tire. The doctor here at the clinic that already determined it was broken, Dr. Dave, has already told me if the orthopedic guy casts it I’ll need to wait 48 to 72 hours before flying…and that is probably my best scenario. Sometimes surgery, he warned me, is needed to set things back to how they belong.

My gut is telling me this won’t be the case and I have faith that it’s correct. It was correct when I missed the step and immediately said “F@#%! I just broke my foot!!”

After hopping around and swearing a few more times I started to convince myself otherwise. I thought “Maybe it's just sprained; a little elevation and some sleep; I’ll rub some dirt on it and get back in there; sure I’ll have a little hobble for a few days but I’ll take it easy and I’ll be fine.” As is often the case the initial split second, unclouded, unemotional, gut reaction was correct. I hope it holds true when the ortho doc gets here. I don’t even want to think about what I’ll have to do if surgery is required.

CIWEC Clinic

- Pause -

9 p.m. Kathmandu Guest House

Good News! No Surgery!
“Your fracture has a good personality” was how Dr. Pandry described it.
Well that’s nice to know. I would be ashamed to have a rude fracture.

Now for the fun part, treatment; Because of all my upcoming flights….well my hopefully upcoming flights. Right now I’m stuck in Kathmandu but I’ll get to that later….they can’t put a cast on it because my foot will swell even more than normal while flying. Plus Dr. Pandry thinks I could probably get by without a cast even if I wasn’t flying. He says there are several new devices, such as air casts, that would be as effective as the old school plaster cast but for more convenient for the next 4 to 6 weeks. The only drawback…they don’t have any of these devises in Nepal.

So no “modern” device and unless I can stay in Nepal for the next few weeks, no cast. I do love it here but staying is not an option. I’ll have to get by with some ace bandages and a pair of crutches. Tomorrow morning I’m supposed to go to Dr. Pandry’s office and get some sort of brace that will be better than just the bandage I have on now but he didn't make this option sound much better so I’m curious to see what I’ll find there.

With the exception of the actual broken foot my experience into Nepalese healthcare has been great. Far better than I thought it was going to be when I realized I had to go to the hospital. Granted I was at a traveler’s clinic. I’m sure it does not reflect the entire system but that doesn’t really mater to me right now. That’s a selfish statement I know but I’ll let myself slide today.

The clinic was clean, modern, and well run. I got in to see the Doctor quickly, who by the way was Dr. David Kraklou, an American from Michigan who came to Nepal 3 years ago and decided to stay. It’s a small clinic, far from hospital size but I was happy to find they had an on-site x-ray facility which also went quick. The only thing that took a long time was waiting for the orthopedic specialist, Dr. Pandry, to get there. Even that didn’t bother me and I found it understandable. It’s a small clinic. They don’t need to have an orthopedic doctor on site all the time and I also found out today is Saturday.

While I waited they put me in my own room; comfy adjustable bed, rolling table to write on; they filled up my water bottle with cold delicious water twice and even ordered out some lunch for me. The total cost for my day at the clinic, consultation with 2 doctors on a Saturday, x-ray, bandage, and the purchase of a set of crutches = $258! What a deal!
Lunch, water, ice packs, and offers for a cup of tea every 20 minutes, were free. I’m pretty happy with the cost. It is nowhere near what my insurance deductible is so this will just go under miscellaneous travel expense.

Unfortunately my efficient, modern, professional, experience today ended at the clinic. After I left there it was off to the airport to deal with the airlines. That didn’t go so well. After finding the main ticket window closed for my airline I was directed to another building. From there it was up 3 flights of stairs which was very fun on my new crutches. I went through all that work just to be put on a waiting list for a flight 2 days from now.

So now I wait. Two days to sit with my elevated foot in Kathmandu and hope I get on a plane. I have sadly realized that I’m going to need to cut Prague out of my itinerary. In a best case scenario I would get there on the 18th and have to leave on the 20th. It would be a quick visit and I’m in no shape for anything quick. Plus I’m thinking the actual travel dates are going to be the hardest part from here on out; hauling my pack, finding porters, propping up my foot on planes and trains, etc. The more days of actual travel that I can cut out the better off I’ll be. So I’m going to head straight to Munich and chill out. Everyone else doesn’t arrive until the 21st and 22nd and, if all goes as planned, I’ll get there on the 18th but that’s OK. I have a good book.

For the most part I’m pretty up beat about this whole thing. I feel more stupid than anything else. I’m human though and there was a moment when I considered plopping down the ol’American Express and saying “Send me to West Palm Beach.”
Sure I knew it would be more complicated then just hopping on a plane and landing in sunny south Florida. Flights from Kathmandu are pretty limited and I don’t foresee direct service to the East Coast of Florida anytime soon.

My point is I considered heading home. That moment has passed. I always plan/expect something to go wrong at some point on my trips; missed or delayed flight, lost or broken camera, illness, theft, and I guess even injury. Of course knowing it could happen and dealing with it when it does are two different things. This is traveling….you deal with the problems and press on.

So what’s the bright side? I can find many:
1) It happened on my last day in town. Sure that sucks for my travel plans but it didn’t cost me any experiences in Nepal which are far more valuable to me than any charge an airline can levy on me.
2) I broke my foot in Nepal! Kathmandu! What a great experience to learn from! A challenge to be met and conquered! Which so far it looks like I'm on track to do.
3) I have an x-ray of my clearly broken foot and imprinted on the film is my name and the address of a hospital in Kathmandu. I think it’s suitable for framing and I have not seen anything like it in any of the Thanka art shops. What a great souvenir!
4) It’s given me a few more days to chill in Kathmandu and Nepal, a country I absolutely love. Sure it cost me the experience of a new city, Prague, but I’ll get there eventually.
5) Tomorrow I will go by and see the guys at Karnali. I missed our dinner because of a late rock climbing trip and then this morning I had to skip the breakfast we set up to make up for the dinner. Now I’ll get a chance to thank them again and say good bye. They have been really kind to me.
6) I finally have time to go mandala shopping! I planned on doing this 4 or 5 times and something else always came up. Before I broke my foot I had just decided it would have to wait until I come back some day. Now it won’t.

OK, I feel better now. Tired, very tired, but better. It’s been a long day. Now it’s time to take the ice off my foot and head to bed.
MJF

“Each night I burn the records of the day-At sunrise every soul is born again!” ...from Opportunity by Walter Malone

P.S. 11/12/07

A special note here for my Mother who will probably be learning about this injury for the first time when she reads this blog....assuming she reads it completely before calling me. My foot is now fine and it has been checked out by other doctors in Germany and the U.S.

Sarangkot, Nepal 9/5/07

2007-09-05T19:17:00.004-04:00

Sarangkot, Nepal 9/5/07

Today I saw, for the first time in 2 weeks, a cigarette butt on the ground. It was just a single butt but it stood out significantly from the natural world I have been surrounded by and my eyes were immediately drawn to it. About 90 minutes later I heard the first car horn. Thirty minutes after that I was reintroduced to the smell of diesel exhaust. (Insert heavy sigh here)…I’m back; back to what I’m not really sure. I guess you could call it the modern world but in Nepal that term doesn’t seem to really fit. Even in this area there are still no phones and I’m writing this entry by candle light at 8 p.m. So I don’t know what to call where I am sitting but I do know I would rather be sitting on a hillside at 3,000 meters watching clouds drift by.

Today marked the end of my main trek, or at least the part that has me carrying my pack for hours a day. Ngima and I reached Naya at about 12:30 p.m. From there we took a cab about 30 minutes up the paved road, well mostly paved that is. There we got out and hiked another 3 hours down a dirt road until we reached this little village.

Sarangkot doesn’t look like much of a village from what I’ve seen so far. Just some shacks selling the standard tourist “needs” and a couple guest houses. I think the only point for this place is the view. It sits on a high hill, or ridge, that overlooks the medium sized city of Pokhra.

It is a good view. The city below looks nice and calm; no big buildings, except a hospital on the edge that looks about 7 stories from here. To the West of Pokhra is the lake, Phewa Tal, and after that there are more steep rolling hills covered with thick jungle. Basically what I’ve been hiking through for the last couple weeks.

This spot, Saragkot, wasn’t on my original itinerary. Ngima threw it in a few days ago when we realized we were a day ahead of schedule. I think the route I took really could have been done in 10 days, maybe 9 if you pushed it. They build a day in for altitude acclimation, which I didn’t need on this trek, but even without that we had a couple half days where, if you had to, you could tackle more ground.

Plus I’m no speed hiker but with just the two of us we move much quicker than even a group of three. We would make just a few quick stops for a photo now and then, maybe a quick swig of water. I have to really be tired before I ask for a break. I’d rather just get to my destination and stop until the next day than stop a dozen times along the way. There might be another life lesson in there for me to find but I’m not in the mood today.

There is one day that stands out on the hike. All the other days have little moments that I remember but as to which day they were, or where exactly I was, is gone; melted into the joy of the overall experience. The day that stands out was the trek from Chhomrong to Tadapani.

Technically it was only a 4 hour hiking day with a couple 10 minute water stops thrown in but that day kicked my ass! There is no other way to put it. In hindsight I should have asked Ngima for a few more breaks. We weren’t in any hurry. I felt great at the beginning though and by the time I felt exhausted I figured we were close to Tadapani. ”There’s no point stopping now!”

The terrain that day was almost all uphill in various degrees of steepness. To make it harder the sun decided to come out that day. 2/3’s of the hike were in the scorching sun and of course this was the 2/3’s when we were out in the exposed part of the trail. When we got to the “jungle” part, as Ngima calls it, the sun quickly went away and the rain showers moved in. There is nothing like feeling slimy, sweaty skin, slick with sun block UNDER your poncho as you trudge up a muddy trail in the pouring rain.

By the time we got to Tadapani I was done! I put on dry cloths, ate lunch, and then told Ngima I was taking a siesta. I went to sleep at 1 p.m. and woke up at 4 p.m. Even after my nap I felt drained. It was the closest I have ever come to duplicating what I feel like after a marathon…AND I loved it!

I think I still have 10 days left in Nepal but I’m a little sad today. I’m sure I’ll have more great day hikes before I leave but they won’t be the same as this two weeks of consecutive hiking. For some reason I love the feeling of being self contained, able to wander anywhere, my “essentials” on my back, and no specific place to be at any time. Sure there’s always a goal, a destination, but they aren’t expecting you. Not getting there won’t let anyone down. I loved the simple, natural beauty and the laidback pace of each day; you push yourself physically just so you can sit around for hours with nothing to do but sip coffee, stare at the scenery, and have slow conversations. Yep, I will miss this a lot!

In just the 12 days that I was hiking I quickly settled into a daily routine that I found very relaxing. I would wake between 6 a.m. and 6:30 a.m. Normally this would seem early but I was always asleep between 9 p.m. and 10 p.m. (or 8 p.m. on the night of the Chhommrong to Tadapani hike) so I always got at least 8 hours of sleep. I always set the alarm on my watch for 6:30 but each morning I woke up before it went off. On clear mornings Ngima would knock on my door at 6 a.m. to make sure I didn’t miss a great view of some mountain peak.

I would wake slowly, usually a curious look around the room to remember where I was. I’m a deep sleeper. I swear one morning before I opened my eyes I thought I was in West Palm. Now that’s deep sleepin!

Eventually I’d roll off of the simple platform with it’s thin padding that I was sleeping on; gather up my things and repack my backpack as much as I could before breakfast.

The humidity, and rain, make it such that once something is wet…it’s going to stay wet.
Even things dried by a fire will regain a certain amount of moisture as soon as you take them away from the fire. As a result I basically hiked in the same clothes everyday. This would leave me a set of clean dry clothes to put on when I was done hiking. It’s a simple system that many hikers use and one I’ve used on other treks but here it seems even more essential and noteworthy because of the obvious result; my hiking clothes cut! Wow, my shirt! I think it stinks so bad I’m causing my own air pollution. Once you start hiking you start sweating again and the smell becomes less noticeable but putting it on in the morning is always held to the last possible moment.

I would head to the kitchen or lodge, depending on the size of the place, a little before 7 a.m. and would always find Ngima waiting for me. We would chat a bit, usually on the weather conditions for the day. On chilly mornings I’d have a cup of coffee but normally we’d just sit and watch the sun continue to rise. Eventually he’d grab a menu for me, once he knew the cook was up or they had the fire going in the kitchen. He offers me a menu every day even though I have not looked at one since the first day. Granted the menus at each place are pretty much the same (translated and issued by the local tourism committee) but I didn’t need one because I basically ate the same thing each day.

On the first day I glanced at the menu in the morning and said to Ngima, “What do you usually have?”
“Tibetan bread and honey.”
I figured if that was what a professional hiker eats for breakfast that was good enough for me…but he is smaller than me so I said, “I’ll have that and a plain omelet.”
It was perfect and I’ve had it everyday since. Of course by omelet I mean simple egg scrambled, cooked, and then folded over. This aint Denny's.

Ngima must have liked the look of my omelet on that day because he added it to his order the following days. Tibetan Bread is puffy fried dough usually about 8 inches in diameter. Each place made it a little different and some called it different names but it was essentially the same thing each day with honey poured over it. Yum!

After breakfast I would make sure my water bottle was full. (Always boiled water, boiled & filtered when I could get it. Never bottled. I’m proud to say I have not used a plastic bottle since I left Pokhra and even when I get back to the States I’m going to drastically cut back on the number of bottles I use!) I would then quickly pack up the rest of my things, and put on the smelly T. Ngima and I would start hiking between 8 a.m. and 8:30 a.m. each day.

Like I said earlier the actual hiking was quiet; not much talking. Occasionally Ngima would point something out or I’d ask a question, stop for a photo, etc. but hours would pass with nothing said. In the low country there were frequent stops to check for leaches, a drawback to the monsoon season, but after the first day even this didn’t involve much talking. It would be just the occasional pause; review of the ankles, boots, legs and a few “there's one” or “I’m good” and off we would head. For some reason after hanging with Jesus & Susanna for a few days we started using “Vamanos” whenever we were ready to start again. Sadly I think Ngima’s Spanish sounds better than mine.

Leaches were a new experience for me. I had never seen one before this trip. My only visual reference of the little blood suckers is from a scene in Stand By Me. I was happy to see that there are different types and the main ones on the trails here are not big green slugs but rather like little noodles. They vary in size; sometimes like angle hair pasta others around spaghetti size. They also vary in length from a tiny ¼ of an inch to maybe 1.5 inches. Well the ones I saw at least. My research was far from comprehensive.

When I saw one it was usually wiped off with Ngima’s homemade salt stick pretty quickly. For all the ones I had to wipe off my boots I’m surprised I only got bit twice. Knock on wood of course; I’m not back in the city yet. One did make it into my boot but I never even saw it. There was just a blood splotch on my sock, about the size of a 50 cent piece to prove it had been there. The other was a tiny little guy who made it onto the bottom of my chin/upper neck and blended in with my 3 weeks of facial hair. Ngima plucked him off and it bled less than a nick from shaving. I’ve actually come to not mind the little guys much. No, I’m not looking to get any on me in the future but they don’t hurt or itch. I’ll take them over mosquitoes any day. Unfortunately they both like the same areas.

Our morning hikes would last between 3 to 4 hours and then we would break for lunch depending on when we passed a tea house. Again Ngima would offer me a menu each day but I never opened it, not even on day one. “I’ll have what you’re having. It worked at Breakfast.”
So each day I had traditional Nepalese Dal Baht.

The Dal Baht varied slightly at each place; especially the higher we got, but basically it consists of:
- White rice
- Dal soup; lentils
- Some vegetables; grilled, fried, stewed, etc.
- Curried potatoes
- Fried Chapatti (flat bread)
- Something pickled; bamboo, vegetables, etc. (Yuck!)
- Occasionally fried soy beans. (Yum!)

I really like Dal Bhat and it’s a great lunch. It’s very filling with…uhhh, no side effects. Which is a good thing because usually within a half hour of eating it you are hours away from a bathroom. Plus these tea houses aren’t like a regular restaurant. They make your personal order and then they make the next order. By ordering the same thing as Ngima I could guarantee we would eat together. There was no way I could hike for 4 hours with a guy and then eat my lunch in front of him while he waits for them to cook his…even if I am technically the guest or customer.

After lunch it was “Vamanos!” Well usually that is. We did have a couple half days where we reached our destination by 1:00 or 1:30 and that was it for the day but normally we would hike another 2 hours or so after lunch. For some reason the afternoon hikes always seemed much faster than the mornings. The mind is so powerful. Just by knowing you are almost done for the day makes things easier. Well that’s at least how my mind works.

When we would reach our destination I would relax a bit either in my room or on a bench nearby. I’d pull out my book and read for an hour or so. Usually just long enough to stop sweating. After that I would take a shower. The bathing facilities at the tea houses were always different. Sometimes hot (solar), sometimes cold, sometimes just a bucket of water and a cup to pour it over me. No mater how chilly the air or water was, or even me for that matter, I took a “shower” and always felt great afterwards.

After my shower I’d put on clean clothes, well relatively clean…much cleaner than the trekking clothes and I would feel amazing. Recharged but in a very relaxed mood; no desire to be active but not tired. I would go find Ngima who was usually sitting by the kitchen sipping black tea. He would order me a cup of coffee and then we would just sit. Sometimes I would write but most days we would just talk. Slow conversations with long pauses in-between subjects.

I loved our conversations. I learned so much about Nepal, Buddhism, guiding, climbing, etc. Looking back it’s impossible to figure out which I loved more; the actual trekking or the conversations with Ngima while staring at the scenery. I suppose both of them together is what I loved.

Around 6 p.m. he’d get me a menu and these times I would look at it. Ngmia always had Dal Baht for dinner too but I do like some variety. After dinner we would usually talk more, sometimes with some of the other Nepalese. The last few nights we have played cards. It’s funny but there isn't much of a language barrier when it comes to cards. Trash talking is all in the tone. When you pick up a card someone else wanted or win the game just before someone else was about to…you know it whether you understand their frustrated words or not.

I would start yawning by 9 p.m. and retire to read some more. (My Mom would love it here!) I never made it past 10 p.m. and rarely got close to the top of the hour. Ahhh, good days!

Reading is always a big part of my trips. I love it when I have a good book to read in my pack. Travel delays, long slow trips by bus, train, or plane, lonely meals, quiet nights in cheap simple rooms; all of them are made bearable often enjoyable, when I have a book I really love.

Of course when you talk about love there is usually a loss at some point. I only carry one book with me at a time so as much as I love having it when I’m reading it when I’m done it’s always bitter sweet because it means I have to start searching for another.

Finding a book is usually easy. Finding a book I’m excited to read is the challenge. Usually you are dealing with second hand stores full of paperbacks in a variety of languages. Most of the books are old with the exception of the really poppy stuff like Grisham, Crichton, Clancy, etc. of which I’m usually not in the mood for or have already read. You can usually find a Carl Hiaasen novel which is always a fall back for me. They are entertaining and full of South Florida references; nice to read when you are far from home.

In India after two days of searching second hand stores (which by the way are never organized, you almost always have to look at every title. It’s like prospecting for gold) I was getting worried. Then I struck it rich. A HUGE nugget! A brand new copy of Ayn Rands The Fountainhead. A book I’ve always wanted to read but always seemed to forget about it when I hit the U.S. book stores. I’m glad now that I waited because it has been perfect on this trip. I could tell within the first few pages it was going to be one of my all time favorites and now with just 30 pages left I was right, no matter how it ends.

I’ve been rationing myself for the last 100 pages. I don’t want to finish it until I get to Pokhra and stand a good chance of finding a new book there. We hike there in the morning so I’ll probably finish the book off tonight depending on how late cards with Ngima lasts. I won’t be exchanging my Fountainhead copy though like I usually do with the books I read as I wander. It’s getting shipped home for a spot on the shelf. (Along with Harry Potter and The Deathly Hallows….I’ve been lugging it around since San Fran! Far from a good travel book based on it’s size but it’s the last one in the series and it came out just before I left the country. There was no way I could wait until October to read it!

Tomorrow’s also a sad day because it’s my last day with Ngima. He’ll leave on a 1 p.m. bus back to Kathmandu so he can catch a small plane the next day to Eastern Nepal and rendezvous with another trek just starting. It will be just another day at the office for him; an office of constant walking. I’ll stick around Pohkra for a couple nights; visit some markets, the peace pagoda, and hike around the big lake that the town sits next to.

I will miss Ngmia. Not only will it be back to solo travel for me where I have to figure everything out on my own, a pastime I don’t mind but it has been nice to take a break from it, but I will miss my new friend. I really enjoyed the conversations and by the end of our time together there were even inside jokes. Laughs that didn’t need a verbal set up just a look. For example one night I was pestering him to tell me when his job got annoying. Ngima, always the professional and always the polite guy would just smile and say never.
“Ahh, come on! There has got to be guests that are a pain once in awhile. Ones that you count down the days until you are rid of them. Ones you have to listen to complain about stuff. Like maybe an American that asks too many questions?!”

This got him laughing and he finally cracked a little. “Sometimes…people with the really big cameras and ALL the camera gear….hanging around their necks…it’s not good for trekking…sometimes.”

A few days later Ngima was walking in front of me when we passed a skinny guy carrying half his body weight in camera gear and a Kodak cannon hanging around his neck. As he passed, Ngima just turned around slightly and rolled his eyes at me. Ngima never broke stride and I didn’t either but I chuckled out loud once the guy had passed us.

I wish I recorded my conversations with Ngima. I learned so much. I would ask questions about Buddhism, his education, growing up in a small village in the shadow of Everest, goals in his life, hobbies, etc. He explained the cast names in Nepal (of which Sherpa is one, it’s not an occupation), religious holidays and customs; I learned, like with all religions, some Buddhist are more devout than others. Many Buddhists eat meat, as long as they didn’t kill it themselves, and for a religion known for not drinking alcohol they have dozens of ways of making it. Ahhh, religion continues to amuse me.

He would ask me questions about the places I have visited; what is SCUBA diving is like? What’s bungee jumping like? How big is my family? Etc.

We would talk about the differences between our countries. How farming is radically different. How wealth is distributed and how what people do with their wealth is very different.

We talked about how Nepal was developing and he is happy about that but they have a long way to go. “Most villages still don’t have electricity…unless tourist go there.”

My initial gut reaction during this particular conversation was to shout “GOOD! Don’t Change!” But luckily my heart realized how selfish that feeling was. Who was I to deny these people all my modern conveniences, some that go beyond convenience and become sources of pleasure. Did I really expect these people to stay undeveloped just so I could have a pristine natural environment to hike and a place to experience a cultural time warp? It was a feeling that was contrary to everything I believe so I crushed that feeling and said “I hope you continue to develop too but I hope you do it better than others have and that you don’t loose your gorgeous environment…or identity.” He agreed.

This conversation was over a cup of coffee and I think it wrapped up nicely. I said “This is really good coffee. Way better than Starbucks!”
Ngima said, “What’s Starbucks?’
I smiled, “Oh ya…it’s a coffee franchise. Kind of like McDonalds only with coffee instead of burgers.”
He said, “What’s Mic Donald?”

Ngima is the most educated member of his family completing over 10 grades. He speaks 5 languages including Japanese and English. He is the only member of his family to ever fly. He is a very smart guy…and he has never even heard of, let alone seen, a McDonalds. I said, “Never mind. Please forget I ever mentioned those names.”

Maybe I didn’t crush that feeling as well as I thought.
MJF

Bamboo, Nepal 8/31/07

2007-08-31T14:24:00.004-04:00

Bamboo, Nepal 8/31/07
- Annapurna Base Camp Route -

When I pictured my trip to Nepal I envisioned chilly hikes along rocky hillsides in the shadows of snow covered mountains. Where I sit now though feels more like a jungle expedition than a trek along the rooftop of the world. This is not a complaint rather a pleasant surprise. Technically I knew I was arriving at the end of Nepal’s monsoon season but I still wasn’t expecting the lush vegetation, and thick, wet forest that I have found on most of the trail. For example, the little village I’m in takes its name from the dense forest of bamboo that surrounds it.

I arrived in Kathmandu on the afternoon of the 24th and left to start trekking at 6:30 a.m. on the 25th. It was a 7 hour bus ride to the town of Pokhara, a short taxi ride to the edge of town and then a rocky path up into the countryside; about 3 hours of climbing stone steps until I reached the first village, Dahmpus. Stop one on my 15 day trek to and from the Annapurna Base Camp.

