Wayward Travels: Europe to NYC, 2006
Nicole and I got married in March, quit our jobs, packed our house into boxes and sold our cars, then left for 80 days in Europe and Morocco with two friends, full backpacks, and no plans but a rough route across the continent.
This is the raw, unedited account I wrote throughout the journey.
This is the raw, unedited account I wrote throughout the journey.
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Monday, May 08, 2006
Europa!!! Well, we have been in Europe now for a week. Everything is slower here, it forces you to take your time with things. We spent two nights in London, the city is like a storybook, a massive little village. Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, Big Ben...Then we saw Stonehenge and Salisbury for a night. After that we headed to Ireland and Rosslaire Harbor was our point of entry. After finishing 24 Stellas between the 4 of us on the ferry from Fishguard, U.K., we hiked about 5 miles in search of a campground, then decided to pitch our tents and poach a little farmland. We slept on wet muddy grass as tall as our knees and learned that it wasn't as hard as we thought to be American bums in Europe. By sunrise we brokedown camp and hightailed it to the Harbor again to wait on our train to Dublin. We stayed one night there, enjoyed the Guiness Factory and St. Patrick's Cathedral. The human history inside that ancient monument of faith is tangible and overwhelming. Seeing all these weathered tombs of time is both humbling and invigorating. The next night we slept in a picnic park in Mallow, Ireland, by the midnight recommendation of Paul, a tavern owner. That was on the way to Kenmare, a small south Ireland town. There we spent one night in a beautiful hostel, and now, after a day of buses, we are in Galway, near the birthplace and home of my clan, the Kearns'. All is amazing and eternal, rough, and self-clarifying. This hole journey is one great mirror and caving expedition into what I am made of. I am finding out much, very much. 
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Wednesday, May 17, 2006
More of the wayward wandering...
So we spent several days in Galway, followed by a stretch in Belfast, Northern Ireland. In Galway, being so close to my surname's land of heritage and having a copy of the Kearns crest, Ronin, a tattoo artist from "Ïrish Ink" put the crest on the back of my left calf. He was a good man to meet that may be moving to Tucson in AZ. So from the beautiful relaxed city of Galway, supposedly Europe's fastest growing city, we went to the charged lands of Brit-occupied Belfast. We walked on foot to the Peace Line, through the peaceful reinforced steel gates and peaceful barbwire, to see the street murals of each side (Shankhill and Falls) of the conflict, both Irish Catholic and British Protestent. It was a bit harrowing, the cries for peace and signs of hate. A lot of energy... After a day of walking all of Belfast that we could we made it to ancient and as Nikki would call it, "magical" Edinburgh. The city has so many ancient cathedral spires, stories, so much history, Scottish Revolution, a castle in the middle. It was inspiring. Moving. A place of wisdom, age and transendence. Life just grows from old stone structures. All that man builds will once be consumed by earth. The smell is amazing. To think of all the people before, the builders of these things. From Edinburgh we rode a 15 hour ferry to Amsterdam where the fog is legal and the tasty is cheap. Everyone rides bikes and the cars always yield (at least compared to elsewhere). It's the Venice of the north, with natural intoxicants and liberal love abound! And my time is up!
More of the wayward wandering...
So we spent several days in Galway, followed by a stretch in Belfast, Northern Ireland. In Galway, being so close to my surname's land of heritage and having a copy of the Kearns crest, Ronin, a tattoo artist from "Ïrish Ink" put the crest on the back of my left calf. He was a good man to meet that may be moving to Tucson in AZ. So from the beautiful relaxed city of Galway, supposedly Europe's fastest growing city, we went to the charged lands of Brit-occupied Belfast. We walked on foot to the Peace Line, through the peaceful reinforced steel gates and peaceful barbwire, to see the street murals of each side (Shankhill and Falls) of the conflict, both Irish Catholic and British Protestent. It was a bit harrowing, the cries for peace and signs of hate. A lot of energy... After a day of walking all of Belfast that we could we made it to ancient and as Nikki would call it, "magical" Edinburgh. The city has so many ancient cathedral spires, stories, so much history, Scottish Revolution, a castle in the middle. It was inspiring. Moving. A place of wisdom, age and transendence. Life just grows from old stone structures. All that man builds will once be consumed by earth. The smell is amazing. To think of all the people before, the builders of these things. From Edinburgh we rode a 15 hour ferry to Amsterdam where the fog is legal and the tasty is cheap. Everyone rides bikes and the cars always yield (at least compared to elsewhere). It's the Venice of the north, with natural intoxicants and liberal love abound! And my time is up!
