My Walkabout

Monkeys

2012-02-11T08:21:00.000-07:00

Howler.
Red tail.
Michael Jackson. ( the local name for the black & white colored ones)
Fluffy.

The names seemed as endless as the species before my eyes. Jungle sounds that would shake the trees, and my foundation. Kong's beauty and appeal was apparent in the Amazon.

I think about Darwin's theory, and wonder if evolution went too far.

Or maybe I am just dreaming of living in a tree, being free.
Monkey see, monkey do.

the Green Waters of Mother Earth

2012-02-05T16:36:00.001-07:00

The hairs on my arms stood at full attention as the skiff came toward us. Electricity was in the atmosphere, literally and figuratively, and my mind was charged with excitement.
The boat motor roared to life up the tributary, the air rushing to the nostrils and filling my senses.

As the channel narrowed and the jungle closed in around us, I felt for a moment as though I was on the Adventure land ride at Disney, but instead of mechanical animals making sounds through hidden speakers, our boat was dodging killer wasp nests, spiders from overhanging bushes, and listening to howler monkeys playing in the shadows.

We passed many a local, working in the jungle transporting timber down the river, fishing so they could feed their families, moving produce to other villages. Most would smile and wave, others would just stare with a feeling in their eyes of curiosity in what we must see in their homeland.

Oh, how the green Amazonian waters of the great Mother Earth astound me.

Feeling stress...

2012-02-04T19:18:00.001-07:00

The crippling pain in my side returns, bringing me to my knees. Incapacitated.
One month into the new job now, the long hours are starting to vanquish my will to live.
Losing sleep to dreams that haunt my consciousness. Garbage goes in my mouth, choking my insides with artificial satisfaction and secret poisons.
Through the haze I conjure memories of a simpler time to the surface.

I do not want to work with a dream of the future, as retirement is an allusion, a fantasy.
Life is too short, as I have seen with mine own eyes. The end is one of piss and pain. Spoon fed bland pureed meat, a side of warm milk that dribbles down your jowls, missing your wrinkled mouth.
I want to live to see ice sculptures hanging from winters branches, listening to woodpeckers break the stillness of the mountains with their song.
I need to seize today, not dream of tomorrow....

Breaking free from the constraints of sadness and weary, I trudge through the snow in the morning light. Two hours in, my heels are screaming as the skin is rubbed raw and the dark stain of blood seeps my socks.
The pain awakens me, healing the dreariness.
Nature's parachutes never fail to catch me when I'm feeling down.

The Aristocrats

2012-01-29T21:04:00.000-07:00

It all started with an e-mail, an invitation to check out a new music blog,
Poking Smot.
A clever name, so I went along to see what it was all about.
The artist featured that day was The Aristocrats. I hit play, liked what I heard, bought their CD, checked out their website.
Found out they were playing in Seattle in a couple weeks.
Booked airfare, got a room, scored a ticket for the show.
Arrived yesterday, went to the Pike Market, found an old bookstore to hide in from the drizzle outside,
had a cup of chowder and some jazz apples.
Got some books and went back to the street to people watch
until a small coffee shop with big leather chairs called my name, and so I disappeared for a few hours by the fire.

Night comes, and I walk down the dark stairs, get a drink, and head into the Jewel Box Theater. The band starts playing a little after 11 P.M, to a crowd of thirty, small but loud.
Intimate.
They talk like Spinal Tap, play like true rock n' roll musicians.
A few hours of sleep after the show, then I brave the early morning wind through empty downtown streets to the light rail station, hop on the plane, then end up here...
sharing my weekend with you.

stick fishing

2012-01-27T20:53:00.001-07:00

Some of my earliest, happiest memories involve fishing. Sitting with my Mom and Pop along a lake shore as a child, biking with my best friends to a local pond during the long summer vacations as a kid, and more recently sitting solitary along a slow moving river just reading and enjoying nature.
But I'd never thought I would be stick fishing for piranhas in the Amazon.

"Life is funny" I thought as I was handed a raw chunk of beef to use as bait. With the line only being about fifteen feet long at the most, tied to a five foot stick, I flung the raw meat as far as possible into the green water, letting my natural fishing instincts kick in.
It wasn't more than a few seconds when I felt the first hard bite. I soon got a feel for how the fish were hitting the bait, and before long I was flinging piranha's into our boat, to the amazement of the other fishers and the guide.
I was in heaven.
The others kept asking me for my secret, but I didn't have one. It would be like asking Michael Jordan how to play basketball, or Stephen King how to write horror.
You just do.

As tales of fishing go, this day was one that will be drifting at the top.

Snakes

2012-01-25T18:30:00.002-07:00

"Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?"
-Indiana Jones

I knew when I planned my Amazonian adventure that the likelihood of facing my biggest fear, snakes, had a good chance of looking me right in the face. What surprised me was how I handled it.
At the end of our morning excursion, we were told that we were going to head to shore to go on a jungle hike, and visit with a local village.
I was excited for this until our guide, Roland, had me put on knee high rubbers, as they would "help" protect us from any snake bites.
Change of underwear please....
I was petrified hiking around in the tall jungle grass, whipping my walking stick at anything that remotely seemed to slither. I'm sure the others thought I was a complete nut job.
We saw the most colourful of insects and plants, but most of my pictures, not to mention my memory, is fuzzy as I really couldn't concentrate.

Due to the heavy rains the Amazon had been receiving as of late, the trail was underwater by a few feet. We walked until the water was knee high, and then decided to turn around and go back to the village, as the high water was too dangerous, and could be full of hidden surprises.
like gigantic man eating snakes...
When we arrived to a local hut our guide Roland went to talk to the man of the house whilst we played with the children. Speaking very little Spanish, I showed them pictures on my camera, and they marveled at my jewelry, skin, and clothing I was wearing.

Roland came back with a big smile on his face. He proceeded to tell us that the man was out fishing earlier and caught himself an Anaconda, and brought it back home. It is considered very good luck to have this snake in your home, as it is believed that all bad luck will be absorbed by the snake, and will not fall onto the people of the village.
another change of underwear please....
Dennis was a brave member of our group that seemed to have no problems with going right up and holding the creature. My friend Emma decided to be next as long as Dennis would be there to hold the head ( I found out later she was pretty scared herself)

Dennis helping Emma get up close & personal

Roland then asked if anyone else wanted to hold it. I knew I couldn't back down, and with my heart beating outside my chest, I faced my fears.

I felt its smooth muscular body wrap itself around my arm as I stared into it's cold black eyes. My fear was replaced with simple bewilderment and wonder. Dennis brought it closer to my face. The snake open it's mouth and hissed, its eyes never leaving mine.

After this, we walked into the village where the locals had trinkets they had made to sell. We gave them some items some of us had brought; shirts, toiletries, pens and paper...more to show our appreciation for letting us into their village than it was given to them as something they needed. These people seemed more than content with their life, and I was envious of their life compared to the world of consumerism,selfishness, and greed that I see daily back home.

I brought with me beaded necklaces that my friends from Kenya had made. I thought it would be a nice gesture to give them to the girls and women here. A token of gratitude with a gift made on the other side of the world.

An American prayer

2012-01-22T10:41:00.002-07:00

Darkness floods, dreams that wake a fragile, eggshell mind,

the Lizard King's words consume one.

Circles of foreboding torture

in the future

bending the heavy branches of madness into stark realism.

Pieces of the frozen sky fall,

little bits of purity land on my tongue

and bury me in earth's cold womb.

A simple act,

like poetry in hand along an endless, empty road.

Fills the soul, quiets the mind.

the good times are killing me.

An afternoon among river dolphins, an evening of caimans...

2012-01-21T15:12:00.000-07:00

As I was marveling in my surroundings, droplets of water spray dancing lightly on my cheeks from the skiff, a family of river dolphins simultaneously arch from the Amazon in synchronicity. Their palpable joy is infectious.

They play in the wake of the skiff, showing personality unlike anything I've ever seen from nature. We slow down the skiff as we come to an area were two tributaries meet, and my eyes rest upon new creatures, pink river dolphins, making their presence known. They rise from the black water like a Loch Ness monster, showing their unique body quickly before disappearing again.

A rain storm comes out of the blue sky suddenly, and knowingly the dolphins dissipate. Our guides seem unaffected by the approaching black clouds, and surprise us with a champagne toast as the sun sets behind the approaching storm.

As night surrounds us and the rain falls, we are told that it is time to look for caiman's, the Amazonian equivalent of an alligator. With a powerful flashlight in hand, our guide pans over the Amazonian waters, searching for the bright eyes of the prehistoric creature.

Excitedly, he motions to the skiff driver to go closer to shore. As the boat slows, he keeps a steady hand holding the flashlight on a spot in the water, and then quickly dives his arm in the darkness, and pulls up my first view of a caiman.

Soaked and ecstatic, I hold the animal tightly, feeling a rapid heartbeat through its skin. I look in its eyes and realize it is looking back at me with terror. I release it into the water, my own heart racing.
Just another amazing day in the jungle.

Travel Photo Roulette #34- WINNER

2012-01-16T19:15:00.003-07:00

Congratulations to Denise from The Art of Slow travel. You are the winner of travel photo roulette #34!

feeling like Conrad, exploring like Magellan

2012-01-14T22:00:00.001-07:00

After a night of delicious Peruvian food and wine, I slept soundly to the sounds of the water lapping against the side of the boat as we headed deep into the Amazonian jungle.
My dreams were filled with Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness.

"The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness, bearing us down towards the sea with twice the speed of our upward progress; and life was running swiftly, too, ebbing, ebbing out of his heart into the sea of inexorable time. . . . I saw the time approaching when I would be left alone of the party of ‘unsound method.’”

*****

The next morning after breaky, feeling brave and full of the spirit of Magellan, I boarded the skiff for the first adventure of many to come. Local children emerged from the lush jungle to see the new arrivals. I smile and wave, but our strangeness overcomes any reciprocation.

As we leave the mighty Amazon and head into a tributary, the trees swallow us like the tale of Jonah and the whale. Head spinning like a top, we search high for birds, monkeys, and sloths, while wary of snakes from the water and low handing tree branches.
I'm experiencing sensory overload.....
You hear more than you see, realizing that life in the jungle will not be readily on display. The soundtrack though is stimulation enough, with screaming noisy night monkeys, the call of toucans, macaws, and birds of prey. The leaves in the trees rustle and quiver as it's inhabitants watch us from their lair.
Unnervingly, I realize that just as many creatures lurk in the water below, giant fish, slithering monsters, ancient reptiles....and one leaps from the water into our skiff!
Luckily, it was a small barracuda, though it's razor sharp teeth look menacing.

Day one doesn't disappoint. As we leave to head back for lunch, a local family of fishers are floating down the great Amazon with their catch of catfish. Their boat has a fire for cooking, a net for keeping their fish alive and fresh until they reach a town to sell them, laundry hanging from string. A first glimpse into the lives of the locals.

All in a day along the river of life.

Paradise found

2012-01-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

Great things, and full of wonder in our eares,
Farr differing from this World, thou hast reveal'd
Divine interpreter, by favour sent
Down from the Empyrean to forewarne
Us timely of what might else have bin our loss,
Unknown, which human knowledg could not reach:
For which to the infinitly Good we owe
-from Paradise Lost, Milton.

As if I had somehow slid down the brush of a great painter and fallen onto his canvas, the scenes before me created as I landed. Trapped in continual artistry, colors splashed with reckless allure, sensual clouds would swirl and billow with ease.

The skies would open, and the freshest of rains would cleanse your mind, the earth drinking the sweet drops. Minutes later your skin would pour sweat down your back from radiant rays of sunshine. All one could do was put your feet up and contemplate God, or Milton.

or Nature.

From black water to green water,

sunrise to sunset,

rain or shine,

The Amazon goes on.

The Aqua

2012-01-11T19:20:00.000-07:00

“Let him think that I am more man than I am and I will be so.”
― Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

I look for something unique whenever possible for my travels, as the mundane is a poisonous pill to this already short life. So, when I heard about Aqua Expeditions and the chance to go explore the Amazon in Peru, I was intrigued, until I saw the boat on their web page, and I was hooked. A year later, I was in the dark Amazonian jungle boarding the Aqua......

Luxury Peruvian cuisine in such isolation, having your cabin window open to the expansive jungle, daily excursions to find creatures seldom seen, it all sounded like a dream.

Thinking back to my time there, it still feels like one as well.

The Aqua has the feel of a junket ship from the past, yet all the comforts of home on the inside.

With only 12 cabin rooms total, one doesn't worry about crowds or any other problems one may have on larger vessels. We only had 22 total passengers, which became like family by the end of the adventure. You also got to know the crew, if one wished, and language barriers couldn't stop friendships and bonds from being formed, as you both would be gazing upon scenes such as this daily....

At dinner last Sunday, as I was telling my parents about the trip, my Dad remarked " son, you get to do and see things and places that most of us will only hear or read about..."

I only smiled and nodded, but thought to myself...

"That was Hemingway's point."

Travel Photo Roulette #34 Winter

2012-01-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

**The contest is now closed***

What a great way to start the New Year, being the lucky winner of Travel Photo Roulette #33! Last week's topic was HUMOR, and I happened to have a little picture that I thought would be a good entry...

and it WON! Mom must be so proud....
Thank you to Man on the Lam for hosting the last round and selecting this picture.

Travel Photo Roulette started way back in November 2010 as a way for travel bloggers to showcase their best photography. For each round a new theme is chosen, independent travel bloggers are asked to submit photos, and a winner is chosen to host (and judge!) the following round.

This Week’s Travel Photo Roulette Theme: Winter

How do you see this season? I love the outdoors in winter with all the snow, ice and cold, but others may have warmer climates, or prefer to be indoors with a warm drink by a fire. How do you see winter?

Contest Rules

The rules are simple. The hosting blogger is the chosen winner of the previous round. The new host chooses a generic keyword or phrase that other travelers submit photos to during the course of the week. Phrases can be as generic as ‘signs’ all the way to abstract thoughts like ‘religion’ and everything in between. At the end of the week, the hosting blogger chooses their favourite photo that fits the chosen phrase and moves it to the top of the post as the winning entry with direction to the new host’s site for the next round. Readers can attempt to sway the author into picking a certain photo via comments, but the author can ignore comments as they see fit. The game is repeated with the winner hosting the following week’s game and choosing a phrase for new photo submissions.