I hired a guide in Kathmandu and while I probably didn’t need one I’m really glad I did. With a good map it’s pretty easy to figure out where you are going. The paths are easy to follow and you are usually just a few hours from a village that has a map & distances easily marked. It’s a simple system, and not developed in a modern touristy sense, but this place is definitely set up for English speaking trekkers.

The cost for a guide though was within my budget and after a month of figuring out every step on my own I thought a little vacation from having to think and calculate would be nice. All I would have to do is hike and enjoy the scenery. Someone else could figure out where we were going and where we were staying when we got there. So far this benefit has been nice but I am finding out I like having my guide for more reasons than that.

My guides name is Pasan Ngima Sherpa, but he just goes by Ngima (pronounced “Neema”) He hails from a small village called Phedi, which is in the Everest Region of Nepal, maybe 400 miles East of where we are now. He is 33 years old and has been guiding treks all over Nepal, India, and Tibet for over a decade.

While the Annapurna area, and from what I can tell many other areas in Nepal, is set up for trekkers, this is the end of the monsoon season; not the ideal time for hiking here. The busy season kicks in towards the end of September and goes to December. Until then the trails are pretty empty and the tea houses/guest houses in the hillside villages are slow. For the first 4 days Ngima was my only conversation.

It has been a pleasure getting to know him and I have learned a lot about Nepal through our conversations in broken English. Also, with Ngima’s help, I’ve spent many nights just hanging out with the local Nepalese. The season for tourists hasn’t kicked in yet so at night the Nepalese that run the tea houses aren’t very busy. They gather at one of the lodges to hang out, play cards, etc. So I sit at the table with them and try to look like I fit in and I’m following the conversation…even though it’s Nepalese. They are always nice and usually a few of them speak some English so eventually they ask me questions about America or places I have been. It’s a simple thing. Just sitting around really but I love it! It has provided me with some greet moments where my mind wonders how I got here. I’ll think, “I’m a 2 day hike to the nearest thing that you could call a road and I’m talking by candle light with two Nepalese guys about arranged marriages, Buddhist customs, and what New York looks like. This is AWESOME!"

I remember one night after talking about America with Ngima and the proprietor of the guesthouse we were staying, the owner said. “America…it’s so far away. You have come very far.”
I said, “No not really. At least it doesn’t feel like it. It was easy, I just booked a flight. Ngima, if you left right now how long would it take you to get to your village?”
His eyes rolled back in thought and then he said, “3 days.”
I said, “I bet I could get to my village in the United States in 3 days also.”
It was silent for about a minute while everyone did the route in their heads…granted my trip would require commercial air line assistance and Ngima’s would probably just count on local busses and his feet but in the end they nodded their heads in agreement.
“You see “far” is only in your mind.” I pointed out.

A couple nights ago I met up with my first Europeans of the Trek. They were a couple, my age, from Spain, named Jesus & Susanna. They were staying at the same guest house as me, which was also the only one that was open, at the Machhapuchhre Base Camp (MBC). It was great to meet them and we have been on the same route for the last 3 days so there’s been lots of fun conversations with them. Normally Jesus is teaching/learning swear words with the Nepalese. It’s like being on a playground again in 4th grade. I try to participate but both sides already know how to swear in English so I don’t have much to contribute.

I think the first night with them though set the stage for the rest. At the lodge, we again were the minority with about 10 Nepalese hanging out for dinner and cards. It was probably just 8 p.m. or so but it was very dark outside, and a chilly rain was falling, so inside felt very cozy and late. As the Nepalese were waiting for their Dal Baht to cook one of the guys busted out an acoustic guitar.

He started plucking through some tuning chords and everyone seemed to find a comfy spot in preparation for the entertainment. The lodge was a typical one for this area; a rectangular room, about 15’x 25’. The main focus and purpose of the room was the long table in the middle, about 8’ x 15’. It had blankets attached around the edge to cover up your legs, or to hold in the heat when they put heaters under it on colder days. Around the outer walls of the room were raised platforms, about 3’ wide by 7’ long but placed end to end so the thin mattresses that cover them make a nice soft lounging area all around the table. This is also where the guides and porters sleep in the busy season. There were pillows and blankets tossed about and I was perched at the far end of the lodge from the door and the guitarist; reclining on a pillow, legs covered up, just soaking it all into my mind and soul! I truly felt in the moment and knew this is the reason I travel; to feel just like I did on that night.

Soon the guitarist started playing some nice melodies I had never heard and then he started singing the Nepalese words that obviously went along with them. As in most sing-a-longs the guitarist possessed the only musical talent but that didn’t stop several of the other Nepalese from joining in with the words that they knew. It was great and everyone there loved it as was evident by the clapping after each song.

They had been playing Nepalese folk songs for about 20 minutes when the guitarist turned to Jesus & Susanna and asked “Where are you from? Maybe I know a song from your country.”
They said Spain and then we all racked our brains for a song from Spain that he might know. At first I thought this would be easy but I soon realized of all the Spanish songs I know NONE are actually from Spain.

(On a side note; the next day I did think of one and I asked Jesus, “Hey, what about The Macarena?”
He said, “Ugh! Yes, it is and don’t remind me. We are still embarrassed.”)
Now back to the story….

When we couldn’t think of a song, the guitarist suggested, “How about you just sing one and I’ll try to play along?”
There was a loud laugh from Susanna and a “No Way!” from Jesus.

Next he turned to me, “How about you?”
I said I was American and he smiled. “I know a lot of American music!”
I smiled and said “Me too.”
“Do you know any Eagles or Bob Dylan?”
I smiled even bigger and said “Yep, pretty much.”
Before I had my short confirmation out he was already plucking through the opening to Hotel California. When it was time to sing I knocked the obligatory taps on the wooden leg of my platform and started into verse one. When I got to the chorus I replaced “Welcome to the Hotel California” with “Welcome to the Machhapuchhre Base Camp”. The few Nepalese that understood the switch loved it and translated the joke to the rest. They all laughed and cheered. My first turn at sing-a-long night was a hit.

They went back to the Nepalese folk songs after that and I just sat back and tried to remember key words from some of the songs so I could find recordings of the ones I liked when I get back to Kathmandu. They played traditional songs that the other Nepalese sang along to with a look of reverence and then others that caused them all to laugh out loud. Ngima explained that the funny ones were new re-mixes of songs currently playing on the radio. Hip Hop played over an acoustic guitar…always fun no matter the language.

Towards the end of the session the guitarist turned my way and without saying a word started playing the un-mistakable intro to “Redemption Song”. I guess he figured it was as given that I would know it because when it was time to sing he paused for just a second and looked up at me. I stumpled through the verses and he joined me on the chorus. It fit very well with the atmosphere, despite my poor singing ability, and I noticed even the Nepalese that didn’t speak English smiling and nodding. That’s the power of Bob Marley I suppose….even when sung badly.

After MBC it was a short hike, less than 2 hours, the next day to the Annapurna Base Camp (ABC). At 4,130 meters above sea level this would be my highest point of the trek and theoretically my best mountain views. The base camp sits in a horseshoe shaped valley with most of the Annapurna peaks surrounding it.

Annapurna South 7,219m
Vara Hashikhar 7,847m
Annapurna I 8,091m
Tharpu Chuli 5,663m
Annapurna III 7,855m
Machhapuchhare 6,993m

The monsoon season here doesn’t mean just rain though; it means clouds and gray skies. This can be great for hiking on most days because it keeps the already humid conditions from being even more intense with the sun beating down on you. Those clouds are bad though when it comes to viewing mountains.

Maybe it’s my usual positive attitude but I really don’t mind the clouds. I think they just add to the beauty. Occasionally they will part or spread out and reveal a huge peak; bright white snow and jagged gray rocks. With the passing clouds just revealing them for a few minutes it makes them feel like a secret to me; unveiled just for the patient observer. The morning after arriving at ABC was just like this and I got some great views from about 6 a.m. to 7 a.m. but then the clouds moved in and the drizzling rain started up again.

One area that was visible at ABC on the morning that I arrived was the vast rocky path left behind by one of the reseeding glaciers. It blew me away! I came up over the ridge past the small cluster of guest houses and was not expecting to find the huge valley void of all vegetation running for miles up and down from the mountains. I just sat stunned on a rock overlooking the huge path. Ngima soon joined me and pointed out where the glacier used to be when he first started coming there in the early 90’s. The ice was now nowhere in sight of this point. As the peaks have become more visible now and then it’s very easy to see where the ice and glaciers have made their rapid retreats.

ABC was also a great place for meeting more people and making more friends. It is kind of a destination for most treks in this area and there are very few guest houses there so I found it to be the busiest spot of the trek thus far. Of course there was still just 7 other trekkers there with me including Jesus & Susanna but that’s about 7 more than I’m used to seeing.

I met Allen & Rowina from Scotland, who are wrapping up a 10 month world tour, and Paul and Mike from England. Paul and Mike were there acclimating to the altitude before heading to Tibet for some mountaineering. I chatted with them about my eventual mountaineering goals and they recommend some books to read.

Eventually Allen and Rowina busted out a deck of cards and the 5 of us played some Gin Rummy. It was a new game for me but with the group’s help I picked it up quick. We basically spent the afternoon and evening this way; learning and playing various card games. It rained all day so it was a nice way to pass the time.

The last noteworthy thing about my experience at ABC happened on the morning that we all left. I had risen early to view the peaks at sunrise and the clouds cooperated just a little bit. The day before I had asked Ngima about the small stone towers and monuments that dotted the grounds west of the guest house about 50 yards away. Normally I would call these collection of rocks cairns and you see them marking trails around the world but the way they dotted this area I knew there had to be another purpose for them.

He explained that they were a kind of “Stupa”. Ngima explained to me that it was a Buddhist custom to build these little houses. He said a stupa has several purposes and they come in many different shapes and sizes but one of the beliefs is that when you die your spirit can return to the stupa’s that you have built to visit. The wealthy build very elaborate ones near their homes but the poor people just build them out of stones.

Like many other Buddhist customs I really liked this idea. Even if my spirit doesn’t really visit them when I die it seemed like a nice way to take note of the special places that you visit in a lifetime. A way to look back and think of the places you have built your stupas.

The morning we left I built my first stupa on one of the boulders looking at Annupurna South. I told Ngima that maybe when my spirit comes back it won’t be as cloudy.
Ngima also took the time to build one, something he had not done before on all his other visits. When it was completed he said, “There, we neighbors.” It was a nice moment.

The full moon was 3 days ago. It is a religious holiday here and it’s supposed to mark the end of the monsoon season but this method looks about as effective as using a groundhog to predict the end of winter because it has rained the most in the 3 days following the full moon. When I told Ngima I thought his people were way off on there full moon prediction he smiled and said, “I think it was the Hindus.” Ngima is a quiet guy but quick witted. He cracks me up.
This gives you a nice look at the amount of snowfall they get here in the Winter. That's me in the middle.

Again, like the clouds, I don’t really mind the rain either. It’s not a downpour; just an occasional sprinkle. The humidity is so high, when you are hiking you are usually soaked by sweat anyway. A little drizzle of rain doesn’t matter.

I have actually found watching the clouds very entertaining. It’s different when you are at their level. When you are walking along a ridge and the fog is so think it feels like you are on the edge of the world. On other occasions I would watch clouds flowing up the valley towards me. They would be so thick and moving so fast I’d swear it was smoke from a huge fire raging down below. Your brain keeps checking with the nose for confirmation of the smell of smoke but it never comes. Soon you won’t be able to see 10 feet in front of you. Then 10 minutes later it will be clear. It’s amazing.

I guess when you are entertained by passing clouds and fog it’s pretty evident how quiet and slow this trip is. The hiking is rigorous in many parts but still very relaxing. Ngima and I only talk occasionally while hiking so there are hours that go by in silence. “Hours spent in thoughtful silence help us make the right decisions more than days and days of talking.” I learned this in Scouts and its truer now than ever.

Of course it’s not really silent ever. There are always birds chirping when walking through a forest section or the hum of insects. As we approach villages there are usually cows, chickens, or even school kids, making some noise, occasionally a dog barking. Oh, and water; always the sound of water on every step of the hike.

Our route thus far has kept us near the white waters of the Modi Khola (river) so depending on how high or low we are determines how loud it is but even if it’s far below there is always the sound of one of the many waterfalls. They come pouring out of the forest down the sides of the hills. Some are from valleys that lead up to a glacier or mountain peak; others are just run off that flows down the steep hillsides. Some fall hundreds of feet in a steady stream with a violent crash at the bottom or on cliffs on the way down. Others just cling to the rock face and the water shimmers so that it doesn’t look like it’s flowing at all. It turns the side of the hill into a shattered pane of glass. I don’t know what it is that makes a waterfall so photogenic but I find it hard to pass one by without taking a picture. I doubt it’s possible to find an ugly waterfall anywhere in the world.

The silent hikes have left me hours to think. You daydream some but you have to watch almost every step so your mind never wanders far from the moment. The trail is rarely flat. You are usually either hiking up or down and one wrong step could ruin your whole trek.

I have found many metaphors for life in hiking on this trip. Nothing ground breaking and probably just more confirmation for how I already think but it helps to pass the time…especially when climbing up for over an hour, step after step. For example:

- On a hike, as in life, most of the time is spent looking down, picking each step carefully but once in awhile you need to stop and look up at your goal…but if you stare to long at the goal you’ll never reach it, or worse you’ll stumble and possibly never reach it. It’s watching each step, and taking each step, that eventually gets you there. (It always seems to come back to balance with me.)
- The view is always better when you are breathing heavy.
- I’d rather hike uphill than downhill. (This one probably says more about my aging left knee than my personality but, without a doubt, I would rather have my leg muscles burning and sweat pouring off my face as I crawl up then look down and try to find stable footing every step and brace myself on a wobbly knee. Then again it probably does reflect my personality pretty well.

I still have another week before I get back to Kathmandu and check back in with the world. On this trek phones, e-mails, etc. aren’t an option. Hell, not all the places we stop even have mail service or electricity.

While I do miss Jillian and general e-mail conversations with friends and family I’m not in a hurry to get back. It’s an odd feeling and somewhat contradictory but its how I feel. I am finding on this trek it’s one of the rare times in my life where I don’t feel like I’m missing something else.

MJF

Delhi, India 8/22/07

2007-08-22T17:02:00.002-04:00

Delhi, India 8/22/07

Just two days left and my tour of India will be over. I’ve holed up in a 5 Star hotel in the suburbs of Delhi for these last couple days to relax and recover. India has been a tough 3 weeks; an intense 3 weeks. I’ve seen a lot and still have not even begun to see it all.

I picked this hotel out on the internet because it was one of the few options that had a gym and I’ve found that getting some exercise at least a few times a week is not just healthy it’s vital to my happiness. In other countries, when finding a gym wasn’t possible or I just didn’t want to spend the money on one, I’ve solved this exercise need by going for runs, hikes, walks in the parks, renting bikes, etc. usually killing two birds with one stone; sightseeing and exercising. In India I found these options to be harder to pull off but I digress. I was talking about this hotel.

I booked it for the gym and then through some confusion on the map didn’t realize that it was basically a resort outside of town all by itself. The ironic part is now that I’m here I’m in no shape to use the gym! Well not yet at least. I’m hopeful that before I check out I’ll feel up to working out.

Four days ago as I was leaving the town of Panjim for the second time, I started to feel really run down. It’s a feeling I’ve experienced a few times in this crazy year of traveling. I knew a little bug had gotten in the system despite all my wellness efforts. It was time to find a place to lay around awhile and let the body fight off the illness.

Unfortunately that place to lie around was 2 days travel away in Agra and I had 18 hours to kill in the Paharganj area of Delhi before I got there. Delhi’s a huge town and again I didn’t come close to seeing most of it but I do know that the Main Bazaar road in Paharganj is one of the worst places you want to be with an upset stomach. It made Koh San Road in Bangkok look like …well Singapore to reference a recent spot.

I ended up in Paharganj because I had already made plans to meet up with a friend there, Marieke, one of my friends from Hampi that I’ll talk about soon. So, always the optimist, even though I didn’t feel well when I left Panjim for Delhi I continued with the plan. As I spent the next day puking in the bathroom on the top floor of a $5 flop house in Delhi I wondered when I would ever learn to listen to my body.

Well I must be getting better at it because now I’m in a cushy, western, non-traveler, hotel room and while part of me hates being here and I’m bored out of my mind, there is a deeper part of me that knows my body and mind needed a rest. I’m also justifying this to myself as a means of preparation rather than just wussing out. I start an 18 day trek in Nepal in just 3 days. I need to be healthy. Let’s hope the diarrhea is gone by then!!

OK, India, where do I begin? How do I begin to sum up a place like this? The cliché “love & hate” jumps to mind but I think both are to extreme to sum up my feelings. I think my thoughts are more like “amazed and confused”. You could probably throw in saddened too.

I guess I should start with the places I visited. After my last entry I wrapped up my time at Baga Beach in Goa with my first new friends of the trip. I met Adam and Kirke at the Auyervedic Spa that I visited. They are both Americans but have been living abroad in various countries for over a decade now. Currently they are teachers at an International school in Qatar.

We enjoyed a few laughs and stories during my morning at the spa. Adams warning that they use a lot of oil for the massage, “I’m talking A LOT!” rang through my head during my entire slippery rub down. Before we all left the spa that day they asked me if I wanted to get together for drinks that night. I enthusiastically said yes. They met me at a beach shack bar near my place that I had visited before and we had a great evening telling stories and sharing opinions over cold Kingfisher beers and a shisha; more International backpacker friends to hopefully cross paths with again.

I added even more backpacker friends to the list at my next destination, Hampi. It was an all day train ride from Vasca de Gama to Hospet (the nearest train station to Hampi) and 20 minutes into it I met Axel & Jenny from Germany. The three of us ended up crashing at the same guest house in Hampi and at dinner that night they introduced me to some others they had met on the journey; Isabella & Fillippo from Italy, and Karine, Fabrer, & Clovis from France.

This became my gang for a few days and I really enjoyed the company. I still did some sightseeing on my own but we all met up for most meals over the 3 days that I was there. Good times!

Hampi was an amazing spot. It’s a different climate from the hot humid tropical coast of Goa. Hampi was more like the desert. The scenery reminded me a lot of Boulder Utah and my time hiking there last June.

Hampi is a small town but what put it on the map for most of us backpackers are the many ruins, temples, and sculptures that surround the area. I’m far from an archeologist, and the depth of my knowledge with places like this usually stops at “Wow, that’s cool!”

So for lack of a better educated description the area is home to ancient Hindu temples, bazaars, and shrines mostly around 500+ years old. The ruins are sprawled out over many miles much like the Angkor ruins in Cambodia. I think I found those ruins more impressive though….Hampi was still amazing to see of course and I did say “Wow, that’s cool!” a few dozen times.

Above: Sunset

Below: Sunrise

After Hampi I spent about 2 days traveling north that included an overnight bus next to a big, sweaty, snoring guy, a crowded flight to Delhi, and an even more crowded train to Agra. (I don’t know how I got sick?!) It was long slow travel made even harder by an upset stomach for half the trip. When I made it to Agra I checked into a nice hotel ($75 a night) cranked on the AC, and went to sleep for about 16 hours.

I had planned to visit the famed Taj Mahal, which was just a mere 3 km from where I slept, as soon as I woke up...whenever that might be. When I did wake up around Noon the next day I felt better than I did when I arrived so, again always the optimist, I figured a good nights sleep was all that I had needed. It was time to stock up on some cash though so before heading to the Taj I set out in search of an ATM. The front desk at my hotel said there was one about a10 minute walk away and they gave me directions. Directions that included “…it’s the first right past the elephants.” I loved it!

I found the ATM without any problem but by the end of my 10 minute walk there I was exhausted and in need of my $75 bathroom. I hopped in a bike taxi back to the hotel and was back in bed in less than 5 minutes. That was the extent of my first full day in Agra. I figured the Taj has been standing there since 1648. It would be there the next day.

In hindsight I’m glad I waited. After my full day of sleeping and watching my only English speaking TV channel option (which by the way was a Christian programmed station out of South Bend, Indiana…in between their Christian “news” programs they showed old episodes of Bonanza, The Beverly Hillbillies, and The Cisco Kid. I saw Ricardo Montalban play a Native American on Bonanza….I laughed every time he spoke. I guess any accent would do.) I was feeling a little better and decided I would tackle the Taj at sunrise . So at 5:30 a.m. I made my way to the most famous monument ever built for the love a single woman.

It was a beautiful morning and as the powerful Sun rose higher with every minute the Taj seemed to glow whiter and whiter. It is an amazing, beautiful, structure that lives up to all the hype. The sunrise viewing was nice and by 8 a.m. as I saw a steady stream of tourists flowing in and swarming it I realized how nice some of my people free photographs of the monument were going to be.

After Agra I pretty much just made my way to where I now sit in Delhi. I feel better with each day but I’m still a little worried I won’t be 100% when I reach Nepal. OK, I’m a lot worried. I went to a chemist and got some medicine a couple days ago and spoke with a doctor here at my fancy hotel. I guess there's another positive for staying here. He said I needed to keep taking the pills. My symptons usually go away around day 6 or so. Delhi has more sights to see but I’ll play it by ear depending on how I feel. Plus frankly I have visited enough temples, shrines, markets, and bazaars in this country. I’m ready for something new.

Well that pretty much sums up the geographic parts of India that I have wandered, now for the not so tangible experiences.

Before coming to India I did my standard research which is to say I skimmed through a Lonely Planet, got some general tips from friends that have traveled it before, and reached out to my “network” for contacts that are actually from India. Basically I got just enough info to have a rough idea of where I wanted to go, by region at least, but not too much set in stone other than the flight out. It’s touring, not wandering, if you already know where you are going before you get there.

Of all my pre-trip planning, the words of my trekking buddy Kristen proved to be the most accurate. She said the Indians were extremely nice, helpful, and curious and I should try to meet as many as possible. She was spot on!

As for the Indian's curiosity, once you get past the weird feeling of people staring at you everywhere you go it becomes easier to embrace it but it can be a bit tough at first. Most of the people staring at you are just curious because you are different than what they normally see, but just like any individual, some are just shy. Staring is all they will do. Eventually some will talk to you and usually they start with these questions:
1) Where are you from?
2) “What is your good name”?
3) What do you think of India?

I must have answered these questions a thousand times on this trip. Most of the time I tried to be as happy and eager to talk to them as they were to me but I’ll admit sometimes I just wasn’t in the mood. Sometimes you just want to get to where you are going and not say a word, especially when you are not feeling well. This must be what a celebrity feels like…only I wasn’t cashing checks based on my fame so I won’t feel to guilty for being occasionally cold to “the public”.

Generally the Indians are extremely helpful. I can think of a dozen instances off the top of my head where one of them stopped to offer me assistance or directions. Sure half the time I didn’t need it. Can’t a guy just stand on a corner looking around without the rest of the world thinking he’s lost? Of course the other half of the time I did need help so it was nice that I didn’t have to look far. This would include every train ride. If it wasn’t for some nice person helping me out I never would have gotten off at the right stop.

There are a few specific instances that jump to mind though that I want to make sure I remember. The first was night one out in Baga. I had a few days in one spot, no reason to get up in the morning, it was Saturday night; time to enjoy myself! I was kicking back in a reclining chair on the beach at Xavier’s enjoying the people watching and a cold beer. Xaviers is more of a lounge on the beach than a crowded bar and a person sitting alone there stands out, especially a Caucasian, so it didn’t take long before I was invited to join a table of Indians doing the same thing that I was, just chilling out watching the waves crash on the beach. When that group moved on, instantly another group approached me and invited me to sit with them.

I had a great time throwing back drinks with random friends for the night and took note again that everyone acted very similar to how a group of my friends would be acting if we were out in the States. I find fewer and fewer things that separate us all. My favorite moment of the evening happened close to Midnight. There were just 3 of us sitting there and one of my new friends, who was a few drinks past everyone else, turned to his other friend and started whispering. His friend rolled his eyes at me and said to his friend “Why are you whispering to me in Hindu?!” He doesn’t speak it! A good laugh followed from all 3 of us and the big secret to have another round was openly discussed. It nice to know that drunken “close talking” is a cross cultural phenomenon.

Probably my longest cultural interaction occurred on the train ride to Hampi. I had moved to an open window seat earlier in the trip. A second class sleeper car mostly filled with backpackers that took advantage of the open space and bench style seats. I enjoyed several hours laying down parallel to an open window watching the scenery roll by as my iPod shuffled through it’s memory of songs. This is one of my most favorite things to do of course. God I love traveling by train!