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Tuesday, May 23, 2006
And on we are... Well, I fell asleep on the cold steel floor of a Slavic train out of Frankfurt, eased to dream by the rail-wheel lullabye beneath me. My rest was broken by green fatigues and a holstered Czech pistol with a thick accent asking for my passport. Neat way to wake up, especially considering that they had been rapping on our compartment door for a minute or so before they let themselves in. They were actually a very nice welcoming party into the Czech Republic, a military escort if you will...Really though, Prague was amazing. It felt like the corner of the world. The people seem sullen, but are jovial beneath their curt exterior, much like New Yorkers, and something we had to get used to. Prague Castle was neat, but the old mining city of Kutna Hora, ouitside of Prague, and the Bone Church there (Kostnice) was truly incredible. Between a family crest, much wall decor, two alters, the artist's initials, four towers, four pyramids, and a chandelier made of every bone in the human body at least once, some 40,000 people's remains decorate the church's interior. The bones are from bodies of the Black Plague overflow and the cemetary's population contraction that occurred when the ore was exhausted from the surrounding mountains. The morbid decor was done with the holiest intent and is really quite moving and inspiring to be surrounded by. It definitely gets you in the mood to think about life, death, time, and the divine. More than any other, it is my kind of church. We have tasted Pilsner Urquell, brewed in Pilzen, Budvar, the original Budweiser before it became 'American,' and believe me, Budvar is WORLDS better. Also Krusovice and a local Kutna Hora brew have been delicious. Our hostel was very homey our last two nights in Prague (Praha), and our first night we were escorted by a woman that Ryan met to 'Shelter,' a very nice, new apartment style hostel with a Van Gogh calender. We got two sleeps out of in 24 hours. It seems that as trains arrive, the locals come to the station to offer accomidations. The Krown has a terrible (great for us though...) exchange of about 22-to-1. I also tasted real Absinthe, and it made my mouth numb with herby goodness. The city and people were distinct and amazing. I don't know if the Green Fairy was waving or I was just perfect, but I can see why the drink was a muse for some of Europe's most amazing minds. The train ride to Munich was eventful at best. Our Amsterdam passport stamp is a scarlet letter. On the train from Cheb to Markowitz two Politzei officers surveyed our credentials then asked to look in our bags. My rucksack was pointed to so I gladly cooperated. They proceded to empty out all of my meticulous packing, smell my pipe tobacco after dumping it on a bench, have me empty my pockets twice, put their hands in my change pocket and back pockets (tickling my groin and ass), then they turned to Nikki, found pepper spray, and took her to the front of the train. I watched those bastards like a hawk. I was so pissed. In the states they NEVER could have put their hands in my pockets. I felt humiliated, violated, and that made me blind with anger. I am good at using the blindness as a center, a whitewash. I breathed and checked on Nicole. They took the pepper spray as a weapon, as it is not German approved, and filled out some beaurocratic protocol bullshit. In Munich we went to the Consulate to report the groping and have the papers Nikki signed translated. They were very nice to us. An angry-in-a-good-way Austrian American greeted us, and portraits of G.W., Sir Dick, and Condi escorted us in. I found it fascinating that Dick, with his cocked eyebrow, was flanked by W and Condi, as opposed to the dunce being in the middle, but I guess it's fitting. Anyway, after being assured that the groping, as it was done by a man and Nikki was untouched, is okay by the liberal police laws, and the tight security is in light of the coming World Cup, we felt much better. Every other German person has been all smiles and very helpful. The city is beautiful and the parks are amazing. Paris is next for a twelve hours on Thursday, where we will see Ryan off, then to Bonn, Germany for two nights and back to Paris. Every journey must have a story. One last good tiding - Fuck Authority. |
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Monday, May 29, 2006
more travels...
