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.

How to make the summer hotter? Go to the desert!

My air conditioning works somewhat -- as those who have helped transport my car back and forth across the continent can attest -- and I'm dripping before making it out of Glendale. There is a fear, there has been in fact, considering that I've toyed with the idea of driving into Mexico times before. The State Department, with all its advisories, paints the picture that Americans driving in Mexico will be carjacked, robbed, or, at the very least, pulled over by a corrupt police officer looking for a bribe. I felt like it was going to be safer walking around this country than driving. Human interference aside, I must note that I was also determined to go on a desert road-trip in the middle of summer, so fears also presented themselves relating to flat tires, mechanical failure, dehydration, etc. One can only be so prepared before going into battle, however, and my 14 liters of water and I set off on a southbound route.


Any of my trips would be extremely different depending on it being solo or partnered. I've found that the more I do with people, the fewer photos I take and the less my inspired writing occurs. This is not to fault company, as I have plenty of lovely memories with those around, but it grows apparent that I work on a different pacing and perhaps a riskier approach to things when only my life is on the line. I would not have expected many to go along with my "I think I'll take a side route of 70 km on somewhat developed roads with the heater on full blast and the windows down", but it makes for good times!


Quick items of note:

• Lewis Prison: I imagine being in prison sucks. I would guess it is significantly worse being in prison in the middle of the desert.
• Military jets were cruising over me a few times at roughly 80-100' altitude. They must have lost their keys or something for them to be looking at the ground that closely.

Enrique. What's there to say about a man who starts by advertising sunset cruises but quickly segues into pharmaceuticals, non-pharmaceuticals, and company of the female sort? He was really friendly and gave me lots of good information about the region. First pimp experience: Nice guy (even though I wasn't a customer)


And here I am. A new country. A new body of water to dip my toes into. It's all the same water, technically, as the molecules drift their way along their global trek. You might notice that I don't have any ocean sunset shots from this trip. I floated my way offshore a couple hundred yards and opted to relax. Whiles the images were beautiful, it is important to remove yourself from behind the lens (or whatever metaphorical comfort spot fits you) once in a while. I truly relaxed out there, floating on my back, arms crossed behind my head as if I were lying on my bed. Again, I thought about fears, primarily of the unknown or unseen. I know that many would question my safety out there, worrying about the predators of the sea. Similar questions arose on my first scuba night dive. "Aren't you worried about what you can't see?" It's the same during the day, for my eyes only see what is in front of me. If something gets me  from behind or beneath (as this situation would have been)...well, these things happen. I can't live in a manner that I avoid experiences because of the maybe. An outboard motor dragging a banana boat breaks my concentration. Like a sea otter, I continue floating on my back, watching the clouds change colors as the sun drops on the water. 


There was a point I wished I had my camera. Not for the sun, as I have more than enough ocean sunset shots, but for the lighting on the water. This unique vantage point kept the purples, oranges, and dark blues reflecting on the water's surface much longer than I've seen from land, and the glow on my hands and toes as they breached, creating ripples through the surface, is an image I won't soon forget.


I stayed floating there until the stars came out above me.

You never know

Four months ago, my plan was to spend Christmas in London and New Year's in Barcelona.

On September 28, I changed my plans and declared, "Nothing is to be regretted."

And here I find myself on the eve of Christmas spending the holiday not with the people of England, but with the people of multiple cities and states instead. I spent the last couple months working in San Francisco with Canadians and Trinidadians, with Russians and Mongolians, with Portlanders and Cincinnatians. Sure, this isn't where I thought I'd be back in August, but I've continued to make friends from areas unexplored, I've continued to make memories with those close to me, and I've even managed to make a little money instead of spending it all on hostels and foreign delicacies.

New people have entered my life and old friends are soon leaving me. These are moments that would not have been part of my story had I continued walking.

I'd say that's reason enough to be merry.
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On a side note, I still have a valid ticket from London to Barcelona on Dec 27 and a return flight from Barcelona to SF on Jan 6, so if anyone
1) wants to pay for me to fly over there, or
2) has a fake pasport with my name on it and wants to do a little short-notice traveling,
hit me up.