Extra Criteria to Keep in Mind When Submitting a Photo:

One submission per Blog (so sites that have 2+ authors only get one entry).
In this round, post processing is permitted as I believe it is essential
Abstract submissions welcomed as long as it fits within the interpretation of the chosen phrase. Remember, the hosting blogger chooses the winner, so if they cannot understand the submission, you might not win!
If you win, keep these in mind when choosing a new theme:
* Keep phrases general so that all bloggers can participate. Specific items like “Eiffel Tower” should be avoided but rather made open-ended like “monuments.” For variety, it is okay to say focused things such as “monuments at night” which most of us have pictures of.
* Abstract thoughts are appreciated, but keep it within the realm that all readers will understand. No “Kafka-esque”, or “Overlooking Creation”. Use something that is able to be interpreted by all.
* *NEW* After 1 year, phrases can be reused, however new photos must be submitted.
No obscene pictures or phrases allowed. Suggestive phrases and photography can be accepted, but please keep it within reason.
Keep the ideas and photos fresh!
Pictures from your entire portfolio are fair to submit. You do not have to take the photo within the week of the contest period to submit it.
Most importantly, ALL PHOTOS MUST BE YOUR OWN.
One last rule, since this is a competition for bloggers, we need you to be a blogger to be declared a winner. Sorry!

Submit An Image

To enter in the Photo Roulette competition simply leave a comment below with a link to the image (whether Flickr, Picasa or your own site) and we will upload it to this post. Don’t forget to provide a brief description or caption for the photo so the viewers can get a little background as to what’s happening. Check back here throughout the week to see all the entries as they come in and feel free to comment on them. The contest runs for 7 days from today, with the submission date being Jan 8th , 2012 – Jan 15th , 2012 (Sunday thru Sunday). The winner will be announced within the next few days after the deadline, and they will host round 35.
**Note** Medium size pictures are preferred (around 600 px). Large pictures might slow down downloading time for everybody.

Past Photo Roulette Winners and Hosts

The following is a list of the previously played rounds of the game and the hosting blogger for each. This list also doubles as a winner’s table as each topic host won the preceding round! Click the host’s link to go directly to that entry to see some stunning photographs from the chosen term/phrase!
1. Nov 4–10, 2010 – Living the Dream – “Animals”
2. Nov 17–24, 2010 – Skinny Backpacker - “Road Signs”
3. Nov 29–Dec 6, 2010 – Dream a Little Dream - “Street Art”
4. Dec 8–15, 2010 – Flashpacker HQ – “Festival”
5. Dec 17–24, 2010 – Over Yonderlust – “Landmarks”
6. Dec 26–Jan 2, 2011 – Don’t Ever Look Back – “Beaches”
7. Jan 5–12, 2011 – ThePlanetD – “Portraits”
8. Jan 15–22, 2011 – Travel with a Mate – “Motion”
9. Jan 26–Feb 3, 2011 – Johnny Vagabond – “Water”
10. Feb 8–15, 2011 – Ken Kaminesky – “Urban”
11. Feb 21–27, 2011 – Travels of Adam - “Friday Night”
12. Mar 7–13, 2011 – Itchy Feet Chronicles – “The Journey”
13. Mar 19– 25, 2011 – Brendan’s Adventures – “Changing Seasons”
14. Apr 4–10, 2011 - Shutterfeet – “Storytelling”
15. Apr 13–21, 2011 - 10timesOne - “Piousness”
16. Apr 26–May 4, 2011 – Beached Eskimo – “Learning”
17. May 21–27, 2011 – Travel Junkies – “Architecture”
18. Jun 1–7, 2011 – Destination World – “Transportation”
19. Jun 8–15, 2011 – Living the Dream – “Paradise”
20. Jun 21-28, 2011 - Vagabond Quest - “Clothes”
21. Jul 4-11, 2011 – The Unframed World – “Symmetry”
22. Jul 16-25, 2011 – Beached Eskimo – “Home”
23. Jul 31 – Aug 7, 2011 – BackPackerBanter – “Inspiration”
24. Aug 14 – 21, 2011 – WanderingTrader - “Darkness”
25. Aug 28 – Sep 4, 2011 – Finding the Universe – “Tranquillity”
26. Sep 12 – 19, 2011 – Fearful Adventurer – “Food”
27. Sep 23 – 30, 2011 – Adventures of a GoodMan – “City”
28. Oct 06 – 13, 2011 – Globe-Trekking.com - “Reflections”
29. Oct 17 – 24, 2011 – Scene With A Hart - ”Framing”
30. Nov 9 – 16, 2011 – Vagabond Quest - “Silhouettes”
31. Nov 26 – Dec 3, 2011 – Hecktic Travels – “Music”
32. Dec 11 – Dec 18, 2011 – Globetrotter Girls – “Love”
33. Dec 25 – Jan 1st, 2012– Man on the lam – “Humor”.

The more the merrier: Let’s get more people joining the contest by sharing this article on Facebook, Twitter, StumbleUpon and G+.

Submit your entry by January 15th, 2012 – and let me know which of the entries below are your favourites:

Denise from The Art of Slow Travel :

"Coming from the warm Mediterranean island of Malta, the bitterness of the Swiss winter came as a bit of a shock, but even with frozen fingers and toes I couldn't help but fall in love with this winter wonderland."

From The GypsyNester :

"Part of our mission as full time travelers is avoiding winter but, at times, winter finds us. Because snow is so rare in our lives, our breath was taken away as it clung to these desert formations above Tucson, Arizona."

Kat from Travel with Kat:
"Sorry to be repetative, hope it's not against the rules, but just had to enter this photograph again for the theme Winter. A romantic walk along the River Thames in London."

Jeremy from Living the Dream :
Caption: "The mountains of Switzerland are a great way to experience winter year-round. When finished you just take the train back down to summer"

The Globetrotter Girls :
We took the picture while we were having mulled wine on top of the Hintertux Glacier in Tyrol, Austria and watched the snowboarders & skiers having fun in the snow.

Roving Jay submitted :
I grew up in England, with cold snowy winters, but those days have been replaced by warm California seasons. This Christmas we took a road trip up to Carmel, and stopped off at Pismo beach - which has a very tall pier and one of he widest beaches in California - and patient surfers.

Cole at Four Jandals :
Here is our entry for this week! We LOVE winter, well when it is beautiful weather like it was this day at Marmot Basin Ski Area. We worked in Jasper National Park for 10 months and fell in love with the place.

Lucy at On the Luce :

Berries in the snow in a chilly Herefordshire last winter - I loved the brightness of the red berries against the snow, and the patch of green as the leaves started peeking through.

Christy at Technosyncratic submitted :
Our photo submission was taken on Mt. Bachelor in Bend, Oregon. I'm not an avid skier, but for some reason I love the way ski-lifts look. :)

Amanda from A Dangerous Business :
I was just in Ottawa last week, and it was a bit of a winter wonderland! I took this photo at night on Parliament Hill, where they still had their Christmas lights up. The falling snow made it even better.

Stephen at Bohemian Traveler :
A string of hiking climb of the last stretch of Halla-san volcano, South Korea's highest peak.
Juno from Runaway Juno :
Here's my submission. This is Southern Alps from the air. On the way to Christchurch, we flew over Southern Alps and it was covered with snow. Beautiful scene.

James and Jade from Our Oyster

Staying alive in Miraflores

2012-01-07T08:12:00.000-07:00

I travel with cautious optimism and a belief in the goodness of people, and for the most part, this has fared me well. As soon as I leave the baggage area at the Lima International airport, I am greeted by a well dressed elderly man with a slight hunch.
"Taxi Senor?"
He seems harmless, and is standing in the area designated for taxi pickup, so I nod and he grabs my bag.
"How much?" I inquire.
"Forty soles Senor." I'm not fluent in Spanish, and being weary from travel, I agree and follow the gentleman to the taxi. Outside the airport, I see it isn't a taxi at all, just a regular car, but I still keep up my optimism in my decision.
"Miraflores por favor" and I tell him the name of the hotel. The drive starts off uneventful enough, but the driver takes an unexpected turn down a small dark alley, and thoughts begin to creep in that this last day of 2011 may just be my last day ever.
Hearing the revelry of NYE partyers in the buildings surrounding me, I close my eyes and pray that I will make it out of this alive and intact. The taxi driver eventually emerges onto the highway along the pacific ocean coastline, and pointing ahead states "Miraflores..."
I arrive to my destination safely, and give the taxi driver a hug.
"Muchas gracias Senor!"
He laughs at my broken Spanish, and we part ways.

*****

I wake early on this first day of 2012, a new year in a new city. I am ready for exploration and adventure. I head down to the beaches of Miraflores, to take in the Pacific Ocean of South America.

I am struck by the fact that the beaches are not sandy, but covered with smooth round stones. As the waves come in and roll over the beach, the symphony of sound that is made from the water receding over the stones is a musical wonder of nature.
I go for a run along the edge of the Miraflores cliffs, soaking in the sun until my body is drenched in sweat. I find a park and dry off on the cool green grass, and read for a spell until my skin turns bright red. Time to move on.
Wandering the city streets of Lima, I find the Pucllana Pyramid, built in the 4th century A.D. by the Incas.
From there I head into Colonial Lima, the historical center, with monuments and edification's such as the Paseo de la Republica, San Martin Square, and the Cathedral Basilica. Architectural beauty abounds.

Lastly, I see the San Francisco Convent, and find that it contains the largest collection of religious art in South America, and home to underground vaults known as "Catacumbas", the Catacombs. Intrigued, I enter the beautiful building.

As you enter the dark depths below the church, you feel like a grave robber of old, or maybe Indiana Jones.
They estimate that over 25,000 Peruvians were buried in these catacombs. Walking along the unearthed graves, you see pile after pile of bones; tibias, fibias, skulls... it is surreal and creepy to say the least.
Peering down into deep wells, with skeletons strewn about at the bottom, skulls hanging precariously on the sides of the well, you check your footing to make sure that one doesn't misstep and tumble down....

*****

Although I only had one day here, as I watched the sunset set over the ocean on my way back to the airport, Lima left me satisfied that I survived the city on my own, and with a feeling of wanting to return and explore more of Peru.

The floating city of Belen

2012-01-03T16:50:00.002-07:00

As the skiff was making it's way across the polluted Amazonian waters, our guide Daniel was telling us the story of the floating city of Belen.
When locals from the jungle want to start a life in the city of Iquitos, they start by living in Belen. It is here that they can find shelter, and try to acclimatize to city life.
Unfortunately, most Peruvians keep these people at the lowest of statuses, and it is very difficult for them to find employment, so the elders work at daily survival with the hope of making a better life for their children....

As Daniel spoke, my mind drifted back to a true story I heard some years ago...

"A man comes across another man sitting in the street, barefoot and hungry. The man does not beg for money or food, only looks up to the man standing above him with a pleading in his eyes.
"My friend, do you have a pair of shoes?"
By luck, the man does have an extra pair with him, and without a second thought, gives them to the man in the street. The man thanks him and they part ways.
Several months later, the two men cross paths again, but the first man doesn't recognize the second, as he is comfortably dressed, fed, clean, with a woman at his side.
"You do not know me, my friend, but I am happy to see you, and thank you for the shoes. Because I had shoes, I was able to get work, as no one would hire me with no shoes. Because I could work, I could afford food to eat, shelter to stay in. With the shoes you gave me, I was able to find me a woman, and we have fallen in love, and we soon will be married. All of this because of your shoes."

Daniel continued to speak about how he and others in Iquitos need to continue to educate the people here, as they currently bathe, wash food, clean dishes, go to the bathroom, and drink, all from the river surrounding their houses. As he is speaking, I witness what he is saying right before my eyes.

As we are passing up and down the canal like streets, I mention to Daniel that I have some items with me to give to the community. His face lights up, and like Santa on Christmas, he pulls the items one by one, joyfully tossing them to the children of Belen : socks for young girls, shirts for others, a young boy in only underwear receives a good pair of shorts, another a sturdy pair of shoes that are a perfect fit, and adjustable so that he may wear them for years to come.....

A local selling food from her canoe pulls up to us, and we buy some beans, noodles and rice, all wrapped in a leaf. Later, Daniel gives this to an elderly women and her family. His compassion and love for his people warms my heart. As we leave, I hear the others on the skiff talking, wishing that they had brought more to give. For me though, just knowing that they have had their eyes widened and may open their hearts a little more in the future to help others is enough.

the whole of the Moon

2011-12-24T22:23:00.001-07:00

The day after the Incident was coming to an end. Little Giants in the morning, Jane, Joseph, & Eunice after that, and the story of the desks had all impacted me greatly in their own way. Our last stop was to the Eternal Hope Children's Home. Oprah Ouma, someone whom I'd met briefly in past years, runs this school/orphanage. We went to take her books and other school supplies, but found that all she currently had to house them was a dark room with four bare walls. Our crew went to work....

From putting up and stocking the shelves with reading books, to adding colour to the walls with artwork and signs so that it looked like something one would find in any other library, World of Difference quickly turned a dark and empty room into a wonderful place of learning for Oprah's students.
I'll never forget the joy on those children's faces, and the purest sincerity in Oprah's voice as she thanked us from the bottom of her huge heart.

For me, I knew it was I that was thankful, and although Eternal Hope didn't know of the impact their gratitude had on me, it was truly an amazing end to one of the best days I've had in Kenya.

As I think back to that day now, seeing the pictures and video of team members, it fills me with an indescribable emotion. From the look of joy on Master P's face while dancing, to Ki, Heather, Nan, and Jill's faces ( and all the others) when the library was finished, it is a moment that will stay close to my heart forever.
I know that at the beginning of the day, I only saw the crescent, but by the end, I saw the Whole of the Moon.

inside Earth's depths...

2011-12-22T06:47:00.000-07:00

A lone hawk swoops down out of the thick fog, its giant wingspan floating across my windshield, then disappears back into the clouds. It's the first sign of life I've seen in hours along the lonesome Nevada highway.
Towns out in the nothingness here are intriguing, remnants that hold stories of old if one stops to observe and listen.

There are still a few brave souls that make this place home in ramshackle houses and weather beaten trailers. One would imagine that although life may be hard, there is peace that also comes knowing that children can play in relative safety, run wild in the desert, use their imagination and creativity to pass the hours.

The deeper you go into Nevada's wildness, you find the sun shining down on pristine beauty. The sagebrush covered in last night's newly fallen snow blamket the area like a virgin's white dress on her wedding day.

An archaeological site of the little known Fremont Indian from seven hundred years ago reveals a glimpse into a possible village, or perhaps a ceremonial graveyard. If you take the time, you can almost hear their Indian cry in the wind, feel them on your skin.