I didn't mention Van Gogh. Goddamn, the museum was amazing. I am on a french keyboard and the letters are completely wayward. Also, we were at the Louvre, saw much Da Vinci, Rapael, Michaelangelo (3 of the Ninja Turtles) it also was amazing. Da Vinci paints with such grace and truth, soft and delicate, his work is softly soulful where Van Gogh is wrenchingly emotional and beautiful. Ah, to breathe with genius, to see THEIR paint, you see thier hands, thru their eyes, into their heart and enter their mind. Nothing but presence does justice to genius.
more travels...
I didn't mention Van Gogh. Goddamn, the museum was amazing. I am on a french keyboard and the letters are completely wayward. Also, we were at the Louvre, saw much Da Vinci, Rapael, Michaelangelo (3 of the Ninja Turtles) it also was amazing. Da Vinci paints with such grace and truth, soft and delicate, his work is softly soulful where Van Gogh is wrenchingly emotional and beautiful. Ah, to breathe with genius, to see THEIR paint, you see thier hands, thru their eyes, into their heart and enter their mind. Nothing but presence does justice to genius.
Paris is amazing. Romanitc, friendly, and slow as the Seine slicing through it. The toilets cost money and the city smells of piss. It is just like New York! People of all kinds walk the streets and history lies in piles all around. The city was built with beauty in mind, and beautiful it is. We ate croissants, fruit, cheese and wine on the banks of the Seine on Ryan's last day with us. Nikki and I had a romantic day alone. All lovers kiss with their toungues, there truly is a mystique to this place. I could spend years here. Anyhow, now I must find a place to sleep after or all-night train to Madrid on Wednesday.
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We visitied Dachau, a concentration camp outside of Munich, the first actually, and a model for all the rest. It was as close as you can come to Hell on Earth, and it was just a work camp, meaning you were worked into dehumanization and dehaminized to death. The shower room is an unused gas chamber. I could not take pictures, I could harldy breathe, the empathy exhausted me. It was Hell. The evil black potential of man. The place is a disgrace.
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Thursday, June 22, 2006
I dont have much time but... So, we have been to the salsa-beat heart of Spain, Madrid, a city that comes alive at around 1am every night and siestas all day, then to the fallen beaches of Portugal, met a great Portugese rapper named Tony Mac, then to Sevilla, Spain for amazing graffiti and spinach garbanzo tapas. From there we had the greatest venture of our journey yet, Nikki and I headed south into Morocco and to the interior of Marrakech. The people were pure, beautiful, and unashamedly compassionate to their friends and loved ones. From orange juice stands, to goat heads, to drummers and music from home-built guitars, singers, dancers, acrobats, medicine men, snake charmers, monkeys, mystics, doctors, storytellers, actors performing plays, henna artists, and men in lady muslim dress, nights at the Jemaa El Fna, where public beheadings were once conducted, were truly incredible. They were by and for the local people, in place of the one-sided funnel of TV, the Moroccans in Marrakech gather everynight to entertain eachother as a community. Tourists are few and far between in the moonlight and spotty lantern glow. The call to prayer woke with us during our mint tea at breakfast, and eased our nights on the terrace before sleep. It came from all directions around, each mosque with a different prayer, and man doing it right then. Mint tea is Moroccan Whiskey, fresh mint crushed with reused green tea and sugar. Pour it high to mix the sweetness, and pour the first glass back in before drinking any. More will be wriiten soon, but now, Roma! Ciao. 
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Friday, June 23, 2006
Further on down the trail...
Ok, well, damn Morocco is amazing. The shopworkers go into their pockets for money to give the begging poor, restaraunt servers will give the passing begging poor the leftover food from a tourist table right in front of them, still on the plate and everything. There is a great sense that the entire community is together in life, struggle, poverty, and purity. In the same breath it both fills me with hope, inspiration and compassion, yet empathy, anger and sorrow tear at me. My luxeries in life are gross, to hell with comfort, I just want to live in Africa, interact with the people and hold their hands down the street. I want to sit in my Moroccan sandals at night sipping mint tea and eating bean soup while the Jemaa El Fna writhes in lamb smoke and dance to the beat of drums, cheering, snake flutes and earthen guitars.
Further on down the trail...