A few hours outside of my stop at Hospet the train picked up a lot more passengers and soon the seats around me, normally designed to hold 7 passengers, were filled in with about 10 Indians. They were all in there mid-40’s, probably considered lower middle class, and they all knew each other.

I sat up to make more room for them despite their gestures to stay as I was. Some started playing cards but soon, just like in the Gambler, boredom overtook us and we began to speak. I noticed one of them staring at my iPod and when I popped out my ear buds he pointed at it and said “radio?”
I said, “Sort of. Digital music.” To which I saw a confused face look back at me confirming my instant thought that this guy probably wasn’t going to understand “digital music”. Thus began my iPod tutorial with 10 Indians who had never seen one before.

The Beatles were the first band in alphabetical order that I thought they stood a chance of recognizing so I hit play on their catalogue and passed it around. I got some head nodes and smiles but then froze their stares as I put on the video for U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name” I felt like John Dunbar with a coffee grinder. (A Dances With Wolves reference…) I think the biggest iPod hit though was when I put on my photo slideshow. They liked identifying some of the International landmarks that I have visited and studied the pictures with snow closely but the pic of Jillian wearing a bikini in the BVI’s got the most smiles and head nods. “Wife?” one of them asked.
“No. Girlfriend.” I said.
“Better!” he replied and laughed.

The children of India were the source of many of my most sad images but there were also a few moments of fun with them. Like when I’d catch a kid staring at me while I was at the checkout stand of a store. I’d slip them a chocolate even though they had not asked for anything. My favorite encounter happened at the Goa airport. I came around the corner of my gate area to find 5 kids about 8 years old flinging yo yo’s. Ahhh, they read my mind. That’s my most favorite thing to do while waiting for a flight.

I pulled out my trusty Yomega Raider and Walked The Dog into the group. I was an instant hit and after showing off a little began some individual lessons. The parents sitting nearby loved it and reminded the kids to pay attention and learn as the P’s snapped some photos. One of the Dad’s came up to me and we talked for a little bit.
He pointed at one of the boys and said “This one here I could barely get to put that thing down before, now he’ll never stop. His Mother’s going to kill him.”
I laughed and said “There’s a Mother in America that sympathizes with her.”

By far though the most intense day I had when it came to interacting with the locals was August 15 in Hampi. The date’s significant because it is India’s Independence Day and 2007 marked their 60th Birthday. Hampi is a small place and there only significant celebration of the holiday was a small parade of school kids and a couple ceremonial flag raisings in the morning. What made the date impact me were the thousands of Indian tourists that trekked to Hampi for the day.

Hampi is considered a holy place but these were not religious pilgrims. Just hard working Indians on a day of sightseeing, and what could make some 500 year old Hindu shrines even better? Well meeting some Westerners along the way of course!

I had woken early that day, along with a few of my European friends, to watch the sunrise over the horizon of boulders. After breakfast I took the rest of the morning off for a little nap and work time. So when I ventured out alone to see some temples at around 3 p.m. the peaceful quiet streets I had seen at sunrise were now like Disney World in the desert.

I kept moving through the crowds on my way to my specific destinations while a barrage of “Hi! Where are you from?” flew at me and I politely dodged hand shakes. I smiled of course but it was really weird and it took at least an hour before I let the guard down and embraced it. These were not taxi drivers outside a train station. They weren’t trying to direct me anywhere or sell me anything. They just wanted to meet me, and not really even me, any foreigner would do.

Soon I embraced it. Call it my one man American PR campaign. I put on the stage persona a little and started to crack jokes when I could and asking my own questions in return to theirs. Each time I would stop to talk to a few people a crowd would swarm around me. If I sat in one spot, the crowd would form around where I sat. After a few minutes of chatting, the crowd would move on and another group would see me sitting alone and run over.

In addition to the standard questions the other standard request was a photograph. They all wanted to take a picture with me. Here is where I really cheesed it up! I’d throw my arm around them, flash up a peace sign, make everyone scream...basically anything to keep me from getting bored…and they always loved it. I stared counting at one point and posed for 50 photos in about 3 hours. After that I stopped counting.

I took a few pics of my own but quickly realized this was a bad idea. Digital cameras are not real wide spread here but they the all know what they do. So after you take the pic, they all want to see it. 30 hands all grabbing at your camera is never a good feeling. Plus the kids come running like it’s a game at the fair. They all want to have their pictures taken and then viewed back to them. It’s cute at first…at first.

When I met back up with my European gang that night for dinner they confirmed that they had the same kind of afternoon that I did. As I said earlier, Hampi is a holy place which in Hindu means no meat and no alcohol. Axel & Jenny had rented a scooter that day and discovered a place about 4 km away that was apparently just outside the holy rules of Hampi. They quickly sold us all on their plan for dinner and drinks and after some haggling with the scooter man on rental prices the eight of us zipped through the night like Hells Angels on Vespas.

We found the place with no problem and there was already a table of English, Irish, and Ausies doing exactly what we had in mind. Soon some Dutch and French arrived too. Everyone had the same tired look on their faces and everyone immediately ordered a cold beer. I like hitting the places where the local’s are as much as possible but that night was perfect and a lot of fun. Plus it wasn’t like I was at the Hard Rock Hampi. It was a local place….just full of Westerners.

They were celebrating a birthday at the UK table and so all the tables sang Happy Birthday to him. After the song the Birthday Boy raised his glass for a toast and said “Here’s to never having to tell anyone my good name ever again!” There was much rejoicing.
The people of India will always stick out to me as my most favorite part of my experience here. Unfortunately what I will always remember just as vividly about the country is the pollution and general filth of everywhere I saw. I speculate it must be a direct result of the huge population because I’ve seen many poor countries and places; none of them come close to India.

Cars, buildings, factories, trucks, and busses all spew out visible black smoke, and not just in the large cities. One of the most telling views came from my window on the train. We were passing a pretty green and brown field being plowed by 2 white oxen in the shadow of an oil refinery with 3 tall smoke stakes. Two were billowing out gray clouds and the other a ball of flames.

In addition to the toxic emissions there is trash and debris everywhere. People just don’t care and throw things anywhere. Even in Hampi, “a sacred, holy place” I ran into some guys drinking some beers behind one of the temples. (Hey it was Independence Day!) I stopped and talked to them for a couple minutes and when one of them was done with his beer he just threw the bottle against a wall, a wall about 500 years old mind you. Nobody reacted at all.
After the trash the next level of filth is the feces and urine, and no, not just from the animals. The animal part I could get used to and understand. There are cows everywhere, even in the cities, but also pigs, goats, chickens, and the occasional camel or elephant. While waiting in Hospet for my overnight bus I took note of a small donkey that came wandering through the bus terminal. It was like a stray dog in a city, only a donkey! It’s head down stopping at various piles of trash to root his nose around.

I’ve been trying to think of a polite way to write this next part but I can’t think of one so I guess I’ll just be blunt. The number of people I saw either urinating or defecating blew me away. It’s outrageous really, especially at the train stations. You are standing on a platform waiting on a train and people just jump down onto the tracks and take a squat. I saw people on curbs of the roads, on the edge of a bridge, along the river banks, everywhere! I pick on this part because it adds to the filth and I don’t think there is a reason for it. I just don’t understand how they as a society can get used to it.

You also see beggars that are sick, deformed, and diseased, usually only in the bigger cities, but I won’t complain about this. Don’t get me wrong, it’s very sad but it didn’t disgust me. There were a lot of sad things here but I felt compassion for the country as they try to grow and deal with the problems. However, I believe the answer to most problems has to start with the individual and for Indian’s that would be not littering and finding the proper place to relieve yourself.

The natural landscapes I took in while wandering here were beautiful; rolling hills, green jungles, rice fields, boulders and desert, long beaches with crashing waves….it’s only where man has staked his claim that it becomes abhorrent. I suppose civilization as a whole is a filthy thing. We just find better ways of hiding it.

India seems to be trying to deal with the trash problem in some places. Like at the Taj Mahal gas powered vehicles are not allowed within 2 km because the emissions were turning the white marble brown. If the air does that to hard rock, can you imagine what it’s doing to our soft lungs? They have declared other parks in the country plastic free. There are signs posted that state it’s illegal to posses any plastic; bottles, containers, etc. in that area. Not just litter, but even posses these items.

A line Thoreau wrote in Walden has run through my head a few times recently. “I would rather sit in the open air, for no dust gathers on the grass, unless where man has broken ground.” Boy how true is that. Thank God Henry did not live long enough to see the spread of plastic bottles.

I think that about covers my thoughts on this section of the trip. I worry that when I post this blog, or even just tell people about my experiences here, I will come across as elitist or snooty; a neat freak looking for sterile adventures. Of course I could line up old roommates that would attest that this is not the case. I am not that kind of person and that is not my feeling here. These are just my observations.

While I won’t list India in my most favorite places of the world I am glad that I came here and I would definitely come back. There is still so much I need to see. I am a firm believer that the journey is the reward….and my short 3 weeks here has definitely been a journey!
MJF

“It does not require money to be neat, clean, and dignified.”
Mahatma Gandhi

Goa, India 8/13/07

2007-08-13T16:51:00.001-04:00

Saligao (Goa), India 8/13/07

This will be a short entry. I only have a few pages left in this book but also because I'm just killing time before my massage therapist is available. I'm spending this morning at the Ayurvedic Natural Health Centre, just outside of Calangute, and I am about half way though my planned activities.

I started here at 7:30 this morning with a yoga class. A small class of about 5 people. Most of them appeared to be about the same level of experience as me which is just better than novice. The instructor was good but far from an old, mystic, yoga guru, wearing a white sheet and sitting like a pretzel in a cave on some mountain. I need to work up to that level. This was still yoga in India though, it's birthplace, so I feel like I've crossed something off my "1,000 Things To Do Before You Die" list.

After my yoga class there was a herbal breakfast which turned out to be a lot of fruits, rice dishes, chick peas, etc. I enjoyed it but my Dad and Brother would still be confused on how it could be called breakfast. There wasn't even coffee.

Following breakfast I had my Body Constitution Evaluation where I sat with an Ayurvedic Doctor and she determined what my body type was. The evaluation begins with a simple description of what the word Ayurvedic even means which is "Life Knowledge". It was a very interesting explanation. It seemed to me that what Wellness practices are to Western medicines, Ayurvedic is to homeopathic medicine. Essentially; know what determines good health, and the best ways to stay healthy, so you can prevent major illnesses and injuries.

Of course that is just my rough opinion of it based on one 90 minute consultation. Many of the things she explained seemed very logical and therefor true in my mind. Other aspects seemed a little general, unfounded, and more of a correlation rather than an actual direct cause for something. While I saw the logic in most of it I'm sticking to my balance philosophy. Too much of any one thing is bad for you....whether it's red meat or yogurt.

Ayurvedi medicine defines three body constitutions; Vata, Pitta, and Kapha. The Doc determined that I was Pitta dominant with some minor Kapha. Based on the description that she gave me of all three I would say she was 90% accurate. She then went through some eating habits and other exercises that are good for a person like me.

They were generally all things I was already doing except for cutting back on spicy foods. She said I'm already a "fire person" so I shouldn't eat things that could overheat me. A few times a week was OK but not everyday. I let out an audible "Doh!" that I think she understood without probably ever seeing an episode of the Simpson's.

Also during my consultation I explained my hatred for tomatoes and my indifference to red meat. She smiled. "You probably don't like red wine much either do you?" she asked.
"I don't. How did you know that?!"
"Because Pitta people should not eat a lot of red things."

Wow! That explains a lot! If only my Mother would have had me tested as a child! We could have avoided so many dinner table fights. Then again I don't think there were many Ayurvedic Doctors in Philo, Illinois so I suppose it wasn't a case of parental neglect.

Up next is my Kitzi massage, a procedure they described as best for joint or back pains. Even though my joints feel pretty good it seemed like the best massage option for me based on what they offered. The other descriptions highlighted the use of oil and that just doesn't sound real appealing to me.

My back is still a little tender at times though. A new affliction from sleeping in Jillian's extra soft bed while back in the States in June. A problem I fear will be worse when I return in October. I've gotten quite used to sleeping on hard surfaces; cheap dorm beds, Asian futons, floor mats, airport benches, overnight trains and buses, even the ground now and then. A return to a normal mattress will take time to get used to.

I have been in this area of Goa for about 5 days and in general like it much more than Mumbai. It is still a very poor area but it's out of the big city so not everything is in your face as much. I passed through the town of Pananji for a few nights on the way here and really liked that spot also.

Pananji is a small city with lots of character. I rented a bike for one of the days there and covered most of the town including a ride to the nearby beach of Mirmar about 3km away. I stayed in Pananji for a few nights and was finally able to get the running shoes out and use them for the purpose that I brought them, actual running. It was insanely hot but it still felt great. I love running in a new spot and the route I took along the Mandovi River was one of the cleanest spots I have found in India so far.

Beach Front Housing

Now I am staying in the beach area of Baga but with the scooter I rented for a couple days I have hit many of the other areas like Calangute, Fort Aguada, and Candulim. This whole area reminds me of L.A.; a string of beach towns running along the coast. Of course the actual landscape and amenities are totally different than L.A. so it's a very rough similarity and probably only exists in my mind.

Filling up my scooter...with 1 liter of gas.

Good thing I pulled up next to the pump!

I'll save my insights, thoughts, and opinions as well as new travel stories for another entry. Right now I'll just say I'm having a great time and I have finally settled back into my travelling groove. It usually only takes me a day or two but for some reason it took almost a week this time. It's hard to describe what I mean. It's just a feeling. I'm not sure how it clicks into gear. It probably helps that I've been able to get in some exercise. I don't know how it happens but I know what if feels like when it has. It's a moment when I stop feeling internally overwhelmed by everything new around me and I just feel comfortable. I let the guard down some, not enough that I could find myself in trouble but enough so that I don't feel like everyone is trying to rip me off or danger is lurking around the corner.

I'm not sure why I always feel like this when I first start out, especially the financial fear. I know there are as just as many rip offs, or more, in the States. There price is not even negotiable. Here when a guy gives you a price he's just trying to make a living. If the price he gives is double what he actually would have accepted, and you agree to it, well then that's just good business. It's not done with malice. Just like when Tommy Bahama charges me $100 for a shirt they probably bought for $1 or I pay $10 for a concert beer that actually cost them about 50 cents. They are not evil for overcharging. It's just business. I'm the stupid one for paying it in any case foreign or domestic.

Anyway, my babbling point is I'm feeling good; happy, excited, curious, anxious. All that and I haven't even had my massage yet!

MJF

Mumbai, India 8/8/07

2007-08-08T18:46:00.000-04:00

Mumbai, India 8/8/07
-Chowbatty Beach-

It's about 9 p.m. and I've come to the place that the Lonely Planet says is the "favorite evening spot for courting couples, families, political rallies, and anyone out to enjoy what passes for fresh air." I fall into the last category.

This is the end of my third full day here, home of the Brits Gateway To India, and a fitting start to my wandering in this country. I have been cautious not to be to quick to form an opinion of this place, city or country. After all it's a big place and I've barely scratched the surface in 3 days. India's population is 1 billion plus, which is more than 3 times the United States and about 1/6 of the entire world population. The City of Mumbai (formerly Bombay) alone is home to around 15 million which is around twice as much as New York City. I know I won't even scratch the surface of this country in my 3 weeks here and I hate generalizations in all cases so I'll try to just state my observations.

Of course usually when you withhold an opinion it's because you are giving it a chance to improve rather than decline and that would be the case here. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I'm here. It truly is an experience that I will never forget and I'll emerge a better person for doing it. I feel like this is true traveling, not touring, which is what I preach, and keep reminding myself lately as I try to find breathable air.

In an effort to change this somber tone I will definitely say it's not Mumbai's fault...it's mine. By nature I like order. I'm methodical and organized. Mumbai in contrast is organized chaos; swarm theory in practice. Everyone going to, coming from, selling, or buying, as individuals that all seem to flow together. Note I didn't say "cleaning" in that sentence. Few people are actually doing that it seems.

In my 3 days here I have covered some ground by foot, car, and rail and I have yet to see an area that I would not describe as squalor. I have always heard that India was a land of extreme wealth and poverty but so far I've only seen the poverty. Inside the restaurants, hotels, cafes, etc. you are surrounded by what you would describe as middle class citizens but when you step outside the door...it's back into squalor. I think it's the opposite of the States. There the poor are mostly found in the poor parts of town. Here, it seems the poor are the majority. You operate in there world, not the other way around.

I could fill this book with details of sad images I have already seen, and again I know I have only scratched the surface. Things that we Americans just would not stand for if we saw it on our own streets. For example you don't step over a 2 year old sleeping on a sidewalk in a major city and just keep walking. Here I've stepped over entire young families. It makes me sad and we shouldn't stand for it on any street in the world. I'll get back to my changing the world rhetoric another time though.

My jet lag has been interesting. I thought I was on a good schedule leaving Singapore but then flight delays into Mumbai cost me a nights sleep and now I'm playing catch up again. As a result I've been up before the dawn each day, which I don't really mind. The chaos doesn't seem to start until around 6:30 a.m.

One morning as the sky was turning from black to gray, signaling another sunrise on a rainy, overcast day in the monsoon season here, I ventured down to Sasoon Dock to watch the fishermen unload. It was probably around 5:30 a.m. and nothing was open on my 15 minute trek to the dock. The people that would eventually be trying to sell me something, the cabies that would eventually be honking like crazy, and even the poor families and kids that would soon be begging for my money and food were all still asleep. I literally passed them all where they lay on the sidewalks, doorways, stalls, and cabs they call their homes.

The humidity level had not risen to 96% yet and there was a nice breeze. I chuckled to myself when I thought "What a beautiful morning." and then took a visual note of the actual decrepit conditions that surrounded me.

When I reached the dock I was instantly amazed. It felt like I had stepped into the pages of one of my Dad's National Geographics only there was now more sensory input, most notably, smell; a mixture of raw seafood, salt air, and diesel. The marina was packed with worn out, but still colorful, old fishing boats. I guess you would call the area a marina but there weren't any boat slips. All the boats were just tied to each other. They looked like they had been collected by the current as they, again chaotically, bumped together and more boats pushed their way through the narrow channel into the enclosure.

On the dock was a flurry of activity; men and women yelling things and sorting things, guys pushing huge carts with various heavy items like ice or barrels of fuel. The women had large baskets. How they carried them varied, some in their arms for just a short walk to an awaiting truck, others with them balanced on their heads preparing for a longer walk.

I was the only tourist there and while I got a hundred looks it was just curiosity. Nobody said a word to me expect for a couple passing smiles and a "Hello boss!" Nobody tried to sell me anything and even the guards stationed under the "no trespassing" sign and "no photography" sign didn't feel like they needed to tell me anything.

After moving past the actual dock where the boats unload I found myself on the backside of the marina where the boats and crew wrapped things up. A few guys were cleaning decks on the boats but most were cleaning themselves. I tried not to take note of what culturally for me is private but you couldn't help see it all. I thought one guy was getting ready to roll back into the water off the edge of a boat until I unfortunately realized he was just using the perch for his morning constitutional.

Aside from shocks like this, my trip to the dock that morning was an amazing experience. A true traveller moment where I felt like I was really at a particular place in the world. It's hard to describe it in words but I hope I'll at least remember the feeling.

I have also had more "normal" sight seeing experiences here in Mumbai. I checked out the actual Gateway to India monument which is just a few blocks from my hotel, Bentleys. I wandered around the Fort and Churchgate sections of town and strolled past the High Court and Mumbai University. The Oval Maiden, a large park, was mostly mud so there were not any cricket matches going on but I could imagine it would be a popular spot after the rainy season.

I was inspired by my visit to Mani Bhaven which was the residence of Mohandas Gandhi when he lived, and worked, in Bombay. This is the site where he launched the Satyagraha movement in India and basically changed his country forever. The house is now a museum and office for a foundation.

I have read a lot about Gandhi including his autobiography "My Experiments With Truth" and he has always impressed me. Many of his doctrines and quotes are my favorite reminders for how I want to live. I found some new "favorites" in his former house that I will need to commit to memory. One of his statements about machines summed up nicely my thoughts on escalators.

"The supreme consideration is man.

The machine should not tend to make atrophied the limbs of man."

Mohandis Gandhi

I saw a letter there from him to FDR where he mentions his love of Thoreau and Emerson. This brought a smile to my face; a little validation from a hero of mine that I'll never meet. I also read the most fitting tribute I have ever seen to him, written by Albert Einstein. It's no wonder I suppose that he wrote it. I hear that guy was pretty smart.

"The admiration for Mahatma Gandhi in all countries of the world rests on recognition, mostly sub-conscious, of the fact that in our time of utter moral decadence, he was the only statesman to stand for a higher level of human relationship in a political sphere. This level we must, with all our forces, attempt to reach. We must learn the difficult lesson that an endurable future of humanity will be possible only if, also in international relations, decisions are based on law and justice and not on self-righteous power,

as they have been up to now. "

excerpt from Albert Einstein's tribute to Gandhi as posted at Mandi Bhavan.

I'll wrap up this entry with a fun story. Mumbai is also home to India's Bollywood. Like the U.S.'s Hollywood, it's the center of India's movie making industry. In fact I read that Bollywood cranks out more movies each year than Hollywood. However in my opinion they seem to have sacrificed quality for quantity.

While I was walking down the Coloba Causeway, a main tourist thoroughfare, in the chaos of being asked to buy a dozen things, one guy started walking with me and said "Would you like to be an extra in a Bollywood movie?"

It took a second to register what he had said but then I recalled a section in the Lonely Planet that referred to just this. Apparently at certain times the movie folks need a lot of Caucasians, or just non-Indian, extras. For example, to shoot a scene that takes place in a London Club, instead of shooting in expensive London they just fill an Indian club, or set, with people that could pass for Londoners.

The guy offered me 500 rupees for the day, gave me his card, and told me where to be at 7:30 a.m. the next day if I wanted to do it. I asked him "How do I know you are legit?"

He replied "There will be a bus load of people here in the morning that look just like you. If you don't feel safe you don't have to come."

So much for being discovered I thought to myself, but it sounded like a safe plan and an unusual adventure. I figured the chances of an entire bus load of Westerners going missing was slim so at 7:30 a.m. the next day I set off with about 25 other Backpackers to make our India film debut.

I was expecting to find a movie studio lot similar to what I've seen on T.V. in California, basically a large area with various large warehouses. I also figured it would be outside of Mumbai and would give me a chance to see more of the city and maybe some of the less blighted areas. I was wrong on all assumptions other than the location being outside of town.

It was about a 90 minute bus ride to the set and as I stared out the window during the ride I never saw an area that looked like an improvement from the area I was staying. If anything, Coloba was looking better and better.

The movie production was just like the rest of what I've seen in Mumbai, chaos. The lot was a collection of dilapidated shacks, buildings, trailers, and warehouses. I followed some other people from my bus into a room that looked like a small Good Will thrift store. There a guy glanced me up and down and then handed me a black pin striped suit. No instructions. No explanation. As I moved along to make way for more people coming in I realized this day was going to be about following along and figuring it out as you go.

I put my suit on and figured as long as I didn't take any deep breaths, high steps, or sudden twists it was a good fit. So much for doing any action scenes that day. I guessed they were only shooting from the knee's up also because the thrift store, uhhh, I mean Wardrobe Department, didn't worry about my shoes. So with my "new" suit and Teva sandals on I was ready to become a star. I wandered around the studio, which looked more and more like a condemned building, for a little while until a guy pointed me to set #4. There I found the rest of my Caucasian bus friends and a set that looked like a bar. A bar decorated by a prom committee but a bar none the less.

Bollywood movies are almost always musicals of some sort. They love a good choreographed dance routine. My movie looked to be no different and dance routines were all they were shooting on my day, little dance routines in sections of the "bar". There was probably about 100 of us extras there and we mostly just sat around and talked. I met people from the UK, US, South Africa, Australia, and Denmark. I was the only one just starting out in India while the rest were just wrapping up so I got a lot of good travel tips.

Occasionally a member of the shooting crew would point at me and direct me to stand somewhere. That was the extent of my directions. No instruction to look at something or not look at something. I was not told to smile, or even stop talking. There was no discussion of what my motivation was or what my character was feeling in that particular scene. Hell, even when I stood where they told me to I don't think I was even in the shot half the time. Nobody yelled "action" or "cut". I would just stand where I was told and talk to whoever was around me until they started moving the lights and camera around. This was my only clue that my "scene" was over and I could go find a place to sit down again.

