tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41881472621047322092024-02-20T02:59:20.020-08:00#alifeunfilteredNickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.comBlogger50125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-76116525975801430482022-07-27T08:55:00.006-07:002022-07-27T11:13:20.468-07:00You, and everyone you've ever known, will one day die. And that's okay.<p class="MsoNormal">I’m listening to Brimful of Asha by Cornershop (remix version) in an Irish Pub in
Reykeyvik. Iceland has absolutely changed me. I am not the me I was two weeks ago, and that's pretty cool.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So. I want to post something. And you might hate it. Okay, you're going to absolutely hate it. But, whatever. Iceland has made me much more outspoken about things and I'm not sorry in the least about it. Also, I'm in a bar and have had a few drinks (I've written in the past about the <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/09/why-you-should-walk-drunk-through.html">importance about getting drunk in a foreign city</a>). So, prepare yourself.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br />
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;">This is in an interactive post where you'll play the songs I'm hearing in this bar as I write this. Before proceeding, please
play that song in the background (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LBnMRWeV-E">here's the Youtube link</a>). It just has to happen before you keep reading.
Okay? Okay, I’ll wait.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">…</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">..</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We good? Cool. It'll set the mood - like mood lights via music.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVIUBu77kC7VxhCeHW9tdKu_EPvzNo35lWM0RzeRaXzFinMhfX6ngyPx191o-7XJUgTMUobAo3ncMmVnnSBGJuTkjs09yz4Kkym_bhcbEU7iy19SmailKcZCMmSJPhejz3jxg28TLeLNOcEW0WlnPpdzPABBBXUhIk2iRLWAUoupANfrpXxU8bpg1vA/s3648/20220723_130612.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2736" data-original-width="3648" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVIUBu77kC7VxhCeHW9tdKu_EPvzNo35lWM0RzeRaXzFinMhfX6ngyPx191o-7XJUgTMUobAo3ncMmVnnSBGJuTkjs09yz4Kkym_bhcbEU7iy19SmailKcZCMmSJPhejz3jxg28TLeLNOcEW0WlnPpdzPABBBXUhIk2iRLWAUoupANfrpXxU8bpg1vA/s320/20220723_130612.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I guess a proper warning first though? I’ve touched on this topic,
in hints and pieces, for years and years now in this blog. But I’m older
now and much more blunt than I used to be. You can stop reading if it makes you feel uncomfortable, which in all
reality, probably will, but I really challenge you to keep reading. <u>Growth in
discomfort, right?</u> Well, with this caution set, here we go:</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p>
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>
</b></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>You are going to die</b></span>. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Maybe not this moment, maybe not
tomorrow. But this is a 100%, undeniable fact of your existence. Nothing, and I
mean this, nothing else is more factual than that.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">That's kind of metaphysical though, right? Concrete, that's what you need to hear. So, like, your heart will stop and you will absolutely cease to
exist. <b><i>You, your memories, your personality, your everything <u>will end</u>. And it
will not come back. The you reading this, will be a memory, and in time, maybe
not even that.</i></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Sorry, but I’m going to keep going.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Your family is going to die (maybe some already have). They too will end and become no
longer the current, but the past.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Your friends, your coworkers, Jerry across the
street who eats clean and follows a strict no-carb, no-fun diet and ol’ Marge who is just the sweetest and has a zillion cats and reads
too many romance novels and books about serial killers, she too will hit the bucket.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b> </b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b>Every. Single. Person. On the planet. Right now. Will die and
cease to be.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>These words I’m typing now will most likely outlast every
single person reading it.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">You will die and your time on this Earth will end. And, even
if you believe in a form of reincarnation or an afterlife, you will never, in
the vastness of time and space ever relive the moment you're reading this right
now (well, I guess that depends on if we see time as linear, which it
definitely is not, but don't even get me started on that!). All religions I know
of talk about the afterlife in terms of exactly that, AFTER. The life NOW will be
the past - never, ever to be repeated. <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I, personally, believe there is more after life here on Earth, and, at the same time, a lot of people I
know don’t believe that in the least bit. That’s all okay, because, all viewpoints share the
fact that the here and now will end and not repeat.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, you and everyone you know will die.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">(Side note, this is fantastic song, right? Upbeat and fun. But the lyrics, man, pretty strange...)<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Can it be soul crushing and depressing? Yeah, yeah it definitely
can be. It can be so very hard to hear, to acknowledge, to face that everything
around you, from the screen you’re reading this on, to the finger your scrolling
the page on, will one day just be gone and continue the recycled carbon cycle.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b></b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtaKyQkR7d091IN7rtbcy_ZvVBFNybzWNWri8YmZRosZcslyxc1Gjn3Gwi5XFP4GWj1WtcoqPMessRrAQt9OhahSbAXFKEdgp8uyexzTYZ69PJ2O4plITE0n-5sPPSXZswtRPitaglHiYZ8QMO_RSjCPJzRH3fWVbT_Afcqxv-Ojgk3udu4J1ySUpp9w/s4000/20220721_095707.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1848" data-original-width="4000" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtaKyQkR7d091IN7rtbcy_ZvVBFNybzWNWri8YmZRosZcslyxc1Gjn3Gwi5XFP4GWj1WtcoqPMessRrAQt9OhahSbAXFKEdgp8uyexzTYZ69PJ2O4plITE0n-5sPPSXZswtRPitaglHiYZ8QMO_RSjCPJzRH3fWVbT_Afcqxv-Ojgk3udu4J1ySUpp9w/w400-h185/20220721_095707.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></div><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>But. I’m not writing this to be sad.</b></span></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">In fact, it’s quite the opposite.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, you got one life. One shot (Mom’s spaghetti?). We all
do.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><i> </i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><b><i>Here’s the most amazing thing though! Once you start to
accept this fact, and I mean, truly look that fact in its eyes and stare it
down, it’s pretty freeing when you know your time is limited.</i> Like anything
in life, <u>when you really take the moment to be IN the moment</u>, it means the
world. The more you acknowledge that the moment you’re living in right this very
second is special and unique and will never happen again, the more <i>that
moment can really, truly matter</i>. There are no longer truly boring moments
or wasted time.</b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I remember years ago I was having a conversation with my ex
about my ADHD and how hard it is for me to be in the moment – my brain doesn’t
work like most and it’s going a million miles an hour in a million different
directions. Yoga, mindfulness, deep breathing – all of that is useless to me
because I can’t slow down my brain down. So she had me have this expensive
ass chocolate, close my eyes, and slowly describe every emotion, every flavor
that I was experiencing. She forced me to slow down.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">And years later, I <i>STILL</i> remember this moment. My life
slowed and every taste, every melt of the chocolate, mattered. I was IN that moment and its one of the most
powerfully vivid memories I have in my life. Kinda crazy, right? To be so connected to a moment
in time that was really, just eating a single piece of chocolate.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, since then, I've been trying my very best to replicate this in my daily
life. It’s hard, but I’m trying.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I'm here in Iceland, doing my very best to slow my brain and take every second around me as, for lack of better words, sacred.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;">The song changed in the bar. This is what you now need to listen to in order to keep reading.<br /></span></p><span style="color: red;">
</span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;"><span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vrEljMfXYo">Play John Denvers' Take Me Home Country Roads now.</a> It's a requirement.</span></span><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">And the great thing about living your life? <b>You make what
matters, matter.</b> You and what you love are what make these moments special.
I should say go travel, as that’s the point of this blog, but hey, that might not
be your thing. Your thing might be to root down, enjoy every moment you can with
the family, and grow your children into beautiful human beings. So, awesome. Do
it. That’s okay, that’s you and you should 100% you in this life. Because if
you choose not to be you, to follow others and change yourself to fit others
and society, than you’re going to be pretty miserable. And to be miserable in
the one life you have? That’s a truly depressing thought.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Whatever the case is, you will impact the world around you
and live on in the people and things you create and interact with, even when your physical body and presence does not. What you do with each moment matters
because it will affect all the moments others have long after you’re gone.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, slow down. Notice this moment right now as you read - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>this
moment is unique and special and part of the story of your life. It’s 100%
yours. <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">We live in a culture fucking terrified of death. But if we
embrace what scares us – if we hold the flashlight to the dark, even if what we find is
just more dark – it’s somewhat less scary. Or maybe it’s not, but at least the
knowing – even if it’s just more darkness – even the knowing what’s out there,
compared to not knowing, is something. Right? <br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Take this all with a grain of salt though. On the moment of
my death, I’m going to be scared absolute shitless. <i>But, the lead up, how I want
to embrace the moments of my life. I can control that. We all can.</i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">This journey across Iceland has challenged me. Isolated me
with my thoughts for hours, days, and weeks on end. I have made many mistakes
in my life, both professionally and personally. I’ve fucked up relationships, I’ve
made poor decisions, and countless other things I could whip myself about (I’d
make a FINE, guilt-ridden Catholic!), but….</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">But…</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><i> </i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Oh well</i>.</b> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Seriously. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Oh. </p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Well.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Those moments happened and made me stronger and I learned lessons and I experienced moments,
however shitty, that were mine and mine alone. That’s pretty special.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">The point is this. And I hope I’m not sounding like Oprah.
Or some self help guru. Or whatever. And maybe I do, oh well to that, too.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: red;">Now it's Don't Look Back in Anger by Oasis. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r8OipmKFDeM">Queue it up! </a></span><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">You will die. Whether you’re in Iceland, or the United States, or Australia or the middle of an African jungle.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">So, when you
look up from this page...
</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">That moment?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">That moment is yours. It will never, ever happen again.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">You have a 100% freedom to do whatever you want with it. To
appreciate that moment or not appreciate it.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Then?</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Live your life. You got one shot and its pretty magical. It’s
that chocolate. That expensive chocolate that has every flavor in the world.
You could just chomp it down and move on and forget about it like the millions of other times you had chocolate. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i> </i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><i>Or...</i></b></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Or you could roll it around, and really, really
get the texture. Describe every note, every salivation. Take it slow. It won't last, you know this, but that makes the taste ever so much richer.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">Look over to the people in your life, the people that you love and really matter. Go and hug the absolutely shit out of them. I mean it, hug them and really feel the love that they give you. They are in these special moments that make up your life. A billion different math equations had to happen and complete in order to have those exact people, in your life at this exact moment, be there. And that's so fucking special, you know?<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">If you know you will die and <b>purposely</b> do your best to breathe and be in the here and now and make the moment count, I promise you life will be that much
better for it, however it is you appreciate the world around you. Whatever happens to us after we die, will happen. But at least we control our time until then.<br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">You will die, but the moments between? Dear God can they be
magical and beautiful and tragic and gorgeous and heartbreaking. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been in isolation on this trip long enough. Call me
up and I’ll join you in that moment of appreciation. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i>Cheers friends, I cannot wait, let’s live it up together until we can’t.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFgULNzcjl0yiG7YndTy4VAMGTLVS9KV-8Fj_wid9PopbnE7DGKPWpHKrrvC3JIHfwCbtOhrec7zfmNxKJGvJzs7R_1pAjFielx0idy4KpuI1DA3lUej-fxHTQ7EtF6M_4QnMIC8PAOPd1_2pbLZ6nDP8unRF8qQIE9i6yBu6BGcE5egk37ATrRvOUQ/s4000/20220724_153314.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1848" data-original-width="4000" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBFgULNzcjl0yiG7YndTy4VAMGTLVS9KV-8Fj_wid9PopbnE7DGKPWpHKrrvC3JIHfwCbtOhrec7zfmNxKJGvJzs7R_1pAjFielx0idy4KpuI1DA3lUej-fxHTQ7EtF6M_4QnMIC8PAOPd1_2pbLZ6nDP8unRF8qQIE9i6yBu6BGcE5egk37ATrRvOUQ/s320/20220724_153314.jpg" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i><p class="MsoNormal">P.S. Talk about death and life is hard. But <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Myth-Sisyphus-Vintage-International/dp/0525564454/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=myth+of+sysiphus+camus&qid=1658935707&sprefix=myth+of+sy%2Caps%2C217&sr=8-1"><i>The Myth of Sisyphus</i></a>
by Albert Camus is essential reading if you want to really embrace life and the existentialism of it all. Of all the literature I have read that has had an impact me, this is the
one that guided me the most. It’s a tough read, but give it a shot.</p>
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-20740634699012390272022-07-22T06:42:00.013-07:002022-07-22T08:50:38.639-07:00Iceland is making me an asshole, and I hope one day it will do it to you, too.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I pull to the side of the road. I'm crying. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span><br /><i><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">No.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></i><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b>Absolutely fucking sobbing. </b></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And I can't begin to stop it.</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><a href="#"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWfVpic30UbChfEA494AZIduNGRQZJmBl0NlgSqsCg04QJcWhozbhASdnZMjMAybFYE15N32W2l4WuHIOExduz0hGXEkKHFmYa-cdZ6eUfV6trCGr2dsI10nJRaRcFCcdeiyP6ojKwvwCX9Ctgb2v7hjNWGRqTH5s07q0__NSGbub3QzvYbmIz-ZqzaA/w640-h296/20220720_145521.jpg" /></a> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="#" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtRn2ckQmQOsiyQ-ycZ7GgqLxcebdpWRCsHtoheZPEPWO75052h8fEwYB3Rq5vLClA23jkWnQuCD_8ztHlfbtvb7Dr7mS42twdOVKbd5ZNRispexBRdyMEcRfLomRcwGBmrfuPRVAU5WMx39h3nMJ4sU6TVfQF5TMB36BCuiWJx9326iv3Nd8XH6ACgA/s320/20220717_172811.jpg" /></a>On my right are mountains that tower into the sky like something from Lord of the Rings, with dozens of birds swooping from them, dive bombing the sky and across the snow caps and cloud mixture that drizzle over the mountaintops like some hazy mist. On my right are endless fields grazed by goats and an ocean with jagged, bright, broken glacier pieces just bopping in place. I'm listening to shitty punk music and I feel sweaty from all the stops for coffee I've had at every stop I can manage.<br /><br />Enough poetry.<br /><br />I can't handle this. <br /><br />I'm on the side of the road crying typing this on my phone. Wildly. Madly. Swiping tears away like a useless mop that can't pick up a damn thing.<br /><br />I don't care how sappy this entry sounds. I don't care if you're reading this and thinking it's stupid and I'm emotional and over-doing it and blowing it out of proportion. One day I will die and so will my voice, so might as well write it out, even if it's laughed at. Writing my truth and all that jazz. <b>So, fuck it, here goes.</b><br /><br />This country and, specifically at this moment in time, this stretch of highway from Vik to Skaftafell is beyond my words. I have <span style="font-size: large;"><b>NEVER</b></span>, <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">EVER</span></b> seen something so unbelievably gorgeous in my life then this stretch of highway in the sun. It's hit me at such a level and I can't remember crying this much. This drive is the more majestic things I've ever witnessed, ever experienced. I've been to a lot of places in the word and this land here is....God, I don't even have words.<br /><br />Have you had a moment like this? Where everything just comes together for a perfect moment in time, one that quite simply steals your breath and life becomes intoxicatingly JUST TOO MUCH to handle.<br /><br />This journey across the whole of Iceland has, so far, been life changing. And I'm sure I'll write further entries about a standard day walking around, what it's like to drive around and camp in the most furious storms one can imagine, almost hitting a million sheep, etc. etc.<br /><br />But this moment here, right here, is my new <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i> moment (<a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/12/this-was-india-and-this-was-me.html">my first was pooping in front of holy monks</a>) for next part of my life.<br /><br />This country, Iceland, is the most beautiful place on earth. Hands down and I will fight anyone about it, any time. I had another blog moment like this, where I was sobbing as I wrote it, experiencing a very spiritual moment with a (yet another) holy <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/and-then-i-broke-down-in-tears.html">monk in Thailand</a>. Since then though I have become a lot less religious. In balance, I have become much more spiritual. And this is the kind of place that makes you believe in some kind of higher power/order to everything.<br /><br />And this drive. This fucking beauty makes you believe the impossible. This is a place that no picture will ever do it justice. <br /><br />As I cry and as I type, I'm realizing this:<br /><br />I'm becoming an asshole. And I'm okay with this. I want this. <br /><br />I'm going to preach. Not even sorry about it. <br /><br />This world, man. This little rock we all live on is the most amazing, precious thing we have in our lives. And all the future lives beyond us and our children.<br /><br />This little blue planet is worth fighting for. And, yes, that's why I'm becoming an asshole. Global warming is a real thing and I'm ready to be much more vocal about it.<br /><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: large;"><u><i><b>In 200 years, <a href="https://www.icelandreview.com/news/iceland-almost-ice-free-within-200-years/">or sooner depending on how we act toward global warming</a>, Iceland - that has destroyed me on the side of the highway with its beauty - will simply not exist in it's current form.<br /><br />Every, SINGLE, glacier in this ENTIRE country will be gone. This is a scientific fact. </b></i></u></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div><a href="#" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfk_Fj_uucLh1K4cLqsiUt3BnKVKzZ1tJEMURQB2KYRCJTUvySH8ddK34PJJHwsoc-Y4b5aXGu9siU0qPe3WUeMurSNQ8Au96ePfyqGzxnMOKuDqB78YzyLnxw4Xy8Jruv5htxET0AH5iULHQZO5gejkxh3Vxh3lSTN0EO2neeH4O2AXb7hXfR52ewiQ/w303-h227/20220718_111448.jpg" width="303" /></a><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /><br />I could go on and on about how devastating that would be to this country. It would completely rob this almost magical place from the world at large (did you know Iceland was the 2nd to last country to be inhabited in the world? Fun fact.).<br /><br />Now, if you're someone who doesn't believe in global warming and thinks humans (i.e. YOU AND ME) aren't responsible...here's my asshole coming out. This is science, it doesn't matter what political party you happen to fall under. It's happening and if you can't behind the science...<b>Get off this page</b>. Seriously. And kindly don't come back. Just stop now because I won't social work this and be neutral with a line of thought that is killing this country and the world. I won't argue science with you - don't argue when, as I write this, all of Europe is burning down and s<a href="#">pecies are becoming extinct left and right</a> because of the rising heat.<br /><br />When I get back home, I'm recycling more. I'm telling my friends and family to do so. When I get a house, I'm going to clean energy the absolute shit out of it. When I vote, I will make sure to put the environment first. When I...you get the picture.<br /><br />I'm asking you, reader, to do the same. <u>Recycle, research and use clean energy more in your house/car/life, vote politicians in that believe that world warming is a crisis for the entire planet and it's future, use and support public transportation, and so on and so forth. </u><br /><br />Yes, the cynic in me says, "This won't change anything Nick because a billion other people do the opposite and blah, blah, blah."<br /><br /><i>If I can make a difference, whether it be one year, one day, one second longer that Iceland can keep its beauty before humans and their world warming take it down, then damn is that worth it.</i><br /><br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUqbspZTyU9yWvZYlfBRkEkkVODB0hJtVYghPbwAj-3SnfG4td6SIJaa1DFq5l3H0Ih_A6fhzkaikJ8wb6FEOeEN-ovpa6TgB2JUyXN6fx2PZkBS1D6-8FrOeXRYaIr6Ee3FMqHTbNO_yRl8LmXhIKh7ZVuFa8rIYgtOp_JoJEpFB1yohrXdfMWXJFA/s4000/20220717_173234.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUqbspZTyU9yWvZYlfBRkEkkVODB0hJtVYghPbwAj-3SnfG4td6SIJaa1DFq5l3H0Ih_A6fhzkaikJ8wb6FEOeEN-ovpa6TgB2JUyXN6fx2PZkBS1D6-8FrOeXRYaIr6Ee3FMqHTbNO_yRl8LmXhIKh7ZVuFa8rIYgtOp_JoJEpFB1yohrXdfMWXJFA/w150-h200/20220717_173234.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></span>And come visit Iceland. <b>Please</b>. Buy a ticket right now (<a href="https://www.icelandair.com/">here's the website</a>). Message me or ask me and I'll tell you things that will make your heart happy. Experience this world and hopefully you too can (further) grasp the importance of saving this planet. This country needs good tourists! Come here and shame the bad tourists that ruin it for everyone (don't let them throw their shit everywhere [such as in the picture] or trample through off-limit land for their Instagram likes, etc), support Iceland's local economy, and become an asshole with me. <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br />Come experience something wild and untamed and gorgeous and hopefully you too will be become an asshole about the environment and protecting this place and the world at large.<br /></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">We might make a difference, we might not.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span><i><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But at least we tried.</span></span></i><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">That's all one can hope to do in life, you know?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Simply try. <br /></span></span></div></div>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-53362985205894210252022-07-15T13:20:00.040-07:002022-07-22T08:49:31.459-07:00Dicks, man. Dicks are everywhere.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Km_4_1zgqJq8uJfNU0ehHjRXHbVeI4gLQ880SKSUQ7NdVrMjQFmINwKYmXMSlesUpjWdji2twDsCE_bi7EqhnAveObWLFfLqhA3NeeGb4hsXlShfnHuKawv4ijPR653PAdjDkyoVkMo-PMLm16sKzh0HwvB08vdjyMnBAFDas9frymUPzErLLLf5ag/s4000/20220714_130139.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="3000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Km_4_1zgqJq8uJfNU0ehHjRXHbVeI4gLQ880SKSUQ7NdVrMjQFmINwKYmXMSlesUpjWdji2twDsCE_bi7EqhnAveObWLFfLqhA3NeeGb4hsXlShfnHuKawv4ijPR653PAdjDkyoVkMo-PMLm16sKzh0HwvB08vdjyMnBAFDas9frymUPzErLLLf5ag/s320/20220714_130139.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Dicks, man. Dicks are everywhere.<br /><br />I’m sitting here in the café of <a href="https://phallus.is/en/">The Icelandic Phallological Museum</a>, sipping my “Icelandic Penis Ale?” and listening to oh-so-smooth jazz. Because of course I am. <br /><br />This place is classy as hell, even though it has more versions of penis’ (is that how you plural multiple penis at once? Seriously asking), in every shape and form throughout history, then I ever thought I would be exposed to. Like, ever. <br /><br />But, this is really typical. I’ve only been in Reykjavík for two hours and already adventuring into the unknown. <br /><br />But this entry is more than just what I’m doing now. It just so happens that this story starts with dicks. <br /><br />Because everyone here is having a blast, laughing and playing along. I mean, an <i><b><u>ENTIRE</u></b></i> museum and cafe dedicated to dicks is <b><i><u>ABSOLUTELY HILLARIOUS</u></i></b>. The old couple that just went in followed by the screaming kids (yep, all ages here, folks!) all are having the time of their lives right now. <br /><br />But…and this is where this will veer into the serious for a hot minute...I’m not having as much fun as I should. I should be channeling my inner child right now. <br /><br />Instead, I’m here in the cafe typing away on a computer - a very solitary act instead of giggling, making a billion inappropriate jokes, and pointing at funny dicks with someone. <br /><br />So, real quick. Story time. I’ve told very few people about this, but I’ll let the cat out of the bag in a nut shell (no pun intended). <br /><br /><a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2016/07/lakpa-punches-goat-and-other-himalayan.html">After my adventure in Nepal six years ago with Lakpa</a>, I went to Indonesia and hung out in Bali. I was there for a good 3 or 4 days and I haven’t really told anyone about it. I mean, it has come up in so very few stories and I never wrote an entry on this website for the time period either. But why, you might ask? <br /><br />Because, for the first time in perhaps a dozen different countries across multiple different continents and dozens of years, I felt…what I can only describe as the immense feeling of being lonely. I felt alone. It wasn’t the first time I wanted to turn to someone next to me and say, “holy shit, dude! Isn’t this cool!” But it’s always been sort of okay because I had plenty of fellow traveler friends to bounce things off of. <br /><br />But that was the first time I felt like when I went back home, I would utterly lose all those memories I made. Solo traveling is inherently selfish and inward, I get that. I’ve thought I’ve made peace with that. <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/blips-on-radar.html">Sure, you meet cool people and new friends</a> and then it’s suddenly not selfish anymore. You’re sharing memories! Come on now, that’s my favorite part of traveling by far. <br /><b><br />Then something happens. Something that always happens. And here’s the deal: at the end of the trip(s), they go back home and so do you. </b><br /><br />And just like that, you no longer have a shared story with anyone around you when you inevitably come back home. You can’t reminisce with friends at a party about a shared experience. Instead you always have to end each story with “you’d had to have been there." You can’t joke and laugh and cry and feel with your friends and family back home because the stories and memories are only in your head and shareable with those that experienced them with you. 2nd person adventure stories usually suck and are no fun. And that’s where they stay because you don’t want to always be that asshole bringing up exotic stories that people get tired of reallllll quick. <br /><br />So I went to Bali. I had some adventures there with the people I shared them with. And I’ll never see them again to share those memories. End. Of. Story.<br /><br />That was my last solo trip. Since then, I’ve only traveled with others. And I've loved it. Even if it flowed differently than a solo experience. <u>But the key difference of this kind of travel compared to solo: after the travels were done, the stories and reminiscing were not.</u><br /><br />So with all that said, I’m still typing away in an Icelandic dick museum. And I’m feeling that loneliness sorta, kinda, maybe creepin’ on in. Questions I can't stop begin to form, like: <br /><br />-Why am I doing this by myself? <br /><br />-Am I the same person I was in my late 20s when I did this? <br /><br />-And if I’m not, what do I do about this new person? <br /><br />-How do I convince that old part of me that this isn’t what I truly, 100% enjoy anymore? That I want to travel with those I love and are close to me more now?<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><u><i>-What is the travel experience, really, if you have no one to really share it with during and after it's done?</i></u><br /><br />I’ve been traveling a lot in the last year or so with good company. And as much as I adore this trip right now, it's hard not to look forward to two additional trips I have this summer when I return with people I deeply care about in my life more than the current solo adventure. So, this... <br /><br />This…I just don’t know, man. <br /><br />At this moment in time, this is just me laughing at dick jokes by myself and, fun fact: I’m older than my last solo trip. <br /><br /><i><b>And, well, I think I’m getting old enough that solo travel maybe just isn't my jam anymore and I now just want to laugh at dick jokes with someone next to me.</b></i><br /><br />Shared dick jokes with people I love and care about. If that’s not a telling sign of maturity, I don’t know what is.</span><style>@font-face
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{page:WordSection1;}</style></p>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-40298266469742222262022-06-19T09:25:00.017-07:002022-07-16T01:57:02.918-07:00"Damn Daniel, back at it with the white Vans!"<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>Fuck this blog.</b></span></p><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, I guess, you might need some backstory.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, since last writing in this blog (almost six years ago!), I've done all the major things that compose and create the standard life.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7OmqSPw9LjFTrr8jNyAJpaKVSvJAnt5HkS2FPIcoMBoClQ0faw3D9k2m_4dY9j_tB-TPNI2bi1TVUPr_rgtYyn-lEv6-AixN1EYNJ-yEZcOiSEl_qcl9c0nFndsWaVMfWmA40bh2qi4PYoIrWieqNN-vgPK5ODlQCr26HERsFfISt6-KI7QsJKRdcQ/s1849/IMG_20200803_170527_764.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1849" data-original-width="1849" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7OmqSPw9LjFTrr8jNyAJpaKVSvJAnt5HkS2FPIcoMBoClQ0faw3D9k2m_4dY9j_tB-TPNI2bi1TVUPr_rgtYyn-lEv6-AixN1EYNJ-yEZcOiSEl_qcl9c0nFndsWaVMfWmA40bh2qi4PYoIrWieqNN-vgPK5ODlQCr26HERsFfISt6-KI7QsJKRdcQ/s320/IMG_20200803_170527_764.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Got closer to my family during Covid. Super thankful for.</span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">-I fell in love, moved to Seattle for a little while, and experienced a relationship that was good and simply ran its course.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">-I deepened some friendships/relationships, made a lot of new friends, while others faded at the same time.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">-I hiked. Like a lot.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">-Got a fish and named it "Rise Up Lights". <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">-Published a podcast of sorts that kinda got abandoned.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">-Got better at my job and took on more responsibilities. Started moving toward getting my own private practice.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">-Did a lot of cool things in between all the above.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">With me so far? I mean, it's all pretty good, right? And, in fact, it's been quite an adventure since that last entry. I can't complain much - I'm still very much in love with life and the people and adventures it has thrown my way.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But there's one, tiny, small, almost-not-even-there thing I have not done though in these past 6 years.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>I have not looked at this blog.</i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have done absolutely, positively, everything I could to ignore it. I consciously put this blog in the back of my head and forced myself to push it away as far as far could be.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I legit, no joke, couldn't even remember the name of this blog to even add this entry! I had to ask an old friend to help me find it again. That's how far removed I have put this blog. (And I'm super proud of the writing here. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">It has nothing to do with not liking it.)</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Other things I stopped doing? <br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">-I stopped checking in with all the friends I met while traveling (well, minus <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2016/07/lakpa-punches-goat-and-other-himalayan.html">my goat-punching friend Lakpa</a> who still calls me on a weekly basis!). </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">-I stopped watching shows about travel. I stopped reading any books related to travel. I stopped...well, you get the point.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">All of it reminded me that there was a time in my life that I didn't give a shit about a "normal life" and put my life in a 70-liter backpack and actively experienced the world around me.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, so what?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Plenty of people do this. They grow up, they lay down roots, and move on with life. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, here's the deal. And it's big.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I <b><i>was</i></b> enthralled with travel. With the adventure of the unknown. With meeting and being intimately tied with travelers doing the same thing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you're super bored and have some time to burn, read through the last couple entries of this blog (especially this <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/04/top-12-reasons-why-you-should-never.html">one</a>) and you'll see someone absolutely smitten over the world of the unknown. Someone who is so optimistic about the adventure of life that it's almost nauseating.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And, then, like that, that man? Poof. Gone. Radio silence.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Radio silence to the blog. To the friends I made along the way. To new friends about the adventures I had experienced.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just static on the screen.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, the blunt question of this blog entry: <i><b>What the hell happened?</b></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've been quite happy, to be honest (my friends would say I rarely am otherwise). And, I'd be lying to say I haven't traveled (I went to Bolivia and Canada and went on countless trips with friends with destinations known and unknown) and been having a blast with my sister and friends and family.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But these last few years, I've been missing something. Something this blog touched on and really dug into. Something I consciously knew was always lingering on the outskirts of my mind. This blog became almost like some kind of forbidden fruit. I was scared I'd re-read it and go, "I was <i>THIS</i> happy? I have proof that I went head-on towards the things that scared me?"</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In short? I had become complacent with my life and I was scared that when I read this blog again, I would have to confront that.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><i><u>But, guess what suckers! I did it! I re-opened the Pandora's box and everything has spilled over and has completely overtaken me. </u></i></b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I bought a random ticket to Iceland and I'm going in a few weeks. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Complacent? Screw that. I'm going back into the unknown. And I've been absolutely giddy since.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My job, my relationships, my day-to-day - the last 6 years have had plenty of ups and downs, but I buried a giant piece of myself to be someone I wasn't </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm not blaming my long-term relationship with my ex at all. We loved each other the whole way and we just happened to find that we were two different people along that way, with different dreams and different life paths. But in that relationship, I feel a little like I was pretending to be someone I wasn't (this all me-created by the way). And then it ended and I just kept on pretending.