Ok, well, damn Morocco is amazing. The shopworkers go into their pockets for money to give the begging poor, restaraunt servers will give the passing begging poor the leftover food from a tourist table right in front of them, still on the plate and everything. There is a great sense that the entire community is together in life, struggle, poverty, and purity. In the same breath it both fills me with hope, inspiration and compassion, yet empathy, anger and sorrow tear at me. My luxeries in life are gross, to hell with comfort, I just want to live in Africa, interact with the people and hold their hands down the street. I want to sit in my Moroccan sandals at night sipping mint tea and eating bean soup while the Jemaa El Fna writhes in lamb smoke and dance to the beat of drums, cheering, snake flutes and earthen guitars.
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Anyhow, we almost died on the ferry back to Spain, things were crashing, lifejackets were coming out, children crying...I threw up, Nikki threw up, a man near us threw up...I guess all things great come at a cost, and it was worth the vomit ferry from hell. It was a honeymoon part II for Nikki and I, as it was just the two of us, and our first chance to really relax the two of us since our first honeymoon, with all the packing, garage-saling, car-selling, job-quitting, and goodbye-ing.
Our next stop after and unexpected stop in Madrid was Barcelona, a crazy Spanish city with tons of history, character, and American tourists. We came to Europe to get away from America, and now these people are everywhere...Dammit! Anyway, much like Paris, you can see the city in the old people walking slowly down her streets and sitting on park benches, she has an age, a history and character all her own. Gaudi the mad whimsical earthform/tile mosaic architecht has an amazing park here that Nikki says is like Candy Land, he also has a crazy looking Temple of sorts that still is being completed long after his death, and several casas that are morbid and colorfully bright at the same time. The Picasso Museum was incredible, it rained on my way there, and Nikki was sick in bed, but that man was a genius. His work at 14 was amazingly masterful, it is fitting that he grew into a revolutionary in the art world. Such odd, honest, starkly human, complexly simple work! I will finish later, the group is in line to see the Sistine Chapel, and I hope they have not gotten in yet, it is several thousand people deep, but keeps moving. Ciao for now. 
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Sunday, July 02, 2006
Italia... Well, we pulled an all-nighter in Barcelona after riding as train to the north, Figueres, in search of beach camping...we found that no buses could deliver us to beaches, as it was too late, and turned around back to Barcelona. After 4 hours of training the coast of Spain, we were back in Barcelona with no place to stay and no way out of the city. We left our packs at our hostel of the 2 nights prior, ate massive falafel pitas on the curb with a begging cup in front of us that remained empty, then walked to the beaches and sat in the Spanish moonlight to the sound of the surf and night-swimmers. As beach combing tractors with bright lights stirred us, we moved on back toward our packs and the train station. No trains to Florence. No trains to Nice. No trains bound for anywhere but Montepilier were available. We had to stay the night there. After showers, a nap, Subway sandwiches and a McDonalds sundae, we felt a bit rundown. I was sick and our Florence reunion with Jon and Ian was being pushed back at best. |
We arrived in Florence after having to spend the night in Milan. The train ride through the Swiss Alps was breathtaking. Massive green eruptions of earth, dipped in vanilla snow, shining back off of crystal clear Lake Geneva, waterfalls gushing out of the rock walls. Breathtaking...
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Florence is a city of vultures picking at the carcass of the Renaissance in the name of preservation, a semblence of appreciation, and a sickening stench of profit. With all the Americans in the city we had to wonder if any were left in the states...We found awesome pizza though. My head and eyes were throbbing for the seventh day in a row, that may have killed the city for me, to be honest. We camped and reunited with Jon and Ian, that was nice, also met Finnish and Budapestian friends, also nice.
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Rome was badass. Its history and faith are its life. Italy is so lazily conservative, it is silly. The police check their hair and fluff their open collars while checking out the passing ladies. We saw damn near all there is to see. The colosseum, the forum, the Sistine Chapel, Raphael's frescoes. I will write more later. We need to find a place to sleep in Athens on the 6th. Ah, the life of a bum on a schedule!
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Friday, July 07, 2006
Well, it's winding down... Rome is so thick with ancient history, it is truly mindblowing. Seeing these things in history and art books is one thing, actually breathing with thousands of years of human history is humbling and inspiring, amazing...The Sistine Chapel takes the breath away and blows the mind, Raphael's "School of Athens" and other frescoes are incredible. The colors and detail, the understanding and the human form, I never realized the brilliance of these things... The art is so much more animated and alive then any photos give allusion to. The colosseum was once a splendid sight, a marvel and center of the Roman Empire's daily life. Now it stands in decay, a rotting shell trampled daily by tourists, where it used to be a focal point of the center of the Western World. 
