29-Oct: Find that fire / Illuminate your surroundings

"Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men’s blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us.."

-Daniel Burnham

The term "inspiration" didn't mean much to me until the last few years. I guess I didn't think about it much. In the last year, however, its importance to my life exploded into something that is beginning to steer my path. Frankly, I'm excited about it!

Think of the teacher that got you so excited about a topic that you researched more than what the assignment called for. Think of the musician that drove you to want to learn to play that instrument. Think of the adults throughout your childhood that led by example and encouraged your explorations. The common factor with these involves passion. If you have lost interest in something, you probably have no chance of inspiring someone else concerning that topic: the burnout teacher who just shows up, the rock star that plays the same set, note for note, every night in exchange for a paycheck (Note: this is not meant towards those who must play a theatrical score or such).

A bit of advice last year from someone close taught me that one should surround himself with those who inspire. I have found this to be true, for it ignites a feedback loop of creativity, passion, and drive. In fact, I now count a thirst for knowledge as one of the most attractive factors for me. This isn't limited to book smarts, and includes anything beyond being content with the status quo. When presented by inspiring figures on all sides, all those involved can find new interests to pick up.

I have had the opportunity to inspire and it feels pretty satisfying. In working with foster youth, I know I didn't reach each one that I lived with, but I'm still involved with a couple of them. I sometimes ramble on about scientific topics and I'm always pleased when the listener encourages me to continue. Even some of my travels seem to be inspiring other to venture out a bit more. I bounced my current ideas off the person sitting next to me on one of my last flights and she wants to know more. She'd be willing to donate to the cause and shares my enthusiasm for the plan, so that's a good sign!

So, it's time to make plans. Plans with which I can inspire and hopefully lead others to inspire themselves. Plans -- big plans -- that may not succeed in their first incarnation, but will be a start.

28-Oct: Lost moments

"All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain."

-Roy Batty

 

...unless you're paying attention, that is. It's too easy to walk, nay, run through the rain. As life keeps us busy with our everyday routine, do we truly notice what goes on around us? The tears of a neighbor or stranger, whether caused by pain or joy, are often too quiet to bring attention from passersby. If that moment is missed, only the crier knows of it, and the tears are washed into the stormdrains, caught up in the flood of fleeting life.

 

Think then of a single friend who notices the tears and stops. He may make a meaningful yet futile gesture of offering a tissue, with which to dry the soggy eyes caught in the damp weather. It is in this case that the intention far outweighs the immediate outcome. Whether an offered tissue or hug of support, an action can produce a chain reaction. Not only does the crier know that someone cares, but the situation has now become more apparent to those caught up in routine. Which would you more likely notice across a rainy street: a single person tearing up in a storm or two people hugging?

 

This is a call to action. This isn't saying that you have to help a charity or give money. Helping could be a physical involvement, it could be as simple as sitting and listening. This could help a stranger, a family member, a group, or the planet. If you make a difference to one person, the effects may cascade. Even if they don't that's still one better than before.

 

For my next stage, I'm aiming to follow my own suggestion. There are many options -- we all have options -- so it's a matter of picking the best for my case. In the meantime...

 

Be excellent to each other.

27-Oct: Taipei rush

"Make use of your time, but don't let time use you."


Traveling can be tiring. I know that when I get somewhere new, I need to see something more than the inside of a hotel. Each trip is an opportunity to experience and explore, for never again will this exact set of circumstances occur. If you have the luxury of having an open schedule while abroad, it's quite lovely to wander the streets at a relaxed pace. However, with express trips (e.g. my 2.5 days in Taipei), that relaxation can be pushed aside by the wish to see as much as possible.

On my first day, I zigzagged through streets, often preferring side alleys to the motorcycle-infested roads. I found myself in parks filled with musicians, families, and cheer, and I discovered open markets, public art, and museums that weren't on the Mandarin map I had. My only limitation was to get back to the hotel at some point that night. It was wonderful.

My second day, in contrast, struck me with illness and lethargy, robbing me of the ability to explore. By the time I was up for getting outside, I had less than three hours before I was supposed to meet someone for dinner. Limitations in mind, I prioritized what I wanted to see, based much on walking distance. I could feel the drive in my pace and each new option of diversion that arose came with thoughts of time constraints. I still enjoyed myself, but I was late and pushed onward. I knew my friend wouldn't mind a little tardiness, but I like to be on time for myself.