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Or, maybe I wasn't pretending really.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I still want all that. I want roots. I want a loving relationship. I wanted all that then and still want that now.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, I guess it comes down to being selfish. I want my cake and I want to eat it, too.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I want to be able to travel the world at the same time of all the above. I want to be an explorer. Doesn't even need to be a ton, but it has to be a part of my life in all the ways it hasn't been these past few years. One day I'll find the girl that will travel along with me when the itch becomes too big to scratch. Then we'll head back home, live the day-to-day while always planning that next escape and that next adventure.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's how I want to live.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">That's how I NEED to live. And I wasn't living that.<br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Until then, solo me needs to explore in order to continue growing. <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>But, enough about me.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><b>This blog is about YOU, the reader, too.</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I want to write to tell you that it's okay if you feel stuck. If you feel, like me, that nagging in the back of your skull saying something is missing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Take a breath.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Say, <i>"fuck it." </i><a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/12/this-was-india-and-this-was-me.html">(Last time I said this traveling involved pooping in a hole in front of Sikh monks...)</a><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And face that nagging feeling head on. However scary. However world-changing.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Caveat: I'm not saying quit your job, divorce your partner, and say screw it all and just go travel and hike. No, I'm much too old to not encourage thinking something through. Think it through, do the financials, have the talks with the necessary parties. Plan it out. Be smart about it. But whatever you need to do, do it.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just don't wait. You only have so long on this planet. <span style="font-size: x-large;"> <br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Do what absolutely scares you. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">My fear was this blog. But I did it. I read through it all. I let the old me tell the new me what is up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, fuck this blog.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I re-discovered it and I can't ever look away again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Expect more adventures to follow. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjMmTCIsdYpXCCr5P6hCwa9B7J_KU8YhUt0pw-NB34cmRtiGW6RlFCGYhpe7GUpmdhdBAlrxTBvfOioF7-rrvYn7dbgej1q4sV6hAeGZ5TirJtz-EybwU32gKEtia0ABEnKkXU1Im7wrxCM1vj4OAVdL7ubOwWwKYf_83MwlUSysZOWuurqyB6u6OUw/s960/10409107_4845384029428_5210797110257745398_n.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrjMmTCIsdYpXCCr5P6hCwa9B7J_KU8YhUt0pw-NB34cmRtiGW6RlFCGYhpe7GUpmdhdBAlrxTBvfOioF7-rrvYn7dbgej1q4sV6hAeGZ5TirJtz-EybwU32gKEtia0ABEnKkXU1Im7wrxCM1vj4OAVdL7ubOwWwKYf_83MwlUSysZOWuurqyB6u6OUw/s320/10409107_4845384029428_5210797110257745398_n.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Thanks for coming along with me, friends. I'll see you soon. </span></div>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-75926368494561334392016-09-01T18:52:00.005-07:002022-06-19T09:34:45.511-07:00"Welcome back to the fight. This time I know our side will win."<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br />Ready for a wonderful entry about uplifting things? Ready for an entry full of sunshine and flowers and beaches, and soft pillow talk?<br /><br />Well, excellent! Let’s talk about some poverty!<br /><br />Wait. Please don’t run. <b>This will be a good entry, I swear.</b> I just wanted to be fair and upfront that this will mainly be about an uncomfortable topic. But it is my duty to talk about this topic more than I have. Most of my entries I post never address the extreme poverty I take in while visiting all these countries. They’re very much “me-centered”, and while this particularly entry won’t be vastly different, the goal is for something more impactful than just showing how a pretty-privileged white dude from the West does his whole <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i> thing. Not talking about the extreme poverty has been my MO.<br /><br />This is positively <u>unacceptable</u>, and as a social worker, I feel disgraced that I coast over this important topic with breezy conversations about toilets or drinking at bars. Sidenote though, because I do talk about toilets and bars frequently, here is a picture of the strangest urinal I have encountered so far, in a bar, in Kathmandu.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Back to it. Countries like Nepal need representation, they need to be shown how gorgeous they are and how desperate their situation is when it comes to income disparity on a global and local scale. Shelby pointed this out to me first: that Nepal doesn’t have the income disparity as say The United States or Thailand, but instead it seems like everyone is poor, even those of higher castes (like India, although the caste system is no longer legally recognized, many people still acknowledge it) and government officials.<br /><br /><b><u>In the past, I have been a coward</u></b>, using a half-ass excuse that I’m scared to type negatively about some of these countries because of strict government censorship (but, yeah, for the record, this is somewhat true in some of the countries I have visited). But in reality, I’m scared to breech the topic because it’s so dense, so complex, and so hard to write about without sounding too pessimistic and having it turn into one gigantic bummer. Also, it gets a little tricky to talk about it from an outsider’s perspective as the world I see is filtered through my own lens as white, straight, American male of what I think poverty is and isn’t (which, sometimes, again, can be completely wrong because of the density of the word). As I tell my students and people I work with, I have no idea what they're going through because I am not and never will be in their skin. BUT, I can at least be the best damn ally possible to them.<br /><br />And luckily, to boot, I’m an eternal optimist.<br /><br />Today I woke up a little later than usual. I got my breakfast from the hostel, then walked through town to go to my favorite coffee shop (typical Seattlite, huh?). The people at this particular shop are, without a doubt, the nicest people I have met in any place so far. They raise their arms and hands and voices and smiles and laughs as though you were the Prodigal Son returning. They even memorize your drink so quickly that by Day Two you’ve become a regular in an alley coffee shop halfway across the world in Asia! Anyways, I jumped on my computer and started looking for a place to book for Jakarta in three day’s time (I’m a liar and I do actually plan things on occasion). While doing so, one of the staff came up to me and started asking me the typical questions: where are you from, how do you like Nepal, and how come your belly is so fat? That last question is made up, but it is a good question – I hit thirty and was, like, where did that come from? That's a story for another time though.<br /><br />His name was Iswor (pronounced like E-sue) and he was (and is) delightful. We fill a good ten minutes with chatter and I learn that he’s also a full-time student, a single year away from getting his BA in Business. He also wants to be a social worker. This guy has big dreams and I can already tell he’s got a magnetic personality. We exchanged Facebook and decide to grab a bite to eat after his shift.<br /><br />I come back a few hours later and he’s a social butterfly, sitting down and talking with another foreigner, Kelly, a researcher and student at Oxford (!) documenting, along with an assistant, about child exploitation and people migration patterns of Nepal (at least, I think that’s right, my memory is spotty most of the time and I’m technically polishing up this entry while in Jakarta [edit: and editing it more and posting from a bar in the US]. Kelly, if you’re reading this, correct me!). It’s fascinating stuff and she leads the three of us to a nearby restaurant called Yak.<br /><br />Kelly has to leave for a meeting, but Iswor and I delve deep into it. He, like others before him, have a lot to say about the current Nepali economy, the government, and living in a post-earthquake nation already on the brink of collapsing (two days before this, there was politcial unrest in the government and and students filled the street and shut down city buses and the like (type in "Nepal protests" into Google and you'll be floored by what comes up). This is not unusual for Nepal unfortunately [fortunately?]).<br /><br />People like Iswor are exactly why I travel. No guidebooks and no <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expatriate">expats</a> telling me what is what. This is a casual conversation between two people from vastly different cultures finding differences and exploring common ground. It’s wondrous, eye-opening, and a little hard to take in.<br /><br />This has happened to me many times while in poor countries: hospitality you just wouldn’t believe and you wouldn’t expect in western countries (but, I hate generalizing as there have been several Western countries with equally as accommodating and generous souls).<br /><br />He invites me to come see his apartment which he shares with his sister. His sister, although sick in bed from Typhoid for the last two weeks, cooks me <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dal_bhat">Dal Baht</a> after they learn how much I adore it. <b>Re-read that one more time. </b>This is a family that is barely surviving on their own income, and because the sister has been out of work, they are working on less than half of a very modest income to survive. Yet still they make me – a complete and utter stranger they just met – a meal they most likely can't afford.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAplXywJNb2gfBVjDhoTPlBZ_yRzrA_v6cP_Gir0NiI7kp0QM5sOydicumlUdbhhbPWWB3rFC_DlTZ-Rjoi5etkutPr9JJs2BdJw52gl-ydGA6RRx-tTUZ2XethRo6x3YsqzWc42oOQ_ko/s1600/20160727_123833_HDR.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAplXywJNb2gfBVjDhoTPlBZ_yRzrA_v6cP_Gir0NiI7kp0QM5sOydicumlUdbhhbPWWB3rFC_DlTZ-Rjoi5etkutPr9JJs2BdJw52gl-ydGA6RRx-tTUZ2XethRo6x3YsqzWc42oOQ_ko/s400/20160727_123833_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">This man wasn’t looking to make a quick buck off me. It wasn't some long-con. He was and is a genuine person who believes that money doesn’t equal happiness, and happiness depends on helping, learning, and opening your heart and world to others...no matter how dark and fragile that heart and world are. He invites me because he wants to learn about myself and the US and I want to learn about his world. He also wants to tell a story of his nation that too often gets drowned out by bigger and more prosperous countries.</span></span></div>
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</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br />In a matter of two hours, we have become good friends.<br /><br />And, dammit, rack up another person I will now miss and wonder and worry about.<br /><br />But I’m writing this blog for another reason. I’m not writing it just to say, “oh hey, look I have another friend! Isn’t that cool!”<br /><br />No, I’m summarizing this story because I want you, the reader, to know how beautiful people are when you let the fear go that you learn from the newspapers and TV shows.<br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br />But I also want to tell you about this country and why it needs your help.</b></span></span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Nepal is poor. In fact, from many reports (pre-earthquake), it was in the top 30 poorest countries in the world (some argue it’s much lower than that – they have no high-rise buildings, a one-lane airport, no rail system, and inadequate electricity for its almost 30 million population). I mean, this is a country that saw its first plane land in the mid 1940s and is a country that didn’t see a television system until 1985.<br /><br /> They’ve had an extremely rocky past with democracy and monarchies and are still experiencing constant political turmoil (most notably because of corrupt higher-up and messy politics with China/Tibet. If your curious, I’ve been reading this book by a Nepalese defector who now lives in Canada, and it has positively opened my eyes and heart to this country even more. It's called <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Forget-Kathmandu-Democracy-Manjushree-Thapa/dp/9382277005">Forget Kathmandu</a>. Give it a read if you’re a fan of history mixed with memoir. It’s a tough read at first, with a shitload of history to wade through, but I promise you the impact is that much stronger for it. I find it sad that it only has one review on Amazon...more proof how forgotten this country can be when someone writes something other than Mt. Everest.<br /><br />I often think, how can I help? How can any of us help if we’re committed to our own lives, whether it be family, or school, or work back home. Part of the answer is tourism. Tourism is big business for this society (it's the number one source of income), and it can really positively affect local life when tourists and trekkers pour money into <u>local</u> people and food and supplies. The problem is, after the earthquake, tourism has plummeted to dismal numbers. </span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">And the earthquake. I remember waking up and hearing the news in the states and though I hadn’t been here yet, I got close enough in Dharamsala to understand how devastating a natural disaster can have on a community that can’t afford proper infrastructure on its buildings and roads. I get goosebumps even typing this when I recall Iswor telling me his personal account of the earthquake at the young age of twenty. He struggles to talk about the bodies he had to carry to the doctor (that were already dead or dying). Everyone in the city slept out in the fields for fear their buildings might collapse in on them. It was chilling to hear how he had to go to work the next morning in bloody clothes, stained from sixteen (he counted – how could you not?) bodies he carried out of rubble or the streets. I mean, my God, can you imagine that? I’m sitting in a café drinking a San Miguel and the reader is probably equally as comfy. So try to put yourself into this role – in a world where you make, on average, a little over 10,000 rupees a month – equivalent to roughly 100 USD. And even that is considered rich.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOkgTA4i0Yjm3gsYxgoZYpTyxaAAAPX6sLSZHqhcri5RTG_ftKYu8oxJ5W2x8UmrHIN2Dx0nRd-zlMXKduuUq2jcXpIKPDZKzI3K4MY-gFNqCFsZgAj0TRsF5rBit-sTuCzNOZ-DYv4qR/s1600/20160721_143337.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOkgTA4i0Yjm3gsYxgoZYpTyxaAAAPX6sLSZHqhcri5RTG_ftKYu8oxJ5W2x8UmrHIN2Dx0nRd-zlMXKduuUq2jcXpIKPDZKzI3K4MY-gFNqCFsZgAj0TRsF5rBit-sTuCzNOZ-DYv4qR/s320/20160721_143337.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Imagine how fast that drains when a “nice” apartment the size of half a studio apartment can cost upwards of 3,000 Rupees per month. Add in that this kid is paying sometimes 27,000 Rupees a year for school. So his sister and him have close to 5,000 Rupees (50 dollars) a month to survive.</span></div>
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<br /><i>Fifty fucking dollars.</i></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">My heart bleeds and I feel so incredibly horrible for the privileges I have back home. But what can I do?<br /><br /><b>So, I ask this of readers:</b><br /><br />Find NGOs that are reputable. Give money or give your time. (Resources and links will be at the end of this entry, with more added over time).<br /><br />For example, the day before yesterday I went with Kayla, Deryn, and Ola to a local orphanage. We met this Irish couple that were volunteering there for a week before their actual "vacation" started. It was amazing to see. So...think about your next vacation. It’s completely doable (Update: I met up with the Irish couple on my flight to Malaysia. I asked them how the experience was and they were completely torn. They felt good that they helped provide for the children the week they were there. They were happy they could play and interact and bring joy to kids that didn't have parents or make-up for a non-existent welfare system that can't support struggling parents [however broken ours might be in the West, at least we have something!]. But the two of them couldn’t get over how hard it was to leave. They saw the kid’s emotions plummet from their exit. Imagine being the kids, attaching to caring adults, only for them to leave a week later, again and again and again).<br /><br />But at the end of the day. <b><i><u>It's something.</u></i></b> And one thing I know for sure, something is almost always better than doing nothing at all.</span><br />
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">Or, if you don’t or can’t volunteer, go to Nepal for your vacation. Just make sure your money goes to local businesses and guides. They need tourism, because tourism can make or break a country like this. F</span><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">or any country (and state) to function properly, tourism must be held in high regard. </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, I know that just getting more tourists here spending locally is not a fix to this economy or inefficient government</b><span face=""verdana" , sans-serif">. But, it’s not technically just a simple band-aid (for my British friends, plastics) either. It's a vital piece of the puzzle that YOU at home can do to at least help a little. And again, even a little is something.</span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><br />The more I spend here in this capital city of “organized chaos” the more I am falling in love with it and the people. It reminds me of Phnom Penh in Cambodia. Most travelers I meet dislike PP greatly, but I was there for two weeks and it morphed into a second home for me (or third or fourth or...). When you discover the heart of even the ugliest and busiest cities – the heart being the working class people – you fall in love. You can’t help it. Head over fucking heels in love.<br /><br />I’ve often railed on this blog and in person about the stark difference between a traveler and a tourist (<a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/things-i-have-learned-in-thailand-and.html">Here's one example of me talking about that</a>). I’ve often thought that tourism is pointless because you don’t really get the culture or dive deep into all of it. But, maybe I should backtrack because that has been and is incredibly elitist, and quite frankly dumb, and ignorant of me to have thought and said and written this. Tourism, however small or short, must happen for these countries to survive – casual “backpacking” must happen. Tourism, when done away from corporate groups and tours (which pocket most of the money), and done on the local level are what matter. No matter how you travel. And they must continue to matter.<br /><br />So please, next time your vacation days are coming up, seriously consider about visiting Nepal. There is trekking from as little as one day to months at a time. There are rivers to raft down, jungles to explore, cities to walk, and absolutely cool gifts to buy. But most of all, there are wonderful people here that would love to shake your hand and say “Namaste”. <br /><br /><b>Tourism website:</b> </span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><a href="http://www.welcomenepal.com/">http://www.welcomenepal.com/</a><br /><br />Note: I double-dog-dare you to go to this website and not say, “holy shit! This is amazing, I’m buying my ticket immediately!” Go ahead. I’ll wait.<br /><b><br />Wikitravel entry on Nepal:</b></span><br />
<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Nepal">http://wikitravel.org/en/Nepal</a></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><b>Good NGOs:</b></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><a href="http://www.thelongestwayhome.com/blog/nepal/where-to-volunteer-in-nepal-maybe-nowhere/">http://www.thelongestwayhome.com/blog/nepal/where-to-volunteer-in-nepal-maybe-nowhere/</a></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><b>One of my favorite trekking guides, Mani, from my last blog (Lakpa doesn't have a "website", but I do have his contact information if you want to hire him when trekking):</b></span></div>
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<span face=""verdana" , sans-serif"><a href="https://www.tourhq.com/guide/np47282/mani-bhagawat">https://www.tourhq.com/guide/np47282/mani-bhagawat</a><br /><br />That’s all I got for now. Much like when I talked about Zimbabwe, I feel the people here are of the same opinion. <b><a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/03/and-may-god-bless-everyone.html">"Tell people about us."</a></b> The earthquake happened. It killed so many and destroyed a lot of the country. It sucks and it’s sad and, and, and! But it’s not as desperate as the papers would make you believe. The country is not in ruins. It is operational and still is divine.<br /><br />In the future, I will most certainly continue to talk about pooping in holes and sleeping on airport floors and getting drunken tattoos (uhhhh), but I’ve made a promise to do more than that. To make this blog mean more than it is.<br /><br />It is the absolute least I can do.<br /><br />Thanks.</span><br />
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-29512222040076980032016-07-24T21:04:00.000-07:002016-11-06T18:25:29.976-08:00Lakpa punches a goat (and other Himalayan Adventures in Nepal).<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>I was fine yesterday.<br /><br />Today, on this tiny bus, I am (for lack of more concrete terms) collapsing in on myself.<br /><br />I’ve written before about how my life sometimes <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/02/a-life-on-fire.html">feels on fire</a> (in a good way), but this feeling on this bus is something I’ve never had before. I have never, ever been so angry (and hungover) before this moment. Lakpa is passed out in the seat next to me and resting his head on my shoulder. I can’t even look at him. I’m choking back some tears and it feels like my soul is crawling through my body and torching everything it passes.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>My insides are crumbling.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>There is one thought – just one - going through my head, and it does not include all the beautiful things I have seen in the last two weeks (such as pictured above):<br /><br /><b>I fucking hate traveling.</b><br /><br />And I hate that Lakpa was seated next to me. I wish he wasn’t. He’s a small Nepalese man with a personality that eclipses every physical trait possible. I told him last night, well into my 400 Rupee whiskey, that he is the kind of person that when you meet them, you are already sad for when they leave. More straightforwardly: <u>Lakpa is a shooting star of a life.</u> He’s brilliant and bold and beautiful. <br /><br />And like almost everyone you meet while traveling, just like a shooting star, they enter and leave your life so painfully quick. You must then learn to let them go. Travel in and of itself is the definition of temporary. And sometimes, whether you like it or not, <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/blips-on-radar.html">so are people</a>.<br /><br />And soon, as in this-short-bus-ride-soon, he will leave my life and I will miss him like I have many shooting stars that have blazed through my sky, however briefly.<br /><br />That all said, this moment on the bus is more than just him.<br /><br />I have also just finished trekking with him and an amazing group of people on a trail that spanned about two weeks and over a hundred miles. I hit my breaking point(s) that literally pushed me to my edges. I encountered leeches, frigid cold, altitude sickness, unbearable humidity. I pushed buses along cliff sides where one small mud slip and my life would tumble into a river of class VI, brown oblivion. I met and became friends with absolutely stellar people. I disconnected from the internet and bars and the wildness of urban life.<br /><br />The experience then was, without a doubt, one of the hardest things I have ever accomplished. I have lots of friends that would have undoubtedly shot through this path and this challenge with relative ease (I have met fellow travelers that say it "was a piece of cake"). The thing is, I am not made for this kind of trekking, or at least, I haven’t fitted myself into someone would could be yet (I have since made a promise to myself that I will do so after this experience). I drink too much, I sit too much, and I was in no way, shape, or form ready for a trek of this magnitude.<br /><br />But I did it.<br /><br />And right now, on this tiny bus, I feel not only the weight of what I just experienced - what I accomplished along with my friends and their unwavering support on the trail - but the weight of life from the past two years (because these past two years have been a roller coaster of new situations and people and feelings and decisions). It’s a moment so rare and so profound that the rest of your life spills out at the same time. Does this even make sense? Has this happened to you? A moment where all of life just explodes from within - the totality of your days and existential existence just snatches the air out from your lungs? It’s suffocating and I can’t stop thinking about how insane it is to travel the world over and live this kind of weird life.<br /><br />So. Recap. I’m hungover and I’m pissed and breaking down (fun!).<br /><br />With this in mind, the previous days wash over me. (What follows is not a step-by-step recollection of trekking, because a] that’s boring to read and b] that’s boring to write, so I’ll save you the Lord of the Rings treatment and skip all the Hobbit walking and singing with Tom Bombadil nonsense).</i><br /><br /><b>Day Fourteen</b><br /><br />Today, it is all cheers with: Shelby, my partner in crime from Texas (who pushed me to complete this thing and I'm indebted to her for it); Lakpa, our trusted, lovable, and dad-like guide; Maddie and Nate, two cool college students in Colorado who had basically merged with us since day one when we ran into each other at the same tea house; and finally Maddie and Nate's guide, Mani, who is one of the calmest and humblest people I have met in Nepal thus far.<br /><br />We go out drinking. We play cards. We pound tables like large makeshifts drums as Lakpa sings us songs in Nepali. The table shakes with the weight of excitement.<br /><br />We made it and, damn, are we proud.<br /><br /><b>Day Thirteen</b><br /><br />We are on a cliff side in a rain forest. One side is pure rock and avalanches and the other is a river unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Our bus is stuck on a hill in the mud. Everyone piles out and we all join together and grunt and groan and push the bus with all our collective might. To no luck, we all grab stones from the area and make our own road. It’s teamwork that gets the bus over the hill and everyone freaks out and claps and cheers and hoots and hollers when the bus makes it through. In other countries, I could never imagine this team mentality. Here, it cements everyone together on a shared journey. Later, we run into another bus that got stuck and, yep, out all of us go again. Abnormal? No, not at all. The citizens of Nepal are resourceful and I love them for that. This compared to the last few days? Easy.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizrC9C9US72hyphenhyphentiafs_gBNVA_WjrSzuum3EE18COUtVQONDdfsPBHrqtEJWDN0jKHFtgeuR1advXcLQ-6Erwo_YHE5gnswmnJLr4CtmN2TmHr01h3mPfV_K8Rmw3-N6-qnkySrTBeHiCX/s1600/20160717_075233_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgizrC9C9US72hyphenhyphentiafs_gBNVA_WjrSzuum3EE18COUtVQONDdfsPBHrqtEJWDN0jKHFtgeuR1advXcLQ-6Erwo_YHE5gnswmnJLr4CtmN2TmHr01h3mPfV_K8Rmw3-N6-qnkySrTBeHiCX/s320/20160717_075233_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Day Twelve</b><br /><br />I’m freezing cold and my sweat is turning to ice underneath my three layers of clothing. Shelby has been hit with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altitude_sickness">Acute Mountain Sickness</a> (AMS) symptoms and is struggling behind. I’m trying my best to breathe at an altitude of close to 5,500 meters (which has roughly half the oxygen than at sea level. For Washington readers, this altitude is higher than Mt. Rainier). I’m still nursing my own AMS-induced killer headache from last night that devastated my sleep. My headache was not too major, but my compulsive fear was – I’d read enough and heard enough stories of comas and death from AMS (well, usually from the more severe/progressed forms of AMS, HAPE and HACE). So I sat in bed, aching and believing I was going to die. But the next morning, Monne told me that as long as the headache wasn't in the back of my head (meaning water had gotten there), I was a-okay. (Sidenote: <a href="http://www.altitude.org/high_altitude.php">check this out</a> - type in a random number and you get some pretty fascinating, nerdy facts).<br /><br /> But that was last night and too much worrying stops cool things from happening. Onward! We get to the top and I’ve never felt so high in all my life (many puns intended). We meet up with the very rad East Coasters we met the other night and we bathe in an icy cold collection of selfies and prayer-flag hanging. We minimize talk because it’s brutally icy and I can’t feel my left shoulder and all my fingers (Lakpa is hitting his hands on rocks to bring back circulation, for a rough example of how cold it is).<br /><br />At the hostel, we drink in celebration. Myself especially. I haven’t had a drink in well over ten days and I’m extremely proud of myself. I have yet to check Facebook. I have yet to have an energy drink. I feel completely and utterly free. So, of course, we all, in Lakpa’s words, “climb the Everest” (which is the name of a famous draft over here). They explode all over the lobby as though the beer bottles are just as excited as us.<br /><br />A few drinks in and I get the courage to share with Kayla, Ola, and Deryn about something that hit me while on the top with little oxygen (Shelby and the rest are in heated games of Bullshit at a nearby table. Lakpa loves the game, but he is absolutely horrible at it).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On my left wrist, I have the word "truth" written in Hebrew. It's a short reminder of my favorite quote from the Christian bible. Pontius Pilate, against almost all popular opinion, is my favorite character. He, to me, has always been the most human of Christian biblical characters. His quote, "What is truth?" is a question I ask myself daily. I feel that way with a lot of things in life, religion included. Truth is elusive and I don't feel it healthy to choose truth lightly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But, as I told my three friends, I found an answer on that mountain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Faith," I say, "that's the answer."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I don't mean that in a strict secular or non-secular sense. I mean that the truth of things are: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-faith in oneself</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-faith in your partner</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-faith in your religion/spirituality (whatever that may be) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-faith in nature </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-faith in science </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-faith in anything, really.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">For me, doing this improbable journey has given me <i>my</i> truth, one that has always been hard for me to accept. I have faith in so many others but have always lacked sufficient faith in myself and my abilities. But I think I've found my faith in myself. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And with it, I think I've answered a question (at least partially) that has evaded me for so long. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I tell my three friends that it's a cliche thing to think of and to not laugh too hard about how cheesy it all sounds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">None of them laugh and I am beyond glad that they are here at this moment.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialdJ6AZP1UfD836LWVm_VVlsFKWMZQ37466rgXZuqg5gi8AwEHDS-uKZXQrIprK6yWj0WdMOSoCLMRkxi0tgcApSGPKc3oTcFmiuBES62YvBKj6jB7p96GydYb8hqMDWbftG6_BAAcicX/s1600/20160718_072433_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialdJ6AZP1UfD836LWVm_VVlsFKWMZQ37466rgXZuqg5gi8AwEHDS-uKZXQrIprK6yWj0WdMOSoCLMRkxi0tgcApSGPKc3oTcFmiuBES62YvBKj6jB7p96GydYb8hqMDWbftG6_BAAcicX/s320/20160718_072433_HDR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZOnE3hyphenhyphen-4ATrSsvnMabrUs3d0eE_RjdGQ6BMNn33k9CGDmgDBCWZEUPr29KkgUXSHHdi_bLk_Qn2Tjsv3aGNfwW9jiLfdUvyYcWIN8UMnVIYtAp8THZdrMxDHHMMrkT7PJylcANjEdkc/s1600/20160714_100427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFZOnE3hyphenhyphen-4ATrSsvnMabrUs3d0eE_RjdGQ6BMNn33k9CGDmgDBCWZEUPr29KkgUXSHHdi_bLk_Qn2Tjsv3aGNfwW9jiLfdUvyYcWIN8UMnVIYtAp8THZdrMxDHHMMrkT7PJylcANjEdkc/s320/20160714_100427.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Day Ten</b><br /><br />Today we climb up to Upper Thorung base camp. We meet a screenwriter, Jordan, who left home because he was going stir-crazy while awaiting to see if his TV series would be picked up by Bad Robot and Netflix. He stayed at the lower base camp because all the guidebooks state that it’s dangerous to sleep any higher without additional acclimation. He may have had the right idea. Before going to bed, I am hit with a headache that could murder. But the next morning, I get a prescription strength Advil from Maddie, take my own Diamox pill (which makes me have to pee every ten minutes, which is absolutely lovely), and feel well enough to make the final push.<br /><br /><b>Day Nine</b><br /><br />Up and up. Sunburns for days. We meet three cool travelers from the East Coast – Kayla, Ola, Deryn - who are extremely rad and we spend as much time as we can talking with them. When you’re in the mountains, you have plenty of free time after hiking. Oodles of it. So we spend our time talking to them about all the cornerstones of life – love, careers, passions, and, of course, how crazy it is that we’re here and hiking toward one of the tallest mountain passes in the world (which, as recently as 2014 took roughly 21 trekker’s lives...).<br /><br /><b>Day Eight</b><br /><br />Acclimation day. With climbing high mountains, I learn, it’s very unsafe to scale too far in one day. The lack of oxygen fucks with you, so most treks require a certain amount of “rest” days for your body to get used to it. But acclimation isn’t just sleeping and waiting for your body to just say, "alright, I'm cool". It requires hiking up to a higher elevation, then coming back down to sleep at the lower elevation for the night. People who climb Everest, for example, spend weeks and weeks following this famous “climb high, sleep low” mantra. We just do it for a day. We play Shithead and Bullshit with candy we bought from a store instead of poker chips. We are all in bed by 7:30ish, per usual, because our bones are sore and the Dahl Baht lulls us all to sleep.<br /><br /><b>Day Seven</b><br /><br />Shelby and I do juice breaks everyday around 10:30, so today, Lakpa asks a random person to enter their house for rest and a juice. It's things like that make me love these countries (can you imagine doing that in the US?). We arrive in the bustling town of Manang. Our group finds a movie theater in the mountain town and out of the piles of illegal movies, we choose to watch Children of Men. It’s strange to be in a movie room in the middle of nowhere, but Nepal never ceases to amaze me.<br /><br /><b>Day Four</b><br /><br />Lakpa punches a goat in the face. I have never seen anything like this in my life. I find out later that Lakpa was attacked by a mountain goat sometime in the past and now he takes no chances with them. The goat takes it like a UFC champion. Both Shelby and I are screaming and laughing at the same time. I mean, have you ever seen a grown man fight a goat? This was perhaps the weirdest thing I have ever seen in life and I have no words to describe it other than: Lakpa hates goats.<br /><br /><b>Day Three</b><br /><br />This is the day I hit a breaking point. The hike from yesterday and today has made me exhausted. My pack is digging into me thanks to over-packing and my legs are already tired. The humidity, which has never, ever been my friend, is soaring and I’m leaking out of every pour. I don’t bring enough water and thirty minutes from our place of rest for the night (six or seven hours into the hike) I feel like my world is shutting down. The three of us are out of water and I feel like I’m inches, steps – one step even – away from a heat stroke. I have never felt this in my life. I actually think I'm dying and my pee is the darkest color of yellow I have ever seen. It scares the shit out of me. I tell Shelby and Lakpa I can’t do it. Not one more step. I sit down and tell Lakpa he’ll have to get to the next town and bring me water. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So, like the amazing, spectacular man he is, he runs toward the next town. Shelby stays with me as I moan about how shitty I feel for giving up and, of course, she encourages me like the rockstar that she is. Lakpa returns with two liters of water and it's the best water I have ever tasted in my entire thirty years of life. I make it to the next town, broken, and discouraged with myself. If this is only Day 3, and I’ve hit a serious breaking point, shouldn't I stop now?<br /><br />But I don’t.<br /><br /><b>Day Two</b><br /><br />Hiking is tough and a slog and just plain brutal at times. I encounter what is arguably the best Coke ever at the top of a mountain, but that’s not as important as another thing that happened today.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Let’s talk about a wonderful little topic: leeches.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />I’ve never been much of a fan of bugs and crawly things, but that’s never really stopped me from much in life. Leeches on the other hand, are pretty terrifying. They wiggle like calculated worms over muddy and wet land. They assume the fighting position and then take a leap of faith onto your body (usually the leg...well, pray it’s the leg instead of them deciding to travel upward…) and continue to find a warm spot (leeches look for two things: motion and warmth. Oh, and rational and irrational fear, too). They wiggle through your boot crevices and leech over your sock, burrowing deeper, usually toward the toes.