Driving past Baker, a town that almost has "Ghost town" status, except for a few old timers with trusty dogs at their side as they sit on broken down porches in the cold, watching me as I pass by. A chill runs down my spine as I make my way up the road to the cave, the final destination.

As luck would have it, the Park Ranger is just about to start a tour with only two people. I happily join them, and the four of us enter the Lehman Cave, first discovered in the late 1880's by Arthur Lehman. As we walk the ranger gives us a fascinating history lesson, from a B movie filmed in the cave in the 1950's, to the original tour price of one dollar to enter, with Mr. Lehman locking you in the cave by yourself for twenty four hours to explore, with only a tin can and wax candle for light.
If one didn't emerge after that time frame, he would then come in to find you.
Terrifying.
You get a sense of how old the cave is from the early graffiti left on the walls.....

To walk into the depths of the earth and see formations that take millions of years to form is mind boggling, at least to this mind.

Paul & the desks

2011-12-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

I first tried making a desk in Kenya in 2010, and failed miserably. The wood was far too tough to cut, the saw not sharp enough, or most likely I just didn't have the strength or endurance to complete the task. I went back to mixing cement by hand and let others try to build school desks.

This last summer, one of the major projects was building desks, and there was no escape for me this time.

For children's desks, we nailed 178 lbs of nails into 2,948 feet of wood that we cut and sanded by hand. My brother, being a handyman back home, was asked to head up the project, measuring the wood, and helping the rest of us figure out just how exactly it was we were supposed to put the desks together so that they would be suitable for the children. I had to take apart many a desk before I got it right.....


My brother, the master fundi, in the Utah shirt.

On our last day in Kenya, we left Eunice's school and headed to Grace's school to complete the last of the desks. In just a few hours time, the last of the desks were done. I don't recall how many we made, but it felt like hundreds.

That evening, the World of Difference volunteers gathered together to have a debriefing session. It is a time for us to express our feelings about the experiences we had while in Kenya serving others.

Paul and his wife Becky were two of our volunteers that had both grown up in Kenya, and later immigrated to the USA. They wanted to come back to Kenya to help their own country. It was the first time that World of Difference had Kenyans volunteer that were now US citizens.

Paul took a deep breath as he started to speak. He told us that when we had gone to a slum school earlier in the week, that it was the slum that he had grown up in. He continued, with tears in his eyes, to tell us that he remembered sitting in the exact same type desks that we had built when he was a child. He knew that the desks we were making were going to make a difference, just as the desk he used to sit in as a child had allowed him to get the education to become the person he was today....

I had never heard such a powerful sentiment in my whole life. Our team leader, jD, told Paul that he didn't know why ( at the time) we should go to that area, but he now knew we went to that slum school just for Paul to have this experience.

It's funny how things like this just seem to happen while in Kenya.

Paul, affectionately called himself "Black Moses". A man who is symbol of quiet strength, and someone whose words I always carry with me.

Black Moses

I often think about Paul and the desks. His story was one that helped save me that day from my own difficulties, and continues to inspire and uplift me today.

Climbing Mount Spokane

2011-12-18T13:00:00.000-07:00

Short is the little time which remains to thee of life. Live as on a mountain. - Marcus Aurelius

Awakening to a pitch black night I slowly dress and ready myself for the unseen adventure ahead of me today. Even though there is little snow in the Spokane Valley, I am hopeful to head up into the mountains of this new land and find trails covered in winter's cold embrace.

A mere thirty minutes from downtown and all I have around me are frost covered pines, their once green moss now suspended in frozen brilliance on the branches. I find a empty parking lot in this winter wonderland and try to navigate the map to see what trail I should set foot upon.

Topography was never my specialty though, and so with two water bottles, a banana, and my friend Dopey's beanie wrapped around my head for warmth, I head into the unknown wilderness looking to climb to the top of Mount Spokane...

The snow is crunchy for the first few miles, making it fairly easy to navigate, but the trail splits in different directions at multiple junctures. I find myself running into one dead end after another, but feel comforted by the pristine wilderness. A lone woodpecker breaks the silence occasionally with it's familiar call.

I eventually come across a ski resort, empty today as it is closed, a posted sign asks to "pray to the Snow Gods". I take a sip and decide to hike straight up the mountain, following the black diamond snow path. It is excruciatingly difficult, yet exhilarating. This path eventually becomes too steep, and so I find my way back to the trail, and slowly make my way round and round the mountain, hoping that my body will let me reach the top.

With the winter solstice almost upon us, time is imperceptible, clouds and fog dot the landscape, with the rare glimpse of blue sky and a faint line of the sun on the horizon. I've never been this far North in winter. The clouds seem imaginary.

I see a couple of people far ahead of me in the distance. I raise to wave my hand but I can't tell if they see me or not. I go to get another drink of water to avoid dehydration, but the water has frozen. I hope that the top is near. As I turn the corner, I see the cell tower at the top, and with short breaths I make it up to the summit.

The view above the clouds is so humbling, yet the wind makes my eyes water, then quickly freezes on my cheeks. I wipe my face with numb fingers, then work my way back down the mountain to thaw my exhausted, yet satisfied body.

in the land of the Spokane Indians

2011-12-16T21:08:00.001-07:00

I stand on a bridge overlooking Spokane Falls, the residents of this town passing me with emptiness in their eyes. Perhaps because of the bitter cold, or maybe the few strangers I encounter have the holiday blues.
I can't shake how I see the same look though everywhere I go, no matter what town I step foot in.
Frustration. Despair. Anger. Sadness.
Our planet, our people, is in trouble. Signs that were once meant to inspire now only seem to be a sad reminder of what once was....

I continue to wander to streets, contemplating these thoughts, when hunger strikes. I stumble upon a local organic market.

Support local. Eat fresh. Feel better.
I find falafael, garlic hummus, pheasant and duck pate, with a fine local organic Roija to wash it all down. As I approach the checkout, an angel's voice and smile greet me warmly. She gives me hope for humanity with her kindness.
I leave happy, glad to have come to the land of the Spokane Indian.

And you will go to Mykonos
With a vision of a gentle coast
And a sun to maybe dissipate
Shadows of the mess you made- Fleet Foxes.

Death Valley

2011-12-12T18:16:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, long ago, I had heard about a place so desolate and isolated that at night one could see the true enormity and vastness of the galaxy, filled with endless stars and planets.
Recently I had subsequently learned that because of a growing population of city lights from both Las Vegas and California, this night time phenomena was slowly disappearing. Not wanting to miss my chance, I packed my car and decided to slowly road trip my way to Death Valley.

Just before I left though, my hometown ( and really the whole western United States) was hit with a bitter cold, high wind State of Emergency , and my plan to tent camp was changed to staying in Las Vegas and driving to Death Valley for day explorations. I don't like to camp in twenty degree temperatures.

As I made my way past Area 51 and crossed the California border into the National Park, I decide to first head to Dante's View, at more than 5,000 feet above the park. With what felt like hurricane force winds whipping me as I hiked the trail out to the tip, I am in awe of the view.

After getting my blood pumping and my adrenaline going like a freight train, I head down from Dante's View and make my way through 20 Mule Team Canyon. The formations in the inferno valley are truly out of this world. Nothing seems to move out here except my own two feet.

Continuing the journey as the sun above indicates high noon, I find Zabriskie Point. I choose to hike instead of driving up to the overlook, and the choice is a wise one. Immersed in a sandy stone canyon, one must use navigation skills and pin point familiarities so you do not get lost. Thrilled with this type of adventure, I make my way.

With the sun quickly setting and the temperatures dropping, I head down to Furnace Creek and bundle up with a warm drink and witness the night sky unfold in it's mystery and wonder....

*****

Back on the road in the super early pre dawn, I leave the lights of Las Vegas for day number two in Death Valley.

First stop is Mosaic Canyon. Bundling up to fight off the early morning winter chill, I set forth into the unknown. As I reach the top and turn to see the view in the narrow box canyon, I almost forget to breathe.

Next stop is Artists Drive. I stop at random places along the lonely road, and just head into the hills, not sure what I'm looking for, not caring what I find. Such freedom in the stillness.

Meditation

Contemplation

Relaxation
*****

Feeling better than I have in years, my good mood steers me over to Natural Bridge Canyon. Signs everywhere warn of rattlers, but I feel safe with the cold temperatures, although the day is warming up nicely in the afternoon. I cautiously head up the trail.

Continuing on past the bridge, I find myself scaling rocks like a lemur, pushing myself further and further up the canyon. I see a couple of gents resting, and they warn me that it isn't as easy getting down the rocks as it is climbing up. I heed their warning, but continue forward. As I come to the end of the box canyon, I marvel in the accomplishment. Age is all in your mind.

Although it takes me some time to make it back down, I eventually make it out. Unsure of where I should go next, and with not much daylight left, I pull out the park map and decide on my next destination. I believe I'll have just enough time. As I'm driving I come across a sign that makes me slam on the brakes, and with a whirlwind of dust I see where I am at....

The last stop starts to appear on the horizon, but I think it to be a mirage.

"That can't be real"

The Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes are indescribable. You feel like you could be in the Sahara, possibly the Tunisia desert, but not California.

You can get nervous heading off into the seemingly endless dunes, and so one is constantly looking behind you for your known markers, a lone tree or the far off parking lot. But the beauty of the dunes call you further in, enticing you to climb the hills, discover its hidden treasures, to find your inner child and play in its soft sand.

With nothing but high sand dunes around me, I run into a family sitting high on a hill, enjoying a snack and getting a drink. As I approach, I see their quizzical looks, and realize that I must be quite a sight to see, as I look like Mad Max from beyond Thunderdome. I remove my motorcycles like googles and smile, and they return the gesture. We sit and talk for awhile. I love when moments like that happen during solo travel.

*****

As if this adventure wasn't epic enough, you can get your Death Valley rock 'n roll on with this two part video self made doc. ( although at 27 total minutes, I understand if you don't.....)

Travel on!

Perfect Little Buildings

2011-12-10T04:30:00.000-07:00

There are many different things one looks forward to when in a new place ; food, entertainment, culture, sights and sounds that your senses haven't yet experienced.

I love all of those, but for me, one of my favourite things to do is to see a city's buildings, shops, and parks.
Whether it is architecture that is modern or hundreds of years old, graffitti on the side of a brick face or a new age sculpture in the Business District, it says much about a place.
Portland had plenty to say.

Japanese Gardens

2011-12-08T05:10:00.001-07:00

In my hometown, the closest one can get to Japanese culture would be a good sushi restaurant with over priced Sake, or perhaps you can find decent tempura on a good day. That's it.
So it was nice to expand my horizons and visit the most authentic Japanese Garden outside of Japan.

In Washington Park just above downtown Portland, one can leisurely enjoy a quiet and serene morning strolling through five different and captivating gardens. Away from the busy streets, time slows to a tortoise crawl as you walk small stone paths and find delicate and well cared for beauty around each corner.

From an authentic Japanese tea house to a meticulously crafted rock garden, it was a perfect place to start your day in that frame of mind you always hope to find yourself in.

Wildwood

2011-12-07T05:04:00.001-07:00

"Walking reminds us of who we are." - Paul Theroux
( from The Bohemian Traveler )

On an overcast morning in a new city, I go for a walk with no predetermined destination in mind. I hope to get lucky and discover some new place, an unplanned adventure. Risky and careless perhaps, but it gets your blood pumping.
Wandering through Portland's industrial district of rundown buildings, ports and biker bars, I turn to go up a steeply inclined street into a neighborhood that looks promising.
I come to an old bridge that leads me to what looks like a city park. I find that it is one entrance to the United State's largest urban forested area within city limits, Forest Park.
Intrigued, I start hiking the Wildwood Trail.

Large moss covered trees feel like ancient soldiers protecting you as you hike along the muddy trail. Different shades of green, red, and yellow fill your senses. Waterfalls play music, with all sorts of birds chiming in with their song. Walking mile after endless mile, wildwood is magical.
As the blisters on my feet scream for me to rest, I exit the trail in the Nob Hill neighborhood, lost but smiling. I criscross the maze of streets while enjoying the view of the city, eventually, and luckily, finding my way back to my bed.
I close my eyes and sleep well in this new city.

Jane & Joseph

2011-12-06T03:45:00.001-07:00

After my morning at Little Giants, we headed over to the next school to say our goodbyes, Unity Centre. Eunice, the school's headmaster ( and my mom while I'm in Kenya) warmly greeted us, and with tears in her eyes, thanked us for all of the work we had done for her school and children.


Eunice and I in front of her school.

Although you can't help but have overwhelming love for all of the children there, one usually has a special bond with a select few. This year, for me, it was Jane and Joseph.
This will be Jane's last year at Unity Centre, as she will be going on to high school next year.

Jane.

Jane quietly and humbly asked if she could speak to me. When we were alone, she cried into my chest, telling me that she didn't know how she would be able to continue her education, as she has no parents, and her Aunt was sick and had no job. All she wants to do is continue her education, with a dream of becoming a journalist.

Joseph is one outgoing young man. Full of energy and charisma, you can not help but smile whenever you see him. This is mainly because he is always grinning from ear to ear, with a sparkle in his eye.

Joseph

No matter how my day goes in my life back in my hometown, I can always close my eyes, and hear Joseph's sweet voice calling my name, asking me what he can do to help me. I can feel him softly holding my hand, or telling me a story. Joseph's dream is to be a Judge.

I went into Eunice's office and told her that I wanted to help Jane and Joseph, and asked her if I could sponsor them for one year.
"Do you want to pay for just the school fee's, or can you also pay for them to get a daily meal too?"
It wasn't much money, but I know it will make a World of Difference to those two young people. It certainly made a difference in me.

Keep Portland weird

2011-12-02T06:30:00.000-07:00

One can feel winter on their shoulder, gently tapping to begin.
The wind is swirling with electric energy causing the leaves to stand erect, then fall as they take their last tumble toward the earth. I playfully kick them up into the air, like one does as a child.
Days like these are my favourite, the last one in November, here in a new city, the one of roses.
Portland.

I dress in a knitted cap, red hoodie, and a pea green coat that has become too big for my frame. When did I become so small...
Baggy pants with warm long underwear to stave off the cold. Old shoes, stained and frayed at the edges, but comfortable walking attire. I head in no particular direction, eager for what I may find here.
For the beginning of the holiday season, most people I encounter do not seem happy, as I receive no smiles, eyes avert my gaze, cold shoulders for the most part.
I stop to help a homeless man, and look in a shop window and see myself. We look the same, the homeless and I.
I find comfort in this, in helping, and this realization is enough for me to leave this city a little wiser.