The skies had darkened as I pressed forward. As I passed a glass-covered train station, my eyes picked up hues of purple and orange in the reflection. I had been so focused on getting back to the hotel that I had been oblivious to a magnificent sunset performing its dance behind me. Tunnel vision can rob you of the beauty around.

I stopped to watch the performance conclude.

14-Oct: The choices of Wellington

As I wrote this, I realized that, much like the roads here, I had given you a long, winding story: Names of people I would meet and possibly meet again, cities I would try unsuccessfully to leave, and mountains I would potentially never reach. This is what the freedom of travel should be. A checklist is not exploration.

***********************************

"The future can no longer be
 What is going to happen?
 It is: What are we going to do?"
 -Henri Bergson

Taken out of context, this quote could be interpreted in two quite different ways. The first speaks to a future already written, in which our actions, though potentially preparatory, are reactionary nonetheless. The second interpretation stresses free will to the point that the author proposes actively choosing our paths.

I like to use "ride the wave" to describe my adaptable nature, but we must be careful to not just ride, but to steer the board. Perform (or at least attempt) those stunts you want to try! If you don't try new things, you'll surely become tired of your routine. You'll also never improve if you don't challenge yourself. This is the case for anything, but I find myself off topic.

Everything we do is the result of a decision, even if it's a decision to not do anything or to abstain from deciding. I set out with a rough plan, a route, to tour this island. However, I knew from previous travels that the concept of scheduling every day or destination cheats me of choice. And so, I choose to book my couchsurfing hosts only two locations (3-5 days) ahead. Maybe I will enjoy a city so much, I'll want to spend more time there. Perhaps an outside factor will come into play. A combination of the two have turned my plans into laughable situations again and again. So much so, that this is the third time I've attempted to write this piece!

I arrived at Stu's house in Whangerai to find that I was the fifth couchsurfer (hereafter referred to as surfers or CSers) he was having that night. Stu generously runs what essentially comes across as a free hostel. Residents are only through the CS community and thus are filtered/accepted at Stu's discretion. He has two spare rooms with bunks and a sofa bed in the lounge. The other surfers for the night were two pairs of German girls: one set just arriving for a couple days and the other on their way out after visiting Stu multiple times. Having faced the option of traveling New Zealand without a car, I was quick to offer rides to the others to improve their Whangerai experience. The following day, after dropping the departing pair at the bus station, Anna, Tamara, and I drove around in miserable weather, bonding and amusing each other. We realized that we were going to essentially the same area after Whangerai, so I offered a ride if they didn't mind delaying their plans for a day. Normally, my flexible schedule would've said, "Hey, I'll just leave a day early," but I've learned that while I like helping people, there are certain times I need to stand firm on my wishes: Diving Poor Knights Islands in this case. So, they asked Stu for an extra night, he happily agreed, and we headed to Coromandel together the next day.

After a pleasant drive along the equivalent of the Big Sur coast in forested mountain terrain, I dropped them off at their host in a town that didn't exist on my map (which already had many towns and roads so small that Google doesn't acknowledge them) and drove the hour to my host (Ryan), who lived above his restaurant in a much more central location. After hearing that I had dropped my friends in a town that he had never heard of and apparently couldn't exist because the name violated the grammatical structure of the Maori language, Ryan offered up bunks for A+T if they wanted to stay with us. In the peak season, Ryan provides bunks in his flat for his seasonal staff. Since it's the off-season, the bunks are empty. I proposed the idea (and possibly having to wash dishes) to the girls, and I rescued them from -- albeit a beautiful, remote beach town -- Nowheresville in the morning. We spent the day exploring, then the three of us came to Ryan's aid by volunteering ourselves as restaurant staff for an unexpectedly busy evening. This was the first time I had ever worked in food service...EVER. Taking orders, washing dishes, bussing tables, delivering food, and sampling the menu are all on my list of work experiences now. I actually kind of enjoyed it and since we extended our beachfront Cook's Beach stay by a night, I worked for Ryan the next evening too. The perk of working (volunteering) for a restaurateur is the opportunity to sample food. To thank us for our service, Ryan gave us the full experience, seating us at a table with menus and a dialogue something like "What would you like to start with? And after that? And after that? We shared lots of new not-so-vegetarian dishes: tofu souffle, tuna tartare, prawn tortellini, braised beef cheeks, seasoned asparagus, lamb, a couple desserts, etc. I can't remember the full menu, but let's just say it was a nice luxury for three people that are used to peanut butter and bread. I was also offered seasonal work if I wanted to come back for the holidays.

