British Virgin Islands May 2007

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

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

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