<br /><br />The best part? You can’t feel them when they somersault over your skin. You can’t feel them when they latch on and insert their tiny needle into you. And you can’t feel them when they begin sucking the blood out of you.<br /><br />What you do feel, later on, is a deep sense of horror when you find them either still attached, or gone, fallen off after their meal. And then you bleed, oh do you bleed, from a tiny pin hole prick. I mean, it’s like a river for a good hour or more.<br /><br />Nightmares for days, my friends. Nightmares for days.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You're welcome.<br /><br /><b>Day One</b><br /><br />The bus, like many bus rides here, is startling to Western thought. It’s crowded and busy and, dear God, is it hot. It simmers and melts me like an easy bake oven on overdrive. My right armed is scorched from the sun since I can barely shift in the small seats. Nepalese music videos blast on the video screen. Shelby is just as miserable next to me. We meet Maddie and Nate at our first teahouse and know that we’ll all be instant friends.<br /><br /><b>One Day Previous</b><br /><br />I make a new friend named Alex, a lawyer from Pakistan. He is travelling away from his home country for the first time and it is blowing his mind. He is awash with the lure of travel – the new places, the beautiful new people, and the natural friendships that form from it. He leaves tomorrow and he is genuinely sad about leaving this all behind. He reminds me of me when I first started travelling. Hell, he reminds me of me now, still sad when journeys and adventures inevitably end.<br /><br />“It’s the cost of travelling,” I say, “and it sucks so very, very much.”<br /><br />He nods. It’s a lousy feeling, saying goodbye to good moments and good people.<br /><br /><u>We then agree that it’s still worth every single second. </u></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>And I think I can speak for him on this one that both of us can’t wait to do it again.</u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><i>So. Here I am, more than two weeks later. I am angry. I am sad. I am happy. I am all teary-eyed. I am a million different emotions swimming inside and out.<br /><br />I hate traveling. I love traveling. I am a contradiction in every sense of the word. But most of all - staring at the large mountains and tiny villages scrolling by - I love all these emotions equally.<br /><br />Because through it all I truly, without a shadow of a doubt, feel more blessed and alive than ever.<br /><br />Lakpa wakes up with a startle. He looks to me. I must look a mess. He simply nods and so do I. No words are exchanged, because none have to be. I think he will miss me, too.<br /><br />I found my breaking points and I pushed pass them with the help of others. I met gorgeous new people and saw breathtaking new places. I did things I never thought I could do. And isn’t that what life is all about? Continually expanding and growing and learning and loving and challenging yourself…and, yes, continually letting go of people and adventures when the time comes?<br /><br />I think it is. It’s part of the deal we sign the moment we are born.<br /><br />I go back to staring out the window.<br /><br />And I soak in the world as it bleeds on by,</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>and by,</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>and bye.</i></span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-58771067262950065542016-07-22T04:28:00.000-07:002016-11-06T18:25:14.122-08:00In a city of dust and heat.<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Your head is doing cartwheels. It's positively swimming in chaos.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You wonder what the hell you are doing all the way from home. Bangkok made sense because it was like a gigantic reunion of old friends, while making new ones in the process, but Nepal? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You get off the airplane to a single-lane airport. No fancy Starbucks or restaurants. No big flat screen TVs that flash delays and departures or bars to get smashed at before or after </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">a flight.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You missed India before, but this place, Kathmandu, made of pure noise and madness, reminds you a lot of what you experienced there. The honking of vehicles is back, a nervous sound that is the music of the city in all it's variations. A constant wave of dust sucks up into your lungs. You pray and meditate at every "crosswalk" (there are no crosswalks) and hope that "40% of all vehicle fatalities are pedestrians" is just a calculating error.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You take a taxi to town. Instead of a silk market, they offer hiking tours of every kind. You tell them that you are positively exhausted from spending the night playing Shithead in Bangkok and eight hours of stuffy flights on three hours of sleep with little legroom has worn you down to a nub. The streets are a zoo and the buildings are bright and adorned with prayer flags. The world is flooded with people and carts and life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The hostel owner greets you in charismatic glee. He is happy you're here. All the people you run into today on your short walk (it gets dark and the city begins to unwind. These people go to bed pretty early, whether if by culture's hand or the fact that electricity is short and a scheduled power-outage is about to occur (this is called load-shedding, much like in countries such as South Africa).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You take a cold shower and remember why you love them so much in a city of dust and heat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You grab a beer from the corner store to celebrate. Because you've decided to say, "screw it" with your budget and prepare for a two-week (or longer) hike in the Himalayas (the climb to Mt. Everest Base Camp is not advised during the rainy season).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You didn't prepare for this so you must search out equipment and medications for scary things like leeches (my God, you think, leeches are the worst thing you could ever imagine, and apparently they hop onto your feet as you climb, wiggling and burrowing to your toes. You buy a lighter because apparently burning them off works like a charm. They might also steal your soul, but that's just your worst-case scenario hypothesis [that is true]). You begin to look for trekking partners who are willing to hoof the bill, which will be expensive (guides go from $25-50 dollars per day). But it's monsoon season and not a lot of hikers, and none who are as ill-prepared as you.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You are wrong and find a new friend, a teacher from Texas by the name of Shelby who is ready to rock and roll up to one of the highest mountain passes in the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You rest.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You wake to lights and sound of a city on fire. You're already sweating from the damp humidity hitting your tongue. You go deeper into it all.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You see the rubble of a natural disaster that shook this country to its core. It's hard to take in the immensity of it all. Already one of the poorest countries in the world, your heart aches. You spend money at local businesses. You meet colorful merchants who love to know where you're from.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You meet two nice dudes, Freddy and Edgar, from The Netherlands and Spain, and walk through windy streets through tourism shops gone amok with fake The North Face products and tea shops and wats. You end up going to a Unesco World Heritage Site, but it lies in horrible ruin from last year's earthquake. You buy underwear in packages that read XXL, but when you try them on later, in the safety of a private room that was strangely cheaper than a dorm, they cut off your circulation and literally blow apart like one of those Youtube videos of watermelons exploding after a million rubberbands are laced around it. You think about your Thai friends from Bangkok who, after not seeing you for a little over a year, say:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Friend</b>: You look bigger.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>You</b>: Like fatter?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Friend</b>: Yes. Much fatter. And whiter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>You</b>: Oh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You vow to do a million crunches before going to bed tonight and decide to tell no one about your underwear. You also decide to get a proper tan to be less ghostly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You wait to meet <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kumari_(goddess)">Kamari</a>, a living Goddess, but she wakes up late, or something, and you need to go back to the hostel and meet with your hired guide who will make sure you so you don't die on the hike (you still think you might). His name is Lakpa and he will grow to become your favorite person that may or may not change your life a little/a lot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is it. You are here and you wonder how it is that life has led you here, pondering about hiking so high (close to 5,500 meters) that altitude sickness can kill you if you don't play your cards right.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the hostel lobby you wonder just how the hell you can describe any of this with proper words in the right order. How does anyone describe a life and world that is so vastly different? You don't know, but you type anyways. You type because that's what has to happen. You have to get out what's going on in your head - an intoxicating mix of excitement, horror, love, curiosity, and wonder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Oh, do you wonder.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">You wonder why you're here. You wonder who you will be when it's all over. You wonder what tomorrow will bring.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yes, you wonder. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But suddenly you're reminded that you don't have to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Instead, you begin to walk out the door.</span><br />
<br />Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-30181955771415132212016-06-29T03:31:00.000-07:002016-06-30T09:45:13.564-07:00When 7-11 Feels Like Home<div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Throughout this year, the crushing feeling of escaping back out into the world at large - to go on another crazy adventure into the unknown - has always been vivaciously pumping through my veins. And now, sitting in a bar in Seatac Airport, I can’t contain myself. I'm beyond words.<br /><br /><u>Waitress</u>: “On that beer, would you like the 16oz or 24oz?”<br /><u>Myself</u>: “Oh, I'm going on an adventure! 24 all the way!” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In case you’re wondering, yes, this is indeed verbatim of what I said. The woman, though I think a little weirded out, smiled. And so did I. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Smiles for fucking days.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I can’t help it. I’m back in my element, back to what I discovered truly just excites the very elections and protons and neutrons in my entire body.<br /><br />Last time it was a high. This time around, it’s a different sorta buzz than traveling in 2014-15. I’m different, and so is my family. Last time, I left on a sour note. My mom was in the hospital in the worst shape that I had ever seen her and I felt an overwhelming selfishness that I was running away. And run I did, because, well, sometimes, you have to let go. That situation turned out alright though, and t</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">his time, she’s been on a good streak, and I’ve left with good cheer. My friends and family are excited for me and that gives me strength. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's my sister's reaction that has been the most surprising. She’s eleven now. And much more curious this time 'round the bend. More questions about safety and what I do when I travel (I told her it was for hookers and coke, so now she thinks I'm here fishing while drinking Coke). She took a lot of pictures with me and posted this on Instagram.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-MNCW_4yaL6_Y9oqF7O_dU-PPYEKoo5CYxug628j1jLgNpNI8qR7Pyu14DIgYEjl0ySCLpv-OJ8l3Nm4ERxkj5Ms0hE2r6WpoSgN_Vjxikav4Ltfk5hQVT_Gz1g9Kqwg7Tr1rYh4C1w-K/s1600/noel%2527s+pictue.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-MNCW_4yaL6_Y9oqF7O_dU-PPYEKoo5CYxug628j1jLgNpNI8qR7Pyu14DIgYEjl0ySCLpv-OJ8l3Nm4ERxkj5Ms0hE2r6WpoSgN_Vjxikav4Ltfk5hQVT_Gz1g9Kqwg7Tr1rYh4C1w-K/s640/noel%2527s+pictue.png" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm still learning this new laptop I grabbed so I couldn't get the above screenshot to get larger, so this is what it says:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">"There's my big brother going off to another adventure! I'm going to miss him so much and I am so thankful that he lived with us for one last year...We did many this [sic] together like laser tag, went to the comic book store, and more. He inspired me...Even though he is only going for a month and a half, I will never forget him! Have fun @nrogen"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Other than the last bit that makes it sound like I'm dying or something, t</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">his hit me harder than usual. I mean, I love my sister something fierce. I wrote a whole book basically on how much I love her and how she changed my life, but I never thought about it the other way around. Is that weird? I mean, I never thought, well, does she love me back? Maybe that's a dumb question (it is. And any teacher that tells you that no dumb questions exist, are lying!), but it's wormed its way into my head nonetheless. What hit me even more is the sentence about looking up to someone. Whoa. Hold the phone. She looks up to me? Really?<br /><br />We had a brother/sister day like last time, but it was vastly different. Last time it was big extravaganza: going to Seattle (which, for my credit as a fucking amazing brother, I let her play the Frozen soundtrack, on <i>REPEAT</i>, in full, and in traffic for two and a half hours), went to the Lego exhibit at the EMP and, and, and...<br /><br />This time we just went to a comic shop and bought some Korean food at a store next door. <i>That’s all she wanted</i>. We ended up doing a lot more that day, but when it boiled down to it, the day was all, really, really, simple. In fact, we could have just hung at my parents house watching <i>Once Upon a Time</i> (I am not a fan, for the record) all day long and she would have been equally as happy. I think, just because she was with me, she was good.<br /><br />I’m not used to this. In fact - man, I didn’t want to jump the shark and get all deep and shit the first post, but hey, whatever. So here's the honest thoughts of a traveler who doesn't want to settle:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>This is first time that I felt that I was leaving someone behind that I wanted to take with me. That being apart for too long deeply bugs and gnaws away at me.</b><br /><br />It makes me question: is it worth it? Being away for this amount of time without the people you really care about?<br /><br />Home, I’ve written, is where your heart lies, and it settles with people and places. I've accumulated a lot of homes throughout my years and with families and friends in places all over the world. I believe that home is where you make it, and it's the people that make the home. But now, <u><i>I'm thinking there's even more to it than that. Home is also dependent on time.</i></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'll dive into this deeper later, but I'm getting the feeling that the places you call home can disappear, even when you have a) the place and b) the right people because you are missing the key ingredient: c) the time isn't the same and the moment(s) have slipped away. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana";">When I went traveling around the world, it was life changing and shattering, but no matter how many more times I travel and return, I know it will not be the same. I'm different and so are the people and the places I return to. Everything changes. And a home can either grow or disappear, or, maybe worse, grow indifferent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"><u>Question: Can a person chase and find that home that no longer exists in the now?</u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Where are you, reader, happiest? Where is/are your home(s)? Think about it. Can you chase "home" if home is dependent on a time-period? Can "home" be a time in your life where everything, everybody, everyplace just “clicked”? Do you have a period of time that you wish you could go back to? Or are memories enough to permanently establish "home" for life?<br /><br />Lots of questions, but you don’t have to answer them. They are the questions that buzz through me head as I travel and I wanted to share them with you. I think they make your brain twist and twirl in ways you’re not used to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This is rambling. I’m just rattled and ecstatic and all that jazz. I'll expand on these those words later. For now, I have a plane to catch. To Canada. Then to Taiwan at 2am. Then to Bangkok. I adore travel and airports and the idea of planes and takeoffs and landings. But long - ten plus hour - plane rides? They are the worst. Geeze. Thanks Obama.<br /><br />I'll arrive in the future and hang out at Starbucks for a while like the hipster I am. So, to be continued...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now. I’m alive and exhausted. You ever drive or fly somewhere far away and you’re more exhausted than if you had run a marathon? As if the just the act of sitting there is more intensive on the body than some strenuous activity.<br /><br />And how weird it is to be back to ol' BKK. My home away from home. It felt so routine getting off the airplane. I was used to the slam dunk of humidity drowning out the senses. I was used to the sea of crowds and bombardment of signs and advertisements. And now everything seems normal. A gaggle of people walking the streets, tuk-tuks hustling and blazing by, almost sideswiping motorcycles. The colors are still as vibrant and everything is still a mix of poor and trashy and elegant and…it’s so alive, with the street vendors and chickens on the sidewalk and temples and monks with blazing orange robes and the list could go on (<a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/an-average-day-in-bangkok.html">I've written about Thailand a lot before, so I won't elaborate</a>). I felt good walking into a 7-11 (unlike in the US where everyone and their mother reading this guilt trip you for loving their food [save you Mical, if you’re reading this!]), because if there is one staple mark of Thailand, to me, beyond the sprawling jungles and beautiful beaches and gorgeous women, it's that. The image that has endured itself to my heart has to be the 7-11s. It's the Starbucks on every corner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">I feel a need to defend myself to readers from the US, where 7-11s are looked down upon (mostly because they give out cheap food and are primarily built in poverty-stricken areas where people can't afford healthier food and thus contribute to further health issues of those that can't afford medical care, but that's a different story and social workery rant for anther time). The 7-11s here, I'll be honest, probably have just as bad as food, but I just can't tell by any of the non-English labels. They sell pretty much everything and they are wonderful. I often wonder if they are here because of the large expat population here...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">So, gotta go. Got things to do. Places to drink at. Sweat to pour out (Thailand's humidity is just plain evil). Friends (really, family) to see (Dan and Amporn, cannot wait!)</span><span style="font-family: "verdana";"> and laugh with and play <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shithead_(card_game)">Shithead</a> with (Noi, get ready to lose like a big fat loser). And a ton of little adventures to experience in-between.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">So. Recap. Is home more than people and a location? Is it a timeframe as well?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Such a tease, but I don't have the answer for that. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana";">All know is that I have plenty of 7-11s to frequent in the next couple days, and that's an answer enough for me. That and friends/family to see. That's home enough for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Until we meet again, friends. I'm off to sleep.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-6903217340438612412016-06-18T19:26:00.000-07:002016-07-22T08:54:13.144-07:00Hearts and Minds<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Well, damn Daniel, back at it with the backpacking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's been a while, me writing here, hasn't? In fact, I'll be honest, it's been a while since I've written much of anything really. Since returning of April 2015, I've hit a creative slump with a few bursts of energy here and there. But man, when I was travelling, I was writing up a storm - weekly short stories I sent to my good friend Maria, book chapters, <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/things-i-have-learned-in-thailand-and.html">blogs about ants in my pants</a>, you know, the usual. And then, I got back and all that just...stopped.<br /><br />My life did the opposite of stop though. I came back and started a job where I finally made more than $24,000 a year as a pretty damn good middle school counselor (at least, I sure hope!). It was a successful year, but here I am again, on the verge of traveling to unknown destinations and feeling...well, alive. And ready to write again. So crazy ready. On that note, I'm a bit rusty, so expect the occasional word bumps along the way.<br /><br />I'm feeling the <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/how-to-get-high.html">high I've been longing for a while now</a>. Also</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">, fair warning, there are going to be a ton of links in this post. Mostly to earlier posts from my last travels through Asia and Africa. It's both as a reminder to readers that are either really bored or have never read my writings and want context to my A.D.D. thoughts. (In the top, under history, you can go through all the past stuff as well). Either way, lots of blue underlines all over the place. Apologies all around, drinks are on me next time. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />For this post, I'm going to use it as a re-introduction to who I am, and why I do this and write about it.<br /><br />This blog is about many things.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoPbDMnXMYz2Mnk_FK6aHwkQp3dhxq2GPGT6T9qfZ62FdPEQHCugiDc6mP9-PMYtkiAlwu_g28CHOx8NSXLxvSnTaVdRuazS_YHnJ1ImQ8ARbj5q-nGkVm2x0amp91ezn-vExSd8RZEpT/s1600/10659239_4648081696993_7139191134853751746_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoPbDMnXMYz2Mnk_FK6aHwkQp3dhxq2GPGT6T9qfZ62FdPEQHCugiDc6mP9-PMYtkiAlwu_g28CHOx8NSXLxvSnTaVdRuazS_YHnJ1ImQ8ARbj5q-nGkVm2x0amp91ezn-vExSd8RZEpT/s200/10659239_4648081696993_7139191134853751746_n.jpg" width="112" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This blog is about escape. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This blog is about learning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This blog is about <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/07/planes-trains-and-automobiles-dlc.html">adventures</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This blog is about eating bugs (silk worms, pictured). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This blog is about life, both its <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/02/a-life-on-fire.html">achingly gorgeous moments</a> and it's <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/09/one-by-one-by-one.html">soul-smothering dark moments</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And, most importantly, I think it's a blog about simply being a complex human being in a wonderful and sad world.<br /><br />So, a breakdown of how I write these things.<br /><br />I <u style="font-weight: bold;">HATE</u> boring writing. <i>If it bores me to type it, it would bore you to read it.</i> I'm not going to write about it unless it's either:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />a) entertaining and will get a good belly laugh going, or<br />b) something that I find profound or meaningful (hopefully)<br /><br /> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I write differently than most blogs you've probably read. I don't write like an English professor. I write how my brain processes things - sometimes it's an absolute mess to follow - but I think it adds authenticity that a lot of writers weed away through the editing/pleasing process for their readers. I have a distinct style and I roll with it (though sometimes I switch it up to stretch my writing muscles) that you may not like. That's okay, I won't be offended (maybe a little). I'm also a mess of contradictions. So, there's that.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /><br />I travel in an odd way. I don't plan, I don't bring books or guides and I just go wherever the wind takes me beyond the first planned day in a country. This leads to fun, trouble, and unexpected adventure.<br /><br />As to the why I travel, that's a bit harder to explain. <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/so-why-are-you-here-part-ii.html">I've tried to before</a>.<br /><br />It's different this time, I think. I am not the same person I was last time I traveled. Maybe how I write and what I write about will be different. Maybe I'll talk about architecture more. <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/03/locked-in-toilet-and-other-stories.html">Or maybe I'll just end up sharing more ironic toilet encounters</a>. It really could be either...I haven't a clue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">How is different this time? Backstory.<br /><br />When I went on my Bonderman (here's <a href="https://www.tacoma.uw.edu/news/article/traveling-globe-2014-uw-tacoma-bonderman-fellow">a link</a> to an interview I gave about what that was all about), I had just finished up my Master of Social Work. I had a very good mentor in college who was, undoubtedly, my biggest cheerleader and was genuinely excited to hear my stories when I came back. Actually, excited is too tiny of a word. This was the kind of man that could inspire you to march out the door on any given day and go change the world. <i>His eyes would sparkle - honest to God, just light up like the stars themselves were powering them</i> - when he talked about the things that drove the fire inside him: religions and social work and living a life for others. He was hungry to hear my stories and for me to live them. He was, to put it another way, overwhelmed with joy to see the person that would return, undoubtedly different and new and changed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />And so, I went. And I had an experience that blew my life away. When I came back, I was so ecstatic to tell him about all that I saw. I wanted to tell him about seeing bodies burn in Varanasi. I wanted to tell him about praying with a monk in Thailand. I wanted to tell him about hanging out with my friend Mikayla (who worked in the Peace Corps) in South African villages with names you had to click you tongue to pronounce. I wanted to bury him in stories.<br /><br />But life attacked me. A job and bills and family and day-to-day life caught up with me and I was unable to secure a time to meet with him until just about one month ago.<br /><br />So we met.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And I had come back to a man who had a terrible stroke. I'm not new to friends and family getting hit hard with health problems, but this one most certainly took the breath from me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>The first realization</u>:<i> the stroke had taken a piece away from the man.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He was reserved and much too quite. It was a struggle for him to talk. His memory seemed distant, as though already leeched away. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><u>The second realization</u>: <b>the stars were stolen from his eyes.</b><br /><br />I sobbed all the way home and drank myself to sleep.<br /><br />It was a grim reminder that what we are, as human beings, when everything is boiled down to it's very core is very, very simple. <u>We are our memories</u>. Without them, what are we? Who are we? The quickness and unfairness of life takes no prisoners and in a blink of an eye, sooner or later, the stars in all our eyes will die out.<br /><br />But wait! I need to take a pause with all this sadness!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Another thing about me and my writing: While I never shy away from the sadness of life - of which there is an ocean of it - I always, always, <b>ALWAYS </b>balance it with the best, and the good, and the gorgeous tidbits of life that can bring light - however long - to a previous darkened sky. There is darkness, but there is always a flashlight.<br /><br />So, back to it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The grim reminder was, well, grim. But it reminded me why I do this. Why I keep fighting to remain in motion. The stars might be gone, in a sense, but because they burned so very bright, they left an impression on me that no stroke can ever erase. From neither myself or from him.<br /><br />My mentor instilled in me an adventure for life. <b>He instilled the stars in me.</b> And my mission - my goal - is to bring that to others. As we can all see from the news at any given time, life can be incredibility broken. But what we don't get enough of is how in this brokenness, there is wonderful beauty in places and people that the media may say there is not. But there is, despite what the tvs or preachers or congressmen or newspapers say. My God is there beauty in things all around the world. And I want to show and share that.<br /><br />I'm only going to be gone for a little bit this time, no eight month stint, but that's okay. I'll have plenty to write about and this time I won't have a large gap in my entries, as I have mini-trips planned later on this year... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I hope you will enjoy it. I hope you can soak something in. And I hope through my writing you can come on an adventure with me. If I get a laugh or a "hey, that made me think", then I've done my job as a writer.<br /><br /> So here's the rough plan that I would gladly take input on. I fly in Thailand to visit Mac and Noi, the two friends I met last time around. I've missed them dearly, like I do almost all of the people I've met traveling. Because that's what happens when you're away from all that you know: you attach to what is universal across all lines of life - <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/blips-on-radar.html">human relationships</a>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">From there? Nepal? Maybe Laos? Then...maybe Vietnam? I've been debating about going either there or Japan. Then again, I might do neither and go meet up with Lizbett, who is also traveling nearby and has written for this blog before (<a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/08/what-i-have-to-offer-is-very-short.html">and, spoiler alert, what she wrote was amazing</a>). <br /><br />Then I come back for Round 2 - Fight! - of School Counselor Nick. And, of course, start planning my next adventure.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrpuA9OzdlxN66TULIrYPHNdeZtj9qjvjUuZOoiWCXqXKRtYrujJHQY4P-l9MUwqUgvoaLqUGY9Z7I_isvyO7coHO-c-A6jlon8DM98trQTO5fCvYG_qqrYx87J0QqA5W2yM1F-naxzEGG/s1600/B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrpuA9OzdlxN66TULIrYPHNdeZtj9qjvjUuZOoiWCXqXKRtYrujJHQY4P-l9MUwqUgvoaLqUGY9Z7I_isvyO7coHO-c-A6jlon8DM98trQTO5fCvYG_qqrYx87J0QqA5W2yM1F-naxzEGG/s400/B2.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Before I go, a very quick aside. My friend Felice wrote to me recently and asked if I travel to escape. It took awhile to come up with an answer. I think that's true to an extent. Complacency is one of my biggest fears in life, so yeah, I do travel to escape (<a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/10/the-stationary-traveller.html">although that brings its own challenges</a>).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But I also travel to do the opposite of escape - <b>I travel to participate</b>. To be apart of life on a bigger, more confusing, more beautiful, more tragic scale.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I travel for my mentor. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I travel for my dad (who has been and is as encouraging as my mentor). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I travel for those who are on different adventures in life right now and can't travel for extended periods of time and would like to see through another's eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I travel because I'm escaping into adventure and participating in something more.</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I travel because the writer in me is starving.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And, I think more importantly, I travel because the stars in my eyes are burning oh-so-very bright.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I have about one week to pack and get ready to be back in my second home, </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Bangkok. Cheers, my friends, and see you soon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">P.S.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br />I HATE self promotion, but I must. Writers need readers and this website isn't free, so if you like what you read, please share it with someone. Or use the little share icons at the end of every post. That would be very, very rad of you. So much thanks!</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-23008726267915267842015-07-29T18:11:00.002-07:002015-08-09T11:57:24.706-07:00Planes, Trains, and Automobiles! DLC<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyUlaZ_Wu6YE8ctqSJuS3bsP811FDlbquRIFGxHl4L3PeD0KizBw1zuRjPGqywF704vHvXxj8T_Y98tXhNOLFtU8U5XWkMIPytQ5n2Z85S8O4n6hTX1ZNA4D1MQle3g2goe95xBs3mV1m/s1600/20140909_080045.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyUlaZ_Wu6YE8ctqSJuS3bsP811FDlbquRIFGxHl4L3PeD0KizBw1zuRjPGqywF704vHvXxj8T_Y98tXhNOLFtU8U5XWkMIPytQ5n2Z85S8O4n6hTX1ZNA4D1MQle3g2goe95xBs3mV1m/s320/20140909_080045.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a lot of adventures to share, lessons to teach, and blah, blah, blah. A lot of the times, I just don't or didn't have the time to write them while traveling. So, I've decided to repackage them and sell them after the final product is done (this is, in the gaming world, called DLC [downloadable content] and it usually sucks more than the actual game. Oh well though, it's more content, right? And that's always a good thing).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, here are some good stories involving lessons learned from <i>traveling to travel</i>, because a lot of traveling involves just that.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Friendly Shots in Sri Lanka</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I get to airport to the Survarnabhumi Airport in Bangkok in order to catch a plane to Sri Lanka. It's an early flight, leaving about 6:30 in the morning. That means I get to the airport even earlier, about 3:00. I'm exhausted from hanging out at Mac and Noi's bar until a few hours prior. When I arrive, I end up helping a short Sri Lankan man with his boatload of luggage. He thanks me and we part ways. When I get to the airline counter, I'm informed that I booked my seat in business class. <i>Wait, what? How did that happen?</i> I've never had the luxury to afford business class, so I go along with it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Question: have you ever been in business class before? Because, oh man, holy shit, it's crazy what they give to rich people when they fly! They have a whole separate lobby with comfy chairs! WiFi! Newspapers from all around the world! Fancy exotic foods (mostly croissants)! Booze and liquor! All for free!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I run into the Sri Lankan who is overjoyed to see me again. He doesn't speak a lot of English, but he does manage a rough, "Let's drink." Quick reminder, it's 3:30 in the morning when this man brings me my first shot of...something. Three hours later, we stumble into the plane and I continue lavishing in the whole first class treatment (more legroom! More free booze! More, more, more!). Looking back at it now, I think there are several reasons why I got a lot of stares during that flight:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1) I look like a homeless traveler, because I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2) I'm extremely loud and say/yell things like "oh man, this is sooooooo COOOL!" Repeatedly. And loud (did I mention this already?).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3) I keep waving to my friend a few seats away. He waves back and we yell-talk things to each other. Neither of us knows what the other is screaming.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you're thinking to yourself: those are the worst kind of passengers to have sitting next to you on a plane, then you are most certainly correct, we were horrible. Let me tell you this though, the first hour or two of this plane ride was an absolute blast! After that though, it's miserable. When you start coming down into hangover territory, you realize that you're still on a plane. You're still cramped, even with more legroom, and the air is still just as stifling. Being hungover on a plane has all the negatives already associated with plane rides, plus headaches, queasiness, and a bladder that just won't quit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I get off, I feel miserable, I have no idea where I am, where I'm going, or how I'm getting there. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Awesome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: I've mentioned how it's basically the </span><a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/how-to-get-high.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">best high ever to arrive in a new country</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, but going to one in a state between hangover and still intoxicated is a mess. Not a smart idea. Also, traveling while grouchy and hungover means your bargaining skills go right out the window because you just have to get to that hostel bed, ASAP. Expect to pay a lot more. So...uh, don't drink with strange people before your flight at 3:30 in the morning?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Actually, scratch that. Totally do so if you get the chance.