Little Giants

2011-11-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

The morning after the "Incident", I awoke still feeling bitter about what had happened. Nothing anyone could say was really helping, it was a horrible feeling that I just couldn't shake.

After breakfast, we were all getting into our vans to go say our goodbyes to the various school projects we had been working on in the slums of Nairobi. My good rafiki Peter was waiting outside for us, and asked me what was wrong, as I guess it was pretty apparent I wasn't happy.
I told him what happened in Lamu, and I'll never forget his response...

"Rafiki, those people are crazy"

I tried to muster a smile, but couldn't. I climbed in the van, thinking that this was going to be one LONG day, still wishing I could just board a plane and go home.

Our first stop that morning though wasn't to one of our projects, but instead we went into the Nairobi countryside to visit George.

George was one of our drivers during my first visit to Kenya back in 2009. Since then, George has started his own safari company, and with the money he has saved, him and his beautiful wife have built their own school on their own land, Little Giants.

I was amazed at their dedication to education, and had never seen a school like his. Usually, schools are built around the students. George and his wife wanted their school to be different, they wanted it completed before enrolling students. The school had artwork painted on the walls, a playground and garden, and it was secure with walls and a gate.

As we were shown the school, their were two children in one of the classrooms. I sat down with them, and just held their hands.

I was so moved by George's dedication, hard work, and commitment to the children of Kenya. After giving them some donated supplies that WoD had brought from America, George's wife gave a heartfelt speech, thanking us. Afterwards, with tears in my eyes, I hugged her and whispered in her ear "Asante Sana, you have saved me..."

She had no idea about what had happened in Lamu, and most likely never will. But I will never forget Little Giants, and the impact it had on me that morning, the start of an amazing day that changed everything for me....

The Qur'an incident

2011-11-22T06:39:00.001-07:00

My last day in Lamu, Kenya started uneventfully enough, breakfast with the rest of the group outside on a beautiful, crystal clear blue sky morning. We were told to pack up our gear, and that we would be going into the town itself for a few hours before heading back across the Indian Ocean channel to the airport, and back to Nairobi.

Having everything packed in my backpack ( passport, phone, camera, wallet, money), the attendant took my backpack from me to the boat. I instantly felt uneasy being separated from my traveling essentials, but knew that I'd be in the boat and back with my backpack soon.

As we were loading into the boats, I couldn't find my backpack. As I inquired with the hotel staff, I found out that a boat loaded with gear had already left for the airport, and my backpack must have been included. My uneasiness escalated close to panic, but there wasn't much one could do.
After a thirty minute ride down the channel, the boats dock at the stone harbour, and we get our first glimpse of the town.

Lamu is a city right out of ancient history, from it's cobblestone streets, to it's architecture, people and culture. Donkeys were the mode of transportation if one didn't want to walk.
Being on the border of Somalia, it is also a town that is predominately Muslim. Having never been in such an environment before, I'm enthralled with everything about Lamu. I think that I need something that will help me remember this place. Not a cheesy souvenir or trinket, but something that captures the true spirit.

I ask our guide where one could find a Qur'an. He looks at me curiously, but asks no questions, and sets off on his own to see what he can do. My brother and I wander the streets, checking out the city. We find a local mosque, and try to enter, but we are told that we are "unclean". We don't hear or see the guide for quite awhile, so I start asking the local vendors if they know where I can get a Qur'an. A ton of questions follow....

"Why do you want this book?"
"Are you Muslim?"
"What is your purpose?"
"Are you American?"

I calmly explain that I only want it to appreciate it's beauty. I have no political agenda. I'm not going to burn it. I will treasure it.

Eventually, someone finds one for me. It is the most beautiful book I've ever held. Leather bound on old parchment paper, and written entirely in Arabic. I thank the person, pay him for his trouble, and my brother and I go back to the wharf to meet with the rest of World of Difference for lunch before we head back to the airport.

As we are all sitting down for a bite to eat, the guide I originally asked to find me a Qur'an comes up to me to see if I was still interested. I tell him that I was able to find one myself. A few minutes later, we hear arguing just outside the open air restaurant from a group of Muslim men.
A member of our group turns to me, and says " I think they are arguing about your book...."

I don't think too much about it. Seconds later, I get a tap on my shoulder, and turning around, there is a group of Muslims in the restaurant, looking very upset. They ask to see my purchase.
I pull the book ( wrapped in newspaper) out and hand it to them. As soon as they see it, they start with the same questions as before, but in quite a different tone of voice.
Anger.

"You must show us who gave you this book, it is very holy to us. We must make sure the man who gave it to you is worthy, is a good man."

I have no idea who the person was that sold it to me. The men tell me, in no uncertain terms, that I must go with them back to the street where I got it. I get up to leave the restaurant with them to try and find the person who gave me the book, the rest of my WoD group wide eyed with apprehension.

As I was walking out with them, my brother came back from the restroom. I tell him quickly what is happening, and tell him to come with me, as I do not want to go with this group alone.

As we are walking the same streets as before, you can feel the somber mood in the shops as we pass. Vendors that were friendly before acted as though they hadn't seen myself or my brother in their life. People we asked about the Qur'an stated they had never seen us before, didn't know what we were talking about. Things were not going well.

Unable to find the person, we all walked back the the wharf in front of the restaurant. Before I could go in though, I was surrounded by a even larger group of Muslims. They were loudly chanting in their native tongue, but it was easy to get the gist. They wanted their book back.

I had paid the man a small amount for the Qur'an, only because I wanted to help him. I told the Muslims they could have their book if I got my money back. It was at this point a boy, no more than fourteen years old, came up to me.

He spoke perfect English, and started by asking me the same questions about the book.

"Are you Muslim? Are you American? Why do you want this?"

I slowly explained to him that I had no agenda, and that I only wanted it because I found it beautiful. The whole time I was doing this, the other Muslims were growing louder and more angry. I'm not sure how I stayed calm and composed, although I was internally freaking out that I didn't have my backpack.....

The young boy seemed to understand my position. In Swahili, he talked to the rest of the group around me. Somehow he calmed them down, they dissipated, and we went inside the restaurant. I gave the book to my find Dori to put in her bag she was carrying. I figured "out of sight, out of mind" was probably the best philosophy at this juncture.

Our guide was very concerned for our safety at this point, and told everyone to head to the boats on the pier, and to get of Lamu.

As we were walking out, the young boy asked me what I was going to do for him since he helped me out of the situation. I had no money on me ( it was all in my backpack), but suddenly realized that he was only helping me to get something in return. I would have given him some money if I had any, and told him so. This didn't make him happy.

As we were walking to the boats to leave, the group of Muslims came running after and surrounded me from the rest of the group, demanding the Qur'an back. Apparently, the young boy had incited them again since he didn't get the compensation he felt he deserved.

I had no idea where the rest of my group was, as all I could see were the angry faces around me. My brother says that there were at least fifty men, maybe more. They had gathered together their own money, and were throwing it at me, stuffing it into my hands and pockets, demanding their book back. I was scared, especially since I didn't even have the book with me anymore. I tried to explain to them that if they would just back away so I could see, that I would get them their book. They thought I was lying about not having the book on me.

"You are not leaving until we get that book back."
"I don't have it with me."
"You lie. You will not leave here alive. We want the book."

I didn't know what to do. I looked out onto the water, and saw the team already in boats and leaving. The guide wanted them safe, I suppose. I thought that everyone but myself was already safely in a boat. I thought I was going to die.

"I need to find the girl with blond hair, she has the book. You need to let me see if I can find her."
" You lie, give us back the book."

This conversation went round and round, when I finally see Dori and her boyfriend, jD, back at the restaurant, unaware of the situation. They thought things were still alright.

As I pointed to the Muslims where the book was, a group of 10-15 men leave me, and sprint towards Dori and jD, surround them, and rush them to me. Dori was in tears, and jD had a look of bewilderment on his face. It broke my heart to see this. I couldn't believe what was happening.

"Dori, I need the book." She quickly hands it to me, and I hand it over to the apparent leader. The three of us get in the last boat, discombobulated and distraught. Chants of Allah are all that I hear. As I turn to look back at the group on the pier, several of the men looked directly at me, making the gesture of a finger across their throat. I am shaking uncontrollably.

When we get back to the airport, I am so upset I can barely speak. I don't think I said more than a few words in the airport, the flight back to Nairobi, or the ride back to our hostel.

I was done with Africa, and just wanted to go home. I didn't know how I was going to get through our final three days. All I had was hatred in my heart.

*****

This happened five months ago. I reflect on this incident daily, trying to understand what happened. I've come to realize a few things. First, I now know more about the sacred importance of the Qur'an to the Islam faith, and why it was so important for them to know why I wanted the book.

Second, sadly, their are people in this world that hate white people, especially Americans, and that one can not overcome this stereotype easily. I feel that many white Americans probably have this same stereotype about Muslims ( I have found this to be true from the instant reactions I get just from telling this story to people here in the USA). This incident taught me to more fully understand one's culture and faith so as not to offend them. You must respect a person in order to get respect back.

I also realized that I can not let one incident ruin my feelings about an entire continent. There were so many things that happened the next day in Nairobi that restored my faith in humanity, and helped me overcome what had happened in Lamu. ( Those stories are to follow...)

I have a crescent moon and star hanging above my door at home. I also got this in Lamu, without incident. The African I purchased it from told me it is a symbol of good luck. Again, not knowing any better at the time, I believed him. I've done more research on this, and find that although this isn't true, I look at it daily as a reminder of what happened, and how lucky I am to have survived.

More importantly, it reminds me of how one needs to be aware of different people's beliefs and ideals, and to fully respect them.

With our Thanksgiving holiday this week here in the USA, I am truly thankful for the personal insight of this experience, as I know it has opened my world view, and increased my understanding for tolerance and acceptance. Hatred has no place in my heart.

Calf Creek Falls

2011-11-19T06:12:00.000-07:00

Fingers slowly run across the long, grey tipped whiskers on his face. Staring into the dirty mirror, trying to remember the reflection I see, the person I am now.

Minutes, hours, days...all jumbled together in a haze of nothingness.

When did you last shower?

No point in checking the clock for the time, as all one sees is darkness outside. I grab the barest of essentials : water, camera, long john's, trail mix, music.

The air outside is unseasonably mild, yet electric with the impending storm approaching.

Don't think about it, just get in the car and drive....

And with the stars twinkling overhead, I leave the darkness of cities still in slumber to the vast emptiness of my destination....

Covering 1.9 million acres, the Grand Staircase/Escalante is a wonder of nature and perfect for one who wishes to not be bothered. In the cool November morning air, I stumble upon the Calf Creek Falls trailhead.

It sounds as good as any trail to explore in this wilderness. I set final preparations and head out, hearing the faint sounds of scavengers in the desert howling atop the high rock cliffs.

*****

Did you hear that?

Scanning the plateau high above me, I see native people looking down, coyotes pacing back and forth, vultures hoovering from above.

Remember to breathe, drink your water, you are stronger than they are....

The bright sun mixed with dark shadows plays trick on my mind. I am alone, so totally alone out here. Mile after mile, pushing forward on the sandy trail.

Do not prolong your day, use your time...

The river trout scurry as my figure frightens the fish in the pristine waters. I hear a thunderous roar...

You must be close now.

The emerald pool catches the torrents of water cascading down the rocks. I marvel at nature's work, her sculptured and smooth artistic ambiance.

I eat, drink, rest for an indeterminate amount. Hiking back, I scratch my long whiskers, and smile as I remember who the reflection is.

I am the same, yet different.

These thoughts stick with me, mulling them over as the sun sets over the mountains.

Just another day outside of one's four cornered room....

the Fremont Indians

2011-11-11T18:50:00.001-07:00

It is unknown to us here today as to where the Fremont Indians came from. Some speculate that they broke from the Anasazi group and traveled north.
Their remnants are scattered throughout eastern Utah, one only has to look.

Today I head to explore nine mile canyon, to find the Fremont.

The area is all BLM land ( Bureau of Land Management) and is contracted by gas & mine companies. Fracking drilling rigs are dotted along the rim, but down in the canyon it is only I and the occasional rumbling truck. I set off to explore.

In the solitude of a serene blue sky and surrounded by majestic mountains wearing snow caps, I find ancient rock wall drawings of the Fremont. Lightly touching the images with bare skin, I think I hear flute sounds in the wind. I contemplate the meaning behind the drawings; are they stories of a past people, markings of a place to hunt, celestial communications to the heavens?...

Some things are better left as contemplative mysteries. Finding my way deeper into the canyon, I find a side slot canyon begging me to climb inside. I comply and go deep, crawling up crevasses, through wind carved caves and immense boulders cracked by ice and time.

As the sun sets and the temperatures drop in this open landscape, I pass the the oil and gas rigs and think to myself that man will soon destroy this history, and replace it with our own marking of our civilization.
Maybe in another couple thousand of years, another human will set out on a similar adventure, wondering about remnants left behind by our people.

Wonder what the remains of our people will say...

120 hours

2011-11-09T06:55:00.000-07:00

One hundred and twenty hours in, no revelations thus far. You may recall from a previous story telling that I had mentioned about a big life change. In this world of a dismal economy, I quit my employment of the last nine years.
I now have the freedom to stay up late, brush the dust off books that must have thought they'd been long forgotten, address the nooks and crannies in my life that need personal attention.

But, in all honesty, the first one hundred and twenty hours have only been filled with self reflection, trepidation, fear and anxiety. My demons haunt my thoughts with inability, dread, and failure.
I list out things to do to occupy myself over the next couple of months.
Set Goals.
I've never had this much freedom.
I'm paralyzed.

Shellshock'd

2011-11-04T08:11:00.001-06:00

The man's vision is in infrared, nothing seems natural anymore. He travels to find relaxation, peace, discovery, even a moment of fun perhaps.
All he finds are empty streets full of people. Black and white buildings in a construe of colour.

Reaching for the connectedness of family and friends, but is unable to connect.
You are disconnected. Discombobulated. Distraught.

