Lesson # 1
Back and in tact-peeps.
I arrived back in Portland two nights ago at 8:30 pm. Greeted by two of the loveliest ladies you ever laid eyes on (Ma and Grandma) we climbed in the car and drove to the first and most authentic Mexican food stand we could find. It was no Ralibertos (an AZ fav.) but it was one fine welcome-home carne asada burrito. D-Lish for D-Light. Step 2, sleep. Not just sleep, but sleep on one of the biggest fluffiest beds I've seen in a VERY long time. D-Light for D-Lish.
And then comes the question: What are you bringing back from such a long, life changing trip?
Good question, and it's maybe a little bit early to be asking all these questions don't you think? I mean let's be realistic, four days ago I was in London, five I was in Paris. And now all of sudden I have to start answering all these questions? Man people, it is going to take a little bit of time for all this international dust to settle. BUT, I will mention a couple things.
One thing I brought back was a totally new look on life, or more specifically Costco (and/or Sam's Club, Price Club, etc). One of the first trips I made since being back was to Costco. I had no cash on me (of course)and someone said there was an atm in the nearby Costco. Which is cool cause I just came from the countries where most of the things sold in Costco was made. Of course more important than the all those quality products made by skilled children accross the world was the food. Ahhh the samples.
There might be a Costco somewhere else in the world, but I sure didn't see it. And that means it's been a some time since I wandered those long industrial aisles looking for tasty handouts. It was about this time that I realized I was a different person. There is a certain unwritten law when doing the Sam's Club/Costco sample run.
Commandment 1:
When getting a free sample from the elder-hostel worker, one is obliged to appear interested. "Ohhh, well now what is this?!" or "Hmm, this looks wonderful! Do you sell these here?!" or "Oh my, that IS delicious! Only $7.95 for two trays? Where is this?" All questions we feel obliged to ask despite the fact that we could really care less.
Commandment 2:
A person is only entitled to one sample per booth, per visit. This one's obvious, it's not a meal it's a sample, and while everybody thinks of it, no one with any conscience takes two samples.
Well there are a couple things you will realize when you travel the world:
Realization 1:
One is not entitled to and should not show an interest in any item he or she does not intend to buy. Let's be honest, that is simply lying to some poor old lady who is pouring out her soul and trust to you. It's ok to chat, there are some really cool people dishing those handouts. However, if you are uninterested and have nothing to say, do not ask where they sell the item or show "surprise" at the value, simply say "thank you" and move on to the next.
Realization 2:
One should not assume anything. This means if there is no clear signage stating that there is "Only One Per Customer", then maybe it is NOT one per customer. In fact, I think that if the food keeps coming, then you keep eating. Now don't get me wrong, another thing I learned is that Americans tend to overeat and eat when they're not hungry. But as long as you are not being glutenous, and they keep serving food, you keep eating. Actually, most cultures are offended if you don't eat the food they offer.
So there is a couple of things that dawned on me in the past day or two. I'm sure there will be some great epiphanies, and it would be nice to have a little bit of time to process. But I will do my best to, out of respect for all you faithful readers, answer your question. What am I bringing back? Yes I'm bringing back stories. I'm bringing life lessons and new perspectives. I'm bringing pictures back, music back, memories back. But if there were one thing, to sum every view, look and lesson...
I'm bringing sexy back.
Peace.
Not The End...The Beginning
It hardly seems real. In the background, karaoke night at a london hostel. It's 11:45 pm the night before I fly back to the United States, land of the free and home of my very own bed, my friends and family. One month ago I was riding a camel in India. Two months ago I was ziplinning through the jungle canopy tops to my bed tree house. Three months ago I was riding elephants and gettin my swerve on a Thai dancefloor. Four months ago I was eating chicken feet and exploring the Great Wall.