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8GWN45t6g3yK-gHPGKtX1l9bOvxC6WVTRrS5ObAXORZLKr5nVWnBC_XC04fB3DC1lPMLvD1xLxfxfU95ecOBu5ghySmKKXkGCwHetPzBRG3gk7Y9eZ_n7CCAchDBpdoMDCb-iAuluMf1/s1600/20150311_075931.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK8GWN45t6g3yK-gHPGKtX1l9bOvxC6WVTRrS5ObAXORZLKr5nVWnBC_XC04fB3DC1lPMLvD1xLxfxfU95ecOBu5ghySmKKXkGCwHetPzBRG3gk7Y9eZ_n7CCAchDBpdoMDCb-iAuluMf1/s320/20150311_075931.jpg" /></a><b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Chickens and a Runaway in Zimbabwe</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/03/and-may-god-bless-everyone.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I mentioned this story before</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">, but for inclusion sake, it's on this list. This picture shows the sign that you see while walking down the streets in order to know what van goes where. It's all very basic and strangely efficient.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: Learn to let go. Many countries don't have the luxury of a "better" transportation system. I say better in quotes because it's very subjective. I for one loved the journeys I did in Zimbabwe and South Africa via small vans and hitchhiked rides. They had a great sense of community and I met a lot of amazing people this way. Was it oftentimes uncomfortable? Yes indeed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Is it for everyone? No. But should everyone experience it? Yes, yes, and yes.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Shithead in India</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I love the card-game </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shithead_(card_game)" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Shithead</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. I think I played it well over a few thousand times since learning it from my good friend Ollie. I made sure to keep the tradition alive and taught it to new people I met well after India. Ollie taught me that the greatest version of the game always involved the loser having to actually lose something, usually being that they had to buy and take a shot of something horrible. It makes the game tense and, granted, a little unfair if you lose first, because it's all downhill from there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, it's the middle of the afternoon in beachy Varkala, India and in a few hours I need to grab some connecting buses and trains (a total of about 60 hours of transit time) to get to Kolkata to fly out to Burma (what a crazy sentence to write). The group that I had traveled with for the past month and half are staying or going their own ways. We all decide to play Shithead in the middle of the afternoon, hours before I need to catch my first bus.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Fast forward to the part where I keep losing and losing and losing. By the end, I am well on my way to being incapacitated. I say my teary goodbyes and stumble my way to a taxi. The taxi takes me to a bus (keyword, <i>a </i>bus). I take said bus and end up, hours later, in the middle of absolutely nowhere in the wrong city. It's about five in the morning and, strangely, it's completely dead around me (this never happens in India). I finally find a tuk-tuk to take me to a coffee shop across town. The man drops me off, charges me a ridiculous fee, and tells me it will open in a few hours. After he leaves, a helpful neighbor tells me the place shutdown months ago.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Uh huh. I sleep on the sidewalk, wake up absolutely miserable and decide that, yep, this sure does suck. I book a flight out of the current city and forgo the journey/adventure to Kolkata.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: Don't book transportation too far in advance. Yes, you'll get the best deal and it'll help you not to get stranded, but life happens. Especially if you're backpacking. People and experiences will detour you to bigger and better places than you ever imagined so don't curtail your experience by limiting your freedom. It's worth the little bit of extra cost, I promise.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Losing to Cockroaches in India and a Feni or Three</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPxnQUVn9pDcedbT-f6Nzk_mwXnFg2tojvtnzDRhjQGS6m0MS7vs3ViqXjiNu2D76JiIgiHaaIz5KDjbvPtqAy9Ex8ExApEbECspSrCmHn1S9ZSDbj4JMVpamBR36o3WE8J-MidwMdvmI/s1600/20141120_082853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyPxnQUVn9pDcedbT-f6Nzk_mwXnFg2tojvtnzDRhjQGS6m0MS7vs3ViqXjiNu2D76JiIgiHaaIz5KDjbvPtqAy9Ex8ExApEbECspSrCmHn1S9ZSDbj4JMVpamBR36o3WE8J-MidwMdvmI/s320/20141120_082853.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another day, another round of Shithead. I lose the game and loser has to take the bottom bunk on the train my friends and I are on. This picture is not the same train, but it should give you idea of what it looked like. We were heading up to Dharamsala and it was, surprise! getting extremely cold. I take the bottom bunk and am shivering. Tove across from me (who also lost and got a bottom bunk while Ollie is living the high life on the King's Throne of an upper bunk) is fast asleep. I'm huddled in the fetal position because there are cockroaches crawling on the wall above my head and behind my back. I'm not usually terrified of bugs, except when I need to fall asleep while worrying that cockroaches will crawl/wiggle into my mouth as I dream. I kill as many as a I can for what seems like hours. I have to go to the bathroom, but the train is so packed that people are sleeping on the ground. I maneuver through the crowd like playing a game of Twister. I come back and their are more cockroaches (I'm told later that smashing a cockroach is bad news bears since it attracts even more).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CX64sm32Kk7jqPGuPyYA1sxzI8o1wgJfc6qu2B_ZywUGa8BVXkCOs_M5_XCte3HQwj3dewEbLv5DZ-h4I47yzYWH_dKp0CbNGVY5RqZa2r2zC5LCDcxWQyN-0Jkj7KW-q4HS-KA3ZH_g/s1600/1972322_10205245645045861_3462362690723928730_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CX64sm32Kk7jqPGuPyYA1sxzI8o1wgJfc6qu2B_ZywUGa8BVXkCOs_M5_XCte3HQwj3dewEbLv5DZ-h4I47yzYWH_dKp0CbNGVY5RqZa2r2zC5LCDcxWQyN-0Jkj7KW-q4HS-KA3ZH_g/s320/1972322_10205245645045861_3462362690723928730_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days and trains later and I'm hanging out in Goa with Ollie and a few of his Jersey friends. We are again playing Shithead. Loser has to take a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feni_(liquor)" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Feni</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> shot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, long pause. <u>I need to talk about this drink.</u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm not a hard alcohol fan. I used to love my rum and cokes, but I'm pretty much only a beer connoisseur now. So, shots usually don't sit well with me. So, let me tell you about this Feni. They are the worst thing known to man. If you read the link above to its Wikipedia page, it sounds amazing, doesn't it? It sounds exotic and fruity and life-affirming.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">No.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>NO!</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It will make you feel alive, I will give it that much. It will make you <i>feel </i>your insides quiver and your heart flutter to a stop. It will make you <i>feel </i>your breathe stolen from your lungs and make you <i>feel </i>your eyes pop out of your tiny, little head. You will <i>feel</i>, basically, your life sinking into the depths of hell itself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course I lose quite a few and end up taking lots of shots of this elixer and that's enough for an entire lifetime (after each one, I can't talk for a good five minutes). Like usual, there's a train that needs to be caught. Thank God Ollie is traveling with me, and he leads the way. I follow.he Feni is hitting me hard. I'm sweating profusely and I'm, for all intensive purposes, a hot mess.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ollie finds it hilarious. We get on the train, thankfully less packed then the last one, and I lay in my bottom bunk.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For once, there isn't any vendors cruising through the isles offering Chai or toys or ice cream (another side note: Indian train food is legit). I'm dying of thirst and the only solution for water is the water in the bathroom from the tap. Dirty train water.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I stare at the bunk above me for a good hour deciding if this is a smart life choice or not. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It most certainly is not. But I cave and end up in the bathroom gulping down water that may or may not kill me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: If you go to India and need to eat/drink something questionable, have a few Fanis first. I'm pretty sure it not only destroys your stomach, but it also destroys anything you put in your body.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Also, it may destroy your soul.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Ants in my Pants in Thailand</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh yes, </span><a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2014/10/things-i-have-learned-in-thailand-and.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">nothing screams awkward more than waking up with ants in your pants on a local bus</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. Well, except from maybe pointing at your crouch and yelling to the man next to you, "ants in my pants!"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: Try to learn a little about the local language. Saying a language louder or slower doesn't really help someone who isn't fluent in it. Even a few words help. Yelling มด ใน กางเกงของฉัน would have helped the confusion.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Full Bladders and Airplanes in Cambodia</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm leaving Phonm Penh, Cambodia to Bangkok, Thailand via airport. I get there about four hours too early and wait around in the nonexistent waiting area (read: the floor). When my flight nears, I get in line to go through the security check. At the time, I still had my 24-oz water bottle. After waiting in line, I'm a few people short of going through the security checkpoint. That's when I realize that they won't let me pass through with all that liquid. There are no trash cans around. I can either go back to the end of the line and miss my flight or drink it all right there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I start to chug. Now, I hate chugging anything (there's a joke in that sentence, but I'm not touching it [that's what she said?]), and I am horrible at it. But I do it, I take down 24 ounces in an insane amount of time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm proud of myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What I am not proud of is that I have the weakest bladder in the world. The next few hours of flight are the worst ever.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I go to the bathroom seven times in a matter of about an hour and a half. Yep, seven. The passenger next to him eyes me like I'm the worst human being ever to walk this Earth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: Never be afraid to ask questions. I found out after getting through the checkpoint that they were perfectly cool with liquid in an open container. I just assumed that it was that way because that's how the States do it. Well, nope, always better to ask than assume. Save </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">your bladder.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">A Deathdrive to the Dalai Lama in India</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This drive was the scariest bus I think I've ever been on. There are five of us going to see the Dali Llama and some other friends up in Dharamsala, India. We finally find a bus that goes up to the town after a ridiculously tough time. We throw our bags on the top (the locals keep their bags with them, smart) and strap them down. We get on. The bus is overloaded with people, as in, people are sitting on other people's laps and its hard to breathe. And then we take off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, it's hard to describe this journey in words, but I'll try.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Dale, next to me, a man who is by definition cool and calm, is screaming, "shit!" with every turn. I look into his eyes and see terror. You ever seen a grown, confident man with absolute terror in his eyes? It's frighting.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Next to me Tove is trying to learn Japanese from our new friend, Tomoe.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The brakes squeal and grind and there are several times the bus leaves the ground. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here, watch this. Our bus basically does this the entire way up the windiest hill you've ever seen in your life. I wish I was exaggerating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tRK8tQ_gksA" width="420"></iframe><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: Make sure you've prayed properly before boarding sketchy looking buses. Also make sure you've completed your bucket list and said your "I love yous" to the people you care about in your life. You may die. Be okay with that.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Simply Greyhound.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh God. Where do I begin? I guess I'll begin by being as gentle as I can with my description: Greyhound is the absolute worst bus service in the world. <b>As in, if Heaven has a white tunnel leading you to it, I'm pretty sure that Hell has you board a Greyhound bus.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There, I said it. I'll bet my entire $30 dollars worth of life savings on that claim. It's the absolute truth (okay, fair point: I didn't use them in South Africa, so it could be better there. Could being the key word). First, the people that run it are crazy mean (is it normal to almost witness a fistfight between the driver and a rider?) and second, the people that ride it are even crazier. Case in point, I'm on a bus from San Francisco to Tacoma, a thirty hour journey after forty hours of plane rides. I'm sitting next to a very large man and the distinguishing characteristic about this man is that he loves to laugh. Every ten seconds. It's a cackle really, like a super villain does in movies. Here, it's EXACTLY like this:</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iNkrF43SZEU" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The catch is that no one around him is saying anything remotely funny. The man just likes to laugh. Cool, I have no problem with laughing. In fact, the more people laugh the better. And I'll admit that it's absolutely hilarious for the first few minutes. Come 15, 20, 30 hours later though? Yeah, not so much.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We make small talk in between the laughter. Here is a snippet of conversation that I so very much wish I had the imagination to make up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Man</b>: "You know cats?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: [pause] "Uh, yeah...yeah I know about cats."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Man</b>: You know how they can get worms and stuff." His tone is that of a question, but comes off like a statement.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Oh God.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: Uh...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Man</b>: Well, I think...[he reaches his hand down the back of his shirt and starts itching his back]...I think I caught some and they burrowed through my skin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">[I inch closer to the window, as close as close can be]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Me</b>: [silence]</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Man</b>: [He takes out his hand. The tips of his fingers are bloody and he has a brown thing squeezed between his index finger and thumb, and yes, in case you were wondering, it does indeed look like a worm] See! I have no idea how to get rid of them! They're everywhere! [Villain laugh ensues, louder than ever]</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course he would sit next to me. I am no longer shocked by anything.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Serious Lesson</b>: Don't take greyhound.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;">Bonus Lessons</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Tuk-tuks are the way to go (this is a picture of my favorite Cambodian tuk-tuk driver, complete with his Sparkle sticker).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Beware of the rain during rainy seasons in Asia.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Check the time of arrival of the bus/train/etc. Otherwise, yes, you will be walking down unknown roads in Burma at two in the morning knocking on random doors in order to find a place to crash.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Don't learn how to drive a scooter in India and end up crashing within a minute of getting on the bike. Well, maybe that's just a lesson for me.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPkd4tqQxvPXygpG7S7M0QYtFneIbw87JvoOsNgnWpE4KFYM0ruhNiBDM5ZqEEx4-RdYXYAf9D204RLI_0c2N4hLFS76fJY8Nq3e8fsXb3RqwgES_a0b9OISsc9zKhh3jFeOS556uzaF-/s1600/20140905_112248.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQPkd4tqQxvPXygpG7S7M0QYtFneIbw87JvoOsNgnWpE4KFYM0ruhNiBDM5ZqEEx4-RdYXYAf9D204RLI_0c2N4hLFS76fJY8Nq3e8fsXb3RqwgES_a0b9OISsc9zKhh3jFeOS556uzaF-/s320/20140905_112248.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>End N</b></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ote</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If this all sounds bad, it's really not. It's a journey and however you choose to travel, the traveling of travel brings brings just as much excitement to the table. It's wonderful and horrible and long and tiring all at once. Experience it all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Except that Greyhound.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That will only bring sadness to your life. Just say no, kids, just say no.</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-69898106579786075752015-06-12T15:24:00.003-07:002015-06-29T15:02:20.959-07:00"Shit just got real."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m going to start off this entry with a disclaimer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;"><u>Warning </u></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">The following is going to be a somewhat long, serious read and a companion and expansion to Reason #8 on a previous entry titled "</span><a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/04/top-12-reasons-why-you-should-never.html">Top 12 Reasons You Should Never Travel</a><span style="color: red;">". There may or may not be a lot of choice words (I don't know if you know this, but I don't trust people that don't swear. True story). Don't worry though, the next entry will balance it all out with the usual stories involving toilets, ants in pants, or equally ridiculous tales of adventure and woe.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Another word of caution: extremely blind optimism ahead and a whole lot of (sometimes) disconnected rambling. I don't regret a single ounce of any of it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That all being said, I don’t like writing things that are boring (I really do try my best to make these things entertaining in one way or another), so </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">this is going to require just <i>a little</i> active participation of the reade</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">r (read: you) for full effect. Yep, that's right, if you decide to read further, I hope that you go along with me and ask yourself the same questions, challenge yourself, and maybe, oh-please-just-maybe!, find a little inspiration along the way. If not, uh, I'll at least add some killer jokes/travel-pickup lines on the way to substitute.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yeah? Sound like a plan? Sorta kinda? Okay, good enough, let's get to it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Writing this has been challenging for me. In fact, it has taken me exactly 29 years to get the <u>courage</u> (remember this word for later) to answer some of these questions that have always stuck to the back of my mind, and that's only because traveling has forced me to finally face them.</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br />Now, I’ve mentioned numerous times that I am no longer the me I was before traveling. That's a great philosophical concept, right? But, uh, what does that really mean? It's taken me way too long to figure it out, but it boils down to something pretty simple. What it means is that the me I am now (opposed to the me a year ago) believes he is unstoppable and that nothing is impossible. In fact, taking it a step further, I believe this is true for most people. I apologize if that sounds overly rainbows-and-unicorns optimistic and part of some new age theory bullshit, but it's 100%, honest to God, the truth.<br /><br />And I am dead serious when I say I apologize about how preachy this may all sound. But it has to be said and that's the <i>last </i>apology I'll ever give for it (what do all the cool kids say now? #sorrynotsorry?).<br /><br />When I returned from traveling through Asia ("Are you heading to India? 'Cause I'd Goa anywhere with you!"), Africa ("I know we just met, but I Cairo lot about you"), and Europe ("You must be from Prague, because I can't help but Czech you out."), I came back dazed and impractical and a dreamer so lost that he didn't know which way was up any more. The</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> first few weeks back drove me mad, because my heart knew I couldn't return to this point in my life. I've loved my life here in Washington State, especially</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> my friends and family and wonderful jobs I've had over the years, but my home has changed now, or at least it has for the time being at this point in my life. I have this fire in me to see and travel and change the world and this feeling has taken over my waking life. I don't even have words to explain it to friends and family. It has not gone away since returning, and I highly doubt it will leave me if I stay. It's as though I free-based cocaine 8 months ago and the high simply never went away, and in fact, it just kept getting stronger with each tick of the clock hand. It may or may not in fact kill me one day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Without further adieu:<br /><br /><b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Assignment #1</span></u></b><br /><br />1) Close your eyes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2) Imagine your “happy place”. You know, that perfect place that soothes your soul when the world around you is loud and un-mutable.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3) Imagine what you would be doing in that place (I guess, very loosely, think about what you would be doing "career" wise).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4) Imagine who would be around you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5) Stay in that moment for a minute.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">6) Open your eyes.<br /><br />I’ll start with my example. If I were to close my eyes and imagine myself anywhere, doing anything, it would currently be a tie between the following things:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aaqKlMsW040Ed3eCAlfTsuIOsfxqvP4_VLc2t4zxDtn856TmuTxlj3Isyqs5LCf2NorF1lSsX6zTwiIIN8FJhOfgQ8-XoSjpVUmJD4YZfjRN09YLjPsv3RXYTGAZUUXAhl_kAYC9uCLb/s1600/10978483_10205935739657795_183104859872639685_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2aaqKlMsW040Ed3eCAlfTsuIOsfxqvP4_VLc2t4zxDtn856TmuTxlj3Isyqs5LCf2NorF1lSsX6zTwiIIN8FJhOfgQ8-XoSjpVUmJD4YZfjRN09YLjPsv3RXYTGAZUUXAhl_kAYC9uCLb/s320/10978483_10205935739657795_183104859872639685_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1) I would be in a warm ocean, with barely a cloud overhead, with distant <i>Jurassic Park-</i>style islands in the distance, surrounded by a staggering amount of early morning mist. I would be in the water up to my stomach, and the water would be crystal clear. Behind me, would be a gorgeous beach with bungalows and bars and laughing people from all around the world. I would be swimming and listening to the wind. I would go back to the beach bar and I would write on my laptop stories of adventure and mystery while the sun set and blazed the sky with soaking colors. I would make enough money from my writings to do all this. This would be Goa, India, or Shianookville, Cambodia, or A Random Island, Thailand.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclix-ekUSKlxhu1ovf23k7KcyoTit5uXZ4EQIe6k8Pbadp1AOsJ5LJW-2Le_GcwGVvZeAECE9kayiB4jznof4Iu-L_aJfZ91adV9XDEcmZ7J6TwDSYHgQHahIL08p0V7iToOPfiIXDxDW/s1600/20141130_104948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiclix-ekUSKlxhu1ovf23k7KcyoTit5uXZ4EQIe6k8Pbadp1AOsJ5LJW-2Le_GcwGVvZeAECE9kayiB4jznof4Iu-L_aJfZ91adV9XDEcmZ7J6TwDSYHgQHahIL08p0V7iToOPfiIXDxDW/s320/20141130_104948.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2) I would be a travel writer, with this blog successful enough that it made enough money to search the world with. I’d be sitting on a balcony overlooking the Himalayas in the Dalai Lama’s current place of residence, drinking Chai tea, smoking a fine cigar, and listening to punk rock music from a nearby portable speaker. This would be Dharamsala, India.<br /><br />Those are my picks. Now, if you’re going to keep reading, I need you to try this for me, too. Seriously, at least give it a go. Close your eyes and think about it. I mean really, honestly think about it. Think about it so hard you can taste the air around you.<br /><br />Now, open your eyes.<br /><br />I have a question that I have been asking of myself when I open my eyes to this little exercise. It’s a question I’ve asked myself since my return. It’s a haunting question, one that has wormed into my brain and left me feeling horribly and wonderfully insane. <a href="http://www.alifeunfiltered.com/2015/02/a-life-on-fire.html">I am <i>still </i>on fire</a>, because the question is that strong, that powerful, and that soul-searching for me (a part of me wishes I never traveled, because then I would have never been exposed to this question).<br /><br /><b>When I open my eyes, if I'm not in the EXACT place I was thinking about, doing EXACTLY what I was imagining, I need to ask myself this question: </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><u>“Why am I not there, doing that thing, with those people?”</u></b><br /><br />-More specific to me: why am I not in Cambodia or India or Thailand living the life of a traveling writer or working in some international nonprofit?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know the answer. I came back home, and to quote my favorite (horrible) movie line of all time from <i>Bad Boys 2</i> (watch the clip if you get a chance, it's so ridiculous):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">“Shit just got real.”</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e_4_DF72hNY" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />Or, it other words, reality hit me, like a rather painful sucker punch to the face. The kind of hit that ends the last round of the championship fight.<br /><br />One of my literary heroes, Ray Bradbury, nailed it on the head when he said that </span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">“[y]ou must stay drunk on writing so that reality doesn’t destroy you.”</span> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Side-note, this quote is from my favorite book on writing, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Zen-Art-Writing-Essays-Creativity/dp/1877741094/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1433534064&sr=8-1&keywords=zen+and+the+art+of+writing">Zen and the Art of Writing</a></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. If you're a creative type of any sort, do yourself a favor and check this book out).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because, that’s what reality can do. <b>It can and will destroy you</b>. If you let it, that is.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The reason I’m not at those places is because reality told me it’s not possible. If you've been keeping up with this blog, I have babbled on about living life to the fullest, following your dreams, and all that inspirational crap that is so over the top happy that it's sickening and, sadly, unrealistic. I said I wasn't going to apologize anymore, but hey, I'm sorry. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I was traveling, that was all fine and dandy to have my head in the clouds. I thought that I would come back to the States and reality could suck it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm learning a hard lesson that that's not how life goes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I’m back home and I have bills to pay. I have a $106,000 USD loan hanging over my head in addition to regular, everyday debt. I’m getting dangerously close to thirty. I have no savings or career. In fact, I don't even have an apartment to my name anymore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Part of the reason I've been feeling so off since coming back is the struggle of coming to terms with the <i>reality of my reality</i>: I can’t just get on a plane and leave again, no matter how much I want to. Reality is hanging too much weight on my shoulders now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I open my eyes, the fire that lit my soul in Beijing dies a bit when I hear that I need to pay $1,200 dollars next month so I don’t default.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />Reality can come in many different forms:</span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">mortgages </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">house payments </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">student loans</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">debt</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">children </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">family </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">careers</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">age</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">health</span></li>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With all of that though, I still can't accept the word impossible. I often hear that one has to often choose one life over another: the "responsible" </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">family</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">life or the follow-your-dreams "live-life-on-the-edge" life. Dreams take sacrifice, right?</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">True, but since coming back home, <i>I've been unhappy because I've let reality win</i>. I've let it make me believe that impossible really is impossible.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks reality, but I'm going to take a page from Bradbury and stay utterly drunk with my words from this point on. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So to reality, I say this!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(And I’m going to put this is the gentlest, more professional manner that a sensitive and vastly articulate writer/social worker can muster).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><b>Screw. </b></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;"><b><b>That.</b></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I will not let reality make me believe what is possible and what is not.<br /><br />So if anything is possible, then why can't I be that famous writer on a beach? I think it comes down to not that I'm in debt (really, I can pay off a debt from anywhere in the world), but that I'm scared of taking the leap.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm scared of taking the leap<i> and failing.</i> I’m sick and tired of <i>just </i>dreaming. Of being a writer who doesn’t write and a traveler who doesn’t travel. Life requires active participation to function. But</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I'm terrified of it - life that is. Crippled and held down by it. I am scared to death not that I'll necessarily fail myself, but others. It's why I've never really been good at relationships, or committing, or why that fucking 2nd book I've been writing has sat on my computer (it's actually open in another screen right this second and it's taunting me) for years. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I tell people that writing takes courage. That writing is the easy part and it’s getting the courage to get that pencil out and begin. That's it okay to fail.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I say all that, but I'm a hypocrite. I'm still paralyzed by the fear of failure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But...I traveled the world! With a single backpack! I jumped a van running from protesters in South Africa and hitch-hiked through Zimbabwe jungles! I didn't just dream, I participated. I was forced to face my fear of failure because I had no other choice. I <b>succeeded </b>in making life an adventure. In writing terms, I finally got the courage to get out that pencil and begin.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found out that I could do it, it being absolutely anything, and that it's never as scary as I thought and failure is just part of the ride. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What I've also found out is that I'm just as scared as success as I am of failure.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, problem. I know what I want but I can't just drop all my responsibilities and go for it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, where does that leave me?<br /><br /><b><u><span style="font-size: large;">Assignment #2</span></u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1) Get a piece of paper. I want you to write down ten things you want to accomplish in life. Make them wild. Make them crazy. Make a list that is completely <i><u>impractical</u></i>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Here's a sample of some of mine:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Take a flight in a hot air balloon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Visit an Egyptian temple.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Finish that 2nd book.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Make money off this blog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">- Start a nonprofit.<br /><br />2) Put it somewhere prominent. Pin it up on a door. Put it as a background of your computer. Make it so visible that your soul’s stomach rumbles and quakes each time it's seen.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Start Scene</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Reality</b>: Oh, Nick, you crazy. You can't just do whatever you want! You have to stay here and pay off these bills! They're not going to pay themselves!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Nick</b>: Well, you sure are grumpy today, Mr. Reality!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Reality</b>: Why shouldn't I be! You're running away from your responsibilities!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Nick</b>: Well, silly, can't I just pay off my loans from a beach in a foreign country? And can't I work realities into my dreams?</span><br />
<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Reality</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">: Well, by golly you're right! I've been just a big meanie!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Nick</b>: Ah, come here and bring it on in!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Reality and Nick hug. A rainbow shoots off over them and angels sing. It's all pretty majestic-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">End Scene</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />So. I’ve made a plan. I'm not running away from reality (because I'm not saying that reality is a bad thing, as it's a very subjective thing), but instead </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm compromising with it.</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><br />I’m going to get a job here and bunker down for a bit and take on some of those heavy responsibilities. I gave myself a pretty strict time limit. And then, I’m going to be back on the road, writing, and chasing after that list from Assignment #2. I want and will do it all. I'll pay my bills, yeah, but I'm going to change my reality to what I want it to be.<br /><br />This blog will continue. It will become something more, I'm sure of it. It has to be and it needs to be. I mean, I even just bought a real, legit domain as well! Progress.<br /><br />I want to convince people to do the impossible. It took courage to trust that I can. It took courage to believe in myself and my talents. I am a good writer, a damn good one. I’ve seen it myself that my talent has grown over the past eight months of written exercises. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This blog is about me, yet, I need to make it more than just that. I need for it to grant a better response than “oh, that was nice. I feel good after reading that.”<br /><br />No, no, no! I want to make this a blog where people read it and say, "Fuck yeah! I’m doing this right now! I’m getting up out of this chair and I’m going to write that novel! I’m going to be an international crisis worker! I’m going to join the Peace Corps! I’m going to take my kids with me to Thailand and do home decorating! I'm going to save whales off the coast of Japan! I'm going to roadtrip around the US and complete my retirement bucketlist!" And on and on and on. Always floating on. (These are all professions I met on the road from people who wanted to carve their own path in life).<br /><br />I want to fuel the fire in readers so that they in turn can lend their fires to others.<br /><br />Take a look at the list. What can you do TODAY to start moving toward that goal? Be it checking flight prices or simply closing your eyes and dreaming about it some more. The key is to keep it there. To keep it close even when reality can be a brutal beast.<br /><br />I want to be Vincent from <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Gattaca-Ethan-Hawke/dp/B000I8G5B2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1434148336&sr=8-1&keywords=gattaca">Gattaca</a>, a man born with a bad heart who was destined not to do great things because of this setback. He said, "Nope!" and instead, rose to the top because he didn't give up, and more importantly, put everything into Plan A and didn't worry about Plan B.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yRynilqRXwI" width="560"></iframe><br /><br /><b><span style="font-size: large;">Extra credit assignment:</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have vacation days. You have sick days. Cash them in. Go online and look here:<br /><br />1. Flights: <a href="http://www.expedia.com/">Expedia</a>, <a href="http://www.skyscanner.com/">Skyscanner</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2. Booking: <a href="http://www.hostelworld.com/">Hostelworld</a>, <a href="https://www.airbnb.com/">Airbnb</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3. Planning: <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/">Trip Adviser</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4. Jobs/Volunteering: <a href="http://www.idealist.org/">Idealist</a>, <a href="https://www.volunteermatch.org/">VolunteerMatch</a> (US destinations)<br /><br />Take a week, a month, however long you can and go to the place in your dream. Make it real.<br /><br />And, I’m not saying to stop that life you’ve built.<i> I’m saying to start a plan and then actively work on it so that you can <b>make life work around your dreams</b>. </i>It's possible even when it doesn’t feel like it. It could be you won't open your eyes and be there for another ten years, or you need to wait until the mortgage is payed off, or you need to wait until you retire. Whatever, as long as you're planning it and living in it, I think that's what matters. Be active in pursuing it, no matter how long it takes to get there.<br /><br />So you do that and I’ll continue doing the job search. I’ll continue writing the cover letters. I'll continue tackling my responsibilities here, but I will also</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> continue writing, saving my pennies, and coming up with insane ideas while bargaining with reality. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm actively planning so that one day, and one day soon, I will open my eyes and I will be exactly where I want to be. Will I be a broke writer by the end of it? Probably, but I've come to see that it doesn't so much matter what the end destination will be, but the evolving journey along the way that defines a good life. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGysm3i6VJL2LKyoZanOzvRmlwwgnZPK76vi9xCs0QYBc8rJD7S6bYFRUD6bK88W97ox5iQcaxjg3Pq6Y6E-lMOZ4S8JvX3tM-U422fbTfhJAVahclUuRtWjwOTE7cZics2-DQU6fSoD1/s1600/fuck-this-its-thursday_o_919853.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxGysm3i6VJL2LKyoZanOzvRmlwwgnZPK76vi9xCs0QYBc8rJD7S6bYFRUD6bK88W97ox5iQcaxjg3Pq6Y6E-lMOZ4S8JvX3tM-U422fbTfhJAVahclUuRtWjwOTE7cZics2-DQU6fSoD1/s320/fuck-this-its-thursday_o_919853.jpg" width="310" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In regards to this brilliant meme, t</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">oday is Thursday and I still have a lot of realities and responsibilities to face.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But come Friday...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Friday is going to be a very bright day indeed. And I finally think I'm ready for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Are you?</span><br />