The girls needed to get to Rotorua the next day, which was a bit ahead of my schedule, but we headed there to find terrible weather. I dropped them at Hobbiton on my way west and we sadly said our goodbyes. I went through a few cities and amazing experiences on my way back to Rotorua (stories for another time) and, while deciding where to go next, I learned that my path was possibly crossing that of A+T. Weather wasn't looking great for a four-day backpacking around Lake Waikaremoana, so I drove to my buddies! They asked their host if I could crash and we ended up staying an extra day there (Napier). Our destinations matched up again, and they skipped their bus south so they could ride with me to Wellington. I remember a point where one stated, "Last Tuesday we said goodbye, but this Tuesday we're riding together." That's what it's all about! We enjoyed a day together in Wellington before they headed south to the other island, a place I would not venture, so our farewells were a bit more certain. A toast of chocolate, bread, and laughter goes out to our travels together!

My Wellington host, Bruce, has surely tired of me. I initially requested three nights with him. Since then, I've declared my departure three and a half times. Anna (different one - this one's Czech) was an unexpected surfer at Bruce's, as her housing hadn't worked out. The three of us had entertaining conversations and shared meals. On my third day, Wellington was pulling me in and I hadn't reached many destinations I'd intended in the city. Though I'd officially moved out, I sent Bruce a text about an additional night. I'd been sleeping on the floor, so I'm a relatively low impact guest. We all paid our own way mealwise as well. He agreed to my postponed departure, but he had already accepted an additional guest, Zuzana (Slovak), so we would be extra comfy. Zuzana and I wandered the city the next day and shared some amazing discussions ranging from life objectives to religions of the world. The problem with extending my Wellington time (besides overstaying my welcome) was that I am in my final week and I have been seeking the ideal weather window to hike the most famous mountains on the island. Each day added in town equaled a day of potential (bad weather mostly) climbable days. However, each night/morning, Z+A tried their best to convince me to stay an extra night. It actually developed to them trying to get me to live here and work the visa issues out. Life becomes rough when you have convincing friends in attractive cities! I'm wrapping up day 7 in this city and I could spend more. My car is due in Auckland six days from now and I fly out in nine. I'm heading north tomorrow. Sadly, it's time to move. Here's to having too many attractive options, great new friends, and flexible hosts!

25-Sept: Confidence

In planning my trips, whether they be working as a nomad or going on an international solo holiday, I receive comments on how courageous I am for venturing out, especially on my own. My response is that it is more of a false confidence: A belief in oneself that you can do it no matter the challenge. There is a point where you just have to convince yourself that this (whatever it may be) is the option that you're taking.

To demonstrate: I'm currently exploring New Zealand, a country with a limited transit system and highways that are generally one lane in each direction (except for bridges which are primarily one lane total). I had wanted to save money and travel via public transport, but there would be many locations I couldn't travel and scheduling would be a pain. The only other option -- and thus the solution -- was to rent a car. Normally I'd have no worry about rental cars, but this is my first country to drive on the left. I watched driving patterns and made sure I understood the right of way, but it wasn't until I pulled out of the agency and onto the street that I tested myself. I've been licensed 15 years, but I was suddenly a new driver: inconsistent speed, not centering myself in my lane...a bit embarassing. What isn't embarrassing, however, is the fact that 2000km in, I haven't bumped anything and I haven't been honked at. Humorous items to note include:

     1) I accidentally turn on the wipers to signal turns
     2) I freaked out (a little) one night in a rural area because what I thought was a flat tire light was actually telling me my emergency brake was on
     3) I still can't center myself in the lane (getting better!)