Ride a trolley up and down the streets of the city, wishing for the wind to wipe the cobwebs out of your skull.
I just want to see truth, or at least to know there is none to be found.
Dinner on the waterfront. Drinks down the hatch. Life is looking more optimistic, if only for a time, thanks to Irish coffee.
The midnight hour is upon us, and with it a new persona arises.
The man willingly chats with the cabbie, as if they are best friends. He is from Sudan, you tell him about your love of Kenya. We are bonded as kinsman by the time we reach our destination.
If only all of life could be short acquaintances with strangers, leaving you a better person.
You find yourself on a hotel ledge, wondering....

*****

Morning comes, and the call for the perfect omelet down on the wharf to cure your headache, followed by time on the Bay.

Seeing the Golden Gate Bridge from underneath lends to a new appreciation of it's architecture.

We slowly circle the infamous Alcatraz, as one can feel the omnipresence of the Island and it's former captors.

Prisons give you the creeps, but one can't turn away from the truth of this place.
Horror and tortured souls.

With feet back on the mainland, it is time to go watch some football, college style.

The game is horrid, but you get to see a legend.

Willie Mays.

The evening ends with a pre-Halloween party at our hotel. With the last minute purchase of cheaper than cheap masks, we have our costumes.Laughing at one's own idiosyncrasy, we try to enter, but get denied. Apparently sandals and shorts are not the style they are looking for.No worries, as we have our own party, none the wiser.
A weekend passes, pushes life closer to the inevitable end.
Shell shocked in San Francisco.

up & down endless streets in the GTA

2011-10-19T19:36:00.000-06:00

Man, unlike any other thing organic or inorganic in the universe, grows beyond his work, walks up the stairs of his concepts, emerges ahead of his accomplishments.

John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath (1939)

*****

An unknown force compelled me to go, and I'm still unsure as to why. Perhaps to see the most beautiful sunset as the plane was descending, or perhaps I've got a screw loose and have no boundaries.

No matter to reason, the GTA ( Greater Toronto Area) spoke to me in a lover's whisper to feel her out, explore her depths and charms.

So I did.

I stay on Bloor street, across from the University and the ROM. A perfect location to start my wandering of the city in the morning. After a long day in the air, I'm ready for food and drink.

Little India, Chinatown, Little Italy, Oh Canada!....the choices are endless and overwhelming. I let the bottle of wine pick my food, and settle on a nice Canadian Red, complemented by Atlantic smoked salmon on toast and Indian Butter Chicken.

I sleep well.

I awake to the alarm, but not mine, the hotel fire alarm. Panicked, I revert to primary school education and feel the door for heat, smell for smoke. The announcement comes over the speakers to evacuate the building using the stairs. I quickly dress and flee to the street with other haggard confused guests.

Only a kitchen fire, all is safe now. Please return to your rooms......

I surmise that no more coffee is needed, and start my day.

No map in hand, no GPS on the phone, I use intuition and luck to find my way. I go to Philosopher's Walk at the University, marveling at the buildings and architecture.

I see, for the first time, black squirrels throughout the city, parks, buildings, vacant lots. I am reminded of the Pied Piper of Hamelin and the rats.

Continuing the journey, I enjoy green organic tea in a local coffee shop, and read for a time. I'm in no rush. I see Lake Ontario, the waves are ice cold as winter seems to try and drown out the remnants of Fall. Children playing, students chatting, people shopping. A peaceful weekend.

Hunger strikes, and I find a little house that serves Ethiopian food. The authenticity is palpable, the food divine.

I finish eating, and walk more. Aimlessly and content.

The night comes, and with it my main reason for the trip, the Iron and Wine show down by the pier.

lead singer for Iron & Wine

I see a Persian drum for the first time, played by an Iranian beauty. I tell myself I love her, knowing that I'll never see her again.

The show rekindles me, ignites my own uniqueness, and confirms the notion that one should be true to them self, their ideals, and not compromise to appease the masses.

hanging in the Head

2011-10-09T13:45:00.000-06:00

I should know better than to look at the e-mail that came across my phone.
Just get on the plane, you can deal with work later....
But my body and technology are intertwined, meshed together, and I can't ignore that fact.
God damn it....
Yet it is my choice to let the disturbing news break me down or not. I decide to let a few days at Hilton Head Island work on my state of mind.

This time I do not go on any adventures, no exploring new territories. Instead I read books from cover to cover, go for walks along the ocean shoreline at sunrise and sunset, listen to live music at the tiki house.

I savor simple things, like fine food on your tongue.

Oysters on a half shell.

walking for endless hours on a sandy beach.

watching the sun rise

reading. sleeping. waking. repeat.

couples holding hands, sharing secrets.

live beach music.

a broken fence line, half buried in white sand.

a child building a sandcastle.

sea birds playing in the surf.

a old man fishing.

Upon my return home, these simple things have helped me to make a decision, a huge change in my life. I look forward to what the future holds, with nervous excitement.

Education is the best Heritage

2011-10-02T04:34:00.000-06:00

Since World of Difference believes that education is the key to a child's future, we asked the staff at our resort in Lamu if they wouldn't mind taking us to a local school for a visit. They gladly obliged.

As we walked the sandy trail, the heat and humidity were getting the best of some of us. Our guide mentioned that this was the "cool" time of the year, and that come December it was nearly impossible for man nor animal to walk on the scorching sand.

We come to the ruins of an ancient mosque, then the jungle opens and we see the village for the first time. It is my first true exposure to a Muslim community.

The village, at first, seems almost deserted, with only animals to be seen. Slowly though, the people appear, looking out windows and from behind walls to see the new visitors.
Curiosity is a powerful thing though, and this propels the children to come to us. With the children around our group, they lead us to the headmaster of the local school in the village, and we get to see a wonderfully built school. He tells us about their education program, his future goals for his community, and the current problems they are facing.

As we walk and talk, I turn to see little faces pointing at us from open doorways of classrooms. I make of game of hide and seek with them.
They laugh at the mzungu (white person), but it relieves the tension, as I hope they see that we aren't threatening, we are all one people.

As we get ready to leave, our group pulls together what money we have to leave for the school ( we didn't have any supplies with us to give) as we want to thank the teachers for all that they do.

The headmaster and teachers are so very grateful, and I personally felt a connection to a place never before seen by my eyes, and couldn't be happier with my increased understanding and world view.

Washington's Northern Olympic Peninsula

2011-09-30T05:18:00.000-06:00

One may wonder what draws a person back to a certain place, an internal gnawing at your subconsciousness to return. I have this sensation about Washington State, and I make the connection during my latest trip that the State of my birth, although I left when I was very young, still holds a beacon that calls me home to discover more of the land where I started this life.

Explorations this time around lead me out to the Northern Olympic Peninsula, a charming little town called Sequim. Upon my arrival, I settle in with a map to plan my adventures for the next few days.
I first find the Hoh rain forest, and feel like a hobbit, or maybe even a faunlike beast under the immense greenery and moss covered trees. You can almost feel otherwordly creatures watching you from the depths of the forest.

As I hike and explore, I hear what sounds like the pitter patter of feet following me. I turn first left, then right, even spinning around in a full 360, but see nothing around me. Nervousness starts to creep in, wondering what creature or beast is stalking me. Then something lands on my forearm, and I see with great relief that it is morning dew, falling in large noisy droplets to the forest floor.

There is much to see if one takes the time, mushrooms growing in the most unusual of places, tree branches twisted and tangled, growing in what would seem to be impossible angles. Spider webs fully intact, abandoned by their maker as the fall season means death for the once busy arachnid.

*****

The valley is full of morning fog as I finish my coffee and head along the historic highway 112. The destination is the continental United States's most northwesternly point, Cape Flattery. I stop to watch a family of deer graze alongside the road, paying no attention to me in this pristine environment.

The last town before the Cape is the Makah Indian Reservation. From the cemetery littered with the totem poles of ancestors to old world fishing boats rocking gently in the harbor, I feel transported to a different era. Friendly locals wave their greetings to me as I pass, and I gladly return the salutation.
I as arrive to the Cape Flattery trail, there is a posted sign warning of cougar sightings in the area, and to closely watch your small children.
Cougars?
The added fear you have with this knowledge heightens all senses as you make your way down the ancient trail. I arrive safely to the Cape though, and the scenery is beyond splendor.

The hours pass slowly as sea lions and otters play, the Pacific ocean waves crash against the rocky landscape, sea kelp sways back and forth with the tide.

*****

Sunday comes, and I join the early morning risers of the area and walk along the Dungeness river. Surprisingly to me, the chinook salmon are fighting the upstream current to spawn. I perch on a railroad bridge, and watch this wonder of nature unfold before me.

I find that all of these things encapsulate me, and I piece together the land of my birth with the person I am.

Lamu

2011-09-24T06:45:00.000-06:00

(*Preface - I write this with my deepest condolences to the family and friends affected by the recent tragedy in Lamu.)

*****

As our plane descends onto the dirt runaway and we exit, I first notice how small this airport is. A few dozen people are scattered about as a group's luggage is loaded onto a cart that I would normally associate with pulling hay. We follow a path to the water, and meet our guide who loads us into tiny boats, and head up the Indian ocean channel, destination the Kipungani resort in Lamu, Africa.

Large puffy clouds, like cotton candy at a State Fair, suspend lazily in the crystal clear blue sky as we head up the channel. A forest of mangrove trees cover the bank on both sides, occasionally opening up enough to see an old ship being repaired on the beach, or where a small village resides. Fisherman pass us, waving and smiling as only African people can. It is a surreal scene of magical beauty.

As the boat slows down and heads toward the shore, I see banda's along the shoreline. I think to myself, surely this can not be where we are staying....


Our banda that my brother and I stayed in while in Lamu.

We are greeted by the staff as we exit the boats and walk up the beach. I find myself instantly going into relax mode, all my body aches and pains dissolving, all stress and worry melting away as we sip our coconut drinks.

We have full course meals, excellently prepared. Strong drinks are available at the bar if that is your thing. Massages in your banda, ( which I take full advantage of) a pool to relax in, and of course the ocean is only a few steps away.

Time seems to stop here in this paradise, as we sleep when we want, read, play and just unwind.

Evening comes, and to our surprise, a sunset sail is on the agenda. The old wooden ship's charm is palpable. I feel as though I've been transported to another time, a simpler time. As we are sailing, one of the crew tells the story about how he was captured by Somali pirates, and imprisoned for four years. You can feel the pain in his story, but also see his resiliency in his face. After his story, he breaks out in song as the sun goes down, singing " Jambo, Jambo bwana. Hbari Gani. Mzuri sana...."
We all know this song, and sing loudly in the night air.

As it is time to go to bed, I find myself wanting to sleep outside, like I did when I was a child. I read until my eyelids shut, and dream of this paradise called Lamu.

The next day, my brother goes for an early walk along the ocean, to reflect on his time here in Africa. I couldn't feel closer nor more proud of him. We all play games together, laugh and tell stories, bond and make lasting friendships, even though we know that most of us will not see each other again after this adventure is over. It is of little consequence though.

I think of how lucky I am for this experience, and of the people I shared it with.

Oloolaimutia school & the Maasai

2011-09-14T05:43:00.000-06:00

Before leaving the Maasai Mara safari and heading back to Nairobi, the WoD team visited a Maasai primary school, bringing them needed supplies, and then went to the local village to meet the Maasai people.

It was Sunday when we went to the school, so unfortunately none of the kids were there, but the headmaster was nonetheless grateful for the supplies we brought, and showed us the inside of the school. As with most schools I've seen in Kenya, there are no posters on the walls to help with learning.

Teaching aids are drawn right onto the school walls. From drawings about the weather, geography, and human anatomy, it is all is displayed on one of the classroom walls.

After leaving the school, we all ventured over to the village. The Maasai show us how the men jump vertically,explaining that the higher one can jump, the better position you have in your tribe. The women chant and sing with the girls in our group, a bonding experience for all the females, I would imagine.

They show us how they start fire with only sticks, and take us into their homes made of dung, telling us stories of killing lions so that the men can get married, day to day life in their village, how termites will destroy their homes in about ten years and they will start to build again, all while sitting around the fire inside as family members and goats sleep side by side.

For all the beauty of this rich culture, I see signs of change in the Maasai. Signs of a smaller world encroaching upon their very livelihood. Children in regular clothes instead of traditional Maasai clothing, adults with cell phones and watches. I feel lucky to have been with the Maasai the last three years, as I feel that their old ways are slowly disappearing.

But some things haven't changed, like watching a white guy get stranded in a sea of cow dung, wondering how to get out of the predicament....

Lane in open toe sandals in the middle of the dung.

or seeing a white guy try to jump with the Maasai....

Me!

no pressure in Acadia

2011-09-11T05:31:00.001-06:00

The stress of life was building, the pressure mounting inside, ready to explode. I needed to get away, outside, and be free.
So I headed to New England for the Labor day weekend, and it turned out to be the perfect place to unwind.
I arrive in Southwest harbor mid Saturday morning, to quiet streets lined with kitschy Mom and Pop shops. I find a little place to get a bite to eat, filled with so many antiques to keep my mind busy until the food arrives.
After lunch, I find a hike to Beech mountain. The lush greenery captivates me.

I make it to the top of the mountain, and get my first glimpse of the whole area from above. Islands of green in a sea of blue dotted with fishing boats.
It's time for me to check in. I decided to stay in a New England Bed & Breakfast, the Harbour Cottage Inn. Built in the 1800's, the classic style and charm are just what one needs to relax.

With mile after endless mile of old carriage roads that wind through the entire of Acadia National Park, I quickly rent a bike from SouthWest Cycles and hit the trail. I ride for hours, conquering hill after hill.

I make it to the top of Acadia's highest point, Cadillac Mountain, to see the sun set over the harbours. I sit at Sands beach, watching reeds slowly bend in the soft wind, families playing in the water, enjoying the day. I stand on rocks at the shoreline, and get soaked with the incoming tide.

I have found a place that allows the soul to meet the body, and I'm under pressure no more, at least for a little while.

Ken & the bracelets

2011-09-01T06:00:00.000-06:00

While a person is in Kenya, you will invariably meet people selling different wares : necklaces, pottery, everything African, artifacts galore. One of those people is Ken Wainaina, or as the people from World of Difference call him, Ken the bracelet man.

Ken can make you any type of bracelet you may want, and will customize them with your color preferences, and will add phrases, names, etc...all for a very reasonable price. This year, my brother and I wanted to get something for our University of Utah college football tailgating group, and asked Ken to make us several bracelets to support our love of the U.

On one of our last days in Kenya, we were able to go visit Ken at his home to meet his family, and bring him donated service supplies for his orphanage, Shunem Children's Home.