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-47998777836066245532015-05-08T11:02:00.000-07:002015-06-29T15:02:29.418-07:00The World's Canvas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I truly believe art can change the world. Be it music or painting or interpretive dance or writing or the list goes on forever. Unlike a lot of fields/careers though, art doesn't always pay the bills (i.e. this blog has made a total of about $5 dollars...ouch) and word of mouth is the best way to spread good art. But artists don't really do their art for money or fame (but, uh, wouldn't that be nice?), <i>but because they have to</i>. That need to express yourself comes from deep inside and it's impossible to contain. The ability to create is powerful and unstoppable. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I happened to run into some pretty outstanding artists while travelling around the world. I think they're world-shakers, ground-breakers, and people that are talented enough to deserve your attention. So, here are some of them, and I think you'll love them just as much as I do.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.miviajeporelmundo.com/"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Mi Viaje por el Mundo</span></b></a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Alejandro is pretty much living my dream. I met him on my way out of Chiang Mai and didn't get nearly enough time to pick this man's brain. He quit his job and just started traveling. People probably thought he was insane, but here he is, a professional travel writer after taking that first scary-as-hell leap into the unknown. His blog is what every travel blog should be, deep and informative and honest. I can't say enough good things about Alejandro and his writing abilities. <b>If you read any travel blog, this is it.</b> Hands down, the very best of the best (his India blogs prepared me more than any Lonely Planet, that's for sure). It's in Spanish, but if you need, Google Translate will help if you have Chrome. Well worth every second of your time.<br /><br /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/PendazandilemasukuArtwork/652859651508561?fref=ts"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Penda.zandilemasuku.Artwork</b></span></a></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjX6elYyqPamQmaPX53CSyiDibJ2XN0BeMiwMyD0BTCofpAzgSgJMt2gGbSW-osk58uZ4gLDgW8D0Wi3RVPyFMwuOVP6NNZuEw9iPisIigEqHLi0sQ5OM4BAZ3hWPtR4XK_ftkhUKBh-z/s1600/11205504_683671478427378_5385484052257134395_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirjX6elYyqPamQmaPX53CSyiDibJ2XN0BeMiwMyD0BTCofpAzgSgJMt2gGbSW-osk58uZ4gLDgW8D0Wi3RVPyFMwuOVP6NNZuEw9iPisIigEqHLi0sQ5OM4BAZ3hWPtR4XK_ftkhUKBh-z/s200/11205504_683671478427378_5385484052257134395_n.jpg" width="200" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I met Zandile in Zimbabwe after missing a bus in Bulawayo (thanks to a friendly taxi driver named Simba [edit: yes, I did indeed do a <i>Lion King</i> joke with him] who took me in for lunch off the street! Zimbabwe is pretty cool like that) and was blown away to see such beautiful art. I had wonderful conversations with her about the power and soul of art. And this woman is talented like no other and has a passion that burns as hot as the sun itself. The above is a link to her Facebook page (check out the About Me section to learn more about her and her technique). She's fantastic.</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/micasaesredonda?fref=pb&hc_location=profile_browser">Mi Casa es Redonda</a></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I met Alberto on a three-day hike in Burma. Not only is he an incredibly nice dude, but he has a pretty amazing travel blog that is stuffed with great information and has absolutely gorgeous pictures to boot. He has so many entries from so many different places that it's sort of ridiculous (read: it is ridiculous! He has been everywhere!). If you don't read Spanish, there's an option for Google Translate on the side (I know, I know, Google Translate can be horrible most of the time, but it still works). <a href="http://micasaesredonda.com/kalaw-inle-lake-trekking/">Here's a link to his entry about our hike</a>, which I never got the chance to blog about myself (I'm way to lazy). Another wonderful travel blog you must bookmark and keep up to date with. It'll help keep that travel bug sedated (or make it awake and alive and ready to do the same...!).</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><a href="https://soundcloud.com/doperobot">Dope Robot</a></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dDSstivOItK_ti5hqKRiYRjQpXhDBdK0DQxfJBgWuOqXgtIGoKsCxaVFSgq9pMTeNQDnzQcl0MUGucHnlcI-q_vabjRyFtBmiGze6xLWgvqPfO-nIhClNyCcTmFlUExINWNXHXQZF3bT/s1600/front-cover2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-dDSstivOItK_ti5hqKRiYRjQpXhDBdK0DQxfJBgWuOqXgtIGoKsCxaVFSgq9pMTeNQDnzQcl0MUGucHnlcI-q_vabjRyFtBmiGze6xLWgvqPfO-nIhClNyCcTmFlUExINWNXHXQZF3bT/s1600/front-cover2.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br /></b>Never really been a fan of electronic music. But after traveling with this man, who has become like a <span class="" style="display: inline-block; max-width: 100%;">brother from another </span>mother, I can honestly say that I just wasn't listening to the right music. I can only hope he picks it up and makes more (if you're reading this, that's a huge hint that YES, you need to keep at this!). Check out his Soundcloud page above, but most certainly go to his <a href="http://www.doperobot.com/">website</a> and listen to the first track, AB. It's superb.<br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/travelinguke?fref=ts"><b>Brooke Palmer Music</b></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I met Brooke on a lazy beach in Cambodia. As you probably guess, I absolutely love meeting people who do their own thing and have taken travel and made it a career. Brooke travels around playing and teaching people how to play the Ukulele! To be honest, I had never even heard one before I saw her perform and now I think it's a one of the coolest instruments out there! Here's her info! Give her a listen at her </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/TheBrookePalmer">Youtube</a> page. I swear you'll love it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://cowalition.com/"><b>The Cowalition of the Willing</b></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Okay, this is more a non-profit than "art", but hey, it's such a unique way to tackle a serious problem that I have to include this. I met Will in Cambodia (or, uh, was it Thailand?) who works at this company with a tagline of <b><i>"code and cows to alleviate poverty"</i></b>. How cool is that? They find eligible Cambodia small plot farmers and people (like you!) help them purchase a cow - and bam! a cowoperative is born. Absolutely incredible way to fight poverty.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/1627096550842604/">T4T South America</a></span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I met Exequiel in Sri Lanka and he's trying to start up a Facebook group that has a single goal: make travel to South America easier. It's a great beginning: gather tips, information, and share experiences with people that will, have, or are currently travelling in South America. Join them, it's a free group and the more people he has contributing, the better the little project will become!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint,' then by all means paint, and that voice will be silenced." -Van Gogh</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-46166185427644199192015-04-30T16:59:00.001-07:002015-06-29T15:02:38.292-07:00Top 12 Reasons Why You Should Never Travel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You shouldn't travel. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Really, you should not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’s dangerous and it’s much safer to just stay at home. It makes a lot more sense to follow the typical life pattern knitted to us by our past generations: go to school (and get into debt – which everyone will tell you is “good” debt), get a good money-making degree (it’s okay if you hate your job, right?), find an excellent partner, marry them, have/adopt the <a href="http://www.statista.com/statistics/183657/average-size-of-a-family-in-the-us/">average 3.13 kids</a>, work until retirement, and then - and only then - should you attempt to travel. <br />
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<i>I’m serious</i>. That is the smartest path. The safest path. The tried-and-true path. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">And here’s the top reasons why you should never backpack around the world.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixUhDjaeG9-vNT4mcpkfcXh8AY81hVnkv82TaVNwD0KuE1unhSNMbqY6GNw56eZLsRbLT-282zfcxPBxhh3UBugHkAUMIKH6O3cYcWDeqVTmcsIsWjEJBNDdTulw_ogCJhx4wpzi2Gtql/s1600/538080_2726432256958_962921209_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixUhDjaeG9-vNT4mcpkfcXh8AY81hVnkv82TaVNwD0KuE1unhSNMbqY6GNw56eZLsRbLT-282zfcxPBxhh3UBugHkAUMIKH6O3cYcWDeqVTmcsIsWjEJBNDdTulw_ogCJhx4wpzi2Gtql/s1600/538080_2726432256958_962921209_n.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">1. The world will seem infinitely smaller and you will feel that much smaller, too.</span></b></div>
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When you first get off the airplane (which, by the way, has pretty amazing food, especially SriLankan Airlines), the world will be laid out in front of you and, believe me, it will be terrifyingly large. Not, say, a 5000-piece-puzzle large, but rather stare-out-into-the-cosmos large. You’ll realize that there is a whole world outside your home country, and it is a world that it is living and breathing and loving and suffering in every different and alike way you could imagine. At first, it will be too much and you’ll search out Starbucks everywhere you go because at least that will you give you some semblance of balance and familiarity (and also a delicious Iced Caramel Macchiato to boot!). The world is gigantic and you’ll tackle a different language with each country, or <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Languages_of_India">sometimes up to 300 different dialects in a single one</a>! You’ll take trains and boats and planes that take days to get to your destination because, yeah, the world is that large! You'll be introduced to dozens and hundreds of customs you were never aware of and they will start becoming second nature to you (my absolute favorite? <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Head_bobble">Indian head bobble</a>).<br />
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<u>But then, as you grow, the world will start to shrink</u>. The subway that made absolutely no sense and went to destinations that seemed light-years away even though they were in the same city, will slowly seem doable. Manageable even. You’ll start running into friends you met months back in countries oceans away as you walk the streets of Cape Town and proceed to have drinks at bars that remember your face and name and signature cocktail. You’ll start to take a stab at the languages and realize what sounded like gibberish at first is forming logical understandable patterns in your head. You’ll laugh when you see little kids with SpongeBob Squarepants backpacks darting through traffic on their way to school through tiny Moroccan alleys. You’ll start to realize that as diverse as the world is, it really isn't as big as the first epic step off the train, plane, or automobile.<br />
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You’ll realize that the world outside your door is manageable <i><u>if you let it be</u></i>.</span><br />
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<b style="color: #134f5c;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">2. You will realize how short life is and how fragile it all can be.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If you do travel (don’t), people will tell you things like: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Wow, I wish I could do that.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll want to smile and tell them that they can. <i>They completely and totally can. </i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“Anyone can,” you’ll want to say. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">“When I retire,” they’ll respond.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll shake your head because you’ll have visited small villages in South Africa where the graveyards were larger than the villages and marriages came early because death came just as quick and punishing. You will wonder why we’re taught in "first-world" cultures that the proper thing for you to do - the normal and logical thing - is to follow the norm (which is strange, coming from individualistic cultures in which every movie and teacher and mentor tell you to work outside the box, but then when you do, you’re considered insane and impractical) and travel when you retire.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They are right, you gotta do your time. And you shouldn't waste it traveling.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will die (I've covered this before <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/05/one-day-you-will-die.html">here</a>). Maybe during your sleep, peacefully, or maybe from a long bout of cancer, horribly. Whatever the cause may be, it will happen, and it will catch you (and everyone else) off guard no matter how much you’re prepared for it. So you should save. That’s what we’re taught. Save so that when you’re old you can travel the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I mean, you could die tomorrow. You could have a heart attack at the end of this sentence. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But it’s good you have those savings. You never know, right?</span><br />
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<b><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">3. The world will no longer be black and white.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll learn that the media is almost all lies (save for, perhaps, The Daily Show [for the most part]) and that FOX News is even worse than you thought. You’ll travel to countries like Cambodia and learn about genocides that ravaged their country and you’ll think, “What monsters!” Then you’ll learn that the superpowers of the world were completely complacent and maybe even had a hand in its creation. </span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll find that a common theme in many places – <u>good people, bad governments.</u> You’ll go to countries like Thailand, currently without a government, and hear from all sides of the political spectrum until your head spins. You’ll travel to countries like Morocco and meet people from those religions portrayed on the news as dangerous and hateful, yet you’ll experience unbelievable love and beauty. You’ll realize that politics and religions and life itself are so much deeper than the right or left or the right or wrong or this religion is better than that religion. You’ll start falling into the gray and it’s scary because you may never get out.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>4. You will no longer have a home.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll realize that “home” is just a word that the dictionary got wrong. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">home</span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><b>hōm/</b></span><br />
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<i>noun</i><br />
1. the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household.<br />
"I was nineteen when I left home and went to college"<br />
synonyms: residence, place of residence, house, apartment, flat, bungalow,cottage<br />
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<i>adjective</i><br />
1. of or relating to the place where one lives.<br />
"I don't have your home address"<br />
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<i>adverb</i><br />
1. to or at the place where one lives.<br />
"what time did he get home last night?" </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KO37jndmMVk_N7JwbH6gL5Kq_nm3uAkM7z-slRtKzPRGz6acTGGgw7YLxQq6Sx-NT1DccVne24BwcDBgXHx6BUZdDBY6uxl6Vn9Lql5qOZZpXUckjF6M6_TBvPQr8CYSJWLUNPCJ7F7g/s1600/20141028_180018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3KO37jndmMVk_N7JwbH6gL5Kq_nm3uAkM7z-slRtKzPRGz6acTGGgw7YLxQq6Sx-NT1DccVne24BwcDBgXHx6BUZdDBY6uxl6Vn9Lql5qOZZpXUckjF6M6_TBvPQr8CYSJWLUNPCJ7F7g/s1600/20141028_180018.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Home" is not that. "Home" no longer means permanent. When you travel, you will fall in love with places that aren't only exotic and gorgeous, but full of citizens and fellow travelers that become your home because they're there. <i>"Home" becomes people</i>. You’ll fall in love with India not because it feels peaceful, but because the people and culture and the chaos start to <i>become </i>a part of your new home. As does the next place and the next place and on and on and so forth. By the time you get “home”, you will have a dozen different homes and you’ll miss each one for different reasons (you’ll not have a “favorite place” because all of them will become special for different reasons). It’s sort of like going to the world’s finest buffet and every delicious food will be there. For your entire life though, you had just one entree (and man, was it good!). Suddenly, you're allowed to have all the other entrees and you realize they tasted just as gorgeous. Home then becomes very relative and fluid.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And when you have multiple homes, your heart becomes naturally larger. You will hurt more when your homes are in danger, by natural forces such as earthquakes, or by other tragedies and upheavals. <b>Quite simply, your heart will hurt more because you will have more to love.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>5. You will feel alienated.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will return and have no idea how to relay all the things that you saw and did. I mean, how do you describe to someone what it feels like to be on the edge of a river in Bangkok, on a riverboat, with the sun setting and cascading off pagodas in the distance, while holding flowers for a friend’s bar that you bought in one of the world’s largest flower markets? How do explain what it's like to fall asleep on a train while cockroaches scuttle around your head because you lost a round of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shithead_%28card_game%29">Shithead</a> and got the bottom (worst) bunk?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will want to continue traveling yet the world will be waiting for you to get back to the usual. And you'll go back and get goosebumps on your soul every time you read Thoreau.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them."</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will never be happy again unless you’re traveling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You’ll go “home” (and believe me, you’ll be happy for many things your original home has that the others don’t) and go back to work. Back to the 9-5. And while you may love your job and family and friends and the location, there will always be a part of you that is yearning, always, to continue seeking the unknown. Some days <u>it</u> will stay dormant and calm and play real nice, and other days <u>it</u> will crawl out of you in the least likely moments, clawing and spilling from what feels like your very soul itself. <u>It</u> will dominate your thoughts and your ideas and your actions.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>But why? </i>you'll think to yourself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because, no matter if you stuff <u>it</u> deep inside of you, through work and normalcy and balance, <u>it</u> will always be there.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What is <u>it</u>?</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the knowledge, that for a fact, traveling the world is always possible and it’s only impossible if you want and think it will be. Impossible, like the word home, is limited only to the definition you decide to give it.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>6. You’ll learn that everything is so very temporary.</b></span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6GdvL64HROA43uJZqEIlLo4gD9uMNSe6_v26GlKVmAavijiMq3rOqTONi9oWalUAfjICOcz12Vefx8HjvCEAhBcwXseA_m4uAB3gPI59mvivoqciphn2GqUgtI4Ny3Cm2NZEbmj2Mnv3/s1600/Pick3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD6GdvL64HROA43uJZqEIlLo4gD9uMNSe6_v26GlKVmAavijiMq3rOqTONi9oWalUAfjICOcz12Vefx8HjvCEAhBcwXseA_m4uAB3gPI59mvivoqciphn2GqUgtI4Ny3Cm2NZEbmj2Mnv3/s1600/Pick3.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will meet people from all walks of life, from worm farm salesman to directors to CEOs to nomads to sorcerers (yes, you read that correctly) and you will travel with them. You will eat and sleep and ride shitty trains and wild tuk-tuks to unknown destinations with them (most likely stopping at a silk shop on the way). You will become close to them and then you will eventually have to say goodbye. <b>Every. Single. Time.</b> Maybe you’ll see them again, and maybe you won’t. <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/10/blips-on-radar.html">It will be sad</a>. You will cry. You might even fall in love, a few times, sometimes in big ways and sometimes in small ways, but even that has its leash imposed by the nature of a traveler (<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/adi-zarsadias/dont-date-a-girl-who-travels_b_4704794.html">this Huffington Post article nails this</a>).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will realize that everything is temporary. And everything has it's glowing moment of pure beauty.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will see sunsets stretching over the Himalayas while sipping the best coffee you've ever had. You will be Indiana Jones and explore ancient temples in long lost jungles. You will sleep on the floor of boats for two days playing Uno as the common ground language. You will laugh and cry and see beautiful and tragic things.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>And then it will end.</u> The moment will be over and you will never have that chance again, to be swimming in Goa and watching the bioluminescence sparkle as you swim, enhanced with the darkness of a surreal night caused by a blackout along the coast. Sure, you could go back and recapture the moment. But who you were at that moment, in that place, with those friends, can only happen once, just once.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will learn, memorize, love, <u>and</u> hate the Dr. Seuss quote: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.”</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will learn to live in the moment because you have to. There’s no other choice. It is sad and beautiful all at once.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>7. You will learn to live with less.</b></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEECZBWCf-PNAmkY8zpHX1h6LsJYzJVG4qzvA9kc7JOLjiBDhbNT8QdTJtuLvh-tfi7bSrda3lfzy_b1KsYKUDrZlhZbXTeof69uPtupegqImwyTw_FfzVB0sMPTP8uhBV3uDgfQ6Kx1e/s1600/10872304_4958667261438_1175157284_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeEECZBWCf-PNAmkY8zpHX1h6LsJYzJVG4qzvA9kc7JOLjiBDhbNT8QdTJtuLvh-tfi7bSrda3lfzy_b1KsYKUDrZlhZbXTeof69uPtupegqImwyTw_FfzVB0sMPTP8uhBV3uDgfQ6Kx1e/s1600/10872304_4958667261438_1175157284_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will realize that all that stuff waiting in unmarked boxes for you at your original home is just stuff. A whole life of possessions that may or may not have ended up possessing you. Then, you start traveling and lived with a single huge backpack. Did you need the tablet and 100s of pairs of clothes and the video games (well, you may need the video games) and DVDs? No, not really. It’s just stuff, and my dad loves to quote Luther on this one: <b>“I have held many things in my hands, <u>and I have lost them all</u>; but whatever I have placed in God's hands, that I still possess.”</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">(Side note: you’ll become more of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Universalism">universalist</a> and know that the above quote can be used for whatever God you put your faith in).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We pile our lives with shit and when you realize you don’t need any of it, the stuff loses its power. Capitalism loses it’s power. Friends and families and warm beds and clean clothes and good, hot meals will be become your gold, your diamonds, your most prized and precious possessions.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6IkMUAfWXOwj4JLJlNdjKGqXIDKY8JTyhezYn3cR489DLM5XpI-muw9s5zS5lKgtpidCk617LElIUfyEHdGT8Xg5_mO-SaQddfNP0bmXU_hquOLshYoCMncMVzbtV2RjVzAfkRe43zkY/s1600/20141009_105835.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig6IkMUAfWXOwj4JLJlNdjKGqXIDKY8JTyhezYn3cR489DLM5XpI-muw9s5zS5lKgtpidCk617LElIUfyEHdGT8Xg5_mO-SaQddfNP0bmXU_hquOLshYoCMncMVzbtV2RjVzAfkRe43zkY/s1600/20141009_105835.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>8. You will return a different person. You will not be you.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">All the travel movies will be wrong. You’ll hate <i>Eat, Pray, Love</i> even more than you already do. There won’t be a magical moment where you’re suddenly a changed person and riding off into the sunset (unless, like her, you got a $300,000 USD book advance and could live in slap-everyone-in-the-face-luxury in poor countries [and then you’ll try to stop hating on that book as much as you do because you feel bad that you trash it so much]). Rather, there’ll be small little changes along the way, sometimes completely unnoticeable at the time, and by the end, you simply won’t be you. It’ll be impossible to describe to anyone else. You’ll laugh the same and cry the same and love the same, but then again, you won’t. It'll be an internal change, forever unexplainable and forever yours.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will have a good friend tell you that they’re happy that you’re traveling and experiencing life-changing things, but will also will tell you that they know you’re experiencing inner conflicts most people never encounter in their life (or don’t want to). So, y</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ou'll will be all existential and ask yourself important questions such as:</span><br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Am I happy?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What makes me happy?</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And finally, the question that will start haunting along the edges of your life:</span><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TpDltZwsnmtKv_WJ1AMGnAdw_wyTseTSq2CT90KtyRIO0kv5QXwgDUenGopzDei1r9lDcAVAuT7CRMUnhoQwph9PTlQkmx3IETlzbZw9Wk7YVHnTjEpiYrm8oKXVjrxSqW6Xw0431D46/s1600/20141124_143604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8TpDltZwsnmtKv_WJ1AMGnAdw_wyTseTSq2CT90KtyRIO0kv5QXwgDUenGopzDei1r9lDcAVAuT7CRMUnhoQwph9PTlQkmx3IETlzbZw9Wk7YVHnTjEpiYrm8oKXVjrxSqW6Xw0431D46/s1600/20141124_143604.jpg" width="400" /></a>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>If I know what makes me happy, truly scream-to-the-heavens happy, why am I not doing that?</b></span><br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
</ul>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And you will start to chase that answer, whatever that may be, because you'll have learned that although anything worth doing is terrifying, complacency is a million times worse. Complacency is comfortable though, so yeah, don't backpack!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>9. You will see the best and worst of humanity.</b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yes, you will have fun. Loads of it. You’ll get drunk on beautiful beaches and river raft through Thai jungles and eat dinner with taxi drivers in Zimbabwe and play cards until the break of day and then visit secret fish street markets in hidden pockets of large cities.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But you will see poverty. You will see the things that a middle class life and above shields you from. You will not be able to change the channel.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will be forced to interact with the world. And <u>it will</u> be messy and dirty.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will feel pain and sadness and happiness when you give oranges to young children in a village in the middle of nowhere and see a smile wider than you ever knew was possible. You’ll be invited for dinner, given haircuts, and gifts simply because there are citizens of the world out there that are happy just to be acknowledged. You will meet people who are content not with bigger vehicles and bigger TVs and bigger 401ks, but content knowing that people care enough to visit and break bread with them.</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkXf0_a0IgrEkLQE1qgW5b94iscQsrjxsecmuyP8kC-D_cyjoMuyKXkezi7WLHY1JraTUW4pbCjEFNpDgofJcbQ7a20ofKjlYQw2Z-ppFEuzsNV5iNO_N58JKM4d_umt4T6jEA8qJY8N6/s1600/64282_4732863656489_2173621763203466369_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkXf0_a0IgrEkLQE1qgW5b94iscQsrjxsecmuyP8kC-D_cyjoMuyKXkezi7WLHY1JraTUW4pbCjEFNpDgofJcbQ7a20ofKjlYQw2Z-ppFEuzsNV5iNO_N58JKM4d_umt4T6jEA8qJY8N6/s1600/64282_4732863656489_2173621763203466369_n.jpg" width="180" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But then you will meet people who have nothing, will have nothing, and will die nothing. A blip on the radar of life. Because of corrupt governments, wars, intolerance, fear, or whatever the case may be. <b>It will be cruel to see</b>. And you will see it - the underbelly of life. You can’t close your eyes when traveling and, my God, there are times you'll want to.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will be forced out of your box and you will live there. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will return a more knowledgeable person who sees the world in an array of different colors. You will have a lifetime full of stories and friends scattered in the winds of the worlds. That said, y</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ou will also return confused. You will be more lost than ever before. You’ll become a walking contradiction of yourself. In short, you will return a mess because you will have lived a tragic and beautiful and authentic life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will, and this is the scariest thing of all,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>be able to say that you lived with eyes open. As the title of this blog suggests: a life that is unfiltered.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b><br />
</b></i></span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You'll keep reading <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Walden-Woods-Dover-Thrift-Editions/dp/0486284956/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1430438942&sr=8-2&keywords=walden+henry+david+thoreau">Walden</a></i>.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.”</span></blockquote>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Too much introspection though. Easier to stay home.</span><br />
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>10. Nothing will have happened. You won't be changed and you'll just come back home broke.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I could be completely wrong. You could return and be exactly the same person and realize that Voltaire was right, and staying home really is the best way to cultivate your garden. Each person is different and there is no true way to live. So why waste all that money that you were diligently saving? Again, traveling could be potentially too dangerous for all the above reasons and...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8wXM570A-ACE1VdheK3UeO5Al2E1iX3WCV-YDKPN4xFxRHHQLcsvYeJUIQTtJp4CITZaIHSm3HCKiB98PwPn9UjPZd4Kz2woJF0KPtNlxtFTpA7lCIH8kYSWUnz0LhU-dhY_uCoW3APr/s1600/10845947_10152940873907899_6012352248775310361_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8wXM570A-ACE1VdheK3UeO5Al2E1iX3WCV-YDKPN4xFxRHHQLcsvYeJUIQTtJp4CITZaIHSm3HCKiB98PwPn9UjPZd4Kz2woJF0KPtNlxtFTpA7lCIH8kYSWUnz0LhU-dhY_uCoW3APr/s1600/10845947_10152940873907899_6012352248775310361_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>11. You might end up changing the world. Even if it's only one person at a time.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Because you will (and that's way too scary).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><b>12. The world might change you in wonderful and horrible and unforeseen ways.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it will (and that's even more scary!).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or maybe not. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I guess the only way to know is to try...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But if you do, I'm sorry in advance. Don't say I didn't warn you. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><br />
</u></span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u>You will never, ever, ever be the same.</u></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><br />