This went on for about 4 hours until there was a break and I followed the swarm of extras to another room where they fed us. I was sitting on the floor with a guy from Australia and two girls from Scotland when I got word of an escape plan. It seems I wasn't the only one a little disappointed with my break into the cinema. I wasn't having a bad time...I was just bored. The thought of another 6 hours there was not appealing and the rumor going around the set from the extras that had been there before was that the day would last easily until 9 p.m. or later. Luckily one of the extras I knew actually knew the area that we were located. She explained that if we didn't mind getting wet in the monsoon outside it wasn't to far to the local train station. From there she could help us navigate the proper trains back to our respective homes.

We all quickly changed out of our costumes and returned them to the wardrobe room. The guy there looked a little confused at the early return. It was about 1 p.m. and we had agreed to stay until at least 6 p.m., a point that was then reminded to me, as we bolted out into the rain, by a staff member trying to thwart our escape. "Where are you going? You can't leave?" he kept saying to me.

I felt a little bad for breaking the verbal agreement but just smiled and kept walking and eventually made it to the gate of the lot, into a tuk tuk, and to freedom. My early departure meant I didn't get my 500 rupees (less than $10) . I'm pretty sure I won't get credit towards my SAG card either but it saved me from a very boring afternoon in an uncomfortable suit. Plus I got another great experience; navigating the local trains back to Coloba. My box car hopping past was good practice.

Of course I am still glad I did it. What a fun experience and a great story. I'm sure I'll make more than 500 rupees when I sell my first screenplay "Escape From Bollywood!" to an American studio.

MJF

Singapore 8/5/07

2007-08-06T08:31:00.005-04:00

Singapore 8/5/07

It's HOT! As I sit down to write about the first stop on this current adventure that's the first thing that pops in my mind. I'm trying not to complain. I knew it was going to be hot for most of this trip when I started planning it and I should just get used to it because it's probably only going to get hotter.

As a Floridian I'm no stranger to hot so I'll actually be more specific, it's humid! Just one step out of my air con dorm room at the Backpackers Cozy Corner hostel and you have a layer of moisture all over your body. Luckily Singapore is one giant shopping center so finding an air conditioned building to rest in is never far away. I'm not one for shopping much though so I will say this town has not really excited me much. It's like Asia for Dummies, well English Dummies that is. Everything is in English and most of the stores and shops are U.S. corporate chains.

It's not a bad place mind you. It's very clean and polite. You see signs reminding you of the heavy fines for doing things like spitting or littering and of course I remember the story of a kid being cained for graffiti. It must work because you don't see any. You rarely hear cars honk but the roads are as busy as any major city. When I finally headed into the City at 8 a.m., after arriving at 1 a.m. and sleeping a few hours at the air port, I took the subway to my hostel and I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode.

The train was packed and I was the only Caucasian face around sticking out even more with a pack on my back the size of some of the commuters. That wasn't the weird part. I'm actually quite used to that. The weird part was the dead silence of the whole thing. Nobody was talking; no yelling to friends, no chatting on cell phones, not even music from a person playing their IPod entirely to loud. People just filed in and out of the trains like a swarm of ants. Even the trains themselves were quiet. No clanging metal or screeching brakes. There was just a recorded, polite, female voice with an English accent announcing the stops and to "mind the gap."

My 3 days here have been pretty un-eventful. I checked out a few parks but it's to hot to really enjoy them. I am once again amazed at the retail world in Asia. It seems like everything is a store. They must be rabid consumers to support so many outlets. I have not seen anything in the States, besides the Mall of America, that compares to the shopping complexes of Japan, Bangkok, Hong Kong, and now Singapore.

I'm fond of saying the World gets smaller everyday and I found more confirmation of this on my first night in town. Singapore has an AMAZING performing arts and cultural complex on the river called The Esplanade. I was drawn to it by it's unique architecture from blocks away but

was blown away by it once I got inside and started exploring. It's HUGE and wide open to the public. Their music library alone kept me occupied for a few hours. Well the air conditioning didn't hurt either.

A "What's Happening" flyer from the air port had teased me with info about a music festival; "Bay Beats" a 3 day festival featuring independent rock bands from around the World on 2 stages. I made a mental note to check out where it was but I didn't have to search far because I stumbled right into it at The Esplanade. I giggled out loud and beamed from ear to ear when I found a huge poster and all the details. The first band went on at 6 p.m. that night. Perfect!

I fought off the jet lag and joined 4 new friends from the hostel (Evelyn and Laura (Ireland), Scott (Seattle), Peter (England) that night for the show. I wasn't sure what to expect from the music. I thought it would be interesting and different but not something I would actually want to buy. I was wrong and here is where I saw the world get smaller.

The first group we saw was a singer/songwriter with a backing band. His name is Azmyl Yunor. His songs were a great Alt. Country/Folk Rock sound with catchy, clever original tunes. He hails from Malaysia and he had me hooked at song one. If I was blindfolded I would have sworn it was the Jayhawks on stage. In between songs he spoke like Bob Dylan but back when Bob still laughed. You could make out his accent when he spoke but when he sang he sounded pure Americana. To hear that sound coming from an all Malaysian band you realize that we live more and more in a global culture.

He made a statement at one point that convinced me to buy a CD. He asked "Who was the first punk rocker?" As the crowd yelled out names like Sid Vicious and Johnny Rotten he finally retorted "Woody Guthrie" and immediately burst into a rockin original song. I don't know if the young Singaporeans there understood his point but I loved it!

After Azymyl I caught two more bands that impressed me. A rock/funk group called KJWAN from the Philippines and local original rock favorites Plainsunset. I liked them both a lot and will track down some tunes on line. All the groups did 90% of their material in English but usually threw in one song in their native tongue that left me trying to sing some catchy chorus in a language I was sure to be butchering.

I have now been in this coffee shop on Orchard Road for about an hour. My cappachino is almost gone but most importantly I'm not sweating and actually feel dry. That won't last long. It's time to go. A planned out day that next has me finding some lunch, then an Internet cafe, and then a gym. Running outdoors is not an option I'm afraid.
MJF

Camp Drake, Illinois 7/19/07

2007-07-19T08:40:00.002-04:00

Camp Drake, Illinois 7/19/07

My wanderings in the past few years have taken me around the World. Where I sit now though might be the most impressive yet. I may only be in Illinois, a few miles from where I grew up, but I seem to have traveled back in time. Back to the late 80's and early 90's when I worked, and more importantly grew up, at this Boy Scout Camp, Camp Robert Drake.

I don't regret any choices I've made in life and, as is evident in these books I scribble in, I don't have many reasons too. However there have been many occasions, usually around the time I feel summer in my blood, that I wished I could go back and work at my beloved teenage summer home; take a 9 week break from the timeline of evolution and just go teach kids to swim, sing camp songs, and hang out with my fellow camp staffers. Luckily for me Camp Drake celebrates it's 75th Anniversary this summer and with it there was a special reunion day and dinner planned.

I visit Camp every time I pass through Philo, my childhood home and where my parents still live. That visit is usually around Christmas though and I am forced to walk through a winter setting and picture it green in my mind. With this reunion I now had a perfect reason, in a life that doesn't require a reason to go anywhere, to come back when camp is alive.

The reunion and dinner were last Saturday and it started my journey back in time. Old staff friends I had not seen or talked to in over a decade came back to tell stories that were still clear as day to me and other stories that I didn't recall at all. There was about 100 people in attendance representing camp staffs from eras as far back as the 30's. I saw too many friends to mention all of them by name. There was some co-staff members from my era and some staff from the years I was a camper. There were also campers from when I was on staff who went on to become staff after I left and keep the cycle turning.

The reunion wasn't my time warp though; more like a send off. A chance to look back in time before I actually stepped through the Looking Glass. On Sunday when all of my old friends continued on the current timeline and went back to their homes, waiting families, and jobs I rolled back into Camp Drake and picked up where I started 20 years ago and where I left off 15 years ago as a camp counselor on the aquatics staff.

I could only volunteer for a week but I figured it was probably as close as I would ever get to working back out here for a summer again.
My first day and night at Camp this week had me feeling confused. I was so excited to get here but once I arrived I felt out of place and a little awkward. As I marched back and forth on the pool deck that Sunday doing swim checks on the recently arrived campers I wondered if I looked as out of place as I felt.

There were a couple moments though that day that kept the smile on my face real and not just a show. A few Scout Masters that knew me came through and said hello and then a true surprise moment. "Hey weren't you working out here when I was a camper?" It was an Assistant Scout Master from Paxton who, after looking past his age, I recognized. "Yes I was but I swear I have not been here the whole time." I said as I laughed and shook his hand. I told him what brought me back and when I told him I thought it was great that he was still involved in his troop he corrected me. "Oh I just got back involved....now that my son is in Scouts. He just turned 11." Of course my fellow lifeguards heard this statement and busted up as they saw me doing the computation in my head. Yep, the numbers check out. Wow!

Camp physically looked as it did when I worked here with the exception of a couple new buildings but you quickly realize its people that make you feel comfortable in your surroundings not inanimate objects. All the personalities I knew were gone. In there places were new ones, still very similar to my era, but clicking among themselves. I was just on the sidelines looking in and I'll admit to wondering on that Monday morning if I might have made a mistake by coming here. I wasn't having a bad time but I worried that there was probably better ways to spend my time.

I jumped back into my groove though; teaching a Swimming Merit Badge class as well as helping out with the instructional swim class, working with kids that pretty much couldn't swim at all. I even led the Mile Swim program for the week answering the alarm clock at 6:15 a.m. each morning to meet some ambitious Scouts and one motivated Scout Master for chilly laps before flag raising.

By the end of Monday I felt great but I think it had less to do with me doing the programs I remembered so well and had more to do with the staff and campers. The real spark that fully ignited my campfire (Ha! I love a good metaphor!) again though came from a nameless unrecognized camper. As I sat in the Friendship Circle reading a book during some free time on Monday afternoon I looked up when I heard "Hey Mat" to see a young scout and his friend about 30 yards away. They waved as the continued on their path probably back to their camp site after a busy afternoon of Merit Badge classes.

It was just a mater of fact kind of "hi". A way for the them to feel a part of the Camp; proud to show that they knew the staff by name. They smiled and there was excitement in every step they took. I knew exactly how they felt. I recognized it because it was the same kid that I was once. Not the kid I was from the start...but eventually. An insecure kid from a small troop that failed his swim test the first year but would go on to teach hundreds of kids to swim. Like I said, I feel like I grew up here. It cracks me up to think at 33 it still took me a day or so to feel totally comfortable at Camp. It's just like it was when I was 11 and now, just like all those summers as a kid, I'm not ready for the week to end.

There is only one face and name still working at Camp that I knew from my day. Mike Graham was a new District Executive in the Council my last years on staff and has now been Camp Director for many years. He's the one that allowed me this amazing experience and I can't thank him enough. He said it would be great for the staff and I'd be like a consultant for the week. I don't think I had much to teach them though. They are a great staff and do things as good as or sometimes better than my era did. Of course I still took internal pride seeing them do some things that I could remember when or how it started.
As my week wraps up here though I do hope I taught the staff at least one thing; treasure these days. Treasure these experiences and opportunities. The chance to teach and in the process learn. The ability to have fun and while doing so inspire others.

It's getting late now and I have a mile swim in the morning so I suppose I should wrap up this entry. I could go on and on with more fun stories from this week and probably double the amount with stories from the past that they remind me of. In conclusion I'll say I am so glad I did this! In my year of wandering the globe my favorite spot might be this little area between Oakwood and Catlin, Illinois.

The closing of Whitman's poem "O Me, O Life" has been popping in my head the last couple days. The rest of the poem doesn't fit but the answer he comes up with seems to be how I feel.

"That you are here - That life exists and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse."

For 75 years Camp Drake has been a powerful play and I'm proud to say that from 1988 to 1992 I contributed a verse. In 2007 I joined in for one more chorus.

MJF

P.S. 7/20/07
I found a tent set up this morning at the bottom of the pool. A staff practical joke from my era that I told the guys about earlier this week. They pulled it off late last night in what feels like a tribute and send off to me on my final day. I can't stop smiling about it and when I found it this morning at 6:30 a.m. I had to wait a few minutes to stop laughing before I could start my laps.

The powerful play continues....and it's as strong as ever!
MJ

OA Section Conclave 1987
(…that's me in the jeans. Age 14)

British Virgin Islands May 2007

2007-05-29T18:38:00.002-04:00

Jost Van Dyke, BVI 5/29/07
- White Bay-

It’s my last full day in the Caribbean and like most of my trips I am not ready to leave. Jillian and I arrived in St. Thomas 9 days ago and after a ferry ride to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands (BVI), we met up with our mobile destination, the sailboat Tamsen. It is the current home to the Gibson family; Sasha (a childhood friend of Jillian’s), Simon, and their two children Emma (8) and Lila (3).

The Tamsen

When the Gibson’s passed through West Palm in January, on their way from California to pick up their boat in the Caribbean, they invited us to meet up with them as they sailed around. About 2 months ago, when the snowy wind of London was welcoming me to Europe, I was talking to Jillian on the phone and I encouraged her to follow up on that invite right away. She did and by the time I left Europe I was looking forward to trading in the hiking boots for flip flops.

It’s another sunny day here, like all of them have been, but there is a really nice breeze blowing in this bay, so under the awning on the deck of the boat I have found a little shady spot in paradise. The breeze and mooring line that we are attached let the boat rock in a nice steady roll. It’s great for sleeping and relaxing but not so good for writing as I am finding out.
It’s about Noon and we are all resting from an active morning of snorkeling and a swim into the beach about 50 yards away. Soon we will take the dingy back in for some lunch at one of the shacks like the Soggy Dollar Bar. After that there will probably be more lying around on the beach, playing with Emma and Lila, and then setting sail in the Tamsen for the next bay, pretty much an average day here.

Each day has found us in a new spot. Each spot unique and each one the same. Since starting their adventure at the end of February the Gibson's have been all over the Caribbean but this week we have confined the expedition to the BVI’s. Places like Tortola, Soppers Hole, Cane Garden Bay, The Baths, Virgin Gorda, Marina Key, and Jost Van Dyke to name a few of the islands and bays we have visited and now pop into my mind.

Sailboat living has been a new experience for me and, no surprise, I love it! It is going to be hard to wake up in a normal bed knowing I can’t take 5 steps and dive into the ocean where the water is crystal clear and is exactly the right temperature to refresh you but not shock you. That’s how I have started every morning and I actually find myself looking forward to waking up as I fall asleep each night. I’ll even sleep in my board shorts so my morning plunge is not delayed.

Jillian and me at The Baths

Life this week has also been an intensive course into young family life. Emma and Lila are amazing and I know I will miss them when we leave tomorrow. Emma asks very insightful questions and has the social skills of a person 3 times her age. She is always asking me to go for a swim which has become a convenient excuse for me to spend most of my time in the water. She has also reminded me how excited you should be at anything you see while snorkeling whether it’s a conch, sea turtle, parrot fish, or soda can. She is mature but still a kid. Focused but not to serious. She actually just sat down next to me and pulled out her journal to write in also. Like a kid taking a test I just snuck a glance at her paper. Her hand writing is much better than mine! I don’t even want to see how much better her spelling is.

Emma, Jillian, and Lila

Lila is pure entertainment despite the occasional rapid mood change and screaming phase she is going through. When she decides to use it, she has the sweetest little voice and it’s usually what I hear seconds before I wake up and head for my swim at the start of each day. “Good morning Mat” is whispered into my cabin like a command rather than an observation while my eyes are still shut. We have serious discussions about dogs, shoes, ponies, and cartoons. She has also fostered my new love for Sponge Bob Square Pants. The few episodes I have watched with her on the portable DVD player have seriously cracked me up and I find the song “Who lives in a pineapple under the sea? SPONGEBOB SQUARE PANTS!” looping around in my brain.

Lazy afternoons and naps...

Amazing children usually only come from amazing parents though and Sasha and Simon are just that. They are stern but relaxed. They are patient but still human. After a stressful ordeal of battling with a 3 year old on what shoes she would wear to dinner Simon plopped down on the deck with Jillian and me and, as he popped open a Heineken, said, "Don't tell me the Devil wears Prada. The Devil wears Gymboree."

They have moved a healthy family environment to a 40 foot boat complete with homework time, nap time, and teeth brushing. The odd variations in things, like Emma’s “job” of putting down the anchor or the household pet “Hermie” the hermit crab, are the only things that remind you that they live on a sailboat and not a ranch style house in the suburbs.

Simon and Sasha

I can’t thank them enough for letting Jillian and I invade their home where space and privacy is a commodity. They have provided an experience that I probably would not have had without them. I’ve been to dozens of beaches, rum shacks, and island getaways from Florida to Japan but nothing compares to this trip. Most of my previous tropical experiences come from places that you drive to or a single one trip destination. On this trip most of the amazing locations we hit were only accessible with a personal vessel. It was like the wandering freedom of a road trip only with a sailboat. Even if you had the financial means to charter a boat you still need the ability in order to pull it off. Thanks to Sasha and Simon….I didn’t need either.

Well people are starting to shuffle around behind me in the cockpit which means it’s getting close to that short trip into shore for lunch. Perfect timing too because I’m starving! Time to hit the pause button…..

- Pause –

We are now back at Soppers Hole, where we started this trip 10 days ago, on Tortola and the Sun has finally set. Everyone is hitting the showers at the marina in preparation for our last night out. It’s a short dingy ride across the harbor to where Jillian and I will catch the ferry back to St. Thomas tomorrow morning. After this past afternoon I’m even sadder to be leaving.
After I paused my entry we did head into shore for a bite to eat. We hung out at the island authentic, but tourist clogged, Soggy Dollar Bar and eventually inhaled some average beach food. After that Jillian and I wandered down the beach to Seddy’s, One Love Bar and that’s where the day went from great to amazing.

……I’ve been sitting with my head propped on my fist supported by my elbow on the table for about 5 minutes. Frozen like a skinnier version of Rodin's “The Thinker” with thoughts flying around inside my head but none of them making it out. The experiences at the One Love Bar were amazing and I’m not sure where to begin. Technically it was just a few Red Stripes at a beach shack bar served up by a colorful bartender who also did magic tricks. However in the grand scheme of a lifetime it was much more. It was the kind of island afternoon you tell stories about that start with “I went to the greatest….”

So I guess that’s where I’ll start this story. I went to the greatest place this afternoon, Seddy’s One Love Bar. The setting was perfect: no floor, just sand, a few random plastic chairs, high sturdy bar stools around a plywood bar. A slightly elevated platform held the kind of worn out couches we used to buy at Goodwill for Buffett concerts. Random nautical decorations of mooring buoys, fishing lines, life preservers, and assorted plastic jugs that probably just washed ashore, hung from the minimal structure that held up the roof. From the roof hung the standard ripped up and weathered trophy T’s you see in every “great” shack bar. Each one tagged in marker with names and dates of past travelers that had the same kind of afternoon that we did.

A nice frame does not make a masterpiece though. It’s merely a way to display the art inside. The magic of The One Love Bar came from the people there and the interaction between them. A few expatriated Yanks on vacation from other islands in the Caribbean including one musician who had set his keyboard up near the couches. The reggae on the stereo would get paused and he would tickle the sandy ivories with some improvisational jazz for a full set before taking a break to chat with friends and get another beer.

The soul and creator of this perfect island bar was the owner and sole worker that day Seddy. ….and it’s time for one of those Thinking Man posses again. How do I begin to describe Seddy?!
He is a tall and weathered island native. Age means little to nothing to me but for descriptive purposes I would speculate he is half way from being over the hill but has somehow gained the wisdom of a guy that has peaked over it. He cracks prepared jokes and recites bar poems as he occasionally pops open beer bottles for regulars and first timers. His main goal is definitely entertainment and his main product is definitely experiences rather than speedy service and bar tabs.

Jillian and I went in for one beer and ended up staying for hours with the Gibson Family joining us for most of it. By beer two though I felt like a regular and that’s what Seddy does.
“Dis isn’t just my bar.” He told me. “It’s for all my friends and people I trust.”
Where that trust ends, I’m not sure because there were huge blocks of time where Seddy didn’t work at all. You just helped yourself and kept track of what you owed in your mind.
“I have to go check on my kid. Just help yourself.” He said in passing. So he went and woke up his young son and then took him swimming to cool him off. He also took some breaks to work on the pit he had dug in the sand in front of the place. He gave a dozen different answers on what it was for depending on who asked. The more I heard people ask him the more I think it’s sole purpose was just to get peoples brains thinking.

To say I was entertained by Seddy would be a fair calculation for the first few hours but as our time there began to wind down Seddy pulled off a magic trick that blew me away! Earlier he had made us all chuckle with some simple coin & card tricks. Mostly some sleight of hand stuff that you know just comes with practice and miss-direction. The trick that blew me away though he set up with Jillian and me hours before he completed it. When it was done I was left screaming like an idiot on a Chris Angel or David Blaine special. It was far from a magic store trick and showed skills of a highly trained magician and master of persuasion. The trick would be difficult and time consuming to describe but trust me it was better than any grand finale I have seen in Vegas. It left me baffled and shocked!

It has only been a few hours since Seddy finished his trick and we set sail for this bay and I am already having difficulty remembering all the aspects of the trick. I’m sure soon it will all be gone and all I’ll have is the emotion of a great beach shack and the most amazing bartender/owner. I suppose that’s why I write in this little book. Life has too many amazing days for the human mind to remember all by itself. This trip alone has several that I need to document.

Timing was once again on my side last Saturday when we found ourselves in the neighborhood of Cane Garden Bay and day 2 of the British Virgin Islands Music Festival. A music Festival featuring international stars some recognizable to me and some not. My kind of find!
The stage was set on the beach just feet away from the slow rolling surf. A line of tents ran down the beach parallel to the shore near the tree line and sold drinks, crafts, and food. The posters we saw on other islands the week leading up to the festival advertised a “$20 admission” with “No In & Outs”. The charge apparently was just a theory though and we pulled up on shore with dozens of others and never saw a ticket booth. Hell I never saw an official entrance. The only thing that was closed off was an area directly in front of the stage for cameras.

Jillian and I arrived with the Gibson Fam around 8 p.m. and the crowd was just beginning to grow on the beach. When South African reggae legend Lucky Dube took the stage around 10 p.m. the crowd was thick but you could still find some gaps to squeeze through to stage center. The adults sipped Mount Gay and Cokes and the kids were spoiled on pretty much anything they wanted. Hey, it was a special occasion. After inhaling popcorn, ice cream, slushies, and playing with various glow-stick products Emma and Lila were exhausted and conched out right where we were sitting. Mom and Dad carried two happy, sleeping children back to the boat after Lucky Dube’s set.

Lucky Dube

By the time headliner, ex-Fugee, and all around cool guy, Wyclef Jean took the stage at 12:30 a.m. the beach was so crowded Jillian and I had to settle for a spot on the side just out of the water. No worries though because soon Wyclef decided he wanted in the water too and jumped off the stage to make his way into the tide. I maneuvered to get a better picture and soon Jillian found herself right next to him. Wyclef, Jillian, and a few dozen others, dancing in knee deep water on a moon filled night in the BVIs. Another moment you don’t ever want to forget.

Wycleff Jean

At 2 a.m. Jillian and I decided to head back to the boat, a rare moment when I left a concert early. In my defense it wasn’t to beat the traffic. I was nervous about pushing the dingy back into the water with the tide going out and then finding the right sailboat in a dark crowded bay. We made it back to the Tamsen without any problems though and listened to the rest of Wyclef’s set from the deck which wrapped up after 3 a.m.

Concert Traffic

I had started that day at 7 a.m. with 2 gorgeous scuba dives and ended it with a free concert by Wyclef Jean. As I drifted off to sleep I remember thinking “That was a pretty good day!”

We followed that night up with one just as memorable on the very next day. After another leisurely day of swimming and wandering uninhabited islands we anchored in a bay off Jost Van Dyke. There we met up with the 100 foot sailing yacht called Rock Me, captained by an old friend of Simon & Sasha’s. The Captain’s name is Brett and he paid a visit to The Tamsen in the afternoon and invited us into shore after dinner to have a few drinks with his crew and Rock Me’s owner and friends.

Most of The Tamsen crew were still pretty tired from the Wyclef show the night before but we couldn’t’ be rude, could we? Sasha volunteered to stay behind with the kids and Simon, Jillian, and I were forced to go represent our ship.

We all thought or said, “We’ll go have A drink. Say hello to the owner. Shake some hands. Nothing crazy….we’ll be back soon.”