Ken has been making bracelets for many years, giving them World of Difference to take back to America to sell, hoping that he could one day make enough money to get a bigger home for his family. As we arrived at his home and started to unload the supplies we had brought for him, I found out that all the money Ken raises from the sale of his bracelets goes to his orphanage instead. He is very passionate about his own people, and told us stories about the rape and physical abuse that happens to girls and young women in the slums. His dream is to have a big enough orphanage to provide comfort and shelter to those that need it the most.

But I think it's better to hear it from Ken himself :

As Ken finished speaking, I couldn't have been more proud. Not only of the work we had accomplished while in Kenya, but for all the bracelets we had bought, knowing where that money was to be going. Many other team members also had quite the experience at Ken's.

Nan with a bundle of dolls for the little girls.

Dori with baby supplies. So cute!


Heather and Ken's wife. So as the University of Utah plays their first college football game tonight, our tailgating party will be wearing their bracelets to support our team, and, more importantly, Ken and his amazing vision for Kenya's girls and women. Go Utes!

base camp Ol-moran : into the Maasai Mara

2011-08-28T19:14:00.000-06:00

We awake at dawn, rising from our bunk beds in our hostel, quickly getting breakfast, then pile into our vans for the long drive out to our tent camp in Ol-Moran out on the Maasai Mara.

For me, the Mara never loses it's beauty or mystique. From your tent camp where you can unzip the canvas windows to let the sounds of the animals enter your room at night, to the endless open expanse of wild landscape, I am constantly captivated here.

From a cheetah's focused glance, to a male lion's air of governance over his domain, you feel the power of nature in the air. Your presence is one of little significance in the chain of command.

You also never know what to expect out here. I saw creatures that I had before not seen, a family of mongoose playing, a giant lizard meandering across the road, disappearing in the brush.

A herd of water buffalo grazing, with the beautiful acacia trees in the background. Moments that will forever be burned in my memory.

To see animals on their own turf, surviving in the elements, instinctively living each day is quite the sight....and one I am always thankful to witness.

Lake Naivasha

2011-08-21T20:13:00.000-06:00

After working tirelessly for the first four days on the project in Nairobi, the team had earned a well deserved rest for a couple days. We we all so very excited as it was the first year of trying something new with World of Difference, a day on Kenya's second largest freshwater lake ( the first being Lake Victoria), Lake Naivasha.

It was also my first time in sleeping in what I would deem as "Hostel" conditions. It was a little house built with four bedrooms, each room accommodating six people, on bunk beds. There were twenty three of us.
I didn't mind the size of the beds since I'm a small guy myself. Taller people had it a little rough though, especially if they were on the bottom bunk, like my brother. There was only one bathroom per room, and the door didn't lock, and the sink was in the bedroom instead of in the bathroom itself. I just remembered the conditions at the work project, in the slums, even in the other place we were staying in Nairobi, and was just fine with the accommodations. It's all about perspective. I had shelter, warmth, and food. We felt lucky.

The living room was full of couches and the food served was really good, it tasted like home cooking, which is a nice comfort when you are halfway around the world from your family.

After settling in, we headed over the Lake. As you drive to the shore, it feels like a mini safari, seeing giraffe's, zebras, wildebeest and gazelles in between acacia trees.

As we get loaded into the skiffs, I see a local fisherman going out, living off the land.

Seeing families of hippos, ears and eyes above the calm water's surface is exhilarating and unnerving simultaneously. The beauty of thousands of African birds are everywhere, mixed in with creatures only found in this land. The guide stops the skiff and bird calls to an eagle high above in a tree. The bird swoops down from the tree, eyeing for a fish, cruising along the water with focus and precision until it reaches for it's prey.

We stop to find we aren't back at the same place we left our vans. Dacointajew, or "John" as he said his nickname was, tells us will be going on a "nature walk" back to our vans. As we pass zebra and giraffe, and a herd of wildebeests, I pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. A loud thunderous clack in the sky brings me back to reality, but only the reality that we are going to get wet. Really wet.

The dark clouds move with lightning quickness, then open upon us.
We see the carcass of a gazelle. I realize that we need to get moving, as the rain drops feel like the size of baseballs, and start to sting the skin. The thunder spooks the wildebeests, who start to run directly in front of us toward shelter. It's an amazing sight and sound.
The dirt quickly turns to mud, and our feet are slipping and sliding as we run. We see our vans racing toward us, comically avoiding the animals and bouncing along the terrain.

As we all make it safely to the vans, my heart is racing and I can feel the rush of the day coursing through my body. I'm so alive. I like to think we all felt the same way.

As we are driving back, the road becomes a river, with debris cascading down the former road with reckless abandon. Flashes of the movie Jurassic Park enter my mind, inserting Africa's wild animals instead of dinosaurs.

The van surprises us all, and we climb the road river with no problems, and live to tell about another amazing day in Kenya.

in the Red Rocks with John Butler Trio

2011-08-18T21:09:00.003-06:00

In the days before I had an Ipod, all my Cd's were stolen out of my car. Devastated, I would spend countless hours at night scouring the Internet, downloading music, trying to build up my lost collection... it was during this time that I discovered the band John Butler Trio.

I liked what I heard, and since I'm half Aussie and that is where the band hails from, I felt a sort of instant kinship to them.

When I found out a few weeks ago that they were playing at the Red Rocks Amphitheater, I spontaneously ordered my ticket, and booked a flight to Denver. It has always been on my list to see a show here.

Fighting my way through Denver's Friday afternoon traffic, I eventually arrive in Morrison, nestled beautifully at the base of the Rocky Mountains. There is plenty of free open parking available, so I parked my car in what I hope will be an ideal spot for a easy exit after the show.

The scenery is simple amazing, with Red Rock boulders everywhere. I find the stairs that lead me to the entrance, almost walking into the rock walls several times as I look around at all the natural wonders instead of paying attention to where I'm going. I find my seat and settle in.

What I didn't know was that the show has three bands playing, making the concert over five and half hours. First up was a band called Gary Clark Jr., and let me tell you, he blew me away! He looks like Jimi Hendrix, and his guitar playing is phenomenal. They kind of sounded like the Black Keys.

Next up was a band called Trevor Hall. I didn't know that three bands were playing when they started, and so I thought these guys were John Butler Trio, ( although I was wondering why they had four people in their group....) nevertheless, they were a great band to listen to as the sun slowly set over the Denver area.

Which led to the main act. John Butler Trio is one amazing band. I've never, ever heard or seen anyone play the guitar and banjo the way he can, and his drummer is also freaking unbelievable!

They are very much about bringing people together, and trying to help everyone realize that all of us on this planet need to work as one to accomplish goals such as protecting the environment, hunger, and poverty. Their cause during the show was to raise awareness about what Chevron is doing to a place in Western Australia called Kimberley. Please check out the link to help Stop the Gas Hub, and support this area.

P.S. they rock a Digeridoo

my 7 links

2011-08-16T17:18:00.003-06:00

A newer blog that I've been following for a few months ( and is quickly becoming one of my fav's) The Shooting Star, was kind enough to nominate my blog as part of the ongoing 7 links project.

These type of projects are interesting, and so here we go :
Most beautiful post : Hard to say, but I'll go with a fictional short story I wrote that I came up with while hiking. The Reflection Pool .
Most Popular post : I'm not sure why, but Untitled is my most popular post. It captures my weekend in Seattle perfectly, but I'm surprised it resonates with so many. it could just be the music though....
Most Controversial post : I wouldn't say it is controversial, but this dark subject matter could be considered controversial. Dark Times is what it is, I suppose.
Most Helpful post : The Time Capsule might be my most helpful, as I hope that people can realize that gift giving is not always the most meaningful way to express how you feel.
The post whose success most surprised me : discovering Wenatchee , only because of the volume of readers that it has gotten in such a short amount of time.
Post that didn't get the attention I thought it deserved : A post I wrote after returning from Africa for the second time called these marks. I still have the scars to this day showing the hard work done to get the schools built, a constant reminder of the value of giving to those less fortunate.
Post I am most proud of : This is a hard one to pick out, as i have many, for many different reasons. I'll settle for my reflective post about my first somewhat solo travel adventure, Alaska.

I now get to nominate five other bloggers to keep it going.

Dopey's Happy Home
Goodbye Animosity
Where the road goes
Good and Lost
The Anarchist Project

Phishing in the Gorge

2011-08-14T08:26:00.005-06:00

My first album I heard of theirs was the band's eighth studio album, Billy Breathes, and I was hooked from literally the first song. Being a fan of the Allman Brothers and The Grateful Dead already, Phish became a staple of my music from 1996.
I've been on a sort of quest of late, going to as many concerts as possible this year. The reason is yet unclear, it may be as simple as getting out in the world.
On second thought, that is it.
This led me to George, Washington, land of the Gorge Amphitheatre. Awestruck would be one word to describe it. A night of magical music as the mighty Columbia River is flowing in front of you, carving through the Gorge, out to the setting sun.

I setup on the expansive hillside, me and 25,000 other people. I smile to myself as pipes, shrooms and joints are passed around openly, no worries with this peaceful crowd. I sip my cold beverage and relax in the grass, waiting for the show to begin.
Nearly four and a half hours later, the show ends. It was phenomenal. Phish allows every ticket holder to download the entire live show for free! Who does that these days?
This is a slideshow containing one the of live tracks from the show I went to, a sweet long jam track.
( 90 % of pics are from Dave Vann © Phish 2011. Video's are my own)

discover Wenatchee

2011-08-12T09:17:00.008-06:00

As I look out the window, Mount Rainier is high above a blanket of clouds covering everything else below the majestic peak. I love seeing the world from above. As I drive into the Cascade mountains, more peaks appear, surrounded by cloud formations that appear to be the residue of some heavy breathing animal, hidden from view and living in this immense green landscape.

Night falls before I reach my destination, and thus I must wait until first light to see Wenatchee. The local guide book states that this town boasts 300 days of sunshine, and is the apple capital of the world. It seems strange to me that a town in Washington State could be dry that many days.

But as I awake the following morning, I see my new landscape. The Cascade mountains are gone, and therefore protect this valley from the rains of the Pacific. Craggy rock and rolling hills are covered in wineries and apple orchards.

I start my day by going for a little walk through Ohme Gardens, a garden oasis up in the hills. I stroll slowly around, practice some macro photography, and slow motion water pictures. It is still a work in progress, but I have nothing but time. I do capture a lone bee, bumbling along from flower to flower. I watch for an indeterminate amount of time.....

I walk along the town's riverfront, as the mighty Columbia river goes through the center of Wenatchee. People are enjoying a lazy Saturday morning, running, walking, reading, playing.
Exploring the area outside of Wenatchee, I find the caves of laverne, still sacred to many native americans. The hike to the caves is dusty and hot, and my irrational fear of snakes doesn't let me reach the caves. Damn snake phobia.
I also go to a neighboring town called Leavenworth, and am pleasantly surprised to find the entire town is built in Swiss architecture. They even have this guy hanging out along their main street....

The Wenatchee valley is a nice little town in Central Washington, but you may be asking yourself, what brought me here? Did I just point my finger on a map, or did I have a reason to discover this little gem? That will be the subject of my next post, but until then enjoy this slideshow. It contains the music of a new artist I discovered on the radio while in Wenatchee, David Berkeley. Enjoy.

traveling along the Mogollon Rim

2011-07-31T21:33:00.000-06:00

A lone female elk raises her head to look at me inquisitively,

then returns to her morning grass.

I stare at a slow moving dark stone, sauntering back and forth

like a drunkard.

I see a black bear appear.

In the darkest of nights, headlights show the tips of danger

as wild animal's horns are illuminated above wild bushes.

Along the Mogollon Rim, one can never anticipate,

predict,

know where beauty will show itself,

and therein lies the wonder.

Some mornings all you see is what the the sun has to offer.

The day of blood

2011-07-30T08:14:00.001-06:00

It was only one hour into working on the school project at Unity Centre, day one, when I dropped my trowel over the wall we were building, jumped over to get it, and then was accidentally dropped on some rebar by my brother as he was trying to help me get back up.

I'll spare you the bloody pictures of my side, and my torn shorts that left my left bum cheek flapping in the breeze. That day though was nothing compared to the day of blood.

Eunice, headmaster of Unity Centre, had additional classrooms started from literally the ground up by World of Difference last year. This year we wanted to build the walls up higher, and give them a more suitable roof.

(The current roof was pieces of old tin tied together on sticks that lay on the top of the wall)

The week was one of the hardest I've worked in my years of going.

But day number four was one I'll never forget. The day started by only a few of us going to Eunice's ( maybe six, no more than eight people) to see what we could do to help the workers there. The rest of the group were at different projects. Eunice asked us to clean out all of the rocks, gravel, and sand that they had been storing in one of the classrooms. We went to work, back breaking work.

One heavy stone at a time, sometimes rolling the stones by pushing them with our feet, sometimes breaking the stones into smaller, movable pieces, we started to clear out the room.

Eventually, the room started to clear. I had left to go speak to Eunice about the next step in our project. I remember hearing one of the team members yell over to me, " I think your brother just got hit with a shovel..."

I looked around and saw my brother walking quickly to sit down, holding his hand to his head. I ran over to him, and saw a might knot forming next to his right eye, with a nasty half moon cut on his face. Immediately I grabbed him and we went to the van, and asked the driver to get out the first aid kit. As luck would have it, we rode in the van that had the first aid with hardly any supplies.

What I did have was a 2 x 2 gauze and some type of anti-bacterial ointment, but nothing to hold this onto his ever swelling and bleeding face. Instinctively, I grabbed my sweaty bandanna off my head, and tied it around my brother's head to try and hold on the gauze and give some pressure to his wound.

I was freaking out, and thought we should probably take him to the hospital to get stitches, but he wouldn't have anything to do with that. Looking back, I can't really blame him. I sent a text from Eunice's phone to our team leaders, as all calls were going straight to voice mail. I wanted them to know a team member was down. I wasn't getting any response.

One of our team members with us was a Physical therapist, and he examined the head wound, and didn't think stitches would be needed. We gave him something for the pain, and told him to rest in the van the remainder of the day.

Feeling very lucky that he wasn't seriously hurt, the rest of us went back to work. A little while later, a second van arrived with more team members. This was good timing as we needed to move a load of 4 x 4 timbers into the classrooms so that they could be lifted up to start building the roof. My brother wasn't about to sit around while we worked, and against my advice, continued to help at the work site.

His work ethic and commitment to the cause was something I'll never forget.

As we were carrying the timber, I hear the words " someone just had a piece of wood dropped on them!"