06-Oct

Surreal moment #23AA:

It's after 01:00 and I'm sitting in an old bar in Altstadt, Düsseldorf. The proprietor of Spinstube Bar -- an elderly man who doesn't appear to know English -- wears a yellow shirt with suspenders, a red tie, and a lovely red leather vest to top it off. I'm pretty sure this establishment has a staff of one. The sound system, which includes at least seven pieces of equipment (cassette, turntable, CD, amplifier, receiver, mixing board, etc), is playing something that sounds like ABBA singing in German about Mexico, complete with cheesy Spanish trumpeting. For all the technology invested in sound, this place has only five tables and could seat about twenty. The decor is a mix of Halloween style fake spiderwebs, many different kinds of lamps suspended from the ceiling, and a collection of award ribbons and imprinted miniature copper pans hung on the wall. The video feed of the fake fireplace plays in the corner and I'm not sure how to interpret the Christmas light-wrapped wagon wheel hanging next to the giant fake spiderweb.

I chose this place out of all the choices in what is called "The longest bar in the world" because it didn't have Van Halen, top 20 pop mixes, or dance music blasting into the street. Communication is kept simple since I hadn't learned any German for  my unplanned visit:
"Ein alt bier bitte."
"Danke."
"Ein pils bier bitte."
"Danke."

I flew into DUS with 26 euro in hand as the only funds I would have until I reached SFO. I didn't want to withdraw too  much in Italy and be stuck with euros, but I also didn't plan on stopping in Germany, so I didn't give my banks the heads-up that I would be pulling an all-nighter here. And so, I left the airport for my 11 hour layover, step by step, slowly, to confirm that I would have trains to return and funds to ride such trains...but there's some point, after staring at price charts and rail maps completely in German, that you just get on the train. So I did. Take a guess and figure it out if things go bad.

07-Oct

Anticipation: Excitement or some portion of mental CPU usage going towards the expectation of something that might happen...or might not. Just as the solo walks down the highways of Italy allowed for plenty of thinking time, so does the long flight home.

The exhausted mind of a Düsseldorf all-nighter can only Sudoku so many hours in a row. And so I think...of what may develop and of what's to come.

29-Sept

Meet Arne. I almost didn't. He lives in Ameglia, Italy, but has lived in almost every country in Europe. I found Arne through couchsurfing because his daughter had been hosting, went off to college last month, and left her dad in charge of keeping the room available. After a day of some heavy thinking (see previous post) and an aching body which left me a bit tardy on the day's 22 mile trek, I arrived at the train station that would carry me to his neighborhood a bit faster. To be a proper guest with my tardiness, I called Arne from the train station to give him an estimated arrival time.

The response on the phone came in a thick German accent: "I told you to arrive before 7:00. There are no more buses to my town. Why didn't you listen when I told you to arrive before 7:00?" I apologized and tried to explain that I had forgotten his warnings because I hadn't planned on taking trains or buses. I offered the option that I find somewhere else to spend the night, which in my head was going to be the Florence train station, as I'd already decided that this would be my westernmost point. He told me to come anyway and see if there was possibly one last bus (which he knew there wasn't). We hung up and I seriously considered getting on the train east instead of west. However, that action in itself would've been ruder than being late so I headed his way.

I ended up buying him a little food and drink in exchange for him picking me up on his motorbike. My first motorcycle ride was on an old dirtbike, my feet occasionally touching the ground, watching him lean over the handlebars to pound his fist on the headlamp every time it went dark, as we wound through twisting streets up the hill. About two thirds of the way up, the engine puttered out and Arne proposed a "It may be that we are out of benzina gas." Fortunately, a simple restart got us the rest of the way up the hill.