Of course when you say that, the actual odds that you do that are always highly tilted towards failing. When we arrived at the legendary beach shack bar of the BVI’s, Foxy’s, the party was well under way and Brett was leading the charge.

The atmosphere at Foxy’s was enough to make me re-think my plan. It’s a great Caribbean beach bar, like Captain Tony’s in Key West but with not as many walls, complete with a small picture behind the bar of Foxy, the owner, and Jimmy Buffett. In places like this having a picture of Jimmy hanging out at your bar is the equivalent of posting your 5 star Zagat rating in the window of your restaurant.

In case the atmosphere wasn’t enough to keep me there though, fate also delivered me the chance to meet a rock industry icon. The owner of Rock Me is Doc McGee and he earned his status, and yacht, as the manger of some legendary rock groups like KISS, Bon Jovi, Motley Crue, Skid Row, etc. Needles to say when Brett told us he was taking Simon back to the boat but we were staying I didn’t put up much of a fuss.

Captain Brett. Wendy & Doc McGee and Jillian

Doc was down vacationing with his wife, Wendy, his brother, and a new client, a female singer, with her boy friend. Brett introduced us to them all, along with the Rock Me crew; the first mate, cook, and Bretts wife, Loraine. One drink in and we were part of the gang.

Wendy and the girls quickly swept Jillian off to the dance “floor” so I spent most of my time talking with Doc. The ice was broken initially by Brett who introduced me to him by saying “This is Mat. He’s in the music biz too.” This statement wiped out all the recent BVI sun color from my face. Me in the music biz compared to Doc McGee is like a paper boy having a meeting with Rupert Murdock.

Doc was very cool though and instead of making me feel like a peon we talked about people he knows in South Florida that I might also know. Of course most of the people he knew were the names on the buildings where I met with the people I know but it was still fun and common ground to talk from.

Our conversation eventually turned to travelling and we found some equal footing there so I was happy to keep on that subject. I refrained from asking questions that I’m sure he’s tired of getting usually dealing with rock decadence and myth. It was a surreal moment to be sitting in a sandy bar in the Caribbean smoking a cigar with a guy I had seen on more than one episode of VH1’s Behind The Music.

As the night moved into the morning hours the party was moving back to Rock Me. Jillian and I tried to kid ourselves into thinking we were going back to The Tamsen. We were doing a pretty good job of this until Brett stole our dingy and made the decision to accept Doc & Wendy’s invitation to go back to their boat to hang out a necessity rather than an option.

Rock Me is a gorgeous boat! It’s luxurious but not decadent, immaculate but homey. It has deep dark woods, navy blue interiors, and of course great music playing throughout the boat. We all settled into a lounge area on the back for about another hour of laughing out loud under the stars. Eventually the group started to dwindle as people gave into sleep. Jillian and I thanked Doc and Wendy and climbed down to our dingy to cruise on home. We all had planned to meet up again at another bay or island but unfortunately the schedules never worked out.

Experiences like meeting Doc and Seddy, seeing Wyclef and Lucky Dube, scuba diving on a wreck, hanging out and making new lifelong friends with Simon, Sasha, Emma, and Lila or just spending time with Jillian are the obvious memories from this trip. There is another element though that I would be remiss if I didn’t jot down especially because it’s been in my head since we set sail on day one.

I’m not sure what to call it and I’m even more perplexed on how to write it down. It’s the words and thoughts of Jimmy Buffett that have obviously seeped into my subconscious. My good friend Jeff (Vail) has been paraphrasing a favorite Jimmy quote of ours to me for awhile now. He says “I’m living my life like a song”. I guess I’m now realizing that he’s right.

Moments like “sailing into Cane Garden Bay” or seeing “the lights of St. Thomas” literally about “20 miles West”, and probably a dozen other moments ripped right from the Buffett lyric sheet, well…it felt great. Validation of sorts I suppose. Validation that I am living the life I dreamed of. I am far from a sailor, nor do I necessarily aspire to be one. I’m not sure what I am or what I’m on the track to be. To quote Jimmy again: “Where it all ends I can’t fathom my friends. If I knew I might toss out my anchor. So I’ll cruise along….” I can’t wait to see where I end up!

MJF

Ireland May 2007

2007-05-10T18:33:00.001-04:00

Gatwick, UK 10/5/07 (more photos to be posted soon....)

I love the datelines of my journal. Just a quick flip through the pages and the datelines act as little tabs of times and places in the past. Occasionally I’ll read the entry they represent but many times I just use them to trigger some memories. Some I remember exactly as they are written in the entry. Other times I think of things or I may have not even written down. Other times my journals just fall open and there’s a dateline to surprise me, a sudden mental time warp to a place or moment I had not thought about in years.

I’m just wrapping up a great week on the island of Ireland and I’m sad to say I will not have any datelines from Ireland in my little book. No entries from amazing days in places like Belfast, Portstewart, Ardara, Kilcar, Dublin, or a dozen other little towns I passed through. I didn’t even make time to write in great outdoor locations like The Giants Causeway.

Luckily for me, for such a relatively small place, Ireland has a big imprint on the globe. I’ll have to let every Irish pub I ever pass act as my datelines. Friends will have to forgive me when we grab a point in one of these pubs and I blurt out a story about this past week. Of course St. Patrick’s Day will never be the same.

I covered a lot of ground since I left the family in Glasgow last Thursday but probably no more than usual so that can’t be the reason for my writing void. My main excuse probably is that I had a friend wandering Ireland with me, my British ex-pat friend that I met in Beijing but now lives in Paris, Kristen.

I can’t blame my missing datelines on her though. If I wanted to write I could have. Frankly I was just having to good a time to stop and write it down. When we weren’t hiking, eating, or dinking, we were debating/discussing something, usually one of my favorite topics; music, books, politics and travel destinations. Oh and of course plenty of time for nation bashing.

She gives me America flack on pretty much every issue, her favorite is Starbucks. I remind her that she is now English AND French! Could she get any more snobbish?! And we both make fun of each other’s speech. I remind her that garage does not rhyme with carriage and she reminds me that it’s called English and therefore being from England the way she pronounces things is always correct. It’s like having a sister from another country.

I arrived in Belfast and Kristen met me at the hostel, Arnie’s Backpacker. One of the more cozy, laidback hostels I’ve stayed. I should have known when I rang the bell and heard dogs running and barking to the door that it was a little different but instead I kept getting pleasantly surprised during my stay.

After a laidback arrival day and night Kristen and I made efficient work of our first full day in Belfast. In the morning we met up with Walter who drives a taxi in Belfast and also gives what is called a “Black Taxi Tour”. Basically a grass roots tour through the secular regions of Belfast and a firsthand history of what they call “The Troubles”. Only the Irish could call decades of civil unrest, terrorism, political persecution, corruption, fanaticism, and bloodshed a name that makes it sound more like a misunderstanding at the pub rather than all out war. It’s far from a simple misunderstanding though and they don’t treat it that way either as is evident to this day by the headlines still gracing the covers of the papers.

Walter’s tour was great! It was very informative and unpolished. He drove us through the real neighborhoods, past the fences, walls, and gates that are still closed nightly. He showed us the stacking area for future bonfires where hundreds of palates were waiting for the match. We not only saw the “Peace Murals” that cover the sides of subsidized houses and buildings on both sides but he explained what each one was about.

Walter answered all of our questions well and tried to explain all the different factions like the IRA, the “Provs”, UVF, Sein Fein, etc. He told us about the first places that were bombed and the prison hunger strikes. Every detail was covered from both sides but by the end I had decided to just try and remember the basics. Which in my mind is: power corrupts and is hidden behind faith. I wonder if God knows how much has been done in his name down here on Earth?

After our educational and impactful morning Kristen and I picked a hike out of her Lonely Planet Ireland Walking Trails book. As she changed into some hiking attire I went to wait in the small living room of Arnie’s. The door was closed to the small room and when I pushed it open I found one of those pleasant surprises that I mentioned earlier.

In one of the chairs, whose tired slip cover hid a probably even more tired chair, sat a guy that matched the condition of the furniture. He had the posture of a guy in a stereo advertisement, sitting in front of a speaker with the sound waves rushing at him. However in the silent room at Arnie’s there must have been some other force that was blowing him back and deeper into the chair. Three things grabbed my attention almost immediately:
1) Tired, red, heavily glazed eyes
2) A tumbler with about three fingers of Scotch dangled over the right arm rest like it was magnetically attached to his thumb and two fingers
3) A pleasant Irish voice saying “Good morning. Come on in.” like he had been expecting me.

I went in and dropped into the couch across from him as the door closed behind me and thus began my short but memorable conversation with Jeff.

Age was not discussed but based on his looks and his experiences I would guess Jeff was in his mid-40’s. Born and raised in Belfast and an artist of a few different mediums, when I mentioned I had just returned from a Black Taxi tour, and was amazed by the Peace Murals, he got a reminiscent smile on his face and said nostalgically, “I painted one of those once.” followed by a sip of the Scotch and the internal passing of a memory across the back of his glazed eyes.

Jeff said he was from a mixed family. One parent Catholic, one Protestant, but he was raised on the Catholic side. He wasn’t a member of the I.R.A. he said “…but you always knew when it was time to take to the streets.” I probed for more experiences and he obliged me with simple stories of growing up in Belfast. When the only reply I could come up with to the violence inherit in almost all his stories was “That must have sucked!” he just smiled and shrugged his shoulders. I guess when that’s all you know that’s all you can do.

Jeff was a constant figure around the hostel the rest of the days we spent there. He’d welcome us back each time when we came in or inquire where we were off to when we were leaving and then provide tips on how to get there or things to see along the way, a concierge of sorts, specially trained to fit into the atmosphere of an authentic laidback Irish hostel.

Kristen and I spent the rest of that day hiking along the shoreline. It was a nice hike along the coast through rocks, cliffs, and beaches from the town of Hollywood to Banok then a train ride back to Belfast. We wrapped up the night at a couple proper Irish pubs complete with good Irish music. We swayed and sang along to traditional crowd favorites like Whiskey In The Jar to “new” Irish classics like With or Without You and just great sing-a-long songs like The Gambler and I’m Gonna be by the Proclaimers.

The pub was packed and as the 5 piece band went through a geographic roll call of the crowd the delegates from Australia, Canada, California, New York, and Japan all shouted out when appropriate. It was nice to be part of such an international community but I liked it most when they asked “Who’s from Belfast?!” The roof shook with the response and you knew the locals were still the majority….and they were having a great time.

After a couple days in Belfast we rented a car and set off for some good old fashioned wandering. Our only specific destination was the natural rock phenomenon known as the Giants Causeway. Other than that it was just a dozen “maybe’s” that acted more as topics to discuss rather than actual places we needed to go.

Now the Giants Causeway is one of those natural wonders not known by many people. I speculate on the List of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World it would squeak in at #10 but most people couldn’t name all 7 of the official Wonders so it’s to be expected that the Causeway isn’t widely known. I didn’t learn about it until I was talking to some girls at a hostel in London.

I’ll spare the exact scientific definition of the Giants Causeway (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Giants_Causeway) and instead sum it up as some costal cliffs on Irelands North shore with unique hexagonal rock columns that look like the ruins of Superman’s Irish version of the Fortress of Solitude.

The actual columns were fun to climb around on and we joined the other tourists who were fresh off the bus for some photos. I told Kristen I felt like I was in a life size Q-bert game but she had no idea what I was talking about. I guess she didn’t spend as much time in arcades as I did growing up.

The rock formations are the big draw at the Causeway but the actual park runs for several miles along the coast. A gorgeous path up and down rocky cliffs with lush green grass pastures on the tops. Kristen and I had planned to walk most of the day on these trails and then catch a bus or taxi back to where we had left the car. This plan started to fall apart at the Giants Causeway info center when the guy told us there was no bus on Sunday and the best place to catch a cab would be probably 20 miles away (about double what we were planning to hike.)

Instead we decided to just hike out and back a bit. The sky was gray but it didn’t feel like the rain would come for awhile and we were right. The temperature was mild to warm depending on your spot in the breeze. As we followed the meandering curves around the cliff tops every angle looked like a priceless photo. This slowed down the hike but we weren’t in any hurry which became very evident about a half mile into our hike.

We stopped for more photos and I sat down in the gentle dip of soft grass and cool ground. I was about 2 feet away from the edge of a drop that fell about 100 feet to the washing shore below. No crashing swells just the steady sound of rolling waves.
It was a very comfy spot and seemed to be perfectly molded to me; a little dip for the butt, a slight rise for the legs, a bump for lumbar support, a slope up to the head, and some extra grass at the top to pad my head. It was as if Brookstone had worked with God to make this little patch of ground just for me. I was relaxed and content to just watch the sky until Kristen got done taking photos. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but when I slid my ball cap down over my eyes it was all over.

About an hour later Kristen woke me up from what felt like the deepest sleep I have ever had. “I thought you were joking at first then I heard you snore!” How can you fall asleep that quick?” she asked. I explained it wasn’t my fault. It was the comfy spot. It’s magic!

We started back to the car after my nap time and I raved about my sleeping spot the whole way. I felt awesome! When we set out for the Giants Causeway I couldn’t wait to hike up and down the huge cliffs. Now looking back on my day at the World Heritage site, instead of remembering a great hike, the first thing I recall is the great nap I had there….with no regrets.

My love for traveling, or obsession I suppose, started around 17 when the B.o.S. Boys (my friends from High School) and I began to wander the country roads of Illinois. Illinois expanded into the Mid-West, the South, then the West, and now here I am in Europe. I have expanded my modest operandi to include planes, trains, boats, and even feet, but the freedom and resources of a car are still tough to beat. No particular place to be and even less idea exactly how to get there. Time is determined by days rather than hours and only an intersection makes you stop and think in the present time.

It had been awhile since I had a good road trip like this and it felt great to jump into it again. Kristen and I had a map that we used to pick out a spot that looked like an interesting destination and then I pulled the compass out of its pocket and that’s how we chose which country road would be best to lead us that way.

I feel bad for expanding my carbon foot print on the globe but I loved every inch that we covered in the little car over those 3 days. There were miles of rolling, green, pastures that dissolved into fields of gray, rocky, mounds. Before we left Belfast our Irish buddy Jeff had given us some tips on areas to cover and he described one place as “You’ll feel like you are driving on the Moon.” As expected he was right.

The moonscape gave way to treeless, windswept hills that either fell or gradually collided into a pounding coast. We passed through dozens of small towns surrounded by yards marked by thousands of rocks piled into small walls that defined a line for someone.

We stayed one night in a colorful hostel in Portstewart. Before we left the next morning the elder backpacker that owned it recommended another place to stay in the town of Kilcar. It was Bank Holiday Weekend, a popular 3 day weekend in Europe that felt like our Labor Day without hiding behind a cause that most people don’t actually celebrate. We decided to call ahead and make sure they reserved a couple beds for us and I’m glad we did because the guy at the next hostel tipped us off to what is now one of my fondest memories of Ireland.

He asked Kristen where we were coming from. “Oh you should stop in Ardara for the music festival on your way through.” He said.
All I initially overheard was Kristen say “Music festival?’ which of course perked my ear up and stared my mind racing.
“Did he say who was going to b there?” I quizzed her all mooring. “No.” she kept replying.
“I bet it’s going to be Cold Play opening up for U2 with special guest Van Morison!” I started to dream out loud. (Why Cold Play I don’t know. They aren’t Irish but they just seemed to match my mood.)

We took our time wandering from Portstewart to Ardara. We made several stops for great photos scenes. We didn’t even get concerned when the coast showed up on the wrong side of the car, usually a very bad sign on a road trip. We just waited until we hit the next town and the road widened enough for a turn around and then we headed back in the right direction.

The antenna was broken on the rental car but judging by the sparse population we weren’t missing too many radio station options anyway. Instead we listened to my last copy of The Nadas CD that I gave to Kristen. After hearing it for probably 50 times in 3 days I’m afraid I might have turned her off, rather than on, to their music.

When we eventually made it to Ardara, population about 2,000, it was around 3 p.m. and I was ready to make my way to the front stage. It was a cool, sunny, day and the air was just right for an afternoon of live music. What we found was not what I expected but was even better, as is usually the case.

The music festival’s official name was “The Cup of Tae Traditional Music Festival” and there was no main stage to be found. In fact there were no stages at all. The festival took place inside about 8 pubs in a 2 block radius in a town whose downtown was about a 6 block radius. It felt like a slightly bigger version of Philo with more pubs. The accent was different of course but there were still tractors driving down the road so, like I said, it reminded me of Philo.

When we first arrived it was in the middle of a really laidback afternoon and everyone just sat around in a contorting circle in each pub. There were no stages like I said and at first there wasn’t even a P.A. System or set performers.

The music was all traditional Celtic folk tunes and I felt like the only tourist there. It might have been traditional songs but it wasn’t The Greatest Hits as heard in every Irish bar in the world. People just picked up instruments or started singing and the rest of the bar joined in. It was amazing and beautiful! I sipped on pints of Harp and watched in excitement, simply delighted at what we had stumbled upon. It was an old fashioned sing-a-along only for the first time since I fell in love with “sing-a-long music” I didn’t know a single song. As the day progressed the groups performing got bigger and louder. By the end they were amplified but folks from the crowd still joined in on instruments they brought with them.

Now there probably isn’t a day that goes by when I’m traveling that I don’t think of my friends and wish they were with me but on this day it became painful. MJ, Jeff, Sip, Quinn, Justin, Troy….they would have been in heaven right along with me. At the peak of energy and revelry a rocking 2 piece group burst into a great cover of The Boxer and I was finally able to sing-a-long with the rest of the pub. As happy as I was it was bitter sweet and I remember actually feeling a little sad. I turned to Kristen and said “I really miss my friends!”

I wrapped up my days in Ireland, and now Europe, in Dublin. It’s another great city rich with my kind of culture. Kristen and I spent a day wandering the town including a few hours at the Writers Museum which I really enjoyed. Mental note: Read more James Joyce!

In Dublin I also met up with more backpacker friends. I got in touch with Mark and Roxanne, both friends from Koh Tao, but only Roxanne was able to meet up. She dragged some friends along and we all had a fun night hitting some Dublin bars. It was a work night for them and she even had a 30 minute train ride just to get to the Temple Bar area of Dublin but that didn’t stop her. My kind of friend! Time and distance are trivial things and should never hold you back from having a good time with friends and family.

I leave Europe today. Another section of the Globe checked off a list that doesn’t really exist and still more locations added that I would like to see or return to. As usual I’m ready to see the gang at home, or the ones meeting me in New Orleans in two days, but I’d rather they come “here”. I’m not ready to go back even though I know I’m not really going “back”. My next month has me traveling just as much as I am now so I’ll remind myself of that as I sit in another airport waiting area.

As planned, I’m tired and will hopefully fall asleep as my transatlantic flight is taking off. It’s all part of my Jet Lag Management plan which starts with sleeping most of the flight back and then not sleeping for about two days when I land. It’s usually not good for the immune system but it avoids boring sleepless nights. I better go pop an AirBorn in a bottle of water to down before I board. I gotta take some care of this body…it has a lot more miles to carry me before this brain figures things out.
MJF

Glen Nevis, Scotland 4/29/07

2007-05-09T19:50:00.001-04:00

Ben Nevis Hike

I’m sitting outside the Glen Nevis visitor center which is close to the start of one of the trails to Ben Nevis. In Gaelic “ben” means mountain and Ben Nevis at 4,406 feet is the highest point in the UK. I’m planning on a slow hike up and down it today and I’m thinking this little book (my journal) will help me do just that. I tend to get a bit aggressive, for lack of a better word, on my hikes. I get to excited and push myself harder and harder until I’m just a puddle of sweat. While I still usually enjoy those types of hikes, today I want to take my time.

It is a beautiful day here and as soon as the visitor center opens in 15 minutes I will get an updated weather report and forecast of conditions on the mountain. I’m not too worried though. By the looks of it I have a great day for hiking ahead of me.

The Sun just popped over the ridge that shades this river valley in the morning and the dew all around me is glistening. The sky is a light blue with thin wisps of white clouds. None of them look like a cross but it’s still the kind of morning that over 1,000 years ago would have inspired King Angus and would eventually become the design of the Scottish flag.

Just a little Scottish history for you there, I can’t help it these days. I’m bubbling over with historical facts about this place. I’m traveling with the Fam these days and my Father’s passion for history, and notably Scottish History, has turned into what could be called a minor degree for the rest of us.

The start of the trail in Glen Nevis.

Mom, Dad, Heather, and Derek are back in Fort Williams, about 2 miles down the road from here. Right about now they are making their way downstairs in the guest house to find breakfast before heading out for a day of tours. It’s funny but I can already hear the stories that will be told at dinner about the day I missed. There will be a brief description of the tour. Dad might impart a new fact he learned or confirmed. The longest descriptions though will be of stupid/funny things a member of the family did. In this family we laugh at you not with you but if you are the one being laughed at or mocked you roll with it because soon it will move on to the next person….and you’ll probably be the one that starts it.

They will know my report before I give it also. “It was great! Beautiful view!” blah blah blah. My hiking reports are all the same and usually not of much interest to the non-hikers or even sometimes them too. Of course that doesn’t stop me from living them and telling them.

--Pause--

I have been hiking for about an hour now. The trail is pretty steep but easy to follow. So far it’s similar to the Inca trail in Peru only the rocks and boulders that act as the bumpy road and steps of the trail are different. Just as large but more natural in shape. The Scots didn’t cut right angles like the Incas. They just plopped the boulder down in whatever shape God made it.
I’m at the top of the first plateau now, just over the ridge that shadowed the Visitor’s Center, and the terrain looks to be changing. The path leads to the West in a steady grade. No steps as far as I can see, for a little while a least. Just some really long switch backs as the trail winds around the hill.

It’s a busy day on the trail as I figured it would be on a gorgeous early spring Sunday. In addition to the tourists I get the feeling there are a lot of locals too. If I lived anywhere around the area I’d be hiking here too. As a result I find myself going faster than I told myself at the beginning. I still love it and these are my kind of people so I don’t mind them but in these settings I just hate walking in a line. I try to get ahead of certain packs and then lag behind others I see in front of me. On the positive side, as Heather pointed out before I left, this way I’ll have someone there to take my photo at the top and I won’t have to figure out some sort of timer shot.

The Family met up in Edinburgh last Saturday. Since then we have visited the cities of Stirling, Inverness, and now Fort William. It’s different, and a bit drastic, to go from traveling alone to traveling with 4 other people; Not bad, just different, VERY different. I used to get tired of eating alone. Now by the time the discussion and search of where to eat is done and all the orders are taken I want to shoot myself! I know it’s more me than them though so I’m making a conscience effort to relax during those times.

I have really enjoyed meeting up with them for this past week. We have a few more days here and then it’s down to Glasgow for a day before I take off for Ireland and they head home. It’s like a trip within a trip for me. We are also doing some things that I definitely would not have done without them. Even the things I would have gone to alone like a castle or two would not have left me with the random historical facts that, largely because of my Father, I now know. I can now walk most people through the political and social evolution of Scotland from the beginning; The Picts, King Angus, William Wallace, Mary Queen of Scots, John Knox, the Treaty of Union, Bonnie Prince Charlie and the Jacobite Rebellion….They all float around in my head in a time line of events. I know at some point in my life this info will pop up and someone will wonder why I know it. I’ll just smile and think of my Dad.

The Forrest Clan at Stirling Castle

Robert The Bruce Monument at Bannockburn

Monument at the Culloden Battlefield

--Pause--

Rocks! I am in a sea of rocks. It looks like a section of the surface of the Moon only my tired legs remind me that gravity is very much still at work. There are small pebbles to boulders and everything in between. Like all the warnings at the Visitors Center stated, I can easily see how you could get lost or hurt up here in bad conditions. The terrain is nothing but rocks on a steep incline. No trees, no visible ridges, no cliffs, everything looks the same. Even on a bright clear day like today I took a false switchback and didn’t realize I was “off” the trail until I ran into the more visible trail. I’m now sitting near that trail on the only non-rocky spot I can see, a patch of moss about as big as my bum. It’s a perfect spot for a break.

It’s obvious now why they have so many castles in Scotland. If this mountain is any indication for how the rest of the Highland hills are there was no shortage of building supplies. We have visited a few castles on this trip. Edinburgh Castle was massive while Stirling Castle was pretty. The remains of Urquhart Castle on the Legendary Loch Ness are probably my favorite though which is odd because there isn’t much left of it. It was just so pretty with the bright green lawn overlooking the Loch.