" You have got to be kidding me..."

I walked to where we were storing the pieces of timber, looking to see who got hurt. As I came to the last classroom, I was horrified by what I saw.

Team member Jill came stumbling out of the classroom with clotted dark blood covering her face and hands. She was shaking uncontrollably, white as a ghost. Her best friend Mary was holding her and trying to walk with her, looking like she was in just as much shock as Jill.

I could feel the "fight or flight" response kick in immediately. I ran to Jill, and Mary and I quickly got her into Eunice's office. I was yelling for people to get me another first aid kit, water, and towels as Jill was seriously hurt. Luckily, the second van had a fully stocked kit.

Time went into a blur for the next little bit. Blood was everywhere. All I could do was keep my arms around Jill, holding her tight and telling her to breathe, that everything would be ok. Or maybe I was telling that to myself, trying to reassure me, as I wasn't too sure....

Jill also would not be taken to a hospital. We cleaned the blood from her face, out of her eyes so she could see, and dressed the head wound the best we could. She looked like a victim of battle.

I called the team leaders again to let them know that another team member had been seriously hurt. jD answered this time, calmed me down, and together we decided to have Jill go back to where we were staying, with some other team members, and we would further assess the situation.

I found out later that the first text I sent them about my brother wasn't received until after the phone call I had telling them about Jill. They thought that he hurt himself after Jill, and called back to tell us all to stop working immediately before there weren't any team members left.

The day of blood showed me the resiliency of our team. They were committed to making a difference, and their sacrifice was evidence of that. The day showed me how I can handle a crisis situation, and the love that we all have for each other, in good times and bad.

It was a good thing that this was our last day of work though for a couple of days. We all needed to relax and recover.

The Adventures of Zombie Butt, Poopypants, & Timonface

2011-07-20T19:41:00.002-06:00

When I first heard from Chels that a friend of her's was going with World of Difference to Kenya this year, I was ecstatic. Chels was awesome in 2009. She told me that her friend was going alone, and asked if I would look out for her. Having gone alone the past two years myself, I completely related and assured Chels that her friend would be in good hands. When my brother and I arrived at the SLC airport gate to start our adventure to Africa, I told him to be on the lookout for some chick named Kianna. "What does she look like?" he asked. I had no idea, but I was pretty sure I'd be able to spot her easily enough. I few minutes later, a girl came walking past us. She looked anxious, confused, lost, and a tad scared. I knew it was her, as I had the same look on me my first time. We introduced ourselves, and she told me that she didn't know what she was getting herself into. I tried to calm her down by telling her that on my first trip, I almost bolted out of the airport I was so nervous, but just at that moment two other team members, Ranger and Jodi, showed up, calmed me down, and subsequently I had the best experience of my life.

*****

There really is nothing like traveling halfway around the world with someone you've never met before, and with your brother. You bond so closely, at least we did. For me, it felt like my little sister was back with us, and the three of us were off on another adventure, having the time of our lives.

By the time we arrived in London, and made it into the city to sightsee during our layover, we already had nicknames.

Zombie Butt : Kianna

Poopypants : Jared

Timonface : me

I could try to explain how we came up with these nicknames, but it is just one of those inside jokes. I'm sure everyone can relate. What I can tell you is that these two people made this trip especially meaningful and fun this year, and for that I'm very grateful. Kenya is a great place because of it's people, and to have such awesome team members to share Kenya with is priceless.

I could ramble on forever about all the good times we had, but I don't want to bore you. Instead, I'll just give you the highlights :

Eating fish 'n chips at the coolest pub in London.
Irritable Bowel Syndrome ( aka poopypants)
Wenis
Ox Balls " I was ok until I bit into the testy...."
"I think your brother just got hit by a shovel...."
"Bucket Up!"
Ralph, the tastiest lobster ever
"I know how to get the cement out of my shorts..."
"ooohhhh, I hope it's rice and noodles for dinner"
Riding the DFW terminal tram, just for fun.
Getting a new water bottle almost every day for two + weeks.
Fanta
Mangos and pineapples
Sheepskin hats
Matching Maasai anklets from a Maasai warrior.
"Bucket down!"

These are just some that I can recollect for this post. To see more of ZB, PP, and TF's adventures, enjoy :

biking on backcountry farm roads

2011-07-16T17:25:00.000-06:00

A brook babbles it's insane laughter.
The summer sun drenches my body in sweat, I glance over fields filled with tall alfalfa grass, swaying gently in the wind.
My mind goes back to the tall grasses of Kenya, where big cats hunt for their prey.
Here horses slowly swing their tails in synchronicity, like a metronome.
Cows chew their cud lazily.
Asphalt turns to gravel, then to dirt upon which I turn the pedals clockwise, propelling me towards empty space.
Abandoned cottages, barns in bright red, faded blue, a dark green. I see them in the clarity of a black and white photograph.
Solitude.
I come to a monastery, and revel in the serenity of the moment, biking on back country farm roads.

Hope Learning Centre & Isaac's dream....

2011-07-12T19:28:00.004-06:00

Hope Learning Centre was the first school I saw when I started going to Kenya back in 2009 with World of Difference. I'll never forget the imagery of seeing the school for that first time, and I wondered what could our group possibly do in the short time we were there that would make any impact at all? Where does one even start when there was so much that needed to be done?
But I just bent my head down and swung my pick axe in the hard earth, starting the process of digging a trench with other team members.

By the end of our time in Kenya that first year, amazingly we had actually completed a cement roof slab for the school. ( Although at the time most team members thought the work was going to kill us.) I'll never forget the comrade we had as a team, proud of our accomplishment, and for what this meant to the headmaster of the school, Isaac Musembi.

When I returned in 2010, I was thrilled to be a part of continuing our work on Isaac's school. Isaac had taken the initiative to work on making improvements while we were away, and he had completed more classrooms and toilet facilities. All he needed now was another cement slab roof. This was the roof that nearly killed me if it wasn't for Isaac ( you can read that story HERE).

Which brings me to our latest effort in 2011. The team didn't work at Isaac's school, but we were able to go there one day. When we arrived, all of the team was flabbergasted by what they saw. Isaac now has electricity in his classrooms, the walls are painted and bright. He actually has a urinal and a little garden! Isaac's school, in my opinion, is a true success story of World of Difference, and I couldn't be more proud to have some small part in that.

Isaac's family also lives at the school. Isaac has also built a room so that a good friend of mine, Kevin, has a place to stay as he has now graduated from secondary school. As Isaac himself says " It is small, but it is enough."

Isaac is a man who is always dreaming and wanting more for his school, the children, and his people. Currently he dreams to put in playground equipment, wants to provide new uniforms, while his daily goal is making sure each student gets one daily meal.
While I was there this last year, Isaac, Kevin, and Isaac's family asked me if I would help them in this effort. I told them that I would do everything in my power. They asked if I would bring back necklaces that they had made themselves, and try to sell them in America.

All proceeds of these necklaces will go back to the Hope Learning Centre, which will help us meet those goals. When we showed them to the team as we were looking at Isaac's school, most team members loved them so much that they bought some right there.

The necklaces are ten dollars each. Add five dollars for shipping and I'll send you as many as you would like. If you are interested in purchasing one, please e-mail me, or leave a comment and I'll get in touch with you.

You can see the progress of Isaac's Hope Learning Centre throughout the years that I've been going with World of Difference :

Tears and Rain

2011-07-09T05:16:00.003-06:00

A man is walking alone along the ocean shore and notices thousands of starfish stranded on the beach from the receding tide, dying. Compelled, he starts to pick them up, one by one, and gently tosses them back into the ocean.

A stranger notices what he is doing, and asks him why he is even trying, as there will be no way he can save them all.

The man replies, " but at least I saved this one."

(from World of Difference team members Dori and j.D.)

Kenya.
Full of hope in the eyes of it's children.
The team moves 50,000 pounds of stone.
Eyes that are full of wonder and curiosity.
The team moves 240,000 pounds of sand.
In the slums outside of Nairobi, the world changes.
The team moves 104,000 pounds of gravel.
It's a place I see where people survive by working together, helping each other.
We mix 104,000 pounds of cement, haul by hand 1,500 gallons of water from the river.
For children's desks, we nailed 178 lbs of nails into 2,948 feet of wood that we cut and sanded by hand.
I make realizations that were hard to grasp previously, the orphaned, abandoned, the hungry, desperate souls. One can be overwhelmed.
We delivered over 2,300 lbs of donated educational and medical supplies to over 11 schools, whose total children outreach was over 1,461 children.

I dream big in Kenya.

an unexpected surprise

2011-06-15T17:06:00.047-06:00

On the eve before I leave to go back to Kenya, I sit looking through letters from children I barely know. Not the children I've met in Africa in the past, these letters are from kids in my hometown, kids that want to make a difference.

A couple of months ago, I came up with the idea to try and start a pen pal correspondence with the kids in Kenya and students here in the USA. It was part of Peter's Project that I wrote about here.

As surprised as I was about how well received it was, I was even more shocked when I received letters back a couple of weeks later from every child at the school where I did my presentation. The kids are eight and nine years old.

Here are what some of them had to say :

Rebecca "I really had fun learning about Africa and I can't wait to get my pen pal. I wish I could go over with you and meet him/her. I hope that I can send some school supplies that I don't need and I wish I can really help Africa with you!"

Kaitlynn " It was really cool learning about Kenya. It was really exciting and interesting when our class saw how high they jumped. All of the kids that were dancing and singing were very cute."

Sara "I think you're amazing to try and help them build schools and bring supplies to them. you changed my life. I want to help like that and be just like you. I want to help Kenya and make a big difference like you. Thank you so much for coming."

Benjamin " I'm glad that you came. ...It is amazing how they can survive with no technology."

Nate " I thought it was exciting I thought when that guy shot the cow with the bow and arrow. I can't wait to write to my pen pal. it's going to be fun. And I am brown also."

Gentry " I loved learning about Kenya. We should be thankful about what we have. Thank you for coming to our classroom."

It is I that was lucky enough to go to their classroom. Thank you guys.

I'm ready to go.

Boston

2011-06-13T19:04:00.076-06:00

Literally, from the moment I entered the taxicab and was hurtling through neon lights in the tunnel at midnight, I loved this city. One a.m. and the streets are alive, people joyous and drunk, my room walls shaking from the excitement of the Bruins making it to the finals in hockey. I remember the feeling of a sports town, and I'm now in one of the biggest.

After a few hours of sleep, I down my usual two cups of Joe and slip on my backpack, ready for the unknown. I end up walking along the river, next to rundown buildings and empty piers. What a glorious morning.

My first monument, nestled in between ancient brownstone buildings, has the following engraved in stone "American soldiers killed June 17th 1775". Two hundred and thirty six years ago. I stand on hallowed ground.

I make it to Bunker's Hill, say hello to a nice family, help them take a photo. I wish I had been here when I was young. At least I'm seeing things now.

As I walk, I feel the importance of Memorial Day here, latching itself to my back, weighing me down with thought and pondering. I become overcome with emotion thinking about my father and his service. I need to tell him how proud I am of that more often.

*****

I find myself haphazardly walking the streets, without direction or purpose. I find a corner street performer, a young man claiming that his talent is to raise money for college. He is entertaining, and deserves money, if you are able. I was even involved in his comedy act.

****

This town is the old in perfect harmony with the new. Modernization in bed with the Old World. I enjoy the outside market, listening to that recognizable New England accent call out to passersby to get their fresh fruit.

I stop into a Bean town pub for a pint and catch the end of the Red Sox game. I visit the graves of great men and women. I ride a ship into the harbor, listening to stories of tea parties, Star Wars ideology, and garbage burning islands. I can't think of a better place to sit and watch the world go by.

Shrimp boil in Fruityland

2011-06-11T07:18:00.034-06:00

There is no better way to kick off the start of summer than a good old fashioned shrimp boil up in the mountains. We gathered together the usual gang of misfits and head on up to the mountains in Fruitland, Utah.

Out in the open, relaxing around a fire, hanging with friends and family. We cook outside, kettles full of shrimp, corn, chicken and sausage boil away while we talk and laugh on a lazy afternoon.

Let summer begin with the best new sound out there for summer, Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears.

Kick back, sip a Hamms, and enjoy your summer.

U2 360 tour in the SLC (finally)

2011-06-07T18:32:00.000-06:00

So it finally happened on May 24th, 2011. After waiting two years from when I purchased the tickets, U2 made it up to Rice-Eccles stadium at the University of Utah for their 360 tour.

I was pumped.

Music has always had a big impact in my life. I associate songs, albums, and artists with events going on in my own life. Since U2 has been around almost as long as I have, their impact on me is a story all it's own.

War (1983) : This album has songs that first introduced me to the band, although it is not their first album. I was only thirteen at the time I first heard 'Sunday Bloody Sunday" on the alternative radio, but with only one listen, I knew this was my type of music.

The Unforgettable Fire ( 1984) : I didn't hear nor appreciate this album until 1988, and that was because a lovely little red head named Kristi had my heart, and this was her favourite album. The love for her didn't last, but the album is a classic.

The Joshua Tree (1987) : Really, what more can I say about this ground breaking album? I just got my drivers license, my first car, an old Ford Pinto that Dad and I fixed up together, put in a tape player with some kick ass speakers, and popped in this album. Nerds unite.

Rattle and Hum (1988) : I had just moved out of my parent's place, and this was the first movie I went and saw after I moved in. I felt so adult. I also watched this movie again with friends ( the aforementioned Kristi, among others) and tried to make out with her, but kept striking out. That was OK though, as I really would rather watch The Edge play guitar anytime....

Achtung Baby (1991) : This album was with me for a tumultuous time in my life. Breakup's, job loss, financial ruin, lost friends, but this album was always there for me.

Pop (1997) : Good times, bad times. Living with my brother, hanging out with friends, skin painting parties, dealing with the police, fighting ex-husbands, this year had it all.

All that you can't leave behind (2000) : It's ironic that this album's title was the start of a new chapter for me. Getting back with an old girlfriend and her three children, trying to make a life for all of us. It meant changing my life and doing a complete 180. When that didn't work out and I lost my job, I ending up moving out of State for new employment, leaving all my friends and family behind.

How to dismantle an Atomic Bomb (2004) : I had just moved back home earlier this year, having proved myself to the company I was with. I was re-establishing myself back into the lives of all those I left behind. I felt like an Atomic Bomb most of the time.