Confidence can also be exercised by evaluating fears of the unknown and determining that there are no reasonable dangers to actually fear. I spent the night in Trounson Park Kauri Forest specifically for the opportunity to wander around the forest at night to see/hear kiwi, freshwater eels, glowworms, and weta: New Zealand's answer to the Jerusalem cricket. The trail was more or less a loop (scouted during daylight) and I had two red lights for night viewing and a backup flashlight, should the reds fail. The only endemic mammals in New Zealand are bats and the reptiles are small; therefore, there was nothing in the darkness that could eat me. That was a great factor to know because my red lights illuminated about three feet in front of me.

You know what, though? I briefly saw a kiwi next to me (briefly because we scared each other), I spotted an eel hovering around in the creek, and had multiple glowworm sightings. No wetas, but three out of four!

There were three German couples staying in the rain-soaked park with me. They had their camper vans and I my car. Who needs a van?!

 

I bounce around in my head the lines of confidence, trust, and belief. Are they related or even synonymous, depending on the situation? I trusted one pair with my lights so that they could exercise their exploratory nature in the face of a fear of the dark unknown. They saw more than I...

16-Sept: Rangitoto Island

This is my first time alone on a volcano. The top of a volcano, to be specific. How could I possibly know that I'm the only one here? Well, the last ferry leaves the island in twenty minutes and it's an hour hike to the dock. I'm the only one camping, so...

Just outside Waitemata harbor, not even a 30 minute boat ride from downtown Auckland, lies Rangitoto Island, the youngest (700 yrs old) volcano in the Auckland region. Unlike Motutapu, Rangitoto's older sister that is literally a hop, skip, and jump away, Rangitoto is seriously volcanic to experience. There's a small flat perimeter to the land, the trails of which are composed of ankle-rolling marbles of Hephaestus. Blackened rocks provide the landscape clear down to the shell-covered shore. Beyond the perimeter, however, the terrain climbs in a perfect cone: the ideal volcano shape that years of television have put in my head. I've already hiked many trails on this trip with a day pack, but this is my first with full gear (approx 45 pounds). And so, I venture off from the boat to test my body with the next challenge. Unlike the day-trippers who have two hours to go straight up and back, my only deadline is the sun, and I venture away from the pack. An hour and a half later, as I'm lumbering up an alternate face of the mountain, I hear the sound of the Explorer tractor tour coming down the hill. This is the first sign of life since I've left the boat and I realize that I've become part of the tour as passengers wave enthusiastically and take pictures of "The backpacker trekking uphill". I wave back, though not as enthusiastically...I'm a little tired. I return to my solitary role.

Uphill, uphill...I suppose I shouldn't expect otherwise from a volcano climb, eh? As I check the map, I see that I'm nearing a forested boardwalk that circles the rim. What the map doesn't state is that the boardwalk is essentially a really long set of wooden stairs! Know what's more difficult than working your way up a slope with a heavy pack? Stairs! My body is beginning to dislike my plan, but I'm optimistic for the upcoming view. I can tell through the canopy that there's clear blue sky, which should make for a nice shot of Auckland across the water. Here's what caught me off-guard: As I was scaling the northern side of the mount, I wouldn't be able to see the city until I crested. Through a break in the trees, I suddenly had a clear view of the eastern half of the island...and Motutapu next to it. Motutapu, with her lush, green, rolling hills presenting themselves with such contrast to the darkened treetops of Rangitoto and the milky blue waters around: This would be my home for the night! Oh, did I not mention that? One reason people don't camp here much is because it's a minimum six-mile hike from the ferry to the camp. You literally land on one island and have to make it to the far coast of the other. My destination having breathed energy back into me, I carried on to the summit. What's to say about the summit? I rewarded myself with a muffin procured from the ferry.

I enjoyed the top briefly, but reminded myself that I now had less than three hours to descend a volcano and cross Motutapu before sundown. Reaching the edge of Rangitoto, I was truly surprised to see that it took only a ten foot causeway to link the islands. With time constraints in mind, I took the shortest path across, being gravel roads through farmland. Now, I don't know if it's because I'm inexperienced working my way through free range cattle or if they were odd because of island fever, but this is how it played out: The road cuts through the pasture. Up ahead, there are a few cows standing in the road. I don't know if they'll move as I approach or stand firm like the donkey in the road that held me hostage back in '08, but I'm racing the light here. Sure enough, they don't like me walking towards them and they run in the opposite direction as I near. Easy enough, I think to myself...