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Oh, behold the power of time and the nature of power...everything falls, and everything falls victim to time...The Roman Forum now lies in pieces, scattered about for visitors to freely walk beside and on top of...truly humbling... The Romans sure knew how to build a nice fountain. Ancient marble water pools and fountains pepper the city, Ian and Mascha even slept at one during our all-nighter in Rome before leaving for our South Italy mountain getaway. |
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We went to Croce Di Magara in the Big Toe Tendon Mountains of the boot of Italy. The warmth of the people in the South is unbelievable. Nikki and I only left for the 5km hike into Camegliatello for groceries once, and that is as far as we traveled from our little mountain cabin. We stayed a week in the timeshare that Nikki's dad provided us with, and cooked our own meals (lots of fideo). It was so lovely to cook again. I didn't where my hiking boots but once to ride a horse with Nikki, the rest of the time I wore my Moroccasin Slipper-shoes. We picked wild mini-strawberries from the vine, ate home-cooked South Italian meals (gnocci with deer, vino di casa, fresh thick noodles with porcini pomodoro, grilled whole trout...) at a little old warm, tight-faced, proud Italian man's house/restaraunt, drank homemade mountain strawberry liquor we bought from a little lady, and ate her fresh parmasan and olive pate...it was an amazing week, and much needed. Toward the end, our year-thus-far of madness, wedding, moving, quitting our jobs, selling our cars, and bumming through Europe started to catch up with us. We got a bit down...Time to move on...
Athens was our next stop and where I sit now. We slept on the deck of a 17.5 hour ferry from Bari, Italy to Patras, Greece. That was an experience. What if it rained? It would have been a sloppy good time I am sure...Italy beat Germany to enter the finals of the World Cup, as I was woken up by airhorns and hollars at around 12midnight. I must say I feel vindicated, my blood beat the pocket-invading, pepperspray fearing fascists!
The people here are firey, revolutionary and full of spit and vinegar about the state of our world. They are disappointed in the world leaders today, probably because the Greeks are our elders, historically speaking. There seems to be quite the youth movement here, the graffiti rivals the quality and protest of that in Spain. Nikki says this is a good place for me, that it has my energy... Thought Rome was old, being in Athens is like being in Egypt, the Acropolis like the pyramids...2600 years ago, people were excelling here in thought, government, athleticism, architecture and art. Talk about humbling...to walk where their sandals walked, to see what they built, where our entire Western Civilization was born, is life changing. This whole experience is life changing. It is the prologue to Volume II of my life...And I look nothing like the goofy guy in the picture to the left...I look much goofier...but hopefully I'm a little wiser, maybe... Well, to the isles next, Santorini, hopefully more beaches (fianlly) in Croatia, then a night in Venice, trains to Brussels, and a night in search of my English roots in Brighton, U.K. It's all winding down now...back to the U.S. on the 20th to find a place to live in NY for a little longer than a couple nights I hope... |
We went to Sicily to see my roots, my gramma's blood. Palermo was gritty, worldly, ethnic, and a true melting pot of Africa, Mediterranean, Arabic and Italian cultures. The land and people were like Africa meets Itlay. We travelled to AltaVilla Malicia, the home of my bisnonno and bisnonna (great grandparents), and stared out at the same sea that they stared at over a hundred years ago, probably thinking of me, my parents, and my gramma. Full circle. It gave me goosebumps and welled in my eyes every time I let it flow through me with the sea breeze. Mountains charged up in one direction from the city, to the other, at the bottom of the hill hte city sits upon, was the sea, churning with ancient memory, the same water that washed my ancestor's dreams...We hunted down a Scianna, Giovanni, with the help of damn near the whole town, such warm, familial people...And searched the cemetary, only to find a Guiseppe that looked just like my brother...I saw my gramma everywhere, in the lady's hanging sheets to dry from their balconies, the helpful, lovingly fascinated eyes of the people that led us in search of my heritage. Having seen the roots, I feel more a part of a beautiful tree than ever before...We even were led to an underground storage room of city archives and found what may be the birth record from November 5, 1876, of my great grandfather, Salvatore Scianna. Fucking amazing!!!! I will be back to Sicily, I want to travel the island, walk its mountians and swim its coast. Maybe own a little terra cotts roofed villa on a beach of olive and cypress, write all day, and love my wife and kids...