No line on the Horizon (2009) : After many years of hard work and dedication to improving my life, I felt like 2009 was the year that things changed. I equate this album to that kind of change.

So when the show started , I got my groove on, remembered the past, and looked forward to the future with joy, and an open heart and mind.

old churches in Boston

2011-06-04T11:21:00.002-06:00

One of the many appeals of Boston is the rich history this city has around every corner. When I first came up to Christchurch along Boston's Freedom Trail, I could sense the historic nature of this place, feel the past souls that had walked through it's doors, sat in it's pews waiting for guidance and meaning to their lives in this new land.

You can't help but notice the immediate difference this place has from other churches, the boxed in pews. It almost seems like a religious maze.

I then saw these little metallic boxes in each pew, looking like you would place a candle in them to have light in your pew on dark days. Luckily my curiosity was explained by the tour guide. Boston is a cold place in wintertime, and the metallic boxes were filled with hot coals, and then placed inside the pews for warmth. The pews were built in this way to keep the patrons of the church service warm during the sermon. Fascinating.

On the grounds outside Christchurch, I found one of Paul Revere's lanterns hanging on a wall, overlooking a memorial set up to honor Boston's bravest men and women that had made the ultimate sacrifice for their country, fighting for freedom in America's wars.

It was a very humbling experience to be in the birthplace of America's freedom, next to the dog tag's of those that had lost their lives defending that ideal.

*****

A few blocks away, I also stumbled my way to the Trinity Church in Boston. Founded in 1733, this place is still a parish to almost 4,000 households. It is ranked among the top ten churches in America for it's architecture.

From the beautiful artwork outside, to the golden dome and stain glass windows inside, it is a marvel to see. The location is also interesting, as modern day Boston surrounds this old place on all sides. It is a refuge for those looking to find some peace and quiet.

on Walden Pond

2011-05-30T16:06:00.062-06:00

It is remarkable to me how one can drive a mere twenty miles outside of Boston and find yourself immersed in a wooded area so thick and green with foliage. Quaint and historic towns are hidden from view, as if to be cut off from the outside world.

It is this type of quiet solitude that most likely inspired Henry David Thoreau to live at Walden for a two year experiment, or in his words " I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life".

Having read the book Walden in college, the idea to visit this place has always been with me. As one walks along the trail around the pond, listening to the forest come alive with the scurrying of furry creatures underfoot and the chirping from above, you feel a sense of what Thoreau was looking for.

I remember souls of the past that have been here before, walking the path as I. Great leaders of nations, poets and philosophers, family and friends.

To be at ( would many call) the start of the Conservation movement is a humbling experience indeed.

"Most of the luxuries and many of the so-called comforts of life are not only not indispensable, but positive hindrances to the elevation of mankind."
— Thoreau

a family affair

2011-05-22T07:47:00.001-06:00

I always try to remember the little things in life. Events like going to the Utah spring Red & White scrimmage game in April with our tailgating friends. This year we had Norm Chow over for some food, and most of the guys were able to wear a superbowl ring from a former NFL coach that was a friend of Norm and Hirschi's.

Hanging with everyone in the Spring makes me hunger for the season to get here, and it would seem as though crazylegs feels the same way...

In May we celebrated Mother's Day over at the 'rents house. Pa went all out, and the boys made a feast of gigantic lobster tails, BBQ'd steak, corn on the cob, salad, etc...
Some of our clan however only likes to eat corn off the cob, and although it pains me to no end to watch them massacre corn, to each their own. Cbug is the latest one to follow this truly tragic way to eat corn.

taking a knife and cutting the corn from the cob.

*****

This spring Cbug also started t-ball. He is already a natural baseball player, good on both offense and defense. He loves to play first base, and has quite an arm for five years old.

And finally, with warmer temperatures comes trips up to the Fruitland cabin. The first few trips always involve Spring cleaning from the long winter. Cbug was thrilled to find a dead bird inside the wood stove, but was equally happy playing in the sand with new toys I gave him.

They are all little things, but they are what makes up a family affair.

Wild turkey sunsets

2011-05-08T08:01:00.000-06:00

Dirt.

Covering my skin, my lungs, slowly enveloping me

like a dirty woman.

listening for your voice

floating on the wind

telling me to bare your skin,

cover you with dirt.

Listening,

all I hear are wild turkeys

filling the diminishing dusk

with garbled cries.

The sun sets,

the day ends,

the thought is gone.

the Trail of the Ancients

2011-05-01T08:00:00.001-06:00

As I left home, all I really knew about my destination was that it was a few hundred miles south of the middle of nowhere.

Goose neck campground overlooking the Colorado river

Six driving hours later, I arrived at Goose neck primitive campgrounds to set up my base camp for the next couple of days. I pitched my tent, gathered firewood, checked my water supply, and marveled in the scenery around me. Solo travel is one thing, solo camping is quite another. I felt like an original pioneer, the bravest of souls that first set eyes upon this open landscape.

I awoke the next morning to start exploring. With no map, I followed a sign pointing me to Natural Bridges National Monument. The sky is overcast and threatening rain, with the wind cutting across my bare skin, chilling me to the bone. I grab my hoodie and camel pack, and hike down into the canyon to escape the wind and see my first bridge, Sipapu.

I as hike down, a lone crow follows me, hopping from tree to rock, curiously cocking it's head back and forth, it's black eyes ever steady on me as I progress further down the rock canyon. I come to a man made ladder, and descend.....

Halfway down, I see markings in the rocks from past civilizations, small shelters built into the walls. The trail has narrowed, with a great towering rock wall on one side, and a sheer drop off on the other. My heart is pounding as I make my way lower to the base of Sipapu Bridge. It does not disappoint.

*****

Next I enter the Valley of the Gods. Vast open space of red earth and rock formations that have an otherworldly feel to them. As I sit to listen to the desert, the harmony of the creatures that inhabit this land make their voices known in a chorus of sounds.

*****

Driving next to Monument Valley. I've read about how this land is infamous for being in more movies than any other landscape, from John Wayne westerns to Mission Impossible 2 and Vertical Limit. But nothing compares to seeing it for yourself. Everyone pulls off to the side of the road as they approach, the beauty is so mesmerizing that you do not want to concentrate on driving while looking at the landscape.

As I arrive to the park entrance, I discover that there is a seventeen mile loop that you can either drive or bike through. It is a dirt road, and the park is not too crowded, so I get my mountain bike out and decide to see the park by biking through it. I always prefer looking at the world from a bike whenever possible.

Monument Valley does not let me down. I drink liters of water to keep hydrated, and push past monoliths and formations that inspire.


halfway through the 17 mile journey

The park offers jeep tours for those that prefer to see the park with a guide. Each group would cheer me on as they passed by ( I was the only person biking the trail that day) keeping my spirits up as I dug deep and pedaled in the red sand.

Three hours later I make it back to the park entrance, sweaty and satisfied. Time to head back to base camp to cook dinner by the fire,enjoy the sunset, and sleep under the stars before I head back home in the morning.

Feel the majesty at the Arizona/Utah border, in the land of the Navajo.

Hope for Sarah

2011-04-30T11:14:00.036-06:00

January twenty fifth, two thousand and seven was the worst day of my life.

I sat in the sterile hospital hallway, shaking and crying. I'd just had to hear from the Doctor that my sister was not going to make it, and I then had to tell my parents. I had hospital staff coming up to me, asking if there was anything they could do. I was barely audible, muttering no thank you, and wishing I could disappear.

I eventually started to slowly get up and walk back to her room when I saw Andy and Sarah in the hallway. Andy had his arm around her, and Sarah looked so fragile. The Chemo treatments had caused most of her hair to fall out, and she was so thin.

Sarah may have looked weak, but as soon as she saw me, she put her arms around me, and her inner strength helped me more than I would have thought possible. Together, we walked back into my sister's room.

I never had the chance to tell Sarah and Andy how much seeing them in my most desperate hour of need meant to me. So when Sarah's friends and family started a 5K to help them with their medical bills, it was a no brainer that I'd be there....

As we arrived, I first saw Andy, with his calm demeanor and quiet strength. As we walked inside, Sarah came up to us. Her beauty and positivity were glowing. As we ran the course through snow covered apple tree orchards, I hoped that they were feeling the love and support that we all have for them as Sarah continues to fight to beat her cancer. ( I fight I have no doubt she will win)

To learn more about Sarah and her inspiring journey, please check out Hope for Sarah, and if you can, donate to the cause.

Live Strong.

flashing back to one of my first solo travel adventures....

2011-04-11T18:26:00.081-06:00

If we want to be technical about it, my first solo travel adventure was when I was eighteen, many moons ago. I had just earned my first forty hours of vacation from my first serious job, and the one that lead to my eventual career. I thought it would be fun to climb in the car and drive down to the Grand Canyon for the week. Without going into details ( as they are locked in the vault, never to be opened) I spent a day at the canyon, three nights/four days in jail, and the rest driving home to tell my friends what the hell just happened.

In 2006, I went solo to Monterrey, California and Big Sur. It was amazing, but the day I returned I had a computer glitch and lost all my pictures of this trip. It really was this trip though that started the solo travel spark. I felt so free being by myself. I decided on that drive home that Alaska was to be the next place I would go.

Eight months later, my sister was hit by a car while jogging and subsequently died. In April 2007, on a Sunday evening at my house we were sitting down to dinner and I mentioned that I was still going to Alaska, and that I had decided to drive the whole way. I thought my Dad was going to stroke out, as he was not too pleased with me going solo.

At the time, the last thing I wanted to do was upset him, as things were about as hard as they could be for both parents. My two younger brothers and sister-in-law offered to go with me. That seemed to appease the parents, and so the trip was set. I was going to fly to Seattle, drive to Anchorage, meet my brothers and sis-in-law in Anchorage ( they flew a week after I left), and then we would all take the Alaskan Ferry back to Bellingham Washington, riding the train back to Seattle, and fly home.
I needed this trip.

As I landed in Seattle and made my way to the rental counter to pick up my car, thoughts were swirling around my head. Do you know what you are doing? Did you forget anything? What if something serious happens to you?
like you just disappear?

Those thoughts quickly dissipated though as the guy at the rental counter looks at me with a questioning stare, and asks me,
"Where are you going to?"
"Homer, Alaska." I reply.
"I've never heard of it. I don't think we have a drop off place there. I need to call my supervisor..."

It was at this point that my nerves got the best of me, and I was sure that my whole trip would be cancelled. He turns his back to me as if I'm a criminal trying to heist a rental. He is silent for a few moments, then turns to me and says,
"Ok. My supervisor says that you are good to go. Be safe man....."
I might have been a tad anxious.
Two hours later I was passing through the border crossing into Canada, with nothing but a map and my instincts.

******

I took me five days of driving to make it to Anchorage. I went through towns such as Kamloops, Williams Lake, and Fort St. John, in the province of the beautiful, massive landscape of British Columbia. I had no idea about how out in the middle of nowhere I was though until I crossed into the Yukon Territory. Epic comes to mind.

From Watson Lake, to Teslin, and finally into Whitehorse, it was the most serene land I've seen to date ( the Rift Valley in Kenya is also right up there). I would go for hours driving without seeing another car. My only companions on the road were the bison, rocky mountain sheep, and caribou. I would stop and just watch them play, for minutes or for hours I could not say, as time seemed relevant, but unimportant.

Buffalo

Young Caribou


Rocky Mountain Sheep grazing

As I arrived in Whitehorse, I had my first experience with the true hospitality of Canadians. I had no prior hotel reservation, and everything seemed to be sold out. I was road weary, stressed, and tired, and just about gave up and decided to spend the night in the car. As I went into the last hotel to see if my luck would change, the front desk girl could tell I was in dire need of assistance, and called every place in and around Whitehorse for me until she found me a room. This was an added bonus, as quite a few people in Whitehorse speak French ( including the people that ran the hotel I got a room in) and without her hospitality, I could have been a wreck. I love Canada.

The next morning, I took a few moments to check out the beauty of Whitehorse in the early light of dawn before continuing along the Great Alaskan highway.

From Whitehorse, I drove on to Carmacks, Dawson's Creek, and finally to the border crossing station and into Alaska. I made it to a little place called Glen Ellen, stayed at the Caribou Hotel for the night, knowing that I would be in Anchorage the next day.

******

While in Anchorage, I had a couple of days to myself before the rest of the clan arrived, so I decided to ride the Great Alaskan railroad down to Seward. I don't travel by train anywhere near as much as I would like to, and so this was an awesome trip. Alaska has so much beauty to see, and the back country you see by train is awe inspiring and humbling.

When I arrived in Seward, I first walked the small seaside town, checked out the Aquatic Center they have, and enjoyed a great lunch at the harbor.

The next day, I thought I would try and drive to Denali. Good intentions I suppose, but the park was much further then I thought it was. I did make it to a little town that the TV show 'Northern Exposure' was created after ( I forget the town name), and walked the river trails and found a great view of Mount McKinley.

*******

The rest of the clan finally arrived. Janae's Aunt and Uncle live in Anchorage, and so we were lucky enough to stay with them for a night, and they took us out to a great little haunt by Aleyska ski resort for dinner. The next day we headed down to Homer to drop off the car, and start our next adventure on the Alaska Ferry.

For me, the ferry is the way to travel to see Alaska from the water. You can see all the towns that only have access via the ferry. It's not a cruise ship, so you don't have all the fancy bells and whistles that you see on Cruises (i.e. I've never been on a cruise, so my opinion is definitely one sided) and can thus relax at your own pace and leisure. A simple cafeteria, plenty of open space to read, listen to music, watch movies, or just stare out into the open space. You also get to meet all kinds of interesting local folk. Cabins aren't that expensive.

Our adventure on the Ferry started off kind of rocky though. There was a carnival that was going from town to town in Alaska. They were using the ferry to transport their gear. The ferry was supposed to leave Homer around 11 pm. We were allowed onto the ferry around 1AM since they were still loading the circus gear onto the boat. We had decided to sleep in our sleeping bags out on the open deck for the first leg of our ferry cruise, ( another great feature of the Ferry is you can "tent camp" on the deck and they have public one person showers to use) and being tired, we all slept fairly well. As I woke up in the morning, wondering where we were, I discovered that the Ferry hadn't even left Homer yet due to all the delays in loading the Circus equipment.

Hakuna Matata.

We left that morning to Kodiak Island, and from there spent the next seven days going to places such as Whittier, Juneau, Ketchikan, and other small towns I can't recall the names of currently. Seven days to reflect on life, and what one considers important to them. It was a journey that I'll never forget.