I hear hoofsteps behind me. There are a few cattle that seem slightly interested in following me. Ah well, they keep their distance and we're all happy. I keep walking and I still hear them behind me. I turn around to see magnitudes more making their way to my trail. Here's the thing: When I face them, they freeze. It's like I won't see them if they're not moving. I think I saw this in Jurassic Park and at least a few video games. Sure enough, I continue walking and they follow me, my herd continuing to grow. Each time I face them, they stop. Some look away. I really wanted to hear one do the "I'm not doing anything" whistle you make when you're actually doing something. I have to admit that I was both cracking up AND freaking out by this. I accelerated my pace and left for greener pastures (not really -- they were all majestically green). I made it to the campsite with light to spare and had my pick of 190 sites, which, because it was completely unmarked, was a large meadow between the hills and the shore. Ferry price ($23 return) aside, I paid five dollars to have an entire oceanfront campground on an island to myself. The weather report called for likely showers and chilly temps overnight, so I had carried multiple thermal layers and rain gear. However, the orientation of the bay blocked the wind and I slept in shorts. It's good to be prepared, but savor the times you don't need it!

I slept to the sounds of waves and the calls of tropical birds while basking in the light of a near-full moon. Five dollars...

7-Sept: Melbourne or "24 hours in Australia"

The grassy hill acts as an apron for the Victoria State Library. It catches the crumbs of visitors too tired from their studies to make it to the sidewalk. There is also the splatter from the street: passers-by, baked in the intense sun, and craving a place to recline and recharge. I am of the former.

I have just borne witness to the armored suit of Ned Kelly, Irish champion of the poor in this region, and this absorption of history -- as well as another overnight flight -- has left me with eyes slowly closing. I have just 24 hours in Australia, but is there something more important for me to do then rest?

I close my eyes, listening to the sonic stew that this locale provides: overlapping multilingual conversations of those around, chimes of passing trolleys, the enigmatic calls of the birds (the seagulls sounded like crows and a crow sounded like a duck)...and the busker in symphony blacks not ten meters from me, serenading the world with his contrabass.

Is there something more important than this?

3-Sept: en route to Shanghai

There's a point on a 12 hour, all daylight, international date line-crossing flight that the exhausted mind wanders more than usual. Only allowing a few hours of sleep the night before -- courtesy of the ne'er-do-well duo of procrastination and last-minute packing -- adds to the psychological walkabout. You open the shade: It's blindingly bright and all you see is blue. You close the shade: All is dark because the flight crew is tacitly letting us know that we should be sleeping. So I check our location again. The plane icon on the screen, sure enough, is surrounded by solid blue. There's an issue with the route map program and, in trying to come to a conclusion of how we should go from point A to point B, we've fallen between dimensions:

The route just in front of the avatar -- my means of being aloft and not adrift -- has become asymptotic. It seems that just as my travel has become irrational, so should my thoughts.

Exhaustion sets in. Dehydration is probably building as well. The flight attendant has just walked up each aisle spraying perfume every three seats. My environment has been poisoned and my head aches. Poisoned environment...am I partly responsible for that?! Not the perfume, of course, as I'm more of an au naturel guy, but I'm considering all this flying. We complain about having limited travel availability: I've been trying to map my way to somewhat rural areas which take hours by car, but days by bus/train, if even an option. My transpacific flight, however, goes twice a day, no matter what, and I feel guilty being part of a one-third full jumbo jet wastefully burning oil products for 12 hours. The upside? Everyone can stretch out! Silver lining, huh? I put the thought aside as I check the scenery outside. After blinding everyone in a five seat radius by opening (and quickly shutting) the blind, I decide to not repeat that before arrival.