And tomorrow, tomorrow I fly home. Wow. After a nice cup of Stumptown coffee in Portland, I will drive down to Grants Pass celebrate the birthday of the woman who birthed me (yes Mom, how could I forget?)and then drive back to my beloved Flagstaff. And to be honest, I'm ready.
After four months of traveling, living out of a back pack, sleeping on floors, couches, ant infested matresses, I'm ready. Don't get me wrong, I am a little mixed. I mean I met the city of my dreams (Paris-you sweet little thing). I had pastries, breads, cheese, wine, fruit shakes, creppes, even a scorpian (one story that never made the blog). I kyaked, treked, hiked, rode, and danced. But tomorrow I fly home and I rest. I sleep. For the first real time I stop and reflect. No more busses, no more trains or hostels. Rest.
Again don't get me wrong... even as I write this to the boo-ing crowds of London as an Oasis song song skips (not cool, especially when you are drunkenly singing your heart out!), this has been a trip of a life time (see blogs 1-51). China, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, India... India!, France, Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and London. Not bad, not bad at all. Buuuuut, neither is that comfy little bed of mine.
Also as one final note. Though I really don't know who has been reading this blog save the few of you who have written the comments along the way (and a BIG thanks to each one of you!). This is not the end of my blog, rather a new chapter. A chapter to reflect and post some pictures without it costing $6 an hour. Rather now it's your turn. Questions. Comments. Thoughts. Let me know what you want to hear. Pictures? I've taken thousands. Stories... Millions. Just let me know.
I gotta tell you, it feels good. Leaving in less than 12 hours!?! I can't wait to see every one of you. So long China. So long Koh Phi Phi. So long India. So long Paris...you sweet little thing. And hello America. HOWever, I still have 12 hours... and um it is Karaoke night in London... Soooooo, I hate to say good bye, but.
Love ya'll. I'll see you soon!
..."Ok, Ok! I'm comming!" Sorry guys I'm up, gotta go. Talk to you soon.
D
Music to the World: Part III
Let's begin in a city whose streets are made of water. Where little Italian guys in striped shirts and wide brimmed hats sing to their passengers as they float through town. Ah Venice, unlike any other city I have seen. Even as I rode the train from Florence (from Pisa...from Cinque Terra) I wondered if I had made the right decision. Leaving a little Mediterranean paradise to start jamming in a bunch of sights. But it's hard to second guess yourself when you're eating pizza watching the gondollas go by. Venice, cool. However, I still had a lot to see, so the day after I arrived I scheduled my train out at midnight for Northern Italy, where I would introduce myself to the Alps.
That gave me one full day to wander the city, which though you can always use more, was enough. When I say "enough", I mean enough time to have another one of those life moments. I call them "life moments" because they are experiences when everything is right. I had one the first time I went to Boston and stumbled upon a little jazz cafe with perfect music, atmosphere, and nice glass of red. I had one in Thailand as I watched the sunset from a kyak of the coast of Koh Phi Phi. And now I have had one in Venice.
My train didn't leave until midnight so I had a little bit of time to kill. Fortunately, it's easy to get lost in the zig-zaggin alleys. It's about 9:00 at night, and I was wandering the streets that few people are on. Then in one alley I turn the corner and hear something like an angel calling. I walk into a small deserted plaza where a little church had its windows open. The angels began. Male and female, singing opera's greatest hits. La Bhoem, Madam Butterfly, etc. And there I sat on a cement step, blinking slowly, trying take in everything. The smell, the air, the occational wandering Italian, the perfect accoustics. Knowing that no picture would capture it I stored as much as I could away to memory.
When my little personal concert finished I floated over to the train station to wait for my overnight train to Aosta, Italy, where I would catch a tele-cabin through the Alps to France. It was a beautiful moment and one I would soon need to comfort myself.