We took a boat ride on Loch Ness to get there but there was no sign of the famed monster. Of course the Forrest family isn’t known for sneaking up on too many things. As individuals we are loud put us together and we set the standard for the loud American stereotype. I’m betting Nessy heard my sister yelling at me or Derek and headed for deep water.

--Pause--

The summit is close. Very close. I have crossed a few patches of snow and can feel my sweat starting to chill quickly as the winds pick up. I figured I needed to stop to put on more layers and get the gloves ready and I could also sneak in one more entry.

The view, as predicted, is amazing and King Angus’s light blue Scottish sky has become the only backdrop as I look over the tops of the Highlands. Experience has taught me that words or pictures will not do the scene justice so I’ll just sit and stare a bit and try to memorize the feeling.

--Pause--

Video of the summit:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7ZeBwJcoOas

The summit was great but a little too cold to write even when you got out of the wind. There is a stone emergency shelter at the top that hikers gather on like pigeons out of the wind. I had my lunch up there and then shot a quick video.

It’s a wide summit. I approached from a gentle slope that leads to the highest point where a stone block about 3 feet high now stands. The whole summit is covered in several feet of snow though and it’s drifted over the North West Side which hides the sheer cliff that awaits you. From one point it looks like a nice snowy hill. From the other side it looks like a clever trap. I’m very glad I didn’t run to the edge to look over like I normally would have and I took a mental note to remind me of the lesson.

The cold winds and snow are well above me now and I’m back at the level where the grass starts again; Time to lie down for awhile in the nice sunny grass, shed another layer of clothes, and maybe take a quick power nap before continuing down the mountain.

Now back to my summation of the Griswald, uhhh I mean Forrest, Scottish Vacation:
Thanks to Mel Gibson almost the entire world now knows about Scotland’s biggest hero, William Wallace. I enjoyed the movie like most people but now after visiting Stirling and the tall Wallace Monument, I’m even more impressed with the man, Wallace that is. The monument is an impressive sandstone tower set on top of a beautiful ridge surrounded by woods. From it you can see the sight of his famous victory at the Battle of Stirling Bridge that basically launched him into legend status.

The Wallace Monument as seen from Stirling Castle.

The path less traveled by down from the Wallace Monument

The whole Family climbed the 246 spiral steps to the top on a very chilly windy day. The pictures from the top should be classic family photos for generations.

On top of the Wallace Monument.

Scotland hasn’t been all castles, monuments, and history though. Heather and Mom have squeezed in plenty of shopping. Dad and Derek have debated the rules of Snooker while watching it on practically every TV in Scotland. We’ve spent some afternoons in various pubs with the guys drinking pints and the girls sipping Scotch. There was even a quiet night or two watching TV in the living rooms of the few apartments where we stayed. We are now fans of The Graham Norton Show and even bigger fans of Billy Connolly.

I have also had some great outdoor moments too, with today obviously topping the list. In Edinburgh I snuck away for half a day and hiked up Arthur's Seat; the rolling hill, plateau and rocky peak that overlook the town. I also had some great runs in Stirling and Inverness. I think tonight will be a night for pints though. It’s all about balance!

Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh

--Pause--

I’m back! Well kind of…I’m back to where I started this entry, at the bench outside the Visitors Center. I still have 2 miles to walk back to Fort Williams I guess but its flat and paved so in my mind my hike is done.

What a great day! I know I say that a lot but I mean it every time. I don’t know if anyone else would think they are technically all great days or if it’s just my passion for life that makes them feel great. In the end I suppose I’m the only judge that matters so I’ll leave it at that.

Its 5 p.m. that makes my total round trip time up Ben Nevis and back just shy of 8 hours. Just like a full day of work! On a Sunday no less! As Jimmy sings, “God I do love this job so!”

MJF

The Forrest Family in Scotland

Amsterdam, The Netherlands 4/21/07

2007-05-03T08:57:00.001-04:00

It’s morning here in Amsterdam. A cool crisp day and when I went out for a run at about 7:30 a.m. I could see my breath. By the end of a few laps around Vondelpark, and a figure 8 or two on the many beautiful paths that cut in and out through the center, the visual reminder of my breathing was gone and the sun was growing in intensity. It will be another great day in Amsterdam just like the last 3 days have been here, for both environmental conditions and also cultural experiences.

Before I get to the aspects of Amsterdam that most tourists talk about let me start by saying it’s a beautiful city. It is without a doubt a favorite of my travels. With the curving streets, canals, cyclists, flowers in bloom, beautiful parks, historic architecture, and even a random windmill, there are no shortages of amazing views and photographs to been seen and taken.

Vondelpark in particular was a favorite place of mine and I’ll dedicate at least a paragraph to it because I don’t think I have any pictures of it. I did have two gorgeous runs there though so there are a few dozen images burned into my memory. Spring has only recently arrived here so not all the flowers are in bloom yet but the lush green grass and tall trees are patiently waiting for them and when they do I think the park will look even more amazing. The thought of which is hard to imagine.

Amsterdam has also restored my tolerance, and hope, for museums. We visited the Van Gogh Museum and enjoyed it immensely. It’s a light, airy museum that even made Van Gogh's early darker work seem a little less bleak. The crowds were there but moved steadily and less chaotic than Florence.

You could also get real close to the paintings. There was just a little chord that kept the orderly crowd back about 2.5 feet from the art. You could see the layers of paint, the brush strokes, the melting of colors. By the time we got to his more famous, recognizable pieces I was already impressed. Vincent you are now officially my favorite painter! There wasn’t one before you but I know I’ll always feel a little impressed from now on when I see one of your paintings. Having a song written about you by Don McLean doesn’t hurt either.

I did notice that my standard “I” changed to a “we” in the last couple paragraphs. Yes, another friend joined the adventure for a day, another Backpacker friend from Thailand, Floor. She is from The Netherlands and lives in Antwerp. When she got the update that I would be in the neighborhood we made plans to meet up. She took an early train to Amsterdam on Friday and gave me a crash course on the culture of the Old Grand Duchy.

I had a great time in Amsterdam before Floor arrived but looking back on my days here it is clear things just escalated each day. My final full day in town, with Floor, was Amazing! Not since Beijing heave I had a day of such fun cultural experiences none of which were described in a guide book. I’m getting ahead of myself though, lets back up to day one in Amsterdam.

I’m staying at a fun hostel called The Flying Pig, Uptown. I settled in quick and found a grocery store for some home cooked meals over my short stay. They have a cozy kitchen with one big table in the center where everyone eats. It’s functional as well as very conducive to making friends. By the end of my salad I had met two girls from Finland (Millna & Minja) and a guy from Quebec. We called him John but I think his name was something more French sounding that he didn’t feel like explaining. By the time I finished my lasagna we were all heading for a pint in the bar connected to the kitchen. Another Canadian guy, Mike from Alberta, who was sleeping in the bed below mine, also joined us. Just like that another group of friends was created.

My previous nights in Cologne were pretty late and expensive, and knowing I had two more nights in Amsterdam, I had decided upon arrival that I would lay low the first evening. I’m proud to say I stuck to my original intention even though that still meant hanging at the downstairs bar until 1 a.m. When the gang decided to hit the town I went to bed. A technical victory for discipline!

Looking back on this decision I have no regrets even though it put me on an opposite schedule of my new friends. After my full day of sightseeing on day two I was ready to hit the town that night. The hostel gang instead spent most of the day recovering from the night before and weren’t up for back to back Amsterdam nights. This time after a few pints at the Flying Pig Bar I headed out on the town and they stayed. Flying solo into the Red Light District of Amsterdam at 10 p.m., it’s the perfect setting for a classic story and as expected the circumstances needed for that story just seemed to unfold in front of me.

My plan was to stroll around the district and see what this legendary area of sin looked like at night. I had already wandered through the area earlier in the day so I had an idea of what to expect. To provide a brief description, it is like a physically cleaner, nicer, version of the French Quarter in New Orleans without having the Bible belt above it. Another comparison would be its like Las Vegas without the corporations. And the stuff from the back room in Vegase moved, literally, to the front window.

I figured I would have a beer or two and then head back to the Leides Plein area near my hostel to wrap up the night. It’s a short tram ride from my hostel, about 15 minutes, to where I wandered into the District and by the time I got there I needed to use a restroom. A lot of information I know but it provides the motivation that led me into my classic night.

On the very edge of what would lead into the Red Light District I saw a nice bar with tons of people on the second floor. The windows were open and you could tell by the singing, yelling, and dancing it was a good time. Perfect I thought. Go to the bathroom and have a beer before heading into the chaos.

The ground floor of the bar was quiet and it took me a minute to find the door to the stairs that led up. I walked right past a doorman that I didn’t notice at first. He gave me a second look but didn’t say anything so I kept on going. I checked the restroom off of my To Do list and headed into the bar area for a beer.

The place was packed! It was wall to wall people. I even had to knock on the French doors that separated the restroom hallway from the bar and get a few people to move so I could squeeze into the place. It felt like a bar from my freshman college year, only full of people in their mid to upper 20’s rather than hovering very close to the 18 to 20 range. The music was straight up rock and roll at a volume just above loud but below offensive. The lights were turned low but not off. The neon beer signs provided the only other lighting effects you needed. The windows were open but it was still hot and humid inside. Not a club but a proper bar. I was happy.

I smiled at strangers like they were old friends as I made my way to the bar at the short end of the rectangular room. I shouted “lager” at the waiting bartender and he poured me a half pint. When I handed him a 5 Euro note he looked at the other bartender, said something to him, then turned back to me. As he handed me my money back he said “It’s free, compliments of the Association.” I gave a quick thanks and made my way back into the crowd before whoever “The Association” was realized I didn’t deserve their compliments.

I found a spot to lean against the wall and sat back to soak up the atmosphere. There was a lot of yelling/singing (a style I know a thing or two about) and dancing going on to my right. I was standing in more of the chatting suburbs but there was no gap in the crowd between the two areas.

Still thinking about my free beer and taking in my surroundings I quickly got the feeling this was more of a party rather than just a bar. I made some eye contact with a couple girls standing in a cluster of a few guys and other girls and leaned in to make a comment. One of the girls leaned an ear my way and I said, “Is this some kind of party?”
“What do mean?”
“Everyone seems to know each other.”
“No, we don’t. Aren’t you a dental student?”
“No. Why?”
“We are. Aren’t you with the European Dental Student Association?”

Instantly I flashed back to my arrival in the pub. The downstairs was dead. The door I found had a chalkboard on the outside that said “Edsa” with an arrow pointing up. I just thought Edsa was a Dutch word I didn’t know. If I let signs I couldn’t read stop me I would never get anywhere.

When I cruised by the doorman in a rush to find a pisser I probably looked like any other dental student that knew where they were going. Another great example of if you act like you belong there people generally won’t hassle you.

I had crashed a party of European Dental Students in Amsterdam with an open bar! Score!
My new EDSA friend didn’t care that I had crashed the party and she introduced me to her friends. It was loud so just a name and hand shake were exchanged. I headed to the bar for another round and now with confidence in my surrounding ordered 5 beers. Up came 5 white ales and I took the round back to my new friends after giving only a “thanks” to the bartender.
The more I hung out with my new dental friends the more I talked with each one. As word spread through our small group that I was not a dental student they all loved it! The fact that I was just an American Backpacker that wandered upstairs was a big hit. I received many pats on the back and several rounds of “Prosit!” (cheers) in my honor.

My friends were actually students from Amsterdam and when they asked me what I thought of the Red Light district I told them I still didn’t really know. “This is the first bar I’ve been to outside of my hostel.”
“The first bar in Amsterdam you walked into had free beer?! You are one lucky man!”
“Ya, I’ve heard that before.” There was no sense trying to explain my thoughts on karma to him in this setting.

As the free rounds of beers kept coming the night rolled into high gear. They taught me to sing along to popular Dutch bar songs like “Gedeng Gedeng” and we all sang arm and arm to standard bar classics like Living on a Prayer, again, not much different from my freshman bar days.

The EDSA party wrapped up at about 1 a. m. My new group of friends, whose names were all gone by the time I started writing this entry days later, had thined down some by the end. Left were 2 guys, 2 girls, and me. I asked one of the guys if we were going to head into the District for another bar. He said they were all going to a student bar they hang out at every Thursday that’s not far from here. “You should come along!” one of the guys said. A chance to hang out in a college bar with local students sounded like a lot more fun than wandering the Red Light District alone so it was a pretty easy decision.

The “not far from here” bar was actually about a 20 minute walk from where we were and as we turned down one street after another I made a mental note to save enough money for a cab ride home because I had no idea where I was.

We arrived at “Café GiGi” and I followed the guys in to find their other friends. We had lost the girls on the walk as they dragged behind talking to some Swedes. They arrived about 10 minutes after us with a few of the Swedes and joined us. I kind of chuckled as they introduced me to the Swedes like I was just one of the gang.
“So you are an American. Are you going to dental school in Amsterdam?” they asked.
“Nope, Just a random backpacker that met these people about 3 hours ago.”

The Swedes spoke perfect English but I could see the confusion on their faces as they tried to make sure they understood everything I had said.

Me and one of my dental buddies started to squeeze are way to the bar. It was crowded but my friends knew the bartender and we got the “What do you need?” look while we were still a row away from the bar. I held up 5 fingers figuring that would at least cover the corp group. The Swedes could fend for themselves. As the bartender was pouring our order we finally made it to the bar front row just when the manger turned down the music and jumped up on a case of beer bottles. He shouted for everyone’s attention and slowly a wave of “Hey shut up!" moved its way across the small crowded bar until most people were paying attention.

He said, “I would like to thank all of you dental students for making it a great semester! You have made Thursday night amazing!” Each sentence was followed by cheers like it was a State of the Union address only far more sincere….from both parties. He continued, “And to show my appreciation….FREE BEER FOR EVERYONE!!” There was much rejoicing.

I have been in a lot of small crowded bars in my day and no one has ever announced free beer to the masses. I am very proud to say that when it did happen I was standing in the best possible spot! The bartender showed up with my previous 5 and said “Anything else?”
I replied, “Ya, 5 more!”
“I thought that was what you were going to say.”

My first full night out in Amsterdam lasted until about 3:30 a.m. and I spent a total of 10 Euros. I didn’t even have to catch a cab. When I left the bar the first corner I went to for a cab had a tourist map sign. Turns out I was only 3 blocks from my hostel. I smiled the short walk home. I think I used up a lot of good karma that night. I better start finding more ways to make up for it!

Floor arrived the next morning and by 11a.m we were at the Van Gogh Museum. My day of Dutch culture, both old and new, had begun.

After Van Gogh we were heading to the Anne Frank House (which is kind of hard to find! HA!) but we got sidetracked into a Madame Tussaude wax museum instead. I was skeptical at first. They are legendary for being very touristy. However with Floor it was a blast. We posed for pic’s with a few of the figures and made fun of the rest.

We never made it to the Anne Frank House or even Rembrandt's House, like I had originally planned but I really don’t care. I can do those things with any tour book. With my personal Dutch guide I dove into more random cultural things, most specifically food. We had a few pints and then I tried a krokett from a mobile cart. Floor explained that it is basically a baked or deep friend meat roll with some sort of breading around it. The insides were gooey though and when I asked Floor what kind of meat it was she said “We don’t like to think about that and I suggest you do the same.”

Ahhh, one of those delicacies, we have plenty of those in the States. I should have known when she described them as one of her Dads favorite things to eat….especially after a few beers.

A few pints later it was time for my second Fear Factor trial; pickled herring. Floor bought me the Dutch treat from one of a dozen street stands that offered them. It was pure raw herring, de-boned, pickled somehow, sprinkled with chunks of raw onions, and, the best part to my taste buds, was garnished with a dill pickle slice. You hold it by the tail and chew it down like a seal that just honked the right horn. Yum!

Yep, it tastes about as good as it sounds. Not horrible mind you but one was enough for this lifetime. Before I tried it Floor said it was like sushi. Mental note I need to take Floor out for some good sushi sometime because I don’t think she is getting the same kind of sushi that I am.

My traditional Netherlands dinner made up for my snacks though. Floor got directions to a traditional Dutch place and walked me through the menu options. I had a dish that I think is called a stoofpot with sausage and sauerkraut, and a couple Heinekens of course. It was delicious! Floor even called the waitress over to see if she could get the manger to play “Gedeng Gedeng” for me. There were a few chuckles at the odd request but a couple minutes later on came my new favorite Dutch song.

Floor and I enjoyed more laughs through dinner and afterwards, right up until she caught the train back to Antwerp at about 10 p.m. I hopped the tram back to my place and after only a couple days in the City felt less like a tourist and more like a local. I liked Amsterdam on day one but thanks to my dental student friends and Floor I now love Amsterdam!

MJF

Cologne, Germany 4/18/07

2007-04-26T16:38:00.002-04:00

It’s another one of those entries where I’m leaving one town and heading to another but I know I have to make some time to write about the great experiences I have had in the last week. I leave in about an hour for Amsterdam and I’m sure I will have plenty to write about there, and even less time devoted to writing it down. So where do I begin today?

I should probably back up and talk about last weekend in Frankfurt first, definitely one of the highlights of the trip and a true example of why I love traveling. Last fall when I was wandering East Asia I arrived into Koh Phangan and random circumstances turned a stranger into another good friend. I was packed in a mini-bus with about a dozen other Backpackers heading to Hat Rin beach from the ferry dock. As we literally bounced down and around dirt roads the driver would stop at various times and point people to which path would lead to their respective bungalows. When he yelled out what sounded similar to “Paliti Lodge”, where my reservation was, I signaled with a “Yep”.

To get out of one of those mini-busses usually requires most of the other people to get out also. As the driver was getting my pack off the top and everyone else was piling back in, one of them turned to me and said. “I don’t have a reservation anywhere. Do you know if your place has vacancies?”

“No I don’t but you’re more than welcome to come check it out.” I replied.
“Yes, I think I will. It’s as good as any place to start.”

The random Backpacker was Manuel, from Germany, and he booked a bungalow two shacks behind mine and just that easily I had a drinking buddy for the next 5 days in Koh Phangan and eventually other spots in Thailand and Cambodia when our paths crossed again. Five months later when I e-mailed him to tell him I would be in Germany he insisted I pass through Frankfurt and stay with him for a weekend.

Manuel and his girlfriend, Diana, live on the North side of Frankfurt. A small apartment like you would expect any young professional couple in their 20’s in a major city to live. We went out for a traditional German dinner on Friday night and I was introduced to Apfelwein, a regional drink that I really liked, especially the sweet kind. Afterwards it was a late night in the Frankfurt bars.

Diana serving breakfast....I thought I was at a B&B!

The big treat came on Saturday. After a tour of Frankfurt’s historical areas, Manuel and I met Chris (McMahon, from the Rome entry) and his fiancé, Heather, at the train station. Heather is in the Army and is stationed outside of Frankfurt. In fact this was her first weekend back after about 6 months in Iraq.

The weather in Germany has been gorgeous. “Springtime in Germany.....” as the Nazis would probably be singing; not a cloud in the sky with temperatures in the mid-70’s. I enjoy it but the locals are going absolutely nuts over it, like most locals do when it’s clear that winter is officially over. Manuel and Diana were no different and thought it would be a great weekend for a barbeque. They invited a few of their friends over along with Chris and Heather. It was the perfect melting of worlds together. A frat buddy from SIU and a backpacking buddy from Thailand. The world continues to shrink at an ever increasing pace….and I love it!

Seven of us filled the small apartment balcony, the beer was iced down in the bathtub, and Diana prepared enough food to feed twice as many people. To all my meat loving BBQ friends you would have been in heaven. The Germans are true carnivores. The food was delicious and I ate steady for a couple hours; one of those occasions where you are full but you still find yourself eating chips and cheese that are on the table in front of you and you don’t know why.

Manuel the German Grill Master

Of course the best part wasn’t the food or even the beer (which was top notch by the way) it was the mingling of cultures. Heather told stories of what it’s like to live in Baghdad. Chris told stories about what it’s like to live in Naples. Manuel and his friends told stories about what it’s like to grow up in Germany, which I found really interesting.

For the most part there wasn’t much difference to growing up in the States. We covered everything from 80’s fads and bad/classic TV shows to school. As you can imagine history class in Germany could be a delicate subject. Manuel said they are basically just taught the facts. What happened and most importantly why it happened. I won’t dive into a history lesson starting at World War One but that’s what we discussed. It was a very interesting discussion and it was pretty easy to see some similarities today in world affairs. The recipe for tyrannical regimes to flourish is a pretty easy one to figure out.

I left Frankfurt on Sunday afternoon and arrived in Cologne a couple hours later, after just deciding to go to Cologne about 24 hours prior. I love having a rail pass, and the flex time to use it. I can’t thank Manuel and Diana enough for my weekend in Frankfurt. They wouldn’t accept any money after keeping me full on food and beer for two days. I hope I get the chance to repay their kindness somewhere down the road.

Manuel, Heather, and Chris

Cologne has been a relaxing time. I have a good hostel right in the center of town; 2 blocks from the train station which also makes it about 2 blocks from the HUGE cathedral. The Hohe Domkirche St. Peter und Maria, as it's officially named, really is an awesome building. The size is overwhelming but so is the intricacy of the Gothic design and ornaments. I can’t imagine how they build something like it. I paid my 2 euro’s and climbed the narrow spiral staircase to the top. The view at the top was nice but I was more impressed with seeing the weight of the structure at that height. The bells alone were huge.

Front door......side door!

.......finally at the top. A view of one of the steaples.

I did some research on line about gyms in the area on the Sunday night I arrived in town. So on Monday as I wandered around checking on prices I saw a lot more of the City. I eventually found the best deal at the one closest to my hostel which was very convenient. It was a great gym too. I bought a pass for the week which was a little expensive but a better deal than the single day passes and looking back I think I got my money’s worth. It even had another Wellness section that I took full advantage of one morning after a late night and lots of Kolsh beer.

On Monday night I made some friends at the hostel café and after a few beers there we headed out on the town. My new Backpacker friends were Chris and Kat from Canada, Eric and Vince from L.A., and Claudia from Berlin. We hit the town pretty late on a Monday night so we had to make our own fun at most of the bars.

Our loud, English speaking, table attracted the attention of one particular, self diagnosed drunk, German at bar number 2. He just came over and sat down with us and said “I like to speak English too.” So he proceeded to do just that, mostly directed at the girls of course. Some things are universal and I respected his intro line, flying solo no less.

The drunken guys name was Phil and he was pretty fun to hang with for awhile. He did provide me with a quote that I will laugh at and probably think of often back in the States. Eric and I were debating getting a kabob on the walk back when Phil broke away from hitting on the girls to say in a thick, slurred, German accent “I would kill for soft taco supreme!” Eric and I almost spit out our beer. Phil then began to reminisce about his year as an exchange student in California and then complain that of all the American franchises in Germany he was very upset that Taco Bell had not made it here yet. It’s a good thing Phil has never sampled Labamba’s. I’m afraid he would never leave the Mid-West.

My Hostel friends.....and Phil dreaming of a Soft Taco Supreme.

It’s time to head to the train station now; directly to track 5 and the fantastic first class car of the ICE train, the nicest train I have traveled on in Europe. Maybe I should have shaved today?

MJF

Freiburg, Germany 4/13/07

2007-04-18T04:06:00.002-04:00

I love a college town! Could be because until I was about 18, college towns, namely Champaign and Carbondale, were the only world I knew. With the exception of the small towns around Champaign and the occasional trip to Chicago. The Rough Guide had said Freiburg was a “University Town” but I had forgotten that fact. I was coming here because it was a good base for exploring the Black Forest but as soon as I wandered out of the train station I could immediately tell I was in a college town…and I loved it!

On the short tram ride and walk to my hostel I took note of everything; lots of cool looking cafes, bars, and shops; band and party fliers stuck to every wall, pole, or even a few trees. Add to that some old fashioned German feel; cobble stone roads, gullies of water flowing next to the streets, medieval towers and walls that the streets and tram lines now run right through. Top it all off with lots of people on bikes. There were sporty folks on new mountain bikes with full suspensions. There were old ladies on old bikes with a basket on the front. There was every walk of life all riding a bike. The bike paths and roads were busier with cyclists than they were with cars.

I’m also not sure how to describe it but there is a definite Earthy feel here too. I must have passed at least a dozen camping outfitters. I have never been to Boulder, CO but this is how I have pictured it, only German.

My time in Florence wrapped up well enough but I’ll admit I was ready to leave. I liked the city. It’s just not the kind of place that drives my passions. My last day there started off as planned. I hit the Museum de Accademia. I got there early, about 8:30 a.m. which was the published opening time of the museum. I still waited in line, outside against graffiti covered walls, for 90 minutes. When I finally got inside there was hordes of tour bus people all following different little flags. I paid my 6,50 eu and plowed through, skipping the audio tour option.