</u></span> <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><u><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXWXthbpYesyXpJmYPTzPr8oBDyEux4dUWyMj7ZJHNxM9dixjU4IFe2gGim_Fjv7dYpD1GRJMIPp-FrXI4YSYYe6OLtD9_rg1yhg87re3jXWfaoRHAd3WymM9UfqoLixvtu8hNNRJrsFQ/s1600/20141028_145836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXWXthbpYesyXpJmYPTzPr8oBDyEux4dUWyMj7ZJHNxM9dixjU4IFe2gGim_Fjv7dYpD1GRJMIPp-FrXI4YSYYe6OLtD9_rg1yhg87re3jXWfaoRHAd3WymM9UfqoLixvtu8hNNRJrsFQ/s1600/20141028_145836.jpg" width="320" /></a></u></span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-51421261474914261982015-04-02T02:27:00.001-07:002015-06-29T15:02:09.038-07:00Of travels and adventures.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ONg5qOy5ANfixkdziFn3wKi2q3kQ3z0nynFGku22mmkcIk0RfbxFd7sfy3gGklx28j9GLYdvuNhiSp5492NsbIbIVSJoNGOzKB51CApck7LptNHL4xYAGOOeUVXTDiG74G2NwnGiSxUt/s1600/11084301_10200330120372586_6172862990081255167_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ONg5qOy5ANfixkdziFn3wKi2q3kQ3z0nynFGku22mmkcIk0RfbxFd7sfy3gGklx28j9GLYdvuNhiSp5492NsbIbIVSJoNGOzKB51CApck7LptNHL4xYAGOOeUVXTDiG74G2NwnGiSxUt/s1600/11084301_10200330120372586_6172862990081255167_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've beat this topic into the ground, but you know what? I don't care.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You, yes, <i>YOU</i>, reading this can travel and backpack around the world. Really, once you nail the flight, it's all cake from there (that's a lie). If I get one person reading this to go out into the world, I'll feel good about myself. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've made a list, checkin' it twice, and here are some of the tips for anyone going to rough it out in the world or who is currently out there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'll update this as I can.<br /><br /><b>-Cancel your cell phone service.</b><br /><br />I haven't had cell phone service for about fourish months and it's the best feeling in the world. Now, don't get me wrong, the minute I find a decent wifi spot, I dip into my phone like I was snorting lines of cocaine. But everything in between is in the moment. Do we really need to be reachable 24-7? After traveling, I've realized, that no, no we don't. <i>It's freeing to be able to be unreachable sometimes</i>. You are with who you are with and no one else. It's personal and intimate and something I think we're losing.<br /><br />That said, and because I ADORE contradicting myself, buy a cheap SIM card in each country, that way you have a way to call people and have it there for emergencies. You'll save a whole lot of money. And don't buy the Virgin ones off the airplane, they suck and they're massively more expensive then a vendor off the street (Asia) or in store (Africa).<br /><br /><b>-Expect to lose everything.</b><br /><br />Don't bring anything terribly expensive with you, because, trust me, things are going to get lost or stolen or worn out sooner or later. I have either lost or have stolen everything I have brought with me, save for some of my clothes (I can't count how many times I left clothes drying after checking out of a hostel). That doesn't mean you shouldn't bring a nice camera or a fancy laptop, just know that it's very easy to lose something, leave it behind, drop it, etc., etc., etc.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh. And if I had to do it over again, I would have traveled with zero clothes and personal items. If you're heading to anywhere in Southeast Asia, just buy your clothes and personal items there.<br /><br /><b>-Bring cards. And Uno.</b><br /><br />Cards are great and they help on long journeys or to burn time waiting for the bus or train to come. Uno is even better. While Uno gets boring after a round or two, it's a blast when you can teach it to the locals of the country you're in. Super easy to teach. Trust me on this one.<br /><br /><b>-Pack smart and bring the following:</b><br /><br /> -small baggies: essentially these are amazing for EVERYTHING from laundry detergent (be warned, however, you may be stopped by customs thinking it's drugs) to muesli.<br /><br /> -smart phone: (<a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com.es/2014/09/these-are-few-of-my-favorite-things-app.html">I wrote about this before and listed a whole bunch of apps that have been essential for travel</a>) I would never travel without the phone or the apps.<br /><br />-A watch: yeah, this goes with the lose everything, break everything thing. Your cellphone will crack or break or get lost. <u>If it doesn't, you're not having enough fun.</u> A watch is a good backup, preferably with an alarm function to wake you up to catch those 2am flights.<br /><br /><b>-Don't buy tickets too far in advance (this includes airline tickets).</b><br /><br />Ok, granted, with some things, like Indian trains, it's way better to buy in advance (don't do what we did and just go. Or, screw it, do just that because it's an adventure!), but for the most part, don't buy tickets weeks and months in advance. I really think the best travel is that which is fluid and open for change. In that week until your flight, you might meet that pretty girl or find out about a festival or...you get the point, a million different things could happen and completely change your mind and your plans. Yes, you pay a bit more when you do it this way, but trust me, you'll lose a lot more for cancellations (I've racked them up in South Africa and India and Thailand, ughhh).<br /><br /><b>-Don't use a guidebook. Use other people.</b><br /><br />This is a rough one, and certainly not a tip for everyone. But if you let go of the guidebooks and just go to a place, you'll meet people and go on an adventure that is unplanned and not full of preconceptions. I am a firm believer that you should throw out Lonely Planet. Get off the websites. Go to a country without any preconceived idea what it will be like. Don't let anyone paint a picture of a country before you craft your own. That goes for this blog too. Realize this, its only through the eyes of a poor backpacker who attends way too many bars. It's all an opinion and don't let it change you.<br /><br /><b>-On that note, stay at backpacker hostels</b><br /><br />I've met everyone from 16 to 80-years-old in hostels. The problem with hotels is the minute you go to your room, the world is shut off and you along with it. You can go hide out in hotel room anywhere in the room. Most hotels have classy lobbys but not "chill-out" areas made for people to meet and share stories.<br /><br /><b>-Keep a copy of everything online.</b><br /><br />That includes passport, driver's license, credit cards. Everything. You never know when you'll need a copy. Also, if you have a computer, keep these scans as files on your computer in case you need to apply for a visa (on that note, password protect everything). Keep 10 small passport photos on you as well.<br /><br /><b>-Use a credit card that rewards points.</b><br /><br />Might as well make some money back when you spend money. Enough said.<br /><br /><b>-Learn to love bars.</b><br /><br />I'm, as you probably well know, a huge fan of bars and pubs and anywhere people gather, get some drinks, and hang out. I'm writing this in a bar right now as a matter of fact (and I'm well aware that it's only 11:15am). This is how you meet people. Sometimes, depending on the season, the hostel might be dead and you're the only person there. So, find the nearby bar and you'll meet new friends in no time. It's also a great place to practice the local language.<br /><br /><b>Always keep emergency fund money. For power outages, lack of ATMS, and a host of other reasons.</b><br /><br />This one doesn't need an explanation. Or maybe it does. I have a belt I got from Amazon (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0054IGU7U/ref=oh_aui_detailpage_o01_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1">what a brilliant idea</a>) that holds a 100 USD in case something happens. A lot of these countries have a ton of power outages (South Africa had about one a day with their load shedding, for example) and you never know when you'll get to a working ATM. Keep it in your shoe, your backpack, wherever, just have it!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><b>-Go to see local movies and local movie houses.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is by far my favorite activity in every country. I just went to a movie the other night, in a fancy French art house in Tanger, Morocco and watched <i>The Elephant Man</i>. And I felt cool. Movies bring people together and it's a wonderful place to gather yourself when you feel lost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>-Bring a good backpack.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the coming weeks, expect at least an entry or two about this. But in short, your backpack is your home. When you're living day-to-day and your entire life is contained within a single bag, you want to make sure you get the best. I've been using this <a href="http://www.tortugabackpacks.com/">Tortuga bag</a>, and I'm in love with it. It's a crowd-sourced bag and designed by backpackers for backpackers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>-Always choose the option that will hold the most adventure and always, always, ALWAYS take the <u>longest</u> route to get somewhere.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have A LOT more, but I'm out of time on this public computer and I'm way too broke to buy more time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">See you next time.</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-60356731757454864942015-03-25T09:30:00.000-07:002015-06-29T15:00:43.614-07:00"...and may God bless EVERYONE."<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>Fair warning: this starts with a funny story and quickly dives into political opinion. If you dislike politics, or are a big fan of FOX News, then this probably isn't the entry to read. Here is a better website to check out <a href="http://www.disney.com/">instead</a>.</i><br /><br />-<br /><br />There's a part in the book <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Motorcycle-Diaries-American-Journey/dp/1920888101">The Motorycle Diaries</a></i>, where Che and Ernesto go on a crazy truck ride alongside a dangerous mountainside with a driver with one blind eye (sadly, this was cut from the movie and added to the DVD as a deleted scene. Oh, and by the way, this is my favorite movie of all time and it may or may not have single-handedly ignited my love for travel and social work, so if you haven't seen it, contact me. I'll send you the money to buy it, because you have to see it).<br /><br />I can now cross that off my bucket list. Except, unlike Che, my driver only had one eye.<br /><br />After a few days in Victoria Falls, I headed back to Bulawayo for a quick spell. I had no specific place I needed to head to next (I don't use guide books, which is both exciting and very dumb all at once), so, as I walked down the street with all my bags, heading to the train station to see where I could go, I passed by a van going to a small little town called Masvingo. And, because I'm insane, I thought, "Why not?"<br /><br />I jumped on board for 9 USD (Zimbabwe uses American dollars since their economy crashed - back in the late 90s, a taxi ride would cost you a few million/billion of their currency...). I know some people reading this are probably thinking, "that's not too smart." But I'm here to tell you that it's very smart. Everyone has their own way of travel and I truly believe that the best way to travel is to follow the road that hasn't been traveled. Trust people. It's never as scary as the media or the Wikipedias or the Lonely Planets say.<br /><br />We took off and only went 50 kilometers in two hours, because we stopped for each and every single person looking for a ride on the side of the road. I love this about Zimbabwe and other "poor" countries. If you need a ride, you can get one from just about anyone, and from anywhere, at any time. Back in Cambodia, it was shocking, but now it seems normal and smart and has a wonderful communal sense to it. I wish it was like this everywhere. <br /><br />About halfway to Masvingo, we stopped for a break. I got out and was told by the driver that they were switching me to another vehicle for the rest of the way (I have no idea why). This new vehicle was a small 8-person, Mom mini-van. And, believe me, you get to know everyone in that van closely - an intimate, sweaty level, really. They fit us in like it was a clown car, 15 total people. I was in the back seat with four others, and they took out our seat backs and fit two people in the "trunk" area so that I was back to back them. It was scorching hot and I was carrying on my lap a box full of live chickens, because, well, I actually don't know why, but that's what it was.<br /><br />Oh, and the driver had only one eye. Why this important, I don't know, but it seems like it must be mentioned. Or something.<br /><br />After sitting for about ten minutes waiting for more passengers (yes, more), we started to take off. We only got a few meters before people started yelling at the driver. He stopped the car and looked very much afraid. He lept from the car and started running, full speed, down the street, until he was far off in the distance to disappear in the countryside. <br /><br />There was no reaction from any of the people in the van, as though this kind of thing happened all the time.<br /><br />Uh-huh.<br /><br />The man next to me, dressed in a very dapper suit that must have been killer in the 32 C heat, shook his head and chuckled.<br /><br />"Uh, what was that all about?" I asked him. I was surprised how calm I was. I had never seen anything like that before, but then again, after this journey, I'm prepared for anything at any moment.<br /><br />The man shifted in his seat and shook my hand (in Africa, the handshakes aren't like the usual, shake-and-you're-done-shakes, but a three-move secret handshake that make you feel part of a cool tree house club). "He's running from the cops."<br /><br />"Oh."<br /><br />Another driver, with two eyes, took his space and we were off. I got into conversation with the nice man next to me, who talked to me about how corrupt the police were. People felt safer when they weren't around (sound familiar?).<br /><br />We stopped by at least four police check points and the driver talked/paid through each one. It's illegal to have as many people as we had in the van, but as the man talked to me, that's how it was (I've since been in a ton of these vans during my stay in Zimbabwe and South Africa and I have grown to really like them). The police were corrupt and you could pay your way through anything, or use your connections to schmooze your way through.<br /><br />We got to Masvingo and I was dropped off in a random street. I walked for about 15 minutes through town until I found the only place to stay in town, a backpackers for 10 USD a night. I stayed there for three nights and not once did I see or meet another foreign traveler (there or in town). Instead, I roomed with all locals from all over Zimbabwe. The first night, for example, I stayed with: </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-a traveling lunchbox salesman, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-a traveling worm farm salesman,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-and a mechanic who demanded we get a picture together because he had "never taken a picture with a white person" before. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They were lovely people and very curious about my culture, and views, and life. Side note: every single one of them asked, usually right after where I was from, why I was not married. They marry young here and are shocked to hear that a 29-year-old is still single. Confidence booster, uh, right?<br /><br />I've been asked this many times, from new friends I've met at ruins, and falls, and hostels, and bars, and in vans, to everywhere in-between. They always say the same thing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>"Tell people about us." </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's such a simple request. They love their country, but the media portrays it as dangerous and scary (I was going to link to an article from a well known media outlet, but I decided I don't want to give them any more hits than they deserve). Tourism is a big part of any country's economy, and their tourism industry is simply not there because people are scared or worried since long before the economic crash (most blame the dictatorial president).<br /><br />I promised I would tell people about this country. I would tell people about how beautiful the people are here - how amazing and gorgeous their souls are. How I love them and their country like a second family.<br /><br />Quite simply, I promised I would tell people that Zimbabwe is not forgotten. The media is right about their President and government, I'll give them that, but that overshadows the people, who deserve so much more than they get.<br /><br />And here's the serious part of the blog. And, I'm sorry if this offends some Americans, but it is what it is. I'm going to get political. Life is political, and sooner or later you have to take a stand against injustice and unfairness.<br /><br />I hate comparing countries, because that's cheap and easy. But I'm going to do it, because it needs to be said. Traveling like I am, seeing the parts most tourists don't see, changes a person. You experience life at a more fundamental level and you most certainly start to appreciate different views of life.<br /><br />I love Zimbabwe. And that's an understatement - I adore it. It's one of the most gorgeous countries I've ever seen, and the people are only second to Burma for being the nicest, most generous people I have ever met (I have noticed, on a whole, that the poorer the country, the more generous and loving the people are. Funny how that works, right?).<br /><br />They are proud to be from Zimbabwe. They aren't fans of their government (a common theme I've seen everywhere), but they love their culture and land and people with a passion that is burning oh so bright. Their first question, "How do you like our country?", is always followed by "thank you, thank you, thank you, for visiting".<br /><br />It makes me sad to come from America in times like this. If there is one thing that everyone on my travels say they dislike most about Americans is their fervent nationalism. And I can see why. While it's mostly the far right that are like this (sorry for generalizing), but we in America have this pride of being America that is beyond healthy. Our immigration laws are insane and we are not welcoming to foreigners coming to the US to start a new life.<br /><br />It's an us and them mentality. "May God Bless America" is a sad sentence and one that has always made me cringe. It makes it seem like God only blesses us Americans. Yes, our country was fought for with the blood of my grandfathers, who fought for a free democratic society for its citizens. But I truly believe what they fought for was a land they were proud of and would stand for a place where families come come to work for a fair living. America is, generally speaking, a land of immigrants with few that can claim otherwise.<br /><br />Instead, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._Immigration_and_Customs_Enforcement">ICE</a>, our government, and a large part of our citizens, believe differently - we fought for this pie, now it's ours, and ours only. We split up families and hunt them down and deport them like that's the right thing to do (I love Obama, but granted, his history of deportations is downright sad and disheartening - watch an eye-opening documentary called Lost in Detention free on this <a href="http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/pages/frontline/lost-in-detention/">PBS link</a>). We are a country who spends tax dollars and time arguing about stupid things like "does our President have a a valid birth certificate?" or" my God, why wasn't he wearing an American flag pin during that speech?" <br /><br />This is dangerous thinking. It's great to be proud of your country, but we need to be willing to let others in. If anything has been learned by large corporations and the evils of capitalism it should be that extreme wealth that isn't shared is both selfish and damaging to everyone. In most of the countries I've visited, and especially in Zimbabwe, they want you to be part of their world. They want you move there and live there and be part of their lives. They love it so much and are so proud of it that they want to SHARE it with others. We can certainly take a page from their book here.<br /><br />And maybe it is a page off socialism/capitalism, but so what (Watch the movie <i>Good Night, and Good Luck</i>, if you get a chance)? We are all humans and we are all people. Love and support and COMMUNITY should be universal.<br /><br />What's my point of this rant? I don't know really.<br /><br />Just to tell you that this country is amazing. Its people are welcoming, and SHARING is their number one priority (well, close enough to it). Coming from a first world nation where we hardly know our neighbors, this is sad to me and something that desperately needs to change. The USA has such strict visa requirements, that even if these people did get enough money to travel to the states (the average wage is $253 USD a month, yet the cost of living is almost equal to living in NYC!), they wouldn't get in. No matter if they're hard working or not. You can disagree if you want, but we make it hard to be an American if you weren't born here.<br /><br />So, again, the point of this entry? Well, maybe there is one after all.<br /><br />And it's so very simple.<br /><br /><b>Share</b>. We're all in this together. And, yeah, I'm going to let Jack explain it even more simple that that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qr1Gjwf_kWg" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /><i>Added note: Oh, and I get told I over-romanticize things too much. I somewhat agree, so, I'll add this: there is A LOT of problems with this country, like any country, but as a principle, I do my best to focus on the positive first and foremost, as I think change - real, blood-pumping, raise-your-fist-in-the-air change - builds off strengthening up the hope and good things first in order to tackle the "bad" (we social workers called this the strengths perspective, and I am in love with this). And this entry wasn't made to slam America. I'm blessed to be born there, don't get me wrong, and there are fantastic things about the country. But nothing is perfect and constructive criticism is the key to growth (I had a teacher in college once who gave me A after A after A for all my papers and never criticized me. Easy class, right? Well, she was, in fact, the worst teacher I've ever had. Why? Because I never grew. I never learned. I never was challenged to see things differently. And that is a dangerous path to complacency and stunted growth).</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, point #1: We could learn from people in Zimbabwe when it comes to accepting others. And, our immigration law MUST change. Please watch that documentary mentioned above if you haven't seen it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And point #2: don't forget Zimbabwe. I promised these people I would spread the joy I have been given and shown from this country's people. Instead of the Bahamas, go here if you get a chance. Meet the people, buy from the street vendors, and support the people. They'd support you back in a heartbeat if they could. <br /><br />Mutual support and love and acceptance and equal rights and sharing isn't communism, it's being human. <br /><br />So, "God bless everyone."<br /><br />Cheers.</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-87441089324732170262015-03-05T01:58:00.001-08:002015-06-29T15:00:53.055-07:00Locked in a toilet, and other stories.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What's traveling like? Specifically, what's traveling like solo, without a guide book and an inherent knack for getting into strange/memorable situations? Well, let me give you a sample of the last few days and you can see for yourself.<br /><br />I left Cape Town with a heavy heart, and I certainly did not want to leave (for too many reasons to list here). But I can only control so much, and sometimes the almighty dollar and this journey push me reluctantly forward (I had about half a week's worth of bookings in Zimbabwe and Johannesburg to get to). So I take a bus line called Intercape, and while they are nothing like some of the nightmare buses I've taken in the <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/09/riding-in-cars-with-cambodians.html">past</a>, they have a policy where they won't let a driver push past four hours of straight cruising without stopping and resting. So, awesome and safe on paper, right? What does it mean in real life though? This means that for an 18-hour bus trip, we stop <b>EVERY </b>two hours.<br /><br />I'm a tall dude and it's already a mess trying to get good sleep on a bus. Add in a stop every two hours where the interior lights burst on and ruin any shred of hope of rest, and you have a living nightmare.<br /><br />I am pissed. Patrick, the guy next to me sneaking gulps of Jack Daniels, is totally cool with it all.<br /><br />I get back to Joberg around 7am (unlike the buses in Southeast Asia, they always arrive early here). My plan? Go to a theme park and get some rest. Of course, plans are a funny thing to have because they rarely work out. Intercape informs me that I must get a visa prior to boarding the bus to Zimbabwe the next day. I have no internet, as the city is in the middle of another <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rolling_blackout#Country-wide_blackouts_2014-2015">load shedding</a>, so I have no way to double check. I spend 50 USD (yeah, that's how much a round-trip taxi ride costs in this gigantic city) to get to the Zimbabwe Embassy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wait for two hours in a line. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The lady at the desk has no idea what I'm talking about. She sends me into a tiny white house and I wait for the "head" guy. He laughs and curses Intercape for telling people what they told me. He writes me what is basically a hall pass onto the bus.<br /><br />So, no theme park and no sleep and the afternoon has faded away. I get some dinner and go to a documentary at a fancy movie house (it's called <a href="http://shieldspear.com/">Shield and Spear</a> and it is an excellent accounting of the current political woes in South Africa and how independent artists are fighting back. Well worth your time if you love documentaries about social change [especially through the arts]).<br /><br />I get back to the hostel and am ready to crash. The guy working the door was asleep but wakes up when I knock on the outside office window. The hostel is surprisingly empty, as the last two times to this city, the hostel had been party central (and, yes, extremely fun). I'm the only one in the dorm I'm assigned to this evening. I take a shower and the inside toilet isn't working.<br /><br />I go outside to a line of three makeshift ones. Which, to their credit, are super nice and fancy. The doors on them look like wooden outhouse doors (very trendy looking, actually) placed in the middle of the entrances, with about a foot's length between the bottom of the door and the floor and the top of the door and the ceiling. I go inside and hear a click on a strange automatic metal thing underneath the padlock.<br /><br />I'm exhausted and think nothing of it. I go to the bathroom.<br /><br />I then try to leave, but the strange automatic lock is snug and tight.<br /><br />I stand there and start laughing like a maniac. I do my best McGuiver on the door. Really, all I need is a pen and I could have gotten out, but I have nothing but toilet paper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />I sit on the toilet and I'm still laughing.<br /><br /><i><b>Of course this would happen.</b></i><br /><br /><u>I fall asleep on the toilet</u> and wake up about an hour (maybe two, it was hard to tell) later. Still locked and still no one around. I go to the door and squeak out a little, "Uh, is anyone out there?"<br /><br />Silence and the city night answer.<br /><br />Louder now. Still nothing.<br /><br />I look down at the crack between the door and the floor.<br /><br /><i>Uhhhh. Screw it. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I lay on my back and inch my way through like a mechanic going underneath a low-rider. Halfway through, and, yep, you guessed it, give that man a prize!, all of a sudden I can't move and the wood is pushed into my abdomen like a knife. You know those movies where people get stuck in train tracks and you scream at the TV screen, "Just pull your foot out!" Well, now I know it's never that simple.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Stuck is stuck.<br /><br />Here I am in South Africa, half-stuck underneath a bathroom door, with only a t shirt and red boxers (don't ask) on.<br /><br /><b>This, friends, is my life.</b><br /><br />A man from the other dorm room finally walks by, and, while I think I'm good at words, nothing can describe how hard this man laughed as he helped unlock the door to pull me through.<br /><br />I can now officially scratch that one off my bucket list.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /> I finally get to sleep after three or four hours stuck in a toilet.<br /><br />The next morning I wake early and grab another bus heading to Bulawayo, the second largest city in Zimbabwe. I eat at the bus station and meet a new friend, a Pastor, named Godpray who invites me to visit "the real South Africa". I promise to meet up with him again when I return to Joberg to fly to Morocco.<br /><br />I board the bus, Intercape again. We stop just as much. At the Zimbabwe/South Africa border, I go through customs and declaration. They have no scanners, so we line all our backpacks and luggage in one large line outside the bus in order to have each one inspected. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's 4am.<br /><br />We get in another line for another check and everyone is complaining. Next thing I know, o</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">ne man has a guitar and begins singing. Soon, the entire 50 person line is in a beautiful chorus, the moon is hanging bright overhead, and donkeys are moving through us. It's a gorgeous moment and I have goosebumps. It's a moment I will never forget and I think I had tears in my eyes (read: I most certainly did). This is the first experience in Zimbabwe when I realize that the people here are simply wonderful, even if the system here may not be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />We get to the city and it's seven hours until my connecting bus to Victoria Falls. I expect to wait in the lobby of Intercape watching <i>Flight of the Concords</i> and reading <i>Lord of the Rings</i>. Instead, a friendly taxi driver, Simba, starts talking to me. He helps me find a supermarket, takes me to his apartment for conversation and a soda, takes me to art museum (where I befriended two amazing artists who I'll return to and chat more next week), and lets me store all my stuff at his place until my next bus arrives.<br /><br /><b><i><u>People are wonderful.</u></i></b><br /><br />I miss my bus and am standing in Intercape thinking, "Of course. Now what do I do?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A friendly girl named Paula offers her place for the night. Her mom says no. But her husband takes me on a walking tour of the town the whole rest of the next day, at no cost and simply because they wanted to show me their city.<br /><br />I find a $50 USD a night hotel next door and have no choice but to pay up (ugh). But I'm broke and scour the city (with all my bags on) for an ATM. An hour later and I still haven't found a working one. I try to drop by bars for directions but only get young, drunk kids flipping me off. Sweet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spend the night in the fanciest place I've been in for six months and sleep for 12 hours until the maid kicks me out at 10am so she can clean my room.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I find an internet cafe and this brings me to the current moment. Now I'm off to visit my new friends here!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />This is what traveling life is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Unexpected. Full of the most excellent of people. And never, ever boring.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cheers.</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-78124199636363315782015-02-24T09:25:00.002-08:002015-06-29T14:59:52.277-07:00Hi. My name is Sizwe.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I've been in South Africa for a lovely little spell now and I have yet to really write about it. In fact, I haven't written about anything since my last entry proclaiming that <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2015/02/a-life-on-fire.html">travel was my new <i>everything</i></a>. Without any further ado, here are 5 lessons I've learned in my short three weeks here.<br /><br /><b>#5 - I miss Southeast Asia</b><br /><br />Or, maybe that's not exactly correct. I miss the culture, for sure, but I'm feeling homesick for a world where I had the privilege and honor to become friends with the best people life has to offer. And I think it's good to miss something - a person or an experience or a place - because that means it/they really meant something to you. <u>It/they were worth missing</u>. And I miss my experiences there. I miss the people I met there. While I'm for certain I will see many of them again, the experience of us there is done and only for the memory books For that, I am sad, and I miss it, terribly so. But, I also miss the food stands and the chai sold on long train trips (though, not the ones at 3am in the morning), and the batshit crazy tuk-tuks, and the Buddhist culture. I miss it all at the same time that I feel so blessed to have experienced it all. I love you all, and I miss you.<br /><br /><b><br /></b></span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">#4 - Johannesburg is LIKE EVERY OTHER CITY</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />I'll be perfectly honest. I was scared shitless of this place. I swear that every person I have ever met, or will meet for that matter, has told me of the dangers of this city. Here, check out <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/world/1999/may/30/southafrica1">this article</a> and see if it doesn't terrify you. When I first got here, I was scared walking down the street in broad daylight, with every house that flanked me containing a concentration camp worth of barbed wire. One of the first nights, a group of us got too worried to even walk to a convenience store that was a mile away! So here's what I've learned since those first few days, as I've made Joberg my official South Africa hub. It is scary in some parts, like any city, but its also an absolute blast of epic proportions, like any city. Thanks to a load of people, I've been shown that this city is amazing and vibrant and bouncing with life. The last day I was there, for example, I was taken by a new friend, Brandon, all around town. We stumbled into Chinatown after a bar run, and ended up in the middle of an epic Chinese New Year, one without the American lawsuit tangles that allow you to be right underneath the firework display AND light your own fireworks. The city was bursting to the seams with people who weren't afraid. And suddenly, neither was I. We left and headed to a local bar down the street from our hostel. Our hostel (one of the guys that works there is a grandson Desmond Tutu, by the way, small world), you see, was on the very prestigious Fox Street, with armed guards and couples huddled close together and movies and art and, yes, lots of MONEY. One street down though, and you are in the literal hood - no guards, no working street lights, and tires rolling down the street for no good reason at all. So Brandon took me to see this local bar off the main scene and, dear God, was it fun. I was the only white person in a bar of over a hundred people and I was welcomed so incredibly well and from that moment on I fell in love with the city. If there's one thing I've learned time and time again is that you have to step out and experience the world outside of <i>Lonely Planet</i> (this bar is not even listed on TripAdvisor) and say yes to adventure. Of course, practice safety, and such, LIKE YOU WOULD IN ANY MAJOR CITY, but follow the path not usually taken.<br /><br />If you let go of the guidebooks and just go to a place, you'll meet people and go on an adventure that is unplanned and not full of preconceptions. I am a firm believer that you should go to a country without any preconceived idea what it will be like. Don't let anyone paint a picture of a country before you craft your own. That goes for this blog, too. I'll be writing a lot about Africa in the next couple months. But realize this, it's only through the eyes of a poor backpacker who attends far too many bars. It's all an opinion and don't let it change you. <br /><br />If you do this, let go of the fear, and go to form your own opinion, you'll see a world past the tourist spots and a city that lives and breathes past the media hyper machine. You'll see what you need to see when traveling: the very good, the very bad, the very tragic, and the absolutely gorgeous.<br /><br /><b>#3 - South Africa is (only to a point) a lot like the Europe of Africa</b><br /><br />I expected, in the most American ignorant way, that I was going to see lions and tigers and crazy things (sample sentence from a SA Rugby player I met: "Bet you thought you were going to lions and shit roaming the street."). I expected something ripped straight from <i>National Geographic</i>. You know what I found in Johannesburg and Capetown and Durban? First world country cities with some third world problems. The people here are trendy and smart and awesome and they are in the know about the latest technologies and trends. South Africa is not what you think. That being said, I did get a chance to go out to small little town next to Nqutu (this is said with a rolling click of your tongue where the 'q' is. Trust me, it's fun. Try it at your computer right this second!) and met an absolutely brilliant (I've picked up a lot of British terms traveling, thanks Ollie. I blame you.) Peace Corps volunteer named Mikayla, who is teaching English at a primary school for the next two years or so. This is out in the middle of nowhere, where you're afraid of snakes in the toilet (okay, maybe that was just me), where the nearest store is far away from town, and where you have to take a shower in a tub. It's a different life, that's for sure. But in all that it may lack in Western terms, it more than makes up for the vivid people and unbelievable hospitality. I have yet to tackle poverty on this blog, but I'm believing more and more that poverty has nothing to do with what you have or don't have (I have met both miserable and ecstatic people that have little more than a tarp and string for a house [Cambodia]), but society's ability to give you a chance to do "better". But that's a heady issue though, and I'll dive deeper into what that means later. Side note: that's hard to do here since there is currently an energy crisis in the country, and everyday the government does something call load shedding, meaning they cut power, sometimes to entire cities for 4 hours to days at a time. But I'm rambling. Know this: I've seen both the country and the city here, and both are beautiful and tragic in their own ways. Both should be experienced if you ever come to Africa.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh, and I was able to spend time with the best kids in the world. They were polite and caring and beautiful. By the way, my Zulu name is Sizwe, which means "nation".<br /><br /><b>#2 - Always, always, always take the train</b><br /><br />This is a lesson I learned back in India, but it has only been reinforced and hammered in here. You will meet the most interesting of people this way. For example, I took a train down here to Cape Town and here's a list of characters, very briefly, of who was in my cabin: <br /><br />-Myself, a writer and social worker, who always says "yes" (this is both an excellent and horrible trait of mine)<br /><br />-Martin, a very intelligent man who is about to publish his book about his own Darwin-conflicting idea of evolution. He speaks fluid English and Afrikaans and can rattle off just about anything about South African pre-colonial history. <br /><br />-Kenny, a South African man, also highly intelligent, who insists on buying people drinks and dinner and who can talk a man's ear off (and he does). His trigger to talk more: alcohol.<br /><br />-?, a man who arrived drunk and I already couldn't understand what he was saying to me and who had a whole backpack full of six-packs and who repeatably asked me about my Queen. He also hit on every lady with two legs.<br /><br />Can you see where this is going? 4 wildly different men, with a lot of free alcohol, and a small living space for the next 30 hours?<br /><br />It's almost like a punchline to a joke. But that's what trains do, they force you to talk with people in Harry Potter-like cabins. It' great and essential and beats buses and airplanes every day. No cramped spaces, just good conversation and cultural exchanges. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><b>#1 - The purpose of this blog</b><br /><br />Martin asked me an interesting question while on my train trip: who is the audience I'm writing for in this blog of mine? Essentially, what's the point?<br /><br />Good question. Hell, a great question that I've tried to answer many a times (if you're bored, here is the <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/10/so-why-are-you-here-part-ii.html">link </a>to me trying to answer this question in the first few months of my travel).<br /><br />Another thing happened to me that relates directly to this question. While at the school mentioned above, on the last day, I took out my laptop and showed all the kids pictures of places I've traveled. They were, and I put this ever so lightly, enthralled. They wanted to go to all these places with a fierce passion. All of sudden, as they shared their journal entry in front of the class about the place they most wanted to go, I felt deeply ashamed that I was traveling FOR FREE and these kids would have to work their asses off in order to do the same - the fight the lottery of life that was oftentimes much too unfair. In fact, realistically, many would never get even the inkling of a chance to do the same. This saddens me to no end.<br /><br />So, I have to think about what I'm doing. Because I'm not just traveling. At least, that's what I don't want it to be, travel for travel sake. I feel like I'm doing something here. I don't know what it is, but I hope it's something warm and good and just. I like to think that if I could answer Martin's question it would be this: I'm writing this blog for the people who can't travel, for whatever reason, and for the people I want to push to travel like this. I want people to see what I'm seeing. I want people to get away from tourist packages and see the world with complete abandon. I named this blog for a purpose. <b>To live a life you must live it unfiltered</b>. So, for the time being, I'm writing this blog (very infrequently and I promise I'll do better!) to inspire and to inform. To tell people about the world and to get people excited about LIVING. I want these pictures and entries to inspire others to travel - to skip that vacation to the Bahamas and to strap on that used backpack and <u>experience the world so that the world can in turn experience them.</u><br /><br />One day, and that day will come soon, I'll come back to these places and really help out, either directly or indirectly. I'll do something much more concrete than just visiting and making friends. I absolutely, pinky promise. My life, like I've mentioned, will mean something. This travel is just the tip (that's what she said). I'm feeling the water of the world before I submerge in it (which, by the way, being underwater is my largest fear).<br /><br />Last tiny, little story: a student that was helping me hail a taxi back to town told me this, in a whisper, when I was in conversation with her about her wish to visit the bright lights of New York City: </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i>"I wish I was white."</i></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />That sentence broke my heart.<br /><br />This is what it makes me want to do: I want them to know that it's possible to travel and see the world. Maybe not now, and maybe not, realistically, even for their generation. But it will happen. And, promise to God, I will have a hand in making those dreams come true. I have big dreams and I think this blog is just the beginning. We'll see (And Mikayla and Michelle, if you're reading this, thank you million times over for getting me there. Being there was life-changing. Those learners have a piece of my heart).<br /><br />Just like Southeast Asia did, Africa is changing me. One experience at a time.<br /><br />Long story short. Save your money. And come and experience this. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I promise you can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My next entry will be tips about how to travel cheap and see the underbelly of the world.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Glad you're with me on this trip.</span></div>