I'm glad to have met him. Scary start aside, he was a great one to hang out with and, though I took in more secondhand smoke in 12 hours with him than with a year and a half of traveling with Cirque, he was full of stories. At 18, he visited the United States with his brother, hitchhiking and eventually buying a truck from a man who said he was selling everything to move to Alaska. Arne thought this was just something Americans did, so they bought the truck, got pulled over in San Francisco, and spent three days in jail for possessing a stolen vehicle before the embassy got them out. For eight years in the 1980s, Arne traveled as a circus performer. He and a friend juggled and played the organ, living in a camper wagon which was pulled by a tractor. Yes, a farm tractor. They would sometimes meet other performers on the road and organize small fairs until the funds dried up or public officials gave them the boot. He took me on a tour of his life as he thumbed through a small box of old photos: Friends and coworkers, Arne with mime makeup and his organ standing outside a cinema, the different vehicles they all traveled in. He still has the organ, though he hasn't tried it in many years.

He also understood somewhat what I was looking for on my Italian walk and he directed me to a nearby footpath that would take me through hills, forests, and cliff edges as I made my way around his peninsula, access to quiet beaches that basically gave me the Cinqueterre experience without paying tolls and dealing with tourists. So my turnaround point concluded with
1) A former wanderer and circus worker
2) A proper hike through nature
3) The opportunity to swim in the Mediterranean, which I was determined to do at least once on my trip, but knew that this would be my last day near the coast
4) The chance to watch German late night talk shows

Number four wasn't really an objective, but you never know what will happen on these trips. Bottom line, I faced the fear and had a good experience: One that sends me back towards the circus.

28-Sept

I may have dreamt too big. I sometimes seem to do so. There are things that can be planned but foresight is impossible, the outcomes of which must be experienced.

Conclusion #1: Carrying a 35 pound backpack all day, every day sucks. For the backpackers out there asking why I'm carrying so much, keep in mind that in addition to a tent and sleeping bag, I had to carry clothing sufficient for rain, sun, and snow -- the heat of the Italian autumn to the freeze of a London winter -- as well as 6.6 pounds (3 liters) of water. My body is not happy with me and I'd rather not do permanent damage since my job requires me to be in constant motion.

Conclusion #2: Walking is nicer with a partner. I briefly had a walking partner here and this is not to fault her, but walking alone, town after town, is not particularly exciting. When planning this trip, I envisioned walking along country roads and enjoying the nature of Italy. The majority of the path has been on the shoulders of highways with the traffic whizzing past with such proximity and velocity that it blows the hat off my head. In the last few days, I had a brief but enjoyable walk through a moist forest that, while still with traffic zipping by, stands out from the monotony of sidewalks and shoulders I've seen.

Conclusion #3: It is possible to survive on 10 euros a day. That was the budget I allowed myself at the time of my departure. I had tried to save more, but the unfortunate Plaquemine episode of my life put a damper on that matter. I would not let that stop my trip, so I pushed on. As I said, it is possible, but does it allow for full enjoyment? Not really. I allowed myself a bit of splurging with my friends in Florence, only to find myself suddenly three weeks off budget. Whoops? No. I had great time. But this can not last for three more months, particularly heading to even more expensive areas ($ to € conversion is bad right now, but $ to £ is even worse).

And so I come home. Nothing here is to be regretted. The cost for a 3.5 week roundtrip flight is the same as a 3.5 month one. For most people, this still would've been longer than the average vacation. I've had new foods, unique experiences, and met memorable people that I will surely see again: A potential future travel partner, a Roman who plans to move to New York, a couple New Yorkers that I may see in a year, a Pistoian who one day may be the one chosen to visit his company's headquarters in my hometown,  a Grecian-Luccan who is friends with a restauranteur who lives two hours from San Jose. These are good times, but I return home to my families. Home to possibly work, home to  find some adventure and shelter in the places I know from my childhood, home to spend the holidays with those I know well. In that ongoing discussion of what home is, perhaps I have found a truth in part:

Home is not where I am. It is where you are.

There will be other times for Christmas in London and New Year's in Barcelona. There are thoughts of what others may feel that I'm quitting/missing an opportunity, and I may sound like a skipping record, but the two closest voices I've found on this journey remind me of the wisdom of happiness:

Vita: "Always choose what's best for you."
Danielle: "'Just because I already paid for it' isn't a reason."

Thanks guys.