Once inside the actual museum things became a little less herd like. I meandered from one dark, dramatized, picture from the Bible after another and tried to find something “I liked” or at least appreciated but I’ll admit it didn’t happen. As for the statue of David, it was bigger than I thought it was going to be. How about that? The Mona Lisa was smaller than I imagined and the statue of David was bigger than I imagined. I guess I only have a medium sized imagination. Once I saw the little tour guide flags making their way around the corner towards David I knew it was time to keep moving.

The rest of my day didn’t go as planned. By the time I got to the Duomo and the Uffizi the lines were crazy long! We are talking 2 to 3 hours to get into the Uffizi. You can refer to my thoughts on the line at St. Peters in Rome for what I think of 3 hour long lines. Instead I headed for the Church of Santa Croce. Now that place I liked and not just because there wasn’t any lines. The church itself is beautiful just architecturally. Inside are the tombs and monuments to most of Italy’s greatest citizens like Galileo, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, etc.

The line for the Duomo and Galileo's Tomb in Santa Croce

I wrapped up my day hanging out in the gardens at the Giardino di Boboli. I wandered through the entire place, up the big hill and down. I eventually found a good spot under a tree that was shaded just enough and laid down to read for awhile. Now that’s the way to enjoy Florence in my world!

My train ride from Florence to Freiburg was my longest travel day of the trip thus far; 7 a.m. to about 7 p.m. and three different connections. For the most part it was a very enjoyable day. I love train travel, always have really. I loved taking it home from school in the SIU days. I loved taking it to Chicago, Memphis, New Orleans, basically any of the stops on the famed City of New Orleans train. Of course no train reminiscing would be complete without a second or two to remember the time MJ and I hopped a freight train. Coincidentally that was about the same length of time as the trip from Italy to Germany. The similarity probably ends there. Both were great rides but 12 hours in a first class car listening to my iPod as the gorgeous Swiss landscape rolled by is a different trip than a loud, noisy, dirty, cold night in an open box car cruising up Florida towards Georgia.

I enjoyed my Swiss section of the train ride immensely. I didn’t even break out a book or the lap top. I just stared out the window for probably 5 hours. I covered some of the same section of rail that I did going down to Italy so it was nice to recognize a certain villa or mountain. It was a nice way to spend the day. 113 of 10,719 songs shuffled through on the trusty iPod and when I arrived in Freiberg it felt like I had just left Italy.

Lazy travel days are nice but yesterday in Freiburg was really my kind of perfect day. I hiked through the Black Forest for half the day; ate lunch by a mountain lake looking up at the snow covered peak from where I started; found my way through the rolling German country side in time to catch a train back to Freiburg; wrapped up the day with a great dinner and a cold beer in a bar with posters of upcoming, and past, band performances (there was a cool picture of The Ramones standing outside the same door that I walked through). The only drawback to the day was that there was no band last night. It was soccer night.

My hike was amazing! I got some tips on places to go from the guy at the front desk of my hostel. That led me to the train station where I got more directions on how to get to where he suggested. 50 minutes later I arrived in Feldberg. From there I got the help of a bus driver that gave me a free ride 20 minutes up the road to where I could buy a map. My last bit of help came from the lady at the gift shop that sold me the map and pointed out where we were now located on the map. I bought a sandwich from the deli counter, ate half of it, and put the other half in my pack for later to go along with my trail mix, banana, and water. Off I went into the Black Forest.

The trail system in the forest is very well marked. Almost like an Interstate for mountain bikers, hikers, and, in the winter, cross country skiers. At various intersections there are sign posts that tell you the direction and distance to various other points. For the most part it’s very easy to follow. That of course doesn’t mean you can’t get lost which I managed to do a litle bit.

My helpful Bus Driver and my starting point in Feldberg

A quote I learned in Utah just popped in my head. “If you have no place to be and no time to be there you can never be lost.” I guess I wasn’t lost then… even a little.

Starting off at Feldberg, which is home to the highest peak in the Black Forest, meant there was still snow on the ground. It was a bright sunny day though so it wasn't cold and hiking at a decent pace keeps you pretty warm in addition to the sun. It’s always a treat when you can hike in a forest, through 3 inches of snow, in short sleeves.

It was mostly downhill and an easy trail to follow to get to my lunch spot, Lake Feldsee. Wow, what a gorgeous spot; almost a perfect circle of water, reflecting the cliffs and trees that surround it. There was a big flat rock sticking out of the water about 3 feet from the shore and I hopped over to it to relax. I felt like I was in a Bob Ross painting. I could hear his hypnotic voice talking as he painted my view. “Maybe a happy little hiker is going to stop on this rock and eat his lunch. Ya, maybe. It’s all up to you in your world.”

Me at Feldsee and a shot of the Black Forest from the trail.

Sitting there eating my lunch I was so happy. No lines! No audio guides! No tour group flags! No crowded sidewalks! It’s now obvious that I’ll take a mountain lake over a museum any day of the week. I tried to be cultured. It just didn’t take. I’ll keep trying of course. I’m not running off to write my own Walden just yet.

After lunch is where my hike got a little interesting. I’m not sure where I lost the trail that I thought I was on but I did. My nice intersection sign posts were nowhere to be found. Oh well! I pulled out the compass and kept following the trail that was going in the direction that I wanted to be going. At the occasional clearing I would check my location through the topographic features on the map and the landscape around me. It was just like I learned in the Boy Scouts years ago and practiced again last June at survival school in Utah. Ahhh, applied knowledge! I love it!

I even had to do a little bush whacking which is pretty easy to do in the Black Forest because it’s mostly pines and not chocked with ground foliage. The trail that I was following was suddenly closed for I think logging. I couldn’t read the sign, it was in German of course, but the temporary orange barrier fence that went across the trail with a red and white sign punctuated with exclamation points made it very clear in any language that the trail was closed. The roar of a chainsaw and falling trees in the distance quickly stopped any thought of going over or around it.

When I finally emerged about 2 km later on to the main trail I was filled with a great sense of pride. I was actually even a kilometer closer to my destination than I thought I would be. Eventually the forest ended and I walked the final 3 km on rolling country roads, through small farms with cows looking at me, and chickens behind little wire cages. When I saw the town of Hinterzarten at the bottom of a big green hill I stopped for one last break to finish off my food. According to my map I had hiked around 15 km. My legs were sore but I felt great. It’s odd to be physically tired yet feel great. I love that feeling. I sang JT’s “Country Road” in my head as I strolled into town and hopped the train back to Freiburg.

It’s time to move on again. Today I head to Frankfurt and meet up with my friend Manuel. I’m staying with him and his girlfriend for the weekend and I’m pretty excited about it. (I have a free place to stay in Germany from a guy I met in Thailand! How did I get here? I’m a long way from Philo now….but I still know how to get back.)

MJF

Pisa, Italy 4/9/07

2007-04-13T08:04:00.002-04:00

I am sitting against a wall in the Piazza del Duumo, as the sign here says or the Campo dei Maracoli as the Rough Guide calls it. Either way there is a cathedral between me and the famous tower. I found a quiet patch of lawn void of tourist for about 20 meters in each direction. There is just some cooing pigeons and me.

It is an overcast day which kind of takes away from the photogenic appeal of such a famously photographed spot. I only snapped a couple of the tower before I had a feeling of satisfaction. “Ok, got it. What’s next?”

The lean of it is kind of fun, especially when you get close to the base. I was disappointed to see the guide wires attached to its sides though, feels like cheating to me. Half the fun should be never knowing if it’s going to fall over. I’m sure the local CVB would disagree with me. I am still debating on buying a ticket to climb it. Very odd for me I know. It costs 15 Euros though and my gut tells me it’s just not worth it. Maybe after lunch and a café (espresso) I’ll change my mind.

Today is just a day trip over to Pisa. I am actually staying in Florence, or as the Italians call it Firenze. I’m still confused on why if the Italians call it Firenze, and it’s Italian, we call it Florence. It s like that with many of the Italian cities though so “when in Rome…”, while I am in Italy it will be Firenze. When I leave it will go back to being Florence. I doubt the residents will ever feel the difference.

Speaking of Rome that is where I spent this past weekend; 4 days, 3 nights wandering day and night through the dirty streets of Rome. That dirt thing goes for Florence and Pisa too. I can’t get over how dirty things are here in Italy. I miss Switzerland. My stop off in Lugano, Switzerland, after Zurich, turns out to be the perfect melting point.

Lugano from on top of San Salvatore

It’s technically in Switzerland so it’s still very clean and well maintained but it’s so close to Italy everyone speaks Italian and the menus also reflect the culture shift. I’m really glad I stopped there and not just because of the great hike I had to the top of San Salvatore. Lugano is turning out to be my favorite Italian city despite its technical geographical location.

Rome was a lot of fun mainly because I finally had a friend to hang out with. My world traveling federal agent friend Chris McMahon has lived in Naples now for a couple years. When I started planning this little trip to Europe, meeting up with him was one of the few things I knew for sure that I wanted to do. I would have liked to get down to Naples but I only have two months in Europe and lots to see so Chris suggested we just meet in Rome.

Much like London and Paris I pretty much saw all the main highlights in Rome but didn’t feel the need to wander through every museum or church including the basilica of St. Peter. Plus I should mention I was there on Easter weekend, Good Friday to be exact. Kind of a popular time to be there I found out. We wandered into Vatican City and the Piazza San Pietro and the line to get in the Basilica was longer than any que I have ever seen. I never saw the end of it. If I’m going to wait in a line that long there better be a concert waiting for me at the end of it and I don’t think the Pope does much rocking out. Well not on Easter Weekend at least.

Chris in Piazza San Pietro

I was more interested in Rome’s pre-Christian stuff anyway so disappointment didn’t cross my mind. I invested my tour money and time on the Colosseum, Palatine Hill, and the Forum. I really liked them, especially Palatine Hill, and feel happy with my tour guide investment.
Looking back at Rome, the main highlight for me though was just hanging out with a good friend. Telling old stories and making new ones as we wandered from one thing to the next. Basically they were places I would have seen if Chris was with me or not so having him there is what made it different.

Almost everyone I meet that has ever been to Rome or Italy in general, talks about how great the food is. I would agree with them and again thank Chris for making that a reality for me. I’m sure the eating experience is not nearly as good without good company.
We had some great meals. Whether it was just a Panini from a mobile cart or a 3 course dinner in the Campo dei Fiori the food and drink were excellent. My older age has brought me an appreciation of the espresso. I enjoy one at any time of day but I really find one after a meal to be top notch. In the States only your nicer restaurants have it available. Jillian can vouch for how many times I have been shot down trying to order an espresso after dinner. In Italy it’s pretty much standard everywhere and I love it!

Of course there were many cold beers drank too and with the help of a nice siesta on each day Chris and I had a couple late nights hitting the bars of Rome which is probably where most of the new stories were created. We made bar friends from Iowa to Europe. I found out Italians can either be really nice or really stuck up, just like the rest of the world. Most notably I learned that Slovakians can be hilarious and carry really good candy bars!

The distinct smell of pot just drifted past me. I think the three dudes down the wall to my left are using this spot like they were behind the Shop in high school. I wonder if the tower leans more if you are high. Maybe it appears straight and all the other buildings start to lean? Alas, I’ll never know.

Tomorrow is my big museum and tour day in Firenze. I’m planning on waking early and tackling the Galleria degali Uffizi, del Duomo, the Santa Croce Church, and also to the Gallerie del Accademia. I’ll probably hit that one first in an attempt to beat the crowds all heading to the same thing I am, a statue “people” tell me is a masterpiece but probably one that will look just as nice as some lawn statues I’ve seen. It’s Michelangelo’s’ “David” and it lives in Florence and it’s just one of the things that I know I have to see. Kind of like the tower, leaning on the other side of this church in front of me. I’m not sure why but am I more excited to see Galileo’s grave at Santa Croce than I am to see “David”.

I arrived in Firenze yesterday so I have already wandered a bit. All the hostels were full, not a good sign for things to come at the museums I’m afraid, so I had a hotel room last night and are moving to a cheaper place today. Last night’s 115 Euro evening was an OK place. An old hotel right on the River Arno, but I think my money all went to the view. I should have just slept out on the balcony.

My goal when I left Rome was to work most of Easter Sunday. I was spending the money on the hotel room with Wi-Fi so I should take advantage of it and rest the tourist legs for a day. 20 minutes into my 24 hour investment of internet time it was obvious their system wasn’t working correctly. The inept staff at check in were no help and the manager was just as confused. “We have had this problem before. I will call the service. It should work again by Tuesday.” So much for my work day. I tried!

It was a beautiful late afternoon and I used the last 3 hours of sunlight to wander from the Piazza de Republica to the Piazza Del Pitti and from the Pointe Della Vittoria Bridge to the Pointe Vechhcio Bridge. I hung out for awhile on the Pointe Vecchio and watched the sun set. I took note of the famed bust of Cellini and more specifically the railing that surrounds it where lovers use padlocks as symbols of their bond, lock them on the surrounding fence, and then throw the key in the river. There weren’t many locks on the fence. Either they recently cleaned it off or there is far less love in the world than I thought. I’m hoping it’s the first reason but that would probably make that little fence the first thing I have seen them clean in Italy.

It’s getting close to lunch time. I better go find a window with some Panini’s I can recognize. A Panini, aqua naturaly, and a gelato; it’s another Italian lunch for me. Maybe I’ll even get a double scoop of gelato today with different flavors. Such tough decisions I have to make these days!!

MJF

Zurich, Switzerland 2/4/07

2007-04-10T16:22:00.001-04:00

42.195 kilometers done in 3 hours and 53 minutes. The marathon that has taken up many of my thoughts for the last month is finally done! I have mixed emotions about it. On one side I’m again disappointed that I did not improve. I actually got worse. More specifically, I’m disappointed that I lacked the focus and discipline to improve. However there is nothing in the last few months, and especially in the last 10 days, that I would change so I should probably try to learn something from just that.

On the other side, knowing what condition I had left myself in for this race, I am very happy with my performance. I started to worry last Thursday night about how bad I felt and it lasted right up to race day on Sunday. I knew there was a 5 hour cut off. I’ve never walked a marathon before and I don’t know if you can walk it in under 5 hours. Frankly I wasn’t even sure I could walk 42 kilometers. That’s a new feeling compared to the previous 6 marathons that I have done, including even the first. I always knew I could finish. This time I didn't know. I just didn’t know what my body was going to feel like after a mile, let alone 15, or 20, or so on.

I’m fond of telling people that anyone can run a marathon. “It’s mind over body.” I say. “You just keep putting one foot in front of the other and eventually you’re there.” I think I proved this theory, to myself at least, yesterday when I completed the run.

My legs hurt the entire way, most specifically my left hip and what I call my Skiing Souvenir. If I had been on a training run I would have stopped after a mile and rested for a week but it was race time. No more time to rest. So I bit my lip and put one foot in front of the other.

The event itself was a great experience. There was about 5,000 runners, including 33 other Americans though I didn’t meet any. The course was great! It was very fluid with not many right angle turns. Narrow, cobble streets grew and curved into wide riverside drives and went through several of the small towns on the outskirts of Zurich. There were great crowds in each town, some with traditional Swiss bands and large cowbells, others with modern DJ’s or bands. I laughed for a kilometer at the Swiss cover band playing “Highway to Hell”.

All the fans, and homemade signs, used the phrase “Hopp, Hopp”. I think it means run or something like it. It was very catchy and I soon found more strength when people would see my name printed on my bib number and yell “Mathew. Hopp Hopp, Hopp, Hopp!” When I started the race I kept saying “Slow and steady, slow and steady” in an attempt to remind myself that the tortoise wins the race. I’m not sure at which kilometer it changed but by the end of the race my mind just kept saying “Hopp, hopp, hopp, hopp….”

Now that is enough time, energy, and ink dedicated to this one obsession. The legs and body are sore but I will recover and there will be new marathons. The medal will go in the pack and eventually in the trunk. It’s done and I’m glad but I am more pleased for having accomplished it. The reward always seems to be in the journey for me.

OK, confession time: I’m sitting in a Starbucks. I know, I know, I’m a bad traveler. There are plenty of cafes and coffee shops around that aren’t American cookie cutter franchises but to defend myself, or justify to myself I suppose because not many people would really care, the area coffee shops and cafes don’t have what I need.

Today I needed:
- A LARGE, hot, espresso drink: The traditional café portions are just not enough. I needed a gluttonous American size portion!
- A “comfy” chair, couch, footstool, etc.: The traditional straight back wood or metal chairs you find in the cafes don’t make for a good 2 to 3 hour sit, even with rested legs.
- “Atmosphere”: A factor that’s hard to define and varies a little depending on my mood but today two factors jump to mind; smoke free and good music. The trusty iPod is always handy to help any café but when I walked into this Starbucks and Ray Charles was already cranked up I just smiled. I wouldn’t need the iPod today.

My time in Zurich has been nice and I do like this City; a good mix between old and new; traditional with modern conveniences. I still have more wandering of it to do today but when I leave here tomorrow, after 5 days, and with the help of the 42.195 km that the race covered, it will be safe to say I saw most of the City.

I did some shopping with the rest of the locals, and tourists, on their popular Bahnhof Strasse, in the middle class section of course. My search for a watch, one other than my running watch that I‘ve noticed really smells, stopped when shops started putting Rolexes in the windows and the store names changed to Cartier. I thought I was on a colder version of Worth Avenue.

The Pare de Platz, which the Rough Guide said was a great plaza for people watching, was just so so. I enjoyed the waterfront more for sitting on a bench and people watching. I am staying in the area called the West End. A former industrial area turned trendy, Yuppie hangout. How many times have I seen that now? As usual it was kind of cool how they didn’t change much of the structures; just stuck some restaurants in an old factory but left some of the assembly line machines. It’s different I guess but not really my style and also very expensive.

Oh, I just remembered I need to document a couple things from my last 24 hours in Interlaken last week. Wow, how could I forget?! I chuckle just thinking about these experiences.

The first was another great cultural experience. Like I said in my last entry the place I was staying also gave me a free pass to the local gym. It was a big complex divided into Health, Wellness, & Fitness. I had been to the Fitness section a couple times which consisted of your typical exercise equipment, weights, and aerobic studios.

On my last day though I was feeling beat up, and was starting to fight the cold that I am still fighting, so I thought I would try out the Wellness section. The pictures in the brochure showed a whirl pool, sauna, and other things I couldn’t translate, but all together looked like a good way to help the muscles and body start feeling better.

Much like going to a foreign grocery store I find that going to foreign gyms is also a cultural experience. Probably any place that most tourists don’t go is a cultural experience I suppose. I like to think of myself as a traveler, not a tourist, though, and I have some experience to back that title. Even with that confidence I still get nervous, or timid, and that’s how I felt entering this new “Wellness” section but plowing straight ahead none the less.

I left the locker room with my running shorts on to act as a bathing suit I also kept a T-Shirt on, not knowing what to expect when I opened the door to the Wellness area. At first I just found the pool, a large pool that is; 3 lap lanes, diving well, separate kiddy pool. It was a big room and for a minute I thought this was what the Wellness section consisted of. I probably looked a little strange with T-Shirt, shorts, and towel walking around an indoor pool a few times but that‘s what I did.

The lady at the front desk had given me an electronic key to use to get into the Wellness area and I still had not had to use it so I figured there must be something more. Eventually I found a door on the far side of the pool area with a place to use the key but still no sign clearly showing that I was heading into the Wellness area. I put the key against the censor and it beeped. I opened the door and stepped through the looking glass.

It was a smaller section; very quiet, nobody in sight, all signs in Swiss. I saw some hooks and shelves with some towels and clothes on them so I took the cue. Now just in my shorts I headed to the huge whirl pool that took up a corner of the room. The water wasn’t as hot as I would have liked it but it was surrounded by glass and with the sun shining through it felt great. I quickly found a button that turned on the bubbles and they went to work on my sore back,

I was feeling better within minutes and was smiling at how nice this place was. I couldn’t believe I was getting this from a $20 a night hostel. “This is better than any hotel I have ever stayed.” I thought. From my comfy seat in the bubbling water and sunshine I started to look around the Wellness area to see what else it offered and that’s when the cultural experience slapped me in the face. A buck naked woman walked by! No towel! No nothing! Not going in a door or something. Just walking around!

I looked away immediately like I didn’t see anything and in my mind I waited for the scream. My mind was racing...“I must be in the wrong section or something! Oh my God you idiot you are in the Women’s locker room! No the key the lady game me opened this door! Why would she give me a key to the women’s side if I wasn’t supposed to be here?” A thousand thoughts and scenarios like this raced through my mind in a matter of seconds. In my head there was commotion. Outside I was sitting dead calm, eyes closed, in the corner of a bubbling pool of water hoping the entire world never noticed me.

The scream never came though and the idea that woman just hadn’t noticed me was pretty much ruled out no matter how much I wished it was the case. She had looked right at me. So still from my comfort zone in the whirl pool I started to look around again. This time a naked dude walked by! Again I looked away immediately but, very secure in my heterosexuality, I will admit to never being happier at seeing a naked man in my life! At least I knew I was in the right area and not about to be arrested for trespassing in a women’s spa.

Eventually my bubbles stopped and I knew it was time to leave the comfy water and see what the rest of the room had to offer my development. Kind of like evolution I suppose. As I walked to the towel area, my new confident, yet still very glancing, survey of the room determined that there were probably just 3 or 4of us there, unless someone else was hiding in the sauna or behind one of the other sauna like doors with names above them that I could not translate. Now I felt a little odd having my shorts on still but they were already wet. “I leave this town tomorrow. What do I care what they think of me?” I thought to myself.

The one sign that needed no translation though was on the sauna door and it clearly showed stick figures of a man and woman with bathing suits on and “X” s clearly showing that the clothing was not allowed in the sauna. OK, here we go! I was naked in public in Japan. Time to kick it up a notch in Switzerland and go co-ed! Off came the shorts!

Being naked in that situation normally would have made me more relaxed. After all I now blended in with everyone else. Plus I didn’t know any of them. “I leave this town tomorrow. What does it matter?” I still thought to myself. However now I was embarrassed for a different reason. My “Skiing Souvenir”!

My Skiing Souvenir is a HUGE, blue, black, purple, yellow, sometimes green bruise that goes from mid way down the side and back of my left thigh and up to my waist and gets wider, and more purple, through the obvious fleshy part in the middle. In a room of naked people it would still be the first thing you noticed. I would not blend in.

I hid my bruise as best I could with my towel as I walked around form one Wellness feature to the next. However lying naked in a sauna, except for a strategically placed hand towel of course, I did catch two ladies pointing at it and grimacing a little like it actually hurt them too. “Oh well,” I thought, “I leave this town tomorrow…..”

I really enjoyed my 2 hours of naked time in the Interlaken town Wellness Center. I hit the sauna and whirlpool a couple times. A spent a little time in the vapor room which I think helped keep my cold from getting worse, and lots of time just sitting in a chez lounge in a glass enclosed sun deck, with a towel on of course. I felt better physically, spiritually, and culturally for the experience. A true traveler experience!

- Pause -

It was time to stretch the legs some and my coffee was long gone so off I wandered. A couple trams later I am now in the Old Town Section of Zurich. I’m sitting at a sunny table outside of Café Bar Annabelle, not far from the iconic Gross Munster church. Wow, what a gorgeous day!

The weather has me feeling good and so does my lunch. When you order food, never fully understanding what each word in the description means, when it arrives there is always a surprise. This time I was 80% sure I was getting a turkey bagel sandwich. I was pleasantly surprised to find a slice of pineapple on it. Very nice! That must be what “ananas” means. It’s either that or eisbergsalat”. I’m not sure what that means either but all the bagel sandwich options had it so I’m guessing it’s a spread of some sort.

This is how almost every meal goes for me. Figuring out the words I know, comparing the rest, making an educated guess, and hoping for the best. I know I could ask. Almost everyone speaks some English here in Europe but that wouldn’t be near as fun. Besides how would I learn anything? Plus I unknowingly try new things this way too. For example, I need to put pineapple on more sandwiches! Yum!

OK, back to Interlaken and time to wrap up this entry. The morning I was checking out of the great Backpackers Villa I was just getting dressed when there was a knock at the door; an odd thing when you are sharing the room with several people, in this instance with 4 South Koreans. People just walk in and out. You don’t know who is “supposed” to be there or not so you don't knock. So I was curious as I opened the door but down right surprised when I found a 3 man camera crew standing outside.