As you well know, I have been fulfilling my musical duty by sharing my ipod magic with as many people as possible. Well being the servant I am I went ahead and did the ultimate service. I boarded an overnight train in Italy and by morning had donated my entire ipod, headphones, and accessories to some needy Italian. I know what you're thinking, "Are you serious? Giving your entire ipod away? What a servant?!?!" Well, my friends it's much easier to donate to someone when you are asleep and don't have to think about it. Yes. It was stolen. From the bag that sat under my feet on the oposing seat I slept on.
I try to stay positive. At least my little baby served me well. At least I got to share with some cool kids all over the world. Maybe the person needed it. Maybe he will now share with his many friends. I just hope the little scum bag got to listen to every one of those nearly 4,000 songs before he contracted that terminal infection and those dirty little ears of his fell off. Just gotta stay positive.
Really, though slightly pissed when I dwell on the subject, it truly could have been worse. It wasn't my passport. I still have my camera though I don't have a computer to post any for you at the moment. It was just an ipod... only an ipod that the greasy maggot took. And now you understand why that "life moment" was so vital which happened only hours before. For now the only music to calm my spirit was that in my head.
Once I finally arrived my destination, I found there were too many clouds and rain to do any telecabins and the weather wasn't supposed to change for a few days. So rather than waiting around twiddling my thumbs I hopped on a bus, then train, then train, then bus and found myself in Gryon, Switzerland at a little chateau in the Alps. I found a place called L'Abri which was founded by one of my favorite authors, Francis Schaeffer, for students to come to study, debate and work out all of life's difficult questions.
And in this place, still a bit pissed and tired, I once again changed my travel mode, deciding it was best to relax. For the past few days I have sipped tea and coffee, read books and settled the worlds problems with other students doing the same. The Alps are gorgeous, soft hills with jagged tops. Each quaint town has a church that echoes its bell through the valley every quarter, half and hour, and the sound of cow bells twinkle in the distance. Soooo... I'm felling better. Still need to see Amsterdam, Paris, and Oxford, and I have now less than a week to do it. We're in the last inning folks. I'm rounding the bases and coming home... soon, but not just yet.
Ciao Bella!
How's this for a day:
9:00 am- Wake up in Cinque Terra. Have coffee and chocolate croissant on the Mediterranean.
10:30 am- Pack and go to train station.
1:45 pm- Arrive Pisa. Check Bag. Walk through town to tower. Take Picture. Walk back to station.
3:15 pm- Board train for Florence.
5:30 pm- Arrive Florence. Walk to Museum to see Michaelangelo's David statue. Assess line, cost, time. Skip museum. Get piece of pizza walk back to station.
6:49 pm- Board train for Venice.
10:00 pm- Arrive Venice. Look for hostel.
It's strange to think that just 24 hours ago I was in the Cinque Terra, where time stopped for 3 full days. Now I have once again donned "Agro-Tourist" hat and have kicked it into high gear. Not consistent I know, but that's the life of a Travelin D. You find a little piece of heaven, stop, soak, and then keep moving. I will be here in Venice for a day and plan to catch a night train to Geneva, Switzerland. And now that I've gotten you all worked up, let me slow it down again and tell you about Cinque Terra.
Cinque Terra, as the name implies (in Italian), are five towns. Perched on cliffs, over looking the Mediterranean Sea on the northern coast of Italy, it is easily one of the nicest places I have been in my travels. Recommended to me by a few friends that had been themselves, I had the hardest time imagining these five little towns that you hike between. It maybe pointless for me to attempt it myself, I'll try. One thing I will definitely do, however, is like my friend recommend that you, one day in your travels, find the time to visit this slice of paradise for yourself. Or if it's easier poor yourself a cold fruity drink and look at the pictures I've posted.
I stayed in the southern most town of Riomagiorre (I think-don't have the spelling). There is a train that runs between the five towns and as I've mentioned trails. Most people, including myself, hike the 5-hour trail one way, and take the train one way. I started at the northern most town of Montorosso (sp?) and worked my way down beginning with the hardest. Montorosso is the largest of the towns and the one I spent the least amount of time in. The trails between the towns are well paved and marked (thinking back to Bottle Beach in Thailand). For a long time they were the only means of getting from one town to another by land, which means they were important for trading.