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Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-36271405020244537072015-02-01T04:32:00.001-08:002015-06-29T14:59:08.003-07:00A life on fire<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My life was on fire. Bright and surreal and imminent.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That's exactly what it was - life was <i><b>now </b></i>- while I stood on a shifty Bangkok pier wondering how wild all this was. Flanked by over-lighted temples and pagodas and high risers kissing the dim clouds. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A life on fire, I thought, and I liked the thought of that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Currently: my time in Southeast Asia is fading and dimming.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A week or so more and I'll be gone. To a whole new continent with new foods, new people, new experiences. New everything.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The old - the now I'm in this second - will be just that, old.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Time is a strange thing, you know? Present and future and past collide in the most peculiar of ways.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a mix of emotions right now as I move forward to Africa.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But one emotion is stronger than the others, infinitely more ruthless and more precise in its intensity.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/10/an-awakening.html">I've mentioned this before</a>, but at that time I was a little drunk and writing like a madman without a plan. The last week I've been very anxious because this post, and the words it contains, has been boiling in my head - making me feel like it was those scrambled eggs in those stupid DARE commercials - waiting to be released (that's what she said?). I've talked with my family about it, briefly, but nowhere near as long as with all my new travelling friends from across the sea.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Asia has changed me, along with the locals and fellow travelers. I think this whole blog is a testament to that, so I won't ramble on again about that.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On a boat a few days ago, I was asked if I was nervous. Not that nervousness that precedes telling a girl you like them or at that single moment before you cross a busy Indian street in Mumbai during midday traffic. No, he meant that I probably had a persistent nervousness that has followed me along this journey like a cancer, that has maybe trailing me even longer than that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I laughed when he said this, but then I felt it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Had I really been ignoring it all this time? I was a madman. I was without a plan. And I was indeed nervous. My friend elaborated, knowing I'm a man of goals, both extravagant and tiny, and I'm nervous right now because I'm indeed goalless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm wandering without a main goal. Except for one.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which is simple and complex all at once: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have to keep my life on fire.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't go back to my life when it wasn't this way. I can't go back home and get stuck in an office cubical staring at that poster of a cat hanging off that wire. Not after who I've met, what I've seen (both great and horrible), and what is out in the unknown still left to find and experience. This fellowship is that double-edged sword cliche. I'm thankful - more thankful than anything I can ever describe with words - but at the same time, I hate the fellowship for doing this to me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For giving me this opportunity, this incredible taste of life, and then letting time snatch it back after these 8ish months. And then, just like that - a snap of the fingers, really - and I'll be back home, feeling trapped. <i>You ever feel an emotion before you <u>know</u> you're supposed to have it?</i> Like knowing you're going to love a person before you actually love them. Sorry if that doesn't makes no sense, but that's what it is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>So I've made a plan</b>. Sort of. Kind of. Not really.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm coming home after this journey, that's a given, because I miss my family and friends something fierce. There are times traveling where the homesick hits my heart like a brick and I need more than anything to be at <i>The Swiss</i> again, laughing and getting rowdy with people whose presence, love, and own hearts, make me feel so incredibly and completely whole.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And my family - my crazy, odd, family - that I miss more than anything in life. There is no one like them in the world and I love them with every single atom that I am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But with all that said, the fact of the matter is simple: I need to go back to Tacoma, stay for a little while, and then, you guessed it, <i>I must leave again</i> (and of course come back home as often as I can).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is pompous of me to say and downright makes me feel instantly full-of-myself, but I'll just say it: I deserve to do good things around the world. In an even more insane, narcissistic way, I believe my purpose in this life (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Viktor_Frankl">Viktor Frankl</a> believed his purpose in life was to help others find their purpose) is going out into the world and making it better.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm good at being self-loathing and can rattle off a list, longer than a Thanksgiving shopping list for a large Amish family, of things I don't like about myself or am horrible at, <i>but I certainly know what I'm good at.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It has taken me a long time to embrace it, to really own it, and be proud of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I believe I have one shining talent, the kind you scribble onto resumes as the being in the top %1: <b>I'm good with people.</b> Hell, maybe even extraordinary. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think I can change people. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think I brighten people's lives. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think I can make the world a better place one person at a time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I bring hope and a sick, almost delusional amount of optimism wherever I go.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sometimes, I feel like this crazy cat lady. Except replace cats with people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I need to shine that light. My fire needs to be shared. Like any talent or skill or trade, you have to exercise it. So I must mold it like fresh, clean clay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I will go out into the world and do just that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To where and to do what? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't know and that's, to be honest, the single most scary fucking thing I can think of - to know what you're supposed to do but be held back by fear of failure and cost, both financial and emotionally.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I know, all of this is absolute CRAZY TALK. I'm an asshole to think that I have the right to demand anything, really, from life after receiving the <i>privilege </i>to attend nine years of higher education and riding a free trip around the world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The logical thing - the respectful thing - would be to payback what I've been given: go home, grab that 9 to 5 job, and somehow try to eek by paying off that $105,00 USD loan that hovers over me and threatens to drown me daily (this actually may scare me more than anything).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But what I've realized is that I can earn money anywhere in the world, so why not keep traveling and do that?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I will. But I can't ignore my talent and I need to find a job out there that fits it. There's plenty of NGOs doing good humanitarian work the world over. There are jobs that teach English in poor countries. There are bartending jobs out there where I could change lives simply by listening to those in the bars who have no one who <i>actually </i>listens to. There are ways to help those in need working with colleges in remote cities. Etc., and so forth.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whatever it may be, I need to calm this nervousness. I need to start planning.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Maybe I'll even convince some friends back home to come with me (looking at you, fellow social workers and artists and the rest of you lovely, talented people), but if not, that's okay. Another thing I probably don't deserve: the best, most loyal friends around the world (I would even venture to call them family). An added bonus that MasterCard would call priceless: they endlessly believe in me, who I am, and strengthen me when I don't believe in myself. I think my friends/family wouldn't forgive me if I didn't do this. If I did come home and stay put, do that American Dream, they'd be just as angry about it as I was.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That life, for now, just isn't for me. I once had someone at Pepsi tell me I was "too bright a bird for a cage" and what I need to do is finally take that to heart and accept the compliment. I've always been bad at that. Terrible even.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And more than just accept it, I need to own up to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To prove that I am just that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've fallen in love with these countries and it hurts me to see injustice and poverty and all the things that keep me up at night - all the things I don't post pictures on Facebook of.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can make a difference here. Anywhere and everywhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I'd be a fool to waste that God-given gift.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My life is on fire and I can't let it go out.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Most of all, by deciding this, I think I can help ignite others, make their lives burn with uncontrollable beauty and hope.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Actually, I know I can.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I will.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, I'm a madman with a shaky, undefined plan and debt up to my ears and back down to my toes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I should do the smart thing. I should.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I simply can't. I won't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">If friends and family and everyone in between already believe in me, in my talents, and my ability to do something really important and big in the world, well then, </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">so can I.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And it's about time I own up to that, too.</span></div>
Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-85122331415834193412015-01-28T23:39:00.004-08:002016-07-02T22:16:59.642-07:00All the cool kids read.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Updated: July 2016</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I love books.<br />Like, in a creepy, obsessive sort of way.<br />Like, I'd kill a man in order to raise Ray Bradbury from the dead to write another book.<br />Like, I'd sell a kidney for the 3rd Passage book to be out already (edit - it came out and it was just as fantastic as I thought it would be).<br />Like, yeah, you get it.<br />It's a serious problem.<br /><br />Here are some of the books I've had in bag throughout my travels. If you're looking for something worthwhile, give one of them a shot.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/First-They-Killed-Father-Remembers/dp/0060856262/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422250879&sr=8-1&keywords=first+they+killed+my+father"><b>First They Killed My Father</b></a><br />Loung Ung</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYilG50QJsNzlpzFKiV09nPPKvTyZm3pNwpM3S1C1yMuCgXz15YQzrlT4GhOnNc7APFyFdCXwuV5cG4eh0dDBiOUSpKEqDvWyb6_NQPw2QOJbx8-Wfs6bXBJhcvRlM22MmSSIQsBcEP5y2/s1600/download+(4).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYilG50QJsNzlpzFKiV09nPPKvTyZm3pNwpM3S1C1yMuCgXz15YQzrlT4GhOnNc7APFyFdCXwuV5cG4eh0dDBiOUSpKEqDvWyb6_NQPw2QOJbx8-Wfs6bXBJhcvRlM22MmSSIQsBcEP5y2/s1600/download+(4).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" width="132" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYilG50QJsNzlpzFKiV09nPPKvTyZm3pNwpM3S1C1yMuCgXz15YQzrlT4GhOnNc7APFyFdCXwuV5cG4eh0dDBiOUSpKEqDvWyb6_NQPw2QOJbx8-Wfs6bXBJhcvRlM22MmSSIQsBcEP5y2/s1600/download+(4).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*"></a>My heart goes out to Cambodia. You know how when you listen to a band and that first album you listen of theirs is always your favorite and forms the bar that you grade everything that comes after it? So, Cambodia is like that for me, being my first country I solo visited. It changed me. The people changed me. And the history changed me - history that is chilling. I remember when this book came out and the title always felt like it punched my heart and soul every time I saw it on the shelf. It was simple and powerful and unlike any title I'd ever seen. The book is just as good as the title. It deserves to be read. It's rough though, I won't lie. Told through a child's eyes, the genocide that happened here is told in a way that is unlike anything I've ever read. But not enough people know about this genocide (I wrote about <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/09/one-by-one-by-one.html">this before</a>) and the more people that know about what happened here the better. I did my thesis on resilience, and this author shows that as bad as life gets - as horrible and as shitty as human beings can be - the human spirit is stronger. It can survive through the absolute worst situations, even though the scars never really fade away.<br /><br /> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Beach-Alex-Garland/dp/1573226521/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1422250746&sr=8-2&keywords=the+beach"><b>The Beach</b></a><br />Alex Garland</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_t0pOSNUqV-RvD7bZZTgMJd-5Tz8XvcMnSKLGEG0R2NsOaXsIUlYnpNhmPcd3oU5iM68yJ0DVuKRLiePy0RFof-Vi8Q_NG8MUauyHWiLTKjnf1l9XJNSEzdGnUvh04UGOd7NHoLbemXw/s1600/download.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip_t0pOSNUqV-RvD7bZZTgMJd-5Tz8XvcMnSKLGEG0R2NsOaXsIUlYnpNhmPcd3oU5iM68yJ0DVuKRLiePy0RFof-Vi8Q_NG8MUauyHWiLTKjnf1l9XJNSEzdGnUvh04UGOd7NHoLbemXw/s1600/download.jpg" width="124" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">First off, don't watch the movie. Besides Leo's performance, the entire film is garbage (that love scene in the water with the glowing plankton? Ughhhhhhhhhhh). And the book does an excellent job portraying a descent into madness and the eternal search for "something new" and exciting. After India and Burma and Sri Lanka though, this book has taken on a new meaning for me. Thailand, and many, many other countries embrace tourism to an extent that forever changes their culture. I've mentioned before that tourism can feel like that Walmart that smashes into a small town. The busyness of lights and sounds and people is great, but it can get to be too much. We naturally seem to want peace and a place of our own. What I love is that the book isn't just about the search - the character does find paradise - but the dangers and downsides of dreams coming true. <u>Dreams have consequences</u>. This is <i>Lord of the Flies</i> on drugs and I love it. The ending is very different than the movie and it's shocking and worth the price of admission alone. It has more cannibalism than the movie, too, so that's always a plus.<br /><br /> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Spite-Gods-Rise-Modern-India/dp/1400079772/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422250911&sr=8-1&keywords=gods+india"><b>In Spite of the Gods: The Rise of Modern India</b></a><br />Edward Luce</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hu4z8ojCdu6Hxvap8h51qqv0vR4SWbYIIUBGokmi7M5Ihu-gBt4upd7M3aNbMDYkhdniyaBwOysSjiWVy6zQMhefx_QTkz6ycrcnXKLCvqSnfZTnJVM3CWIHW6rshxKRlz7nMJp_i6CZ/s1600/download+(3).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7hu4z8ojCdu6Hxvap8h51qqv0vR4SWbYIIUBGokmi7M5Ihu-gBt4upd7M3aNbMDYkhdniyaBwOysSjiWVy6zQMhefx_QTkz6ycrcnXKLCvqSnfZTnJVM3CWIHW6rshxKRlz7nMJp_i6CZ/s1600/download+(3).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">India, as mentioned, is madness. Its economy has been climbing and there are a ton of reasons for this. And although this is fantastic news, there are problems that are either growing or staying stagnant, such as literacy rate and poverty. This book tries to tackle the massive problems and successes of an entire subcontinent. India is huge, and each state is like a new country, so it's a huge undertaking. It's a fascinating read.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fair warning, it's heavy stuff, so you might love it or it might end up being a better alternative to those Vicodins to fall asleep at night with. India is complicated and so is this book. Try to find the newly edited one.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4izWynmh1JFM6uA-RjBrBBnie_x0XKDRvyvr3EbGyiy6cVBhT2HzpH9DaOdDW2Mwz-SJ4f3zFxSrIPmA_xVD92pwENLmLE4wfjDXKNEVBlyvQ0SgjC-IOhyphenhyphenM9dkytmP_7VoAHH9OV6q6/s1600/download+(5).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4izWynmh1JFM6uA-RjBrBBnie_x0XKDRvyvr3EbGyiy6cVBhT2HzpH9DaOdDW2Mwz-SJ4f3zFxSrIPmA_xVD92pwENLmLE4wfjDXKNEVBlyvQ0SgjC-IOhyphenhyphenM9dkytmP_7VoAHH9OV6q6/s1600/download+(5).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" style="cursor: move;" width="129" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Plague-Albert-Camus/dp/0679720219/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422250854&sr=8-1&keywords=the+plague"><b>The Plague</b></a><br />Albert Camus</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Love me some existentialism (although, Camus hated this term) and needed to re-read this after finding it a random hostel. This classic book is about a small town that gets a case of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bubonic_plague">Bubonic plague</a>, is quarantined, and its citizens must accept the fact that they most likely will all die in the worst, most painful way. Think about that for a moment. What would you do in that situation? Would you give up? Would you fight against the inevitable? Would you change your beliefs when witnessing and e</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">xperiencing the worst of the worst? Or would you thrive on the struggle? Each character, vastly different, from the atheist to the pastor, fight death in their own way. It's not a book for everyone, but it is a book about everyone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Passage-Novel-Book-One-Trilogy/dp/0345528174/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422250826&sr=8-1&keywords=the+passage"><b>The Passage</b></a><br />Justin Cronin<br /><br />Dear God, I love this book. I've read it twice now and it's getting better with each word. Brian, if you're reading this, thanks for getting me and everyone else at Borders hooked on this. It's magical writing and that rare book where I get so wrapped up in the characters that it destroys me, in real life, when something bad happens to them. Yes, it's about vampires, but it's not what you're thinking. Pinky promise. I've heard the term "popcorn fiction" but that's stupid and untrue. Not only does it pull at the heart strings, but it's as intelligent as most of the philosophy books I read. I think the book best portrays the concept of love and what it really means to love someone like a father, like a brother, and like a lover. <u>And what it means to fight for that love, even in the most hopeless of situations.</u></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfVYPq9I_QLPE9txKVQZ_-GavtdNO8lxx0nnndCYC67t2KE50ubXe2rAdRKOtGkrYXMO3sYfizlGDkyDFRN6kZH6vx9VBOQj3V1SWDybH6wJRpE9IGeTcivzhwiprcVsUIe9NVHjwwlts/s1600/download+(1).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvfVYPq9I_QLPE9txKVQZ_-GavtdNO8lxx0nnndCYC67t2KE50ubXe2rAdRKOtGkrYXMO3sYfizlGDkyDFRN6kZH6vx9VBOQj3V1SWDybH6wJRpE9IGeTcivzhwiprcVsUIe9NVHjwwlts/s1600/download+(1).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" width="130" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Finding-George-Orwell-Burma-Larkin/dp/0143037110/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1422250797&sr=8-1&keywords=finding+george+orwell+in+burma"><b>Finding George Orwell in Burma</b></a><br />Emma Larkin</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Burma has the nicest people in the world. There, I said it. And I stick by that like it's a scientific fact. <br /><br /> But behind the smiles is a lot of pain from a government that is ripped straight out of <i>1984</i>. In fact, George Orwell used Burma as inspiration for that novel (which, for years, was banned) and <i>Animal Farm</i>. This is a beautiful book and really well written. Although I had read Orwell's books in school, I had no idea about his military past and the stories behind the ideas. I was always taught that his books were about Stalin, but that's not true at all (though, I see where the parallels are). It's a good dive into Burma history while exploring the tragic ramifications of a sneaky government built on power and control.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbF0VvXyTJDUM_MlvnPsUx0RlQ5Tdgy_7pLtG8ZNOXNu-S8LNeCRBnhse47JssHjPMRCiJTtpvLdHvZudVR0324j21fkWcjL3TSrqFVhLrYeC5cJG11foIMnlNE_cQVxV1KKEUBz6MHR3/s1600/41I%252BnwlFGXL._AC_US160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTbF0VvXyTJDUM_MlvnPsUx0RlQ5Tdgy_7pLtG8ZNOXNu-S8LNeCRBnhse47JssHjPMRCiJTtpvLdHvZudVR0324j21fkWcjL3TSrqFVhLrYeC5cJG11foIMnlNE_cQVxV1KKEUBz6MHR3/s1600/41I%252BnwlFGXL._AC_US160_.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "verdana";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana";"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/S-J-Abrams/dp/0316201642/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1467293113&sr=8-1&keywords=s+book"><b>S.</b></a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana";">Doug Dorst/J.J. Abrams</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfyYJ6WmXBKI9JlGNrk90aVys67LqZ0fUlE36utQdLjA5vaSIxX4587hmEUXdccki9wALWvkN2Y1Ckjg9Or45HCr8E_LAxxfGg5CEXPY7Y6vRizjMbLStZxkilcbOMXV_jJbBLSQtuxBfE/s1600/51naG-FeFpL._AC_US160_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "verdana";">I cannot believe I haven't mentioned this book. I got this book the first time I came to Thailand, and it's a massive, tome of a book that has interactive parts that require a whole table to use while reading it (maps and pictures and napkins and the list goes on). This book floored me. When I first nabbed it from a Thai bookstore, instead of experiencing the new world around me, I stayed at my hostel reading for hours and hours (much to the confusion of the staff). It took me a few months to get through it and took up a 1/4 of my bag. Room in a backpacker's bag is sacred, so I hope that tells you something. This is such a hard book to describe. It's a book written like an old, classic novel like <i>Treasure Island </i>mixed with juicy pulp mystery. But, there is another story written in the margins of the book about two college students who write back and forth to each other and slowly unravel a mystery and, uh, may or may not fall in love. In fact, this book is a romance at the heart, and it truly is one of the most special books I have ever had the privilege to read. It's a long, intensive read though so expect to have to dedicate time to it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"><b>Currently Reading:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana";"><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></span><span style="font-family: "verdana";"><b><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Wind-Carlos-Ruiz-Zaf%C3%B3n/dp/0143034901/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1467293650&sr=8-1&keywords=shadow+of+the+wind">Shadows of the Wind</a></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Carlos Ruiz Zafon<br /><br />I'm a 1/3 of the way through the book and have already underlined over a </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">hundred different sentences that have knocked the wind from me</span><span style="font-family: "verdana";">. It's like one giant love-letter to the beauty and power of words (and to Barcelona). It reminds of when I first reading Les Miserables, and I - still to this day - don't know how Hugo was able to put words in such an order that made sentences and paragraphs works of art. Zafon crafts sentences that melt into you. I've also never cried and laughed so much in a book in recent memory. One of my old bosses at Borders, Marie, said it was the only book she ever re-read. I can't believe it has taken me this long to dive in. Unbelievable writing here. I don't even have to finish it to suggest with head-over-heels admiration. </span>
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-->Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-45074517123263928012015-01-25T02:15:00.000-08:002015-06-29T14:57:33.681-07:00A simple story in Burma.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">Reading back on some of these entries I've made, I can't help but feel like Doogie Howser M.D., where at the end of every single episode, he typed out the tried-and-true lessons he learned during the day. Typing this blog sometimes </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">gets a bit preachy and, oh man, I </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">hate </i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: left;">preachy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZZ5LUY4YCgCblUodvIB9O4k406sozPEZpCDhdk2CYtLe0DjZPzBZEg1_gMJJE2jnUOB8-3Vzn14tkd0z_RWWCGk-ZP34vtRQ6-ukOhZges_ib2_LMJQ45Ejn0jJE7pNi4LphXIUFe5lr/s1600/14012015-IMG_5300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZZ5LUY4YCgCblUodvIB9O4k406sozPEZpCDhdk2CYtLe0DjZPzBZEg1_gMJJE2jnUOB8-3Vzn14tkd0z_RWWCGk-ZP34vtRQ6-ukOhZges_ib2_LMJQ45Ejn0jJE7pNi4LphXIUFe5lr/s1600/14012015-IMG_5300.jpg" width="320" /></a>So, instead of writing some entry about how life-changing this journey is and has been, or about the importance of chasing human relationships (recently, while Skyping with my sister, she asked: "So, you meet any girls yet?" which I responded with, "Uhm...well..." and she concluded with "I knew it. Probably like 3 or 4."), or the issue of poverty (yes, I still need to gather the words to write about that - read <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Finding-George-Orwell-Burma-Larkin/dp/0143037110/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1421837731&sr=8-1&keywords=finding+george+orwell+in+burma">Finding George Orwell in Burma</a>, it's a great report on the sadness behind the smiles here and the punishing government that works behind the tourism veil), I think I'll just write about a plain event and post some pictures. Everyone likes pictures! I'll let you be the judge of the significance. If there even is one. (Read: there always is). <b>Pictured above is how excited kids at a local school got when I took their pictures and showed them back to them.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrC8XGcn3MTwhw_NxVrZk9mWCo_m_VHACxbDXCqLLFbvqQFe7tTZcVFOqbIrdfh9DwNwQPVFs3Yzg_WPyJwKxGT3AMIE7GJmur2uAKG4q_M2Qt4WZq3Cn-Z8Xb7hwL52hoQcnIRZTZb-x/s1600/20150109_074754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrC8XGcn3MTwhw_NxVrZk9mWCo_m_VHACxbDXCqLLFbvqQFe7tTZcVFOqbIrdfh9DwNwQPVFs3Yzg_WPyJwKxGT3AMIE7GJmur2uAKG4q_M2Qt4WZq3Cn-Z8Xb7hwL52hoQcnIRZTZb-x/s1600/20150109_074754.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrC8XGcn3MTwhw_NxVrZk9mWCo_m_VHACxbDXCqLLFbvqQFe7tTZcVFOqbIrdfh9DwNwQPVFs3Yzg_WPyJwKxGT3AMIE7GJmur2uAKG4q_M2Qt4WZq3Cn-Z8Xb7hwL52hoQcnIRZTZb-x/s1600/20150109_074754.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcf2oNPQNjgCj5GLrO_TNO_msyAPAO2QTYY6L_Or0X9CEbKZRDmGcZBQOD8Jh1k2hIWbvqHzEJhCCg6-KYnLZQnlpnECy6zXgs58eRZHTpXFkLIn0cQG2vWdInFQ6tZt5Il-F-OngTLI9/s1600/20150108_202433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkcf2oNPQNjgCj5GLrO_TNO_msyAPAO2QTYY6L_Or0X9CEbKZRDmGcZBQOD8Jh1k2hIWbvqHzEJhCCg6-KYnLZQnlpnECy6zXgs58eRZHTpXFkLIn0cQG2vWdInFQ6tZt5Il-F-OngTLI9/s1600/20150108_202433.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, some backstory. I met two new friends, Julie and Frank, and we traveled together for a while. We met in Yagon, bused it to Bagan, and then traveled to Mandalay via <b>sleeping on the floor of a local transport boat for two days</b>. We saw a lot of the country side and, aside for a somewhat quiet french couple, we were the only other foreigners on board. <b>We taught the locals how to play Uno</b>. One woman, cackled every time I lost against her, and nicknamed me "Click, Click" (pronounced like cleek, cleek). I think it had to do with taking pictures of the game, but the language barrier is rough here, so I have no idea. It was a blast and they were surprisingly awesome at it (fellow travelers, always carry Uno with you!). And yes, we slept on the floor, and yes, there were a million and a half moths, and yes, it was uncomfortable and <u>unforgettable</u>.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We toured Mandalay, met more amazing people, saw some sunsets and temples, played cards, and had some good beer. We also saw pagodas, no surprise. By the end, I was so templed out, it's hard to describe in words.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Frank went south and Julie and I went to Kalaw via bus (yes, the buses here are an adventure as well, the strange music videos go on sometimes until 12 in the morning), a bitter cold town with a population of about 10,000. It had a market and, well, that's about it. We booked a three-day hike to Inlay Lake and set out for the trek the next day. We were joined by two Spaniards, Carol and Alberto (hope to see you two in Spain!). Like everyone I've met, they're legit, and it's been a pleasure to be able to travel with them.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>We set out hiking with our local guide, Nanbo, and took a ridiculous amount of cheesy pictures.</b></span></div>
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</span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKNvM_kXle8RS5BPU6uydiweGypgm_8nwDYCjSdFWog1QfGbnq7eBMqfWCj1O6_u9W0gleoLghgP9C_lZsVfsjYTWaW9-MqC1Ts-8b6IAXA8yNdNWQ4oNUsSjoLjY5PuFjyMIKV8MgjKP/s1600/14012015-IMG_5337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMKNvM_kXle8RS5BPU6uydiweGypgm_8nwDYCjSdFWog1QfGbnq7eBMqfWCj1O6_u9W0gleoLghgP9C_lZsVfsjYTWaW9-MqC1Ts-8b6IAXA8yNdNWQ4oNUsSjoLjY5PuFjyMIKV8MgjKP/s1600/14012015-IMG_5337.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We ate lunch at a couple's house, in a tiny village, who were the nicest people I've ever met. The old man had dance moves like you wouldn't believe.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITfE9K4k8QquCmICSHTptAyz1lhPUJYICCUvMsHfuwuhUofHyRet_bz_8z6nKMZTQUcq2eCMO9QFN4MKAdpYwxmKA7mJNetevPQ7t1N5vqYyaexrpRt3IGPxAog2RqiqzJqlBjb91Ikdj/s1600/10922783_4971810390008_8982342694194943780_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjITfE9K4k8QquCmICSHTptAyz1lhPUJYICCUvMsHfuwuhUofHyRet_bz_8z6nKMZTQUcq2eCMO9QFN4MKAdpYwxmKA7mJNetevPQ7t1N5vqYyaexrpRt3IGPxAog2RqiqzJqlBjb91Ikdj/s1600/10922783_4971810390008_8982342694194943780_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That night, we slept at Nanbo's parent's house. It was a simple house with simple means.<b> The woman next door</b>, fed us tea, was shocked I was single, and said I'd be married when I was 30. She then offered to have my family move to her village.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I gladly accepted. Though the more I thought about it, I'm pretty sure she may or may not have been hitting on me, Burmese style. I've never been very good at detecting those kind of things. But, you know, what? I was cool with it. I learned in India to just go with these things.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I tired beattlenut, the chewing tobacco that stained everyone's teeth red. It was delicious.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We slept on the floor and it was cold (these villages don't have electricity, save for whatever they can pull from their car battery in the their living rooms). But I was surrounded by good people and everything was perfect.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We set out for day two. Great views and good people found on the sidelines.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The second village was much more touristy and we went to a festival there. But it was just two bands playing in the dark and a lot of people drinking whiskey (which is a about 1 USD a bottle here...danger, Will Robinson!). We were all tired and had to wake up early, so no party for us.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9CamguNpJGCDrsvDlgluD7uiiuBv7qgdYBixK4NkgSO4ox8rq4owiXO3dYTQzBu6cMM3JrT97R9uNd92hpzTMhHcRPMiGSs6RDapWyUH6Dyy1apMVjlfnjapDMpWZPSyCE1uoTSNHoV_/s1600/15012015-IMG_5393.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL9CamguNpJGCDrsvDlgluD7uiiuBv7qgdYBixK4NkgSO4ox8rq4owiXO3dYTQzBu6cMM3JrT97R9uNd92hpzTMhHcRPMiGSs6RDapWyUH6Dyy1apMVjlfnjapDMpWZPSyCE1uoTSNHoV_/s1600/15012015-IMG_5393.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Third day. We hiked some more, got to Inlay Lake. </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And took a one-hour boat ride</b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My feet were destroyed from hiking with 10,000 Kyat (about $10 USD) shoes I found in a store after Frank and I's shoes got stolen a week prior.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Overall, a beautiful experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then I went to a beach, had late-night conversations with one of the most fascinating people I've ever met (looking at you Nayara!), and took a banana boat along a Burmese coast. But those are all stories for another time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So there you have it. A single entry without any philosophy or deep thoughts in the way.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Enjoy it while it lasts because my next post will get back to the usual.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">See you when I see you.</span><br />