The headache, the fatigue are going anywhere but away and I know that I'm heading to an eventual destination with no lodging arranged. Eight hour layover in Shanghai to pull another stretch without sleep. I'm tempted to stay in the airport and sleep, but that's a waste of an opportunity to introduce myself to China, even for a few hours. I'm dreading the idea of carrying a pack and I'm looking forward to the two-week mark where I'll have a rental car to move my gear. Looking forward to to staying in a country for more than a couple days...

I'm trying to finish my fifth movie of the trip when the arrival film interrupts. Each passenger is broadcast instructions on performing close-quarters tai chi. It is entertaining watching arms stretching above many of the seats. This acted as a reminder:

Just breathe, stretch, and relax,

Opening yourself up.

Make the most of each trip.

It will be remarkable no matter what.

The end of the sawdust road

This note goes to all those that have somehow been part of my last three years. To the one that encouraged me to follow my wanderlust without hesitation. To those who have raised me to venture with unending support and without fear. To the gentleman who saw potential in a guy who needed a shave and a haircut and to the woman who took that potential to the next level. To those that I've loved, befriended, or merely coexisted with and to those with whom I have lived, traveled, celebrated, suffered, failed, and succeeded.

Thank you. The tour is over.

There is a sadness that comes when you discover the answer to the question many of our kind have: How do you get off this ride? Well, since the Evel Knievel costume never arrived and I have zero motorcycle experience, the flaming hoop jump was out of the question. Alas, no, the carousel has spun too fast, we rode the scrambler without our harnesses, and – purely through centrifugal force – I have been included in the group thrown from the ride.

I left the “normal” lifestyle in California nearly 3.5 years ago without a clue of into what I was heading. My car was loaded nearly to the ceiling and the suspension was unhappy with me. When sleeping in the car during travels, I had to sit up. I have much less property now, not due to loss, but due to the realization of what is necessary. I'm essentially down to a duffel bag, a backpack, and a bicycle in my car. Look around and ask yourself exactly what is needed.

Property isn't what should be used to evaluate the success of an opportunity. Consider the memories of what I've been through. I originally left because I wanted to live outside of California at some point in my life. I've lived/worked in twenty-one places since then and by the time I make it back to the West coast, I'll have traveled through 48 states. I've lived with four other people in a studio apartment. I've lived with eight others in a house. I've slept on floors next to my friends, my coworkers. We have had our moments of suffering and our chances to support.

This world teaches us a factor to interpersonal relationships that I never found working in offices. Early on, in my second city, I realized the family attitude that touring provides. You can spend years sharing an office with your coworkers and consider them friends, but this was something quicker...something stronger. Some of those I've toured with have become big brothers and little sisters. We have gone through every unforeseeable circumstance together. When one of us was down, someone helped to pick him up. As a follower, I carried everything I owned with me in my car: a legitimate circus turtle. In transiting between Houston and Cincinnati, I was to meet some coworkers in New Orleans for a night of celebration. I was in backcountry Louisiana when a car ricocheted into mine, totaling my vehicle. The tow truck driver, unaware of my living situation, told me to take everything I wanted out of the vehicle before he towed it. I had no response beyond, "I'd like it all, that's my life in there." I posted an update to Facebook to alert my friends that I wouldn't make it to New Orleans. Shortly after, one of my supervisors, someone who had supported me from the beginning, called me to confirm what town I was in. "I've booked the last room in the only hotel in that town so you don't need to worry about where you're sleeping tonight." This was unsolicited and reimbursement was never requested. Others called to offer transportation to the next city for either my belongings or for my body. An immediate outpouring of support demonstrated our family. A coworker's loss of his vehicle soon after would offer another chance for us to help out. We had "Real World"-style houses where we discovered things we didn't want to find and found ways to amuse ourselves during forced days off. We improvised holidays together: Thanksgiving feasts cooked for us at the circus, potluck Christmas with lottery ticket-filled stockings, bowling for Halloween instead of dressing up. This wasn't a job.

So many opportunities to explore, here and abroad. So many friends that I've made across the states and internationally, through Cirque and Couchsurfing, that it's hard to decide where to drive and who to visit. So many good decisions that have helped support the concept of living in the moment and so many regrettable choices to have learned from. So many natural disasters...

I don't know what's next. I don't know where I'm going in ten days. That's fine though. I'll catch you on the next tour.