Hiking the trails you proceed up and down the steep hills of Italy walking through the vineyards and olive groves, picking an occasional black berry for nourishment. You can plow through the trails, or you can stop at each little town for lunch, a gelato, or an extremely refreshing dip in the Med. I chose the latter.
Every town has it's own personality, and somehow despite the large number of tourists, seems to maintain a real local feel. Old Italians wander the streets, sit on THEIR benches, and spread the town gossip (I am assuming because though I don't speak Italian, I can understand that responsive head nod and "ahhhh" or "tsk, tsk" in any language. The kids also wander the streets, but are more often found jumping off cliffs or playing in the sea.
The first day I hiked the entire trail. The second day I went the opposite direction and took more time to explore each little town... and more time to swim. And now two days later I am sitting in Venice paying 6 Euro an hour for internet and still dreaming of the Cinque. Loved it. And if I still didn't want to go to Switzerland, Germany, Holland, and Paris and London again I'd go right back there today. Oh well, guess I'll have to save that for my next round the world trip.
Pure Provence
Before you begin this entry there are a couple of requirements:
First put a copy of Carla Bruni's cd in the player adjusting the volume to a comfortable 4 or so. If you don't have Carla Bruni's cd, you should, and you won't regret it when you do. So do go get it.
What am I talking to a wall?! Stop reading and GO!
Welcome back. Now pour yourself a subtle drink of choice. If possible pull that uncomfortable computer chair out and slide in something a little more comfy. Bean bags, couch, whatever--this one's up to you. Finally, turn down the lights, tuck in the kids and light a couple candles.
...let's begin.
Everyone I have spoken with concerning Europe who had some knowledge of the continent and an opinion I could trust, they all, every one of them, sighed when at the mention of the Provence. Lavender fields. Country cottages. Hills clothed in time-tested vineyards.
Pastel paints. Sun touched yellows, oranges, and pinks coat the houses topped with the same uniformed salmon tiled roofs. Each window is fitted with colorful wooden or metal shutters that only stick out once you've realized their charm.
From the moment I began planning this trip, when I let my mind wander the many sights I would see and adventures I would see, my mind would always finish in the Provence. A beach. A small quaint hill. Local cheese, baguette, a bottle of not-cheap but inexpensive wine.
Today, I can die. Yes it's true, I have never married. No kids. Never cured any diseases. I've only had one real job. One real girlfriend. But, my friends, I have lived a full life. In just three days, I have lived a full life.
Spain was good. Sun, beach, churros, paella. But in the past three days I have sat on the steps of a French/Roman coliseum 2000 years old under the same stars that shone the very night it was built. I have watched the moon rise over a castle crouching over the Rhone, good enough for a Pope to call home. I have wandered the narrow, shutter lined, cobble stone allies of Arles and Avignon. I have walked the streets of Van Gough, deciding the only thing that could have mad ol' Crazy V crazy is the inability to process such a precious Provence.
And today... Today after a quick walk through the country of Monaco, I sat on a pebble-lined mediterranean beach, with a fresh baguette, a wheel of camembert cheese, and a bottle of Provencial wine. I sat with jazz playing in the distance and sail boats bobbing in the sea and I watched the day fade into night. Today, I lived...
Spanish Lesson
I finally found my way back from the beach. And while sprawling on the beach or floating in the Mediteranean is nice, it doens't lend itself the most exciting blog entries. For example, before my "flashback" idea came to me my blog entry looked something like this:
Title: Sun & Surf
"Today in Barcelona I went to the beach. I also swam out to the bouy and back... Um.... The End."