<div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Mingalar Bar (hello)!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I had been in Myanmar for a few days (also called Burma, but for a lot of complex political reasons that I’ll dive into at a later point, I'm sure, I’ll just refer to its current name for now). I was in Yangon (also called something different. Yeah, it can get complicated) and needed a haircut and my beard trimmed. I woke up late due to partying with some random, Myanmar family on a lake for New Years. That's a story in itself. But, I digress. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So I went out to the street to look for the nearest barber.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yangon, the fomer capital of Myanmar, is wild, just like most other Southeast Asia countries. The honks are still there, the loud, sometimes obnoxious streets full of madness are still there, and the street vendors with cheap ware and a bargaining mindset are certainly still there. What is extremely different, and this is a little hard to explain, is the <em>feel</em> of the country. It really is like taking a Dolorian and time traveling to the past. It really does feel like Thailand, but catipulted 50 years back. Every couple steps I get greeted with a warm hello, sometimes hidden behind a light peach colored sunscreen that comes from tree bark. A couple steps more and I get bombared by a million temples (and no, that number is a realistic figure. In Bagan, it's mindblowing how many there are. This post is pictureless though, because Wifi is little to nonexistant and only really works, somewhat, at certain 5-10 minute windows throughout the day). The next couple steps brings me to a carnival where I ride rides, like a Ferris wheel, powered simply by monkey-like teenagers, not an engine to be found.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But if you didn’t guess it already, this is a story about people, not the temples or the sights. Like usual. Temples and visuals are dandy, but you can Google the pictures and wikipedia the rest if you want. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You can't Google the people. Well, except for Kevin Bacon. He knows everyone. <a href="http://oracleofbacon.org/">Do you know your Bacon number?</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wandered around for about an hour and found absolutely nothing. My sense of direction borders and skirts the line between the horrible and the adventurous, let alone in a new city that has zero tuk-tuk drivers. So I went to a nearby park to do some reading in some shade (and in case you’re wondering, I’m re-reading <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Passage-Novel-Book-Trilogy/dp/0345528174">The Passage</a>. And my God, it’s just as good the second time around. I know I say this about everything, but honestly it's one of the best books you'll ever read. Last night, I got through the tragic halfway point [fellow fans, you know that part I mean] and got pretty worked up and thanked God my two new friends I shared the room with, Julie from Belgium and Frank from Holland, with were dead asleep). I only got a few pages in before a nice fellow invited me over to his shaded concrete spot under a large bush. It was a blazing hot day, hitting 34 degrees (93.2 F), with the next few days forcased around 38 (100.4 F).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I learned about how this tiny man, teeth stained in red from a street tobacco, was an interior decorater and just started to take English classes a few months prior. He was fasinated by me and I was intrigued by him. The perfect mix for a good cigar and coffee conversation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, I'm not going to come out and simply say these are the nicest people I have ever encountered, because they say that's a cheap way to write. I'll show it instead. Like a legit writer does.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He offered me a cigar wrapped in some kind of leaf, and, of course, coffee. He even went out and got some coffee from a nearby vendor and came back. We had a fine Myanmar cigar and bitter coffee and it was wonderful. I asked him where a barber shop was in walking distance. He smiled and told me to follow him.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ten minutes later we're in a back alley barber shop, all locals. If this were any other country, my irrational fear of getting my throat slit from a beard trim would have surfaced (I watched way too many <em>Godfather</em> films as a kid. I know what's up and the easiest way to take out a Don). My new friend, whose name I won't even try to spell here, grabbed a newspaper and waited and smiled. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Always with the smiles.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Sidenote. I love barbers. I love going to one in each new place I visit. Back home, growing up, I used to go to one of those chain, we-dont-give-a-shit-about-your-hair, establishments for years. Then, I got my haircut by a man I befriended from one of these chains and he did a great job for years. We became good friends, I even helped him move to Spokane. That was four years ago. The last time I talked to him, he called me up late one night, drunk, crying, and telling me that he wished his son had been me. I haven't seen or heard from him since. As they say in the <em>Neverending Story</em> book, that's another story for another time.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I started going to this very Repulican barber in Tacoma. We have a great repotorie, me the bleeding heart social worker, him the Fox News diehard who still peppers his sentences with semi-racial remarks. It makes for great conversation and I love it, even if we completely disagree on everything in life. <br />After every trim, he does this electronic back massage thing and puts this cool lotion on your neck that makes the world feel alright and good and gorgeous for a few blissful seconds.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's the little touches that make barbers wonderful. In India, they gave weird head massages, one popping my ears so hard I yelled "shit!" as I convulsed in my seat. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Barbers care about their job. It's their trade and they work on it as hard as they can.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This man trimmed by head and face like it meant the entire world. For readers who have or have ever had a beard, you know those little tiny stray hairs that poke out and settle on your lips, or worse, get in your mouth? I hate those. With an extreme passion. This man trimmed each hair with heart. So much precision, so much care. Clip, pause, inspect, clip, pause, inspect.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then it was done. My friend who had brought me, put down his paper, smiled a gigantic smile and gave me a big universal thumbs up of approval.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We hit up a small outside food vendor and I ate parts of a chicken I didn't think ever, ever existed (since when did chickens have tubes?!?).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then, we parted ways. Simple as that. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">No trying to sell me anything. No trying to get me to go to a tailor shop for a gas comission (here's looking at you Thailand tuk-tuk drivers!). </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">He just smiled, shook my hand, and said, "Thank you for coming to my country. I hope you like it."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was small. Subtle.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then he was gone, lost amongst a crowd that was dangerously crossing a street. Just as quickly as he appeared, he had left. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In a life of both big and small human interactions, sometimes its the small that really hit you. That really knock on the heart to see if anyone is still home.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Like all of these countries I've lived (yes, I use that word because I feel they are all a home to me now) in, these are people who lived and are living through unstable governments and great poverty. Their kindness is unreal. I know I say that about most cultures I meet, but this country takes the cake. It's like nothing I've ever felt before.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But tourism is coming here. This country still feels mostly untouched by Western culture, but the cloud is forming. You can see it just barely in the distance.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm glad I'm here now. 2015 B.T. (Before Tourism).</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Tourism brings in money, sure, but it comes with a price. Everything comes with a price. Tourism is sometimes like that big Wal-Mart that comes to that small town and destroys the community. It's great when you need toilet paper at 3am in the morning, but is it really worth the rest? Its rough to drive by the fancy hotels popping up. They look wrong and ugly amongst this ancient city of a million temples.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A piece of my home and heart are now in this country as well. This country is like the old grandfather, gentle with wisdom, but scared by a conflicting past. I have yet to really talk about the problems of these countries, mainly poverty and corrupt institutions of power, because I don't know where to begin. Its easy to write about the good things, the great and funny things, the beautiful things. But there's a lot of ugliness, in fact some of my travels have intersected with some of the worse things I've known to be in the world. Its rough and I haven't had time to process it. So, for now, I focus on the people and their human spirit - which is a majestic, shining thing of the utmost importance - and the good things, because the bad needs time to simmer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I wish you, the reader, were here right now. Because, if you stay away from the 5-star hotels and dive into the heart of the people and the cities and the slums, you wont be the same person. You cant be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The world is so small yet so massive and complex.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And wherever you're reading this from, whatever country, whatever night sky you stand under, our stars are all just as big and bright.</span></div>
Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-55064609173022290692014-12-17T09:26:00.002-08:002022-07-22T09:01:14.864-07:00This was India and this was me.<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">So I'm back in Bangkok.</span><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjY6QpjMMRM3v4vcWrUxtvVaZ0QjAaDkPP9j3qchpDjfcMp3KKhhOI2D4w_CdrEGe1MEy9671RSK2AKigVPEsJXgnzvLTpYAPtDNCB1CHoQqYV_dB9w2SkFbMU0lGjIXiwLiW7NmJFy2K/s1600/20141120_151113.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="180" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I hate selfies, but, uh, it's the Taj.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">My home away from home (honestly, I have to have a HQ or I'd go insane).</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I don't really know to describe any of this, but I'll do my best.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjY6QpjMMRM3v4vcWrUxtvVaZ0QjAaDkPP9j3qchpDjfcMp3KKhhOI2D4w_CdrEGe1MEy9671RSK2AKigVPEsJXgnzvLTpYAPtDNCB1CHoQqYV_dB9w2SkFbMU0lGjIXiwLiW7NmJFy2K/s1600/20141120_151113.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span></a><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Each country I've visited - a month in Cambodia, a month in Thailand, and a month and a half in India - has felt like I've lived three different lives. Sure, I'm essentially the same person. I have the same lame jokes I share with new friends, I laugh at inappropriate times, still crave my daily coffee, etc., etc., etc. But as they say in Southeast Asia, "same, same, but different." I didn't really think about this until after I came back from India.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">As mentioned, I've made Bangkok my home base for sanity reasons and thought I'd feel at "home" here after the madness (beautiful madness, that is) of India.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">But I didn't and I don't.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">After India, I'm different. I don't quite know how, but I am. Immensely so. I was here in Thailand for all of October, <i>but the me then is not the me now.</i></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">My life in India was vastly different than Thailand's life. I've seen bodies cremated, I've crashed multiple time and been in strange hospitals in Mumbai at odd times in the morning, I've swam in an ocean when the power to the whole coast went out, I've gone to silent discos, I've sat in the next room over from the Daila Lama, I've taken well over 100's of hours of train rides, slept in temples, gotten wasted off <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bhang">Bhang Lassi</a>...</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnmh3LHbUcE2vJe49LJfs6Ful3r0X9wwNpaobGYJ89iLZ91NBwxzs_BgX9EfYShTTYpBNiUl3za_te93z-Q98pFcCODIZg9qo2Iajwn6VIxu6PR-p2srDiTpVTIIr_gOG9q67Oscpfrqc/s1600/20141201_133849+(1).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good, great, amazing friends.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I'll stop. I could go on and on and on</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdnmh3LHbUcE2vJe49LJfs6Ful3r0X9wwNpaobGYJ89iLZ91NBwxzs_BgX9EfYShTTYpBNiUl3za_te93z-Q98pFcCODIZg9qo2Iajwn6VIxu6PR-p2srDiTpVTIIr_gOG9q67Oscpfrqc/s1600/20141201_133849+(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span></a><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">and</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">on</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">and...</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">But, as I've touched on this many times already, it's the people that have changed me.</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I've met and had the absolute fucking pleasure to meet, travel, and, yeah, love some of the best people life has to offer all around the world. Travelers are a strange crowd. You're with them 24-7 and you suddenly know them more than people you've known your whole life back home. Honestly, India is pure madness and I don't know how I would have done it without meeting and traveling with these amazing individuals.</span><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aN02KZcElzpy7gpb4Bu_piZRSFkEUlI3skwRZVc3OFSRh20Jvk_gTFoGpRwcz70hmsoyIfyPSh0Brl7q9_OHnzRHws6I-SSVZEL17Zn8mwSrVMbdrNhUOZmkpmV25m718wlCE5ypJTre/s1600/20141120_110139.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maria! Also, our train broke down. Again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3aN02KZcElzpy7gpb4Bu_piZRSFkEUlI3skwRZVc3OFSRh20Jvk_gTFoGpRwcz70hmsoyIfyPSh0Brl7q9_OHnzRHws6I-SSVZEL17Zn8mwSrVMbdrNhUOZmkpmV25m718wlCE5ypJTre/s1600/20141120_110139.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"></span></a><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">But it's not just about collecting relationships like Pokemon, it's about what they've done to me. They've made me really live in the moment. To feel and appreciate it all. Because travel, if anything, is extremely temporary. You know it ends, and you re-arrange your travels in order to extend those goodbyes. Hell, I bounced back and forth through India in the craziest, most insane way just to see and be with these people a little bit longer. I'm no longer traveling to see the sites, I'm chasing that human connection.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Continuing on this line, this isn't just India. It happened in Thailand and Cambodia, too. And it will happen again. <a href="http://nickrogen.blogspot.com/2014/10/blips-on-radar.html">The hellos and goodbyes.</a> What I absolutely hate and love (not really) about travel.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">So I'm back in Bangkok for a few days before the next country, at Glur again, meeting up with old friends (<a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g293916-d2391028-Reviews-Enjoy_Bkk_Bistro_Bar_57_1-Bangkok.html">Mac and Noi's bar is still my favorite</a>)and new friends alike, milking every moment as much as I can. It's sappy, I know, but that's the truth.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I have one story I want to share. I have plenty more, but here's the deal. You know those jokes/stories where someone says, "oh man, you're going to love this one! A horse goes into a bar and..." and then they get to the punchline and all you can do is a polite golf-clap laugh, because, yeah, it wasn't in the least bit funny or entertaining? And then the person always says "oh, you have to have been there."</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">This is what traveling has become. I take off my hat off to those travel writers. It's a skill I just don't have (yet). Because telling stories to people not experiencing this is getting more and more difficult. Some stories are just so surreal and honestly just too insane to put down in words. Or, sometimes, they aren't - some of the stories I have are mundane and simple and, honestly, beautiful in the simplicity. But even then, I've yet to figure out how to convey that in words that really radiate to you, the reader, a sense of being there.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I'll do my best.</span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVKvdoFgg3E-LMvzemSnhg42aiXPkSeOqiwVMpRDWtUoAIfC2RCZw9cglDXAXwt3omCWQOOQ5EfxZpso8cJ38UQEc-VkUK_v1ofZafy6OzP-4zyOXMkrYrCqU6e6LCL2HZe7B5dZ78YOW/s1600/20141128_105906.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="180" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the temple grounds, you are required to cover your head. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><p>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">So, there's basically three types of toilets in the world. Western (thank God), Eastern (basically a hole in the ground with foot grips), and Japanese toilets (which, let me tell you, are just as amazing as you've maybe read - they talk to you and perfume you all up, and I'm sure I could have found an MP3 player if I had looked hard enough).</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">A few of us stopped over in a city called Amritsar before meeting other friends in Dharmasala. We ended up sleeping for free in a communal bed at a Sikh temple. The Sikh's are amazing people (Sikh's are followers of a monotheistic religion called Sikhism) and this temple alone houses people for free and feeds over a 100,000 people a day (read more about it <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harmandir_Sahib">here</a>).</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">And on the first day there, I had to go to the bathroom. And bad. I'd resisted using Eastern toilets for a number of logical reasons, and this temple only had one Western style one meant for the disabled (I was close to faking a limp). But I took the bullet and got in the stall (uh, trust me, this story has a moral, I swear). I readied myself over the hole. And let me tell you, it's a challenge if you're not used to it. You really have to aim and make sure to make it to the target. And don't get me started on the cleanup........</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">So, what's the problem? People have been pooping this way for millions of years. The problem was that the door had a large "viewing" hole in it, so the people queuing up for the stall could look in.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Uh. Yeah. </span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">So here I am, awkwardly doing a floating wall sit (without a wall), and this old, bearded Sikh face is watching me do this through this "viewing hole". Expressionless, like he's seen this a million times.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">And, you know what I did?</span><br />
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I did what I've done a lot here in India. </span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I said "fuck it" and went with it.</span></p><p><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I pooped, used my left hand as "toilet paper" and experienced my Eat, Pray, Love moment. </span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Because that's what India has helped continue to teach me. </span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">To let go. </b><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">And if you've ever heard my philosophy about life it's pretty simple: I think life is a long lesson of learning how and when to let go.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif"><u>And, no, do not get me wrong, this isn't about lowering standards</u>, this is all about learning that we are so protected in the west. Even in this post, mentioning the act of shitting is probably looked down by a few (read: probably a lot). By why is it shameful? We all do it.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">We (the west), overprotect and censor everything, from making sure every single thing is sanitary, clean, and acceptable. I would almost go out on a limb and say we have <b>over</b> </span><b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif">sanitized our life.</span></b><span face="Verdana, sans-serif"> That's not to say that India couldn't improve on a lot of things (read: trash), but I do love how the people live with their means and aren't afraid to touch life without gloves.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">When you're living off a single backpack and relationships, you realize you don't really need most of the comforts from home. When you strip down life to the bear bones, it becomes so very simple and you start to really wonder why we complicate it. Love and a backpack. And that's it.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">But I'm pretty hypocritical, because I still will always want my Western toilet.</span><br />
</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8kjae5s83PoDFFKJ1oDp8vUjwVqZLvHa_zuoUG4tPnoV_rjjpMMlghWSkVlk39HR0btfvQMlXYTso2uq8aRAcA0pal35NXIVM-wkMnX2hjKCLegvg6860O0fuTnRi7_mygInlXQfc0hH2/s1600/20141202_171759.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dharm action.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Another great thing that about India is that it helps you let go of control. India is a nightmare for people who want control or who love to plan. Why? Because your train will be late. Everything will be late.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">India is a strange land. I will admit it's a beast to navigate most of the time - the train system is a great example of this. Alone, it's daunting. Together, it's manageable. Just like anything in life, going alone only gets you so far - it gets you confused and lost in Chennai at 4am waiting for the coffee shop (that doesn't actually exist but the tuk-tuk driver swears it does) to open in order to charge your computer and phone, while waiting for a train that you're waitlisted on and even if you did get a seat, it will probably be delayed half a day and you'll miss your flight (can't tell at all that this happened to me, right?).</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I wrote before that travel is all about being alone, essentially - I used that Bush quote from Glycerine: "I'm never alone, I'm alone all the time". But, you know what? I retract that. That's bullshit. Yeah, there are times when you are alone, that you need to be alone, but it doesn't have to be that way at all.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">It's not that way.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">I don't feel alone at all.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Go back up and re-read that paragraph that I mentioned some of the awesome things I've done in India.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">Replace all those I's.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">They most certainly are supposed to and are We's. They will always be.</span><br />
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<span face="Verdana, sans-serif">India, I thank you. We thank you.</span>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-73432813936158571052014-12-15T20:23:00.000-08:002015-06-29T15:03:07.814-07:00This and that.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">"Look, you can either curl up under your bed covers and live a safe, dull, insulated life reading about other people doing things you wish you were doing. Or you can join the real world. If you venture into the real world, you risk living your life to the fullest. You risk the rush of climbing that mountain, of dancing all night, of scuba diving in reefs of mind-blowing color, of standing in the rain on an ocean viewpoint, watching huge waves crashing against the rocks, of meeting the partner of your dreams. You risk getting exercise and breathing fresh air. You risk making life worth living."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-From a random book I don't know the title of, sent to me via text from my good friend Shane.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Also, I will be writing a lot about India soon, it's just taken me a long time to process it all. Stay tuned. And stuff.</span>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-3081328817635507472014-11-25T00:14:00.000-08:002015-06-29T14:59:40.200-07:00You.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbr1oicsF1mpbwoNb8qkojiLiTFnvzVhIZyzEeLb8mkHzMVfd30zMYMJeCh6zPJAUVx9fvd4Bj5bIpyNgBL1tnzRxil0vXvjnriIxUg3Jp1hyphenhyphen0pyqEXo3ntPgI8B94RBdxGaTL8btka_b/s1600/20141124_153948.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsbr1oicsF1mpbwoNb8qkojiLiTFnvzVhIZyzEeLb8mkHzMVfd30zMYMJeCh6zPJAUVx9fvd4Bj5bIpyNgBL1tnzRxil0vXvjnriIxUg3Jp1hyphenhyphen0pyqEXo3ntPgI8B94RBdxGaTL8btka_b/s1600/20141124_153948.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">India is a long run-on sentence that ignores structures, keeps adding "ands" and commas, and goes straight for the style points.<br /><br />India is a short succinct sentence that ends quickly so that the next one can start and doesn't bleed too much over.<br /><br />This is you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You walk down the street and the cars and the cows and the motorcycles and the tuk-tuks zip past you (there is no pedestrian right away, in case you were wondering at all). You have to leap on the concrete blocks in the middle of the road because you are a moment away from getting utterly smashed into the wall by a rogue cow or vegetable cart or, well, both. The dust swirls in the air and invades your lungs, sticks to your skin and clothes, and creates a constant cough that echoes like a strange symphony when in a tiny metal train that breaks down every thirty minutes. Like a Dr. Seuss line, you smell every smell you've ever smelled (smelt?), be it good, questionable, great (the food stalls selling strange and beautiful food for almost pennies on the dollar take the cake) and the horrible (the urine smell drifting can knock you over if you're not ready).<br /><br />The street sellers sell everything from balloons the size of sumo wrestlers to knock-off Sony products to peacock feathers. And the people, oh man, the people are absolutely everywhere, in every direction, zig-zagging through the traffic of buildings and lights and sounds. You get asked to be in a photo from strangers, again and again and again, and people swarm like drunken bees (especially if you have blonde hair).</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFm7kg2oT4aZg_gMv_HQYm3fkLRy0JyXiWzujd9poUQlHc5fJzsbeob4FLno7DJrPLGl71oK-V2-3bFmQlkj3P8H7E4RZjtL-2R6EQHHWuEWxmO5iyCzrZyTsg56SNyXTsBpxlCwixy504/s1600/20141119_162938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFm7kg2oT4aZg_gMv_HQYm3fkLRy0JyXiWzujd9poUQlHc5fJzsbeob4FLno7DJrPLGl71oK-V2-3bFmQlkj3P8H7E4RZjtL-2R6EQHHWuEWxmO5iyCzrZyTsg56SNyXTsBpxlCwixy504/s1600/20141119_162938.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Every sense is on full alert, like you're suddenly a Spiderman in a city of millions, a country of more than a billion, and an economy that has a trillion dollar GDP.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">You arrived in Bangalore and felt far too alone in a place with a never ending flow of bodies, and ended up in the the beach-bum state of Goa and met amazing new people that you're thankful to the stars and back for meeting. You party until 5am and every place from the clubs to the strangely culturally-sensitive KFCs blast house music at all hours of the day. After a billion swims, you travel (but not alone anymore, at least for now) to the capital city of Mumbai and swear to God that you'll never complain about traffic back home, ever, ever again in your life. You go to Delhi on a sleeper bus that hates tall people and, yeah, apparently bladders as well. You see the Taj and it's even more majestic and beautiful and awe-inspiring than you ever thought it could be. You take the cheesiest photos with your friends and you take more selfies than could fit in that Kim Kardashian selfie book. And then you experience the sweep of poverty.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">And the poverty here is heartbreaking. Of course, Cambodia (though the government physically jails the homeless people in Phnom Penh to make it "look" less poor) and Thailand had it (I'm still making stopovers in Bangkok [super cheap] so no comment on that country yet), but India is a mess of poverty. It's too much to take most of the time. Whole families sleep on the sidewalks, with little more than blankets and pots and pans. And these sidewalks aren't even New York City standard, covered in dirt and mud and shit and pee and everything in between. And the city buzzes around them. And you, trained as a social worker, know absolutely not a single word to describe it. At least not yet. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And then you head to Varanasi and, no surprise, even more cows, but now add hundreds of monkeys climbing every building, shaking poles, and cruising the street like they own the place. Dozens of small little kites litter the air. You type this on a balcony overlooking a basketball court that has turned into a kitchen that is prepping food for a nearby wedding. The street is blazing with life, drums thumping, people dancing, horns wrecking havoc on the ears and senses. You look out and see a blast of muted color on buildings, women in saris, men staring, clothes hanging from every known edge, and a million people collaging together like a puzzle that shouldn't go together, but somehow, someway, it just...does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You try to think of how to type this. How to explain it. But you can't. </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to live it. </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to get up out of your seat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to stop typing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to open the door and let it happen. </span></div>
<div style="color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You have to -</span></div>
</div>
Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4188147262104732209.post-15340646629183324202014-11-19T08:57:00.000-08:002015-06-29T15:03:43.219-07:00Adventure > Writing<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't know how <i>they</i> do it. Travel writers that is. I love writing. In fact, sometimes the urge to write gets to be so intense that I drop everything I'm doing and walk-run-dash-sprint (in that order) to a computer (I think a lot of people think I have a lot of horrendous cases of diarrhea or something) in order to spill everything onto the page. It's weird to say, but there's comfort in writing sentences, in finding just the right word to describe something. It's magical. Like, a Disney-like magic moment where things "click", if only for less than a blink of the eye.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">That all said, it's getting harder and harder to write. Specifically, to find time to write. And no, it's not because I'm not experiencing enough or that I don't have the words to describe it all. It's just that - for the first time in my life - words can and are getting in the way of the adventures.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I see it like this. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are some people who take WAY too many pictures. To them, every moment has to have a picture. Which, fine, I get it - memories for the kids and all. But when you stare into a screen to get that perfect angle or stretch out the selfie-stick-thingee, thinking, "Hmm, I wonder if my Facebook friends will like this?", you're essentially tearing yourself away from the moment. Your eyes are a wonderful thing, and so is being <b>in</b> the moment. The minute you're sucked into a screen instead of what's going on around you, you lose the chance to be a 100% in that small segment of time that most likely will never happen again in your lifetime. And that perfectly centered, creatively-done picture? Uh, here's the deal, it's basically going to be liked a few times on the social networking site of your choice, then it'll slink back into some obscure album that no one except future stalkers and future boyfriends/girlfriends (which, could be the same person as the stalkers) will see again. That's not to say I don't take a lot of pictures - I do and love doing so - but I do my best to practice being present as much as I can.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This reminds me of the scene with Sean Penn (Sean) in <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0359950/?ref_=ttqt_qt_tt">The Secret Life of Walter Mitty</a></i> where Ben Stiller (Walter) wonders why Sean, after waiting for what seems like an eternity to take a picture of an extremely rare "ghost" cat, decides to ditch the camera when it finally appears.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001774/?ref_=tt_trv_qu">Walter Mitty</a>: When are you going to take it?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000576/?ref_=tt_trv_qu">Sean O'Connell</a>: Sometimes I don't. If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don't like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001774/?ref_=tt_trv_qu">Walter Mitty</a>: Stay in it?<br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000576/?ref_=tt_trv_qu">Sean O'Connell</a>: Yeah. Right there. Right here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Writing has turned to that. I don't have a lot of time any more to stop and reflect. Of course, I MUST do it from time to time (I originally wrote this on a train ride that looked like Hogwarts' bus had one-night-stands with a WWII submarine and a 3rd world prison, but it got deleted. So, one guess of where I'm typing this! Oh, you got it? You're goooood, you know me well).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Okay, wow, that was a long ramble with the point just being this: expect less writing from me from here on out. I'll do my best to do it at least one to times a week, but no promises. There's an adventure waiting as I type this. Friends to make laugh (or, really, friends to make me laugh). And a new world to explore.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I can't be in the coffee shop writing when the world is just outside the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Second order of business. What am I up to? Well, as I've mentioned before, I don't want to bore you with: I/we went to A then to B, and then oh God, crazy things happened at C! So, here's some choice pictures and some stories and some thoughts. Scratch that. Wifi sucks, IOU.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last order of business. And this one is a pretty personal one. But, if anything, that's what this blog is all about: a journey that changes me (still have no idea why people even read this kind of stuff though).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've always had low self esteem. For a ton of different reasons that would fill this entry up to the maximum word count real quick-like - from my own (society driven?) judgement of my looks, my character, my intelligence, and so. All of it, my qualities that make me, me, I thought (foreshadowing alert! Past tense used there!) were sub-par, so to speak. I've been blessed with a really good disposition though and can pretty much ignore it most of the time. I think people believe I have a pretty high self esteem. And for most of the time, I certainly do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When it (my lows self esteem) rears its head is when it comes to relationships and the believing in myself. Relationships: they've always crashed and burned (well, not all, some just fizzled all undramatic like). I blame a lot of this on me. I wasn't ready and I didn't think too highly of myself (bad combination and I think a billion romantic comedies have this plot line). I've always thought it weird when someone gorgeous took interest in me. My response: I usually just run. I always thought there were "leagues" and the gorgeous ones - in beauty, and intelligence and humor, were always a few tiers up. Unreachable, I guess you could say.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It also appears when I think about the future as well and where I will end up and what I will do for a living. Everyone told me I was destined for great things, but I never really thought I was "good" enough.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don't think that any more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In fact, in two and a half months, across three countries, while meeting and traveling with countless different new people, I think I've really found my worth.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This trip has tested all my abilities and I've met all the challenges thrown at me (and then some!).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Low self-esteem? That's bullshit. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let's look to the all mighty Wikipedia for a definition:</span><br />
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In sociology and psychology, self-esteem reflects a person's overall emotional evaluation of his or her own worth. It is a judgment of oneself as well as an attitude toward the self. Self-esteem encompasses beliefs (for example, "I am competent," "I am worthy") and emotions such as triumph, despair, pride and shame.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've found that the only thing that ultimately decides my pride, my shame, my triumphs is so extremely simple: <b>it's me.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am in control of what to think about myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After going on countless adventures, opening myself up to strangers (usually, it's the other way around for a social worker), and challenging myself to do everything I thought I was horrible at (directions is a good example...) I've found that I should never, ever think of myself as "not good enough" for anyone, or not proud of who I am and what I do, or, or, or... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Yeah, I am in control. And I'm deciding I never want to let my self doubts interfere again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And I can't pinpoint a single eye-opening scene that did this for me during this road trip of a journey, time blurs together.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Maybe it's being away from the Western culture telling me what makes someone beautiful or successful or worthy (hint: it's not what the ads on your television tell you it should be). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Maybe it's seeing that I have a ton of great qualities that I've never actually acknowledged because I'm very codependent and do my best to always focus on others and not myself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Maybe then, it's this enormous amount of self-reflection time I've been given.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">-Or maybe, just maybe, this is just me growing up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I used to be scared to chase the things I thought I wasn't good enough for, relationships, my future, and otherwise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, Past, Present, and Future walked into a bar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was pretty tense.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the past is just that, gone up and past (don't worry, I'm not going to break out into poetry. At least not this time).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm speaking in all future terms from now on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And this time, I'm making my own terms. Confidently, loudly, and most importantly,</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Proudly.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As for India. It's growing on me. It's beautifully mad. That's the best way to describe it all.</span>Nickhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03388954325180723251noreply@blogger.com2