A Swiss guy that I had seen around the place a couple times, and was probably part of the staff, was there and said “Hi, we are filming a commercial for the Villa would you mind if we come in and shoot your room?”

Feeling like I had little ownership of the room, and if I did I still wouldn’t have cared, I said sure, thinking he meant “the room”. Then he says, “Great! We’ll close the door and knock again. You open it and welcome us in.”
I started laughing. “Oh, you want me in it.”
“Yes, is OK? “Ya. No problem.” I chuckled. “Just let me put on a shirt.”

“Knock, knock” on the door and my Swiss TV commercial was off and running. I felt like I was on a reality show. “Just do what you were doing,” they said. So they filmed me gathering things up to leave and packing my backpack. They loved me brushing my teeth and I gave them a little “rabid dog snarl” which is always a must when brushing your teeth on camera. They loved it so I’m sure it’s set to make the final cut.

After that I went to breakfast and then they called me back to do a staged check in and check out. It was hilarious! The film crew didn’t speak English so all their requests, or directions I should say, went through the Villa’s staff who kept apologizing when they would want me to do something a second or third time.

Of course it didn’t bother me. I’m used to it and the whole thing took about an hour on a morning when I had plenty of time to catch my train. In the end they were very appreciative and offered me a free T-Shirt and hat for my services. I don’t need to carry another T just yet so I accepted the Victorinox baseball cap and went through with my actual check out. The real payment will come when someone that knows me is randomly watching TV in Europe and sees me brushing my teeth!

I also gave the crew and staff some CD’s of The Nadas. After hanging with Jason and the guys back in February he sent me a case of CD’s to seed Europe for their eventual tour. I put as many as I could in the pack and have been handing them out to various roomies as I travel. (So far it’s mostly South Koreans so if The Nadas suddenly take off there you’ll know why.)

My lunch is done now and it’s time to move on again. One more night in Zurich and then down to a town on the Italian border called Lugano….and just when my Swiss was getting better. How do you say pineapple in Italian?
MJF

Interlaken, Switzerland 29/3/07

2007-04-10T16:16:00.001-04:00

“I was born in a small town….and I can breathe in a small town.” The big cities are nice and I love wandering them but I think my favorite spots when I travel are always the small towns. Of course “small” is a subjective term. I won’t try to quantify it. This is my book of thoughts so I’ll issue the titles as I see fit and Interlaken feels like a small town. I LOVE IT!

I loved it the minute I stepped off the train. Before I had even made it a block on the short walk to my hostel, an old guy passed me on the sidewalk and said “hello” as we passed. He gave just a “hello” and a smile, to a guy that had obviously just arrived in town. I sang that Mellencamp song in my head and smiled for the rest of the day.

I learned about Interlaken a few years ago when Dave and I were wandering through Queenstown, New Zealand. Our canyoning guide turned friend, Scotty, worked his winters in Queenstown and his summers in Interlaken.

I loved Queenstown and would put it on my very selective list of “Favorite Places In The World”. Interlaken would now be right next to it for obvious reasons. They are pretty much the same town. Scotty described Interlaken as the adventure sport capital of Europe and he was right. Seeing both cities in person now I can’t help but think that Scotty might have been the coolest person I have ever met. If I had a second life to burn I would definitely be following his career path.

It’s still the winter season here but spring is quickly rushing in. The weather has been amazing!! Every day is bright sunshine with cool air. A fleece and sunglasses are all you need. The winter season doesn’t offer all the adventure sport options that I would have liked, namely canyoning, but I’m far from disappointed. Hangliding, paragliding, canyon swings, skydiving, etc. are all still available.

My Mom will be happy though that my budget constraints on this trip have kept my feet on the ground. I debated long and hard on hang gliding today but in a rare instance the conservative side of my personality won. I decided I had splurged enough here on two full days of skiing. Well that and those two days of skiing, or rather learning how to ski, have left me physically beat up and drained.

I know, I know, probably not the wisest thing to do 3 days before a marathon but like I said, the conservative side rarely wins. Plus, I’m not sure if anyone has said this before but, bruises will fade, memories this powerful will last a lifetime! I might have to limp 26.2 miles on Sunday but I’ll have a smile on my face the whole time thinking about the 2 days I spent skiing in the Swiss Alps.

The two places I hit to ski, quite literally I’m afraid, were a short bus ride outside of Interlaken near the town of Grindelwald. After the bus it was a gondola ride to Firstbahn for day one and a train ride up the mountain to Kleine Scheidegg on the next day.

I rented pants, skis, and boots before I left town so when I hopped off the gondola there was nothing stopping me, again quite literally. I clicked on the skis and off I went. I managed to get the toes pointed enough to steer me toward a blue route. (Blue are the “easy” routes in Switzerland. Of course these are Swiss standards which seemed to mean there is nothing to hit. It has nothing to do with steepness of the run.)

Through probably sheer leg strength alone I managed to make it down my first run without killing myself, or someone else. It took about 30 minutes and my legs shook for 5 minutes after I came to a loud tumble near a restaurant area. Who knew snow could be so loud?

After a little rest and with new determination to go slow, I headed back up the ski lift. This time it took me an hour to get down but only through controlled, and some uncontrolled, wipe outs. I should point out here that I paid for two days of skiing before I even left the Villa on day one. So after two runs of impressive wipe outs and many more hours to ski I decided it was time for a lesson no matter the cost. It was a matter of protecting my investment as well as a life or death decision.

An hour with instructor Tina and I was off again. A snow plowing, tumbling, fool but I was definitely better. I improved on each run and am very proud to say that on my last run of day two I made it down without a single wipe out! Plus I made it down in 25 minutes cutting my previous runs down the same route in half. Good ol’ Blue run #22 & 24! I will never forget you! Even after you gave me the deepest bruise I have ever had. I will remember you long after it stops hurting, which is hopefully soon.

Interlaken has been more than just skiing though. I’ve had some beautiful hikes along the Aare River and Lake Brienzersee. I’m also staying at a great hostel, Backpackers Villa; nice, clean rooms, free Wi-Fi, a fully equipped kitchen, and even a membership at the town Health, Wellness, & Fitness Center. I have taken advantage of it a couple times, the Fitness part at least. Today I think I’m going to check out the Wellness side. I think they have a hot tub. Have I mentioned how sore I am?!

I’ve also saved some money this week by using the kitchen, exposing me to a new cultural experience; going grocery shopping in a foreign country and we’re not talking a little convenience store either. We are talking full size super market, or as big as they get in Interlaken.

The Swiss have 3 official languages, Swiss, German, and French. Depending what part of the country you are in determines which one is used more. Interlaken is kind of in the middle of the French/German area so it’s not uncommon to get a “Guten Tag” greeting with a “Merci” good bye.

The food labels usually have all 3 languages on them giving me more assistance on trying to figure out exactly what things are. It helped some. I figured out what ham was in a meat section where everything looked strange. I struck out on the water though and got 3 bottles of sparkling water which isn’t half bad once it goes a little flat. I guess it’s just regular water at that point, which could explain why I liked it.

My hostel hasn’t been great for making friends though. Most people stick to themselves. I have met some nice people while cooking but they have always been leaving the next day. One conversation with a young guy and girl from South Korea does stick out in my memory.

We talked about North Korea some. They don’t mind them bud don’t want re-unification because of what has happened in Germany. Basically they know it will shift resources in the South to help the stunted North. They know it’s selfish of the young to think this way but that doesn’t change what they think.

They like the U.S. but wish they got out of our shadow, politically, some. The girl told me a hilarious story that really impressed me. I won’t try to imitate her broken English accent but trust me it only gave the story more impact. She said they were recently in Copenhagen and a group of Europeans were sitting at the table next to them talking loudly. She said they were complaining about the U.S. and she wanted to interrupt them to point out that they were all wearing Nike!

That pretty much sums up most people’s feelings that I meet. They love the U.S. culture. They hate the U.S. foreign affairs. I wonder where, and why, the two became so different. It’s time to get back to “rock and roll and cola wars”.

I made some friends on the ski bus; Alex from Canada, Liz and Kate from New England. I’ve been keeping pretty quiet at night but I did meet up with Alex and Liz last night for some Rugen Brau’s at the Brassier 17 in the Happy Inn Lodge. We are supposed to meet up again tonight but I’ll admit to feeling a little worried about my current physical condition. In addition to all the sore muscles I just feel really worn down. I popped an Air Born this morning in an attempt to block off any bugs I have been susceptible to lately. Maybe this is just what getting older feels like?!

My time in Interlaken wraps up tomorrow when I hop the train to Zurich. After that it’s two days of sitting around and resting the legs. I hope that makes a difference. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
MJF

Paris, France 25/3/07

2007-04-10T15:04:00.002-04:00

I ran 20km in Paris yesterday. I had hoped it would be a memorable long run along the River Seine, past the Eiffel Tower, maybe even scoot over into the Bois de Boulogne, the City’s largest open space, according to the Rough Guide. Instead it was 20km on a treadmill looking out the window on another cold, rainy day in Paris. Thank God for iPods!

I guess it was still a memorable run though. I know I won’t forget it. Every single boring minute of it, watching figure skating on one TV or MTV dating shows on the other, is beaten into my mind. I had actually intended to do at least 25 km but then the gym manager came and told me they close at 7 p.m. on Saturday’s. “And I bet its Saturday isn’t it?” I said. “Oui,” was his only reply. I really need to start paying attention to what day it is. So at 6:45 pm I concluded I would not be getting my full run in that day. Paris had finally won.

That run fits right into how this current training cycle has gone for me. It’s been the same story for the last 8 weeks. There is always some reason why I didn’t get my miles done; snow in Chicago, events in WPB, flights every weekend, a seasonal cold that knocked out a week, blah, blah, blah. Basically the same problem I usually have, and probably in life too I suppose; focusing on one thing at a time.

I guess I should mention what this is all leading up to. I am signed up to run the Zurich Marathon, one week from today. I am really looking forward to the experience despite the disappointment in my training. I know I’ll finish. I was just hoping I would improve over my past marathons. At this point the legs just don’t feel like they should in order to maintain a PR pace so I’ve realized I’ll need to start out at a more conservative pace and hope I have a lot left in the tank at the end to maybe shave off some minutes.

OK, enough running babble, for now. I’m in Paris for crying out loud!

I have been here for the last 4 days. Before that I was in London for 3 days, 2 nights. I have seen some great historical sites but I would be lying if I said any of them really got me fired up. It has been more like places I knew I had to see but I wasn’t really passionate about them. They have all still been enjoyable experiences though.

As usual I have been on the go since I got off the plane. I’m hoping all the walking I’ve done will make up for the miles of running I’ve missed. In London I hit all the staples from Parliament, and most of the palaces, to the Tower Of London and the Tower Bridge. I rode around in a double decker bus and cruised down the Thames on a ferry. I think my favorite thing about London though was the open spaces. It has great parks! In fact the last time I remember seeing the Sun was 5 days ago when I laid down for a little nap under a tree in Kensington Gardens.

My nap spot wasn’t far from the hostel where I was staying and I was actually on my way to the Peter Pan Statue, a pilgrimage for me of sorts. It had been very cold the previous day. I guess it’s been a typical Spring in London with one week feeling close to Summer and the next closer to Winter. The blooming daffodils looked as confused as the people did when it started snowing one afternoon. So walking through the park that day I had a few layers of clothes on but with the bright Sun overhead it was downright cozy despite the occasional chilly breeze. As I passed the Round Pond the mood struck me to just lay down….so I did….one of the simple joys of wandering.

With my small backpack under my head, near a tree, a ducks quack away from Round Pond in Kensington Garden I slipped away to dream land for about 45 minutes. When I woke up I was refreshed and smiling. I strolled on with a bounce in my step. Off to find the statue of one of my hero’s, the boy who refused to grow up, Peter Pan.

I will be wandering Europe for close to 2 months and I’m trying to be as thrifty as possible. Not only is it point 9 of the Scout Law but I also just don’t have enough money to travel like a king, nor do I want too. So I’ve been staying in bunk room hostels so far. Not only are they cheap but I still don’t mind them. More of an adventure I guess. Probably much like Peter Pan would do if he was wandering. Hostels are full of Lost Boys and Girls just like me.

In London I celebrated my arrival with a few pints that night and met some college students from Denmark named Rasmus, Gates, and Camilla. We had the standard conversation that I have had with dozens of other international Backpackers but still never tire of. Where are you from? What is it like? Where have you been? What’s it like? What do you think of President Bush?

OK, that last one is usually just directed at me and usually kicks the conversation into high gear. I think Rasmus, who had the least confidence in his English, followed up the political topic with “Do you believe in God?” Uh oh! I thought for a second I might have stumbled into some kids doing mission work….in a bar! Camilla responded right away in Danish to him though in a tone that clearly spoke “Dude, you just don’t ask that to people you just met!” I said it was OK and then we all tip toed into a good bar discussion on God and organized religion.

It was a late, fun, night for the 4 of us and we met back up for a slightly more mellow evening the following night. More e-mails have been added to the Friends directory and I have an open invitation to visit Denmark. Not bad for just 48 hours into my trip.

The other friend I made in London is a friend of a friend. Actually it’s the son of a friend. When I sent out my standard itinerary e-mail, to the ever growing friends list, in hopes one of them might want to come along, Donna Baribeau responded that Dick, her husband, had a son that lived in London. She passed along the e-mail for Tim Baribeau and after a few notes back and forth between us to figure out schedules we met up at a little English pub for a pint and lunch.

I had only been traveling alone for a few days but the good conversation while enjoying a meal was already a nice alternative to eating alone. After the last 3 days in Paris, and trying to translate a menu by myself, I’m wishing more of my friends had kids scattered all over Europe waiting to go to lunch.

Tim’s a few years older than me with a wife and 3 kids. He’s been living in England now for over a decade. He said it was nice to have lunch with an American but for me it was like having lunch with a Londoner. As usual I had to explain my current life to him, an explanation that yielded almost the standard response “Good for you! I think that is fantastic!” It’s always nice to get some reassurance, from someone that was a perfect stranger 30 minutes ago, that you are on the right track in life.

We had a great talk about politics, the environment, and life in general. Again, it was a great lunch and one of the highlights of my trip so far. The chance to sit down and really talk to a new person is an opportunity not offered in any guidebook but highly more valuable than anything they offer. I’m glad Donna passed along his e-mail and I’m glad I was wise enough to use it.

Paris has been the same as London minus the new friends, mostly because of me. I haven't tried to make any. It was time to sightsee, get runs in, eat right, and get to bed early. Not your typical vacation in Paris I would agree but I reminded myself that I’m not on vacation in Paris. I’m living my life and these past 3 days have simply found me living my life in Paris. Hell, I spent 40 Euros just on gym fees here. That’s about the same as a month at my gym in WPB, so much for saving money.

I walked a lot in Paris, probably double what I covered in London. I also became a pro at the Metro but that didn’t stop me from wandering miles in any one direction. If anything my confidence with the Metro system liberated me. With a daily pass I always knew no matter how far away I got all I had to do was find the nearest Metro stairwell and zip back to my place.

I hit most of the major spots here in Paris whether it was raining or not. My assault on the Eiffel Tower alone was like getting motivated to summit a mountain. It was about 40 degrees without the wind chill and spitting rain. On the positive side I didn’t have to wait in line! The only thing that slowed me down from climbing the stairs was getting my gloves off and finding which layer of clothes held my money for the 4 Euros to climb. , and another 3.50 for the elevator to the top from level 2.

Before starting the accent I was confused at the ticket booth.
“Can’t I just climb all the way?” I asked innocently.
To which I got the snootiest “NO CLIMB!” response, in the thickest French accent, from the ticket lady in her cozy glass box. I suppose she gets that question a lot but I still chuckled to myself and imitated her “NO CLIMB!” response all the way to level 2.

I enjoyed seeing the Arc de Triumph a lot for some reason. Again it was raining but I still just stood there staring at it for several minutes. I had my iPod on and was again bundled up so the slow rain didn’t really bother me. I stood there for a long time just watching the cars circle by and admiring the strength of the monument. Eventually someone tapped me on the shoulder to help them take a picture and I was brought back to reality. They offered to take one of me too which I accepted and then I headed back to my trusty Metro stairs not far away.

The Louvre was a nice distraction from the weather.
- Pause-
You know as I write this I realize I didn’t take any pictures of the outside of The Louvre. God $(#@&@#!!! Not a single picture of what I call the Da Vinci Code Pyramid. It was raining, as I might have mentioned. I figured I had 2 more days. I would get a better shot later. Well now I’m at the train station so I guess that’s not going to happen. Oh well, I did get some of the inverted pyramid inside. I’ll just have to rely on my actual memory to remind me of what the main entrance to The Louvre looks like.

Funny how for all the historical, priceless, art housed in The Louvre it’s a pop literature work from 2003 that popped in my head first, both when viewing in person or writing about The Louvre. A sign of the times I guess.

I checked out the sculpture section first only to be confused why the Venus de Milo wasn’t located in the “Sculpture” section. Either way it was a nice way for me to get motivated enough to follow the sheep to the Mona Lisa.

By the end of a few hours, about 6 to 7 come to think of it, I had seen pretty much everything or at least every highlighted picture on my map of the Louvre. I had been walking around for so long with my audio head set on I almost forgot to return it. I was on the escalator to the exit when I realized I still had it on my head. I had to pretend I was just looking around and not actually leaving so the staff didn’t harass me.

Despite the less than ideal weather I still liked Paris and admire it. With constant gray skies, intermittent rain, and the historic architecture in every direction I felt like I was in a Alexander Dumas or Victor Hugo novel. Not that it rained throughout their books mind you, more of the tone and setting I suppose. I just can’t imagine the Bastille on a nice sunny day. That’s when you go look at water lilies and sit in the park for Monet.

My departure from Paris has been just as challenging as my sightseeing. The reason I have had the time to write this entry today in Paris is because I missed my train this morning. I wish I could say it was because I slept in. In that case I would be stupid but well rested. Instead for some reason my watch was suddenly an hour slow this morning. When I got to the station it wasn’t 6:45 a.m. it was 7:45 a.m. and on some unknown track my train was pulling away. So now I’m just stupid and tired!

The screw up only cost me time though and thanks to my Eurail Pass it didn’t cost me any money to get on a 1 p.m. train. I now have to take a local train too with a few more connections to make before I reach my final destination. It will just get me better acclimated to the European rail system and stations, which will be my only source of travel for at least the next month.

My destination? Always “the second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning.”
MJF

Lantau Island, Hong Kong 12/7/06

2006-12-07T16:14:00.001-05:00

Lantau Island, Hong Kong 12/7/06

It’s my last day. Well for this trip at least. I fly out for New York tomorrow morning. Then again the fun adventure doesn’t stop there. I wander around the U.S. for most of January, February, and now into March. After that it’s looking like Europe, around the 19th of March, will be next trip abroad. I guess that’s not too long to wait. Today is just my last day seeing “new” stuff for awhile and that makes me a little sad.

Lantau Island is home to “the big Buddha”, as everyone calls it here. Of course it’s just one of many “big Buddha’s” I have seen in the last 2 months. This one is credited as being “the largest, sitting, bronze Buddha in China.” Ooooooo! While it is impressive to see, I can’t shake the feeling that I am one step above seeing the largest ball of twine in Minnesota.

I am currently sitting in some woods, on a big rock, off the Wisdom Path, (or so it was marked, who knew the path to wisdom was so easy to find?) past the big Buddha. It is indeed a big Buddha but I think it could be more aptly named the Biggest Grossing Buddha in all of China. I don’t think that it’s any coincidence that you have to take the same train from Hong Kong Island to Disney World as you do Lantau Island. Welcome to Buddha World!

As I sit on this boulder I bet if I put a little sign on the Wisdom Path that said “American Buddha” I could easily make a few hundred HK Dollars. At least enough for my bus and ferry ride back.

There are no Lotus petals surrounding me but my postures pretty good and with my bright yellow Jack Johnson t-shirt on it could pass for a saffron cloak. Instead of enlightenment I’ll just explain the complexities of the word “dude”.

Hong Kong has been fun and probably a nice transition back to the Western world for me. The city is like a maze. I have no idea how you could drive here. There doesn’t seem to be intersections just roads and ramps curving up, down, and around. It’s the same thing with walking. Sidewalks don’t follow roads. There are pedestrian bridges in every direction that go for blocks and blocks. In some areas there are even outdoor moving sidewalks that go for blocks. If you were to plot my walking routes through Hong Kong it would probably look like one of Billy’s adventures from Family Circus.

It’s a very dense city. Everything on Hong Kong Island seems packed between a bay and a low mountain ridge. Yesterday after wandering through the maze of the City I finally made it to the start of the trolley line that runs to a popular tourist spot, at the top of the mountain ridge, called The Peak. I skipped the trolley and instead hiked up. A nice climb once you get out of the city and the view of Hong Kong below got better with every switch back.
It took me about an hour to get to the top. I was expecting to find an observation deck, some coin operated telescopes, maybe a little gift shop. Instead I found a shopping mall. In Hong Kong even the nature escapes have been developed. At least all the shops had nice windows to see the view. Realizing I couldn’t beat’em, I joined’em and found a comfy chair at the Pacific Coast Coffee Shop. It had a great view and free internet access so I ended up hanging out up there for a few hours before making my way down the other side of the ridge and hopping a bus back around to the Causeway Bay area of Hong Kong and my guesthouse.

On my first night in town I met up with my other hiking pal from the Great Wall, Kristen. She took me out in the Ex-Pat area called Lan Kwai Fong. Dozens of bars and restaurants packed into both sides of streets still heading up and down hills in every direction. Each one packed with obvious business people who came right from the office. Once you get close you can hear accents that help you figure out which nationality has claimed each bar.

To keep with my international theme Kristen and I stopped in the French and Irish bars, and then had dinner at a Japanese place. We wrapped up the night at a unique karaoke bar. It was a wide open bar, like we are used to in the U.S., different from the other places in East Asia where you get a private room, but instead of some computer screen with the words and bad sequencer music there was two guys with guitars. They played the music as you read the words from a big binder sitting on a music stand.

This bar welcomed all nationalities as long as you were drunk enough to sing in public. We were treated to a Chinese guy that wanted to be Sinatra, a German guy that wanted to be the 5th Beatle, and a few other random nationalities and artists that just blended in with the background conversations while Kristen and I discussed future travel plans.

Before she became a self proclaimed workaholic balancing offices in New York, Paris, and Hong Kong, Kristen was an accomplished Backpacker. She was providing me tips on India and Nepal when a performer took the stage that caught the entire bars attention.

I am of the philosophy that the best karaoke is the worst karaoke. I don’t like the people that get up there and obviously sing a song they know they are good at or a song by Faith Hill or Whitney Houston, unless it’s done Randy Watson style of course. By that definition I think I saw the best karaoke performance ever at this bar in Hong Kong.

As soon as this guy started you could hear the entire bar collectively mumble “Oh my God!” Kristen, already a not so proud POM said “Oh my God I think he’s British!”
I said “I think he’s autistic!”

At this unique karaoke bar in addition to the live guitarists backing you up you also basically get unlimited songs. You want to do 3 songs in a row they’ll let you as long as nobody else is dying to get up on stage. In the case of this particular howling seizure on stage the entire bar was screaming for the train wreck to continue, so he did.

I did start to feel a little bad when I realized this poor guy was serious. He didn’t realize we were laughing at him not rocking out with him. Oh well, he was having a good time and that’s all that matters. He was greeted by a handful of cheering co-workers when he finally got done. It was like a symbolic hug and medal, acknowledgment that he was a winner just for trying. I will probably never see another karaoke bar without thinking of his performance.

I don’t know how the Buddha’s did it. I’ve only been sitting on this rock for about 45 minutes and my butt hurts and my left leg is asleep. Maybe that’s why they are sometimes laying down or reclining?

Now it’s time to wrap this up and start my wandering journey back to the organized chaos of Hong Kong Island. I meet back up with Kristen tonight for my last night abroad in 2006. It has been an amazing trip that I will never forget but as usual I’m not content. I want more.

Buddhists believe you get multiple lives. Each one gives an opportunity to grow and evolve closer and closer to enlightenment. I find myself hoping they are correct because it’s obvious one life is not going to be enough time for me to accomplish everything I want.

I guess I better buy some stuff on the way back through Buddha World now. Maybe a sitting Buddha snow globe or a Path to Enlightenment bumper sticker. Pretty cheesy I know but I think they still count as earned merits towards my next life. Karma is all about the profit margin.
MJF