Now it may be a bit presumptuous to think that by this point in my journey, 3 months after I first started, there are still many people reading this blog. Actually, come to think about it, it might be presumptuous to assume there ever were many people reading. I do know there are at least a few, however, and for fear of losing those precious few, I thought better of the idea of posting the aforementioned blog. Hence the music flashback. BUT, now I will catch you up. You know I was in Paris... mmmmm Paris, a city I instantly connected with and even after 5 days (the longest stop my entire trip) it was a difficult "goodbye".
I stepped back onto that familiar night train, sleeping sporadically to the border of France and Spain. At 7:30 am switched trains and headed to Madrid. Out the window were ghostly hills, hiddend by a morning mist the sun would soon burn off. As the rays overtook the smokey landscape, the mountain silhouettes became solid and revealed hills that couldn't decide whether to be bald or forested, so they compromised.
The rolling hills were decorated with a mix of tobacco, corn and sunflowers, both young and old. The young-stood proud and yellow; the old-hung their tired heads to hide their faces from the harsh sun. Every several miles sat a steeple from an old Spanish chaple, surrounded by a small village of brick building and tiled roofs. Each town telling of a more traditional time of tapas and tango.
The two towns I visited in Spain were Madrid and Barcelona (Bartheloneh-if your local). It's true I spent a fair amount of time toning up my albinish tan, yet I was in Spain long enough to learn a few valuable lessons:
Lesson #1: Siesta!--The Spanish way of life. I have to say I have never been to a country that takes off the entire MONTH of August. You think I'm exagerating but I'm not. More ambitious Spaniards will only take off 15 days. The first night I was ready for some Tapas(see below) so I went to the Tourist Info booth who responded, "Hmmm, tomorrow is September, you might have to wait for tomorrow because restaurants will open again then." "What?" "Spain is closed on August." Also important is the 1:00 to 4:00 pm siesta, necessary for the tiresome morning to regain strength for the evening hours. Sometimes just to be safe, take the rest of the afternoon off.
Lesson #2: Tapas. Buy a drink, get tapas. Tapas are an assortment of exotic appetizers. They have become so popular now that most places charge so you really got to dig to find the tapas-included joints (Joints meaning establishments... Sheese). But if you must order make sure you are clear you want the tapas portion not the entree or you might end up with an enormous plate of chorizo sausages and a lot of people looking at you.
Traveling Tip: When asking for a Tapas Bar, make sure your English is very clear. Otherwise, you may be in for an entirely different "Tapas" experience. Comprende?
Lesson #3: Spanish Beaches. Many beaches in Spain have no tan lines. Well, some tan lines but not many. Not even if you are 98 years old... or 29 and American. It's important to blend in. So for a couple of days "Travelin D" became "Topless D" and for at least 2 days the Spanish sands were especially bright.
Lesson #4: Espanol. Living in Arizona, I have been exposed to people speaking Spanish most of my life, and I was happy to find a surpising amount of the 2 years of High School Spanish coming back to me. But even if you don't speak Spanish, you might be surprised to find how many words are similar in Spanish and English. For example "Gaudi" in Spanish mean "Gaudy" in English. You see, simple.
And that's about it for now. Fortunately, I have found a place that doesn't charge for its internet so I should have another entry very soon. But for now, Monaco-here I come!
Music to the World Part II
Oh man I knew there was something I was forgeting when I was cramming to finish that last blog entry. There was one other time that is worth sharing.
Flashback to Cambodia. I just finished visiting the ancient temples of Angkor Wat, and like the end of every great adventure boarded a bus for a good 10 hour bus ride. This bus ride was from Siam Reap to Bangkok and also had it's fair share of discomfort including a flat tire on a dusty, middle of nowhere road. And again like any great bus ride I pulled out my ipod.
One kid (16-18 years)who I guess was working, though I never quite figured out how, was accompanying us on the trip also without a seat. He spent the first few hours standing, and after our first stop decided maybe he would stand in the back of the bus where I was seated (cool kids always sit in the back of the bus). This was the second time I got to put my ipod and headphone spitter to work. I can't remember his name so I will refer to him as Bill... Bill standing next to me spoke great English, so in this case I didn't feel I was taking music to the world like the others.
Bill had already asked me if I liked the Pussy Doll Cats (known for the popular "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me" song). "Yeah! Ofcourse." said I, because who hasn't. "She's hot huh," Bill asks. "Totally." So anyway when I pulled out the "love", it's safe to say I had a pretty good idea what kind of music my be Bill music. So in this case I started with a little bit of G-love and Special Sauce. Always good, little bluesy hip-hop. But it wasn't enough so I moved to some Paul Okenfold and finally hit the nail on the head with some fresh Beastie Boys.
Bingo. Beasty Boys was just what Bill was looking for. So on this long uncomfortably and hot bus ride, where everyone was sleeping or trying to keep their mind of the heat and the dust, Bill was standing next to me trying best he could to contain the dance that was flowing through his veins. He tried, but didn't totally succeed. Little did I know that Bill was a practiced air-drummer, guitarist, and congo player. His legs were also in a constant state of movement, and Bill would also let out an occasional vocal burst (unknowingly) with his headphones resting snuggly in his unwashed ears.
Another victory for music. Rock on.
If You Could Give The World Music...
The following "flashback" is presented to you by the Spanish sun and beach, whose power to soak an entire day, thereby preventing any real quality blogs to be written.
Flashback:
I have a very important question for you. If you were in a position to share music with the world for the first time, what would you share?
When I left for my trip, I had a big dilema ipod or no ipod. Already I pack like a girl (no offense) and have bag that weighs more than I do, and I´m no spring chicen. But like most cases I decided to go ahead and take it. And naturally when presented with the oportunity to buy some crappy Chinese sony headphone nock offs, who can resist? Aaaannd when you have an ipod and two pair of headphones it makes perfect sense to purchase headphone splitter...because you never know who you are going to be sitting next to.
It just so happens the first person I sat next to was an 7(or so) year old boy with broken English from Dubai. Flashback to Thailand. I was already delayed several hours to board the "quality" bus ride to meet my friend Christina in Phuket. The reason I was delayed was there weren´t enough people. Well throw in one little family of 7, 2 girls, an old guy and myself... and problem solved. So with all of our luggage taking up the front seat, the 11 of us squeezed into 9 seats for this 10 hour ride. I as I mentioned was placed in the row with the boy, his sister and the old man.
I pulled out my comfort to drown out the discomfort when I remembered, "Hey I´ve got enough ipod for two here." I ask the boy if he wants to listen and OF COURSE if it would be ok with his parents. And OF COURSE the answer to both was yes. With a system of: thubs up= "Stay, I like it"; thumbs down="Uh, no thanks and next song" we song by song worked our way through the trip. The favorites: G-love and Special Sauce, The White Stripes, and Modest Mouse. Ousted was Radiohead, and a number of not-rock-enough selections.
Flashforward to India. We are now entering a land much less touched by the world. A land swallowed by Himalayan mountains and a bus ride with 40 more people than seats. Once again pulling out my ipod to help with the pain. This time the person next to me is a boy maybe my age. It may be wrong to assume based on distance from civilation and apparent lifestyle that this young man had probably never seen an ipod or listened to a little music from the world. But I did and for a moment (5-10 hour moment) I was faced with the question what music do you share with someone who has never heard... well anything I had at least. Bear in mind the conservative culture is a consideration. So the decision: Frank Sinatra. Bob Marley. Coldplay(it was rainy). Jack Johnson. I even through in a couple highights from my friends band Telescope, just cause I could. (And if by chance my other friend, Corn(elius), is reading this I didn´t play M77 only because there wasn´t any on my ipod.
How did it go? Well he didn´t speak English, so I couldn´t ask. But I can say he slept like a baby, with a head full of tunes in a bus FULL of people. What did he think? I don´t know, but I´m pretty sure he was dreaming about heaven.