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Tuesday, 1 August 2006
Europe to NY: I Since my last post i feel like i am so far from where i once was and right where i am meant to be. Goodness Greece was amazing. The Greek Isles are breathtaking. From Paros and its long golden beaches with two dozen shades of blue between the sea and the sky, to Santorini and its cliffside cities, fresh-white buildings with bright ocean-blue roofs, and volcanic beaches; the isles were incredible. On Santorini the city of Fira lines a cliff top, like the Grand Canyon by the sea, as Nikki described it. We frolicked on a red beach and saw the sunrise over the volcano that birthed the crescent moon shaped island. After hours of ferrying across the Mediterranean and sleeping in the vessel on the floor of a stairwell right outside of first class, Nikki and I arrived in Athens to see the sunrise on the Acropolis, just as people must have seen its luster at this hour for the last 2500 years. From Athens, more trains, and, another ferry. This time, a conference room floor to sleep on. After several days of travel, we found ourselves in Bari, Italy, with a day to kill before our 36 hour jaunt through Croatia. This breather got us thinking...to rush Croatia would be a waste, and a massive stress with Belgium reservations, Brighton, UK commitments on the 18th, EuroStar tickets, and two flights on the line. We decided to scratch Croatia until next time. We would take it easy through Venice, then make it back to Amsterdam for a full circle journey to meet back with Jon. |
Venice would be amazing to live in during the winter, in the off-season. What a character the city has, such charm and age, like the pleasent smell of musty soft wood-rott. No roads, only canals and footpath alleys. Even store shipments arrive on small boats, from bar beer kegs, to fruit stand tomatoes. An amazing Italian city buried beneath the Nikes and New Balance of countless tourists, with a truly Italian air to it, if you seek it out.
From Venice we took a train through the Italian and Austrian Alps. My God the beauty! It was like a moving Renaissance painting. The mountains sporadicly jutting up, wrapped in lush green, cracked and crumbling grey stone chunks breaking off like leaves off an inverted tree. Roads and bridges, towns, houses and cars, all dancing through the trenches and valleys melting into the thick rain drenched day. Our train rolled on, the smell of a wet soft Alpine late day filled the cars and our noses like the tracks did our ears.
We got to Munich, bound for Amsterdam, the stop that instigated the special fascist rub down and citation from the gestapo before our arrival here 1.5 months ago...the irony was delicious and the German people were very friendly and helpful. In all fairness, I think Hans (thanks Miller, no pun intended I'm sure) was just an asshole and the World Cup had the country on edge.
From Venice we took a train through the Italian and Austrian Alps. My God the beauty! It was like a moving Renaissance painting. The mountains sporadicly jutting up, wrapped in lush green, cracked and crumbling grey stone chunks breaking off like leaves off an inverted tree. Roads and bridges, towns, houses and cars, all dancing through the trenches and valleys melting into the thick rain drenched day. Our train rolled on, the smell of a wet soft Alpine late day filled the cars and our noses like the tracks did our ears.
We got to Munich, bound for Amsterdam, the stop that instigated the special fascist rub down and citation from the gestapo before our arrival here 1.5 months ago...the irony was delicious and the German people were very friendly and helpful. In all fairness, I think Hans (thanks Miller, no pun intended I'm sure) was just an asshole and the World Cup had the country on edge.
After an all-night trian ride again...an all-night ferry to Athens, train to Patras, alll-night ferry to Bari, all-night train to Venice, and now to Amsterdam...
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When we arrived in Amsterdam, we checked our backpacks into a locker. We ventured out to Pablow Picasso's, home of the Dancing Dutchman and his perfect Cappucinos (the best outside of Italy), but only after getting 3 of our favorite chocolate croissants from the little dutch bakery next door. We smoked a pre-rolled with our cappucinos and croissants at the same table we had sat at two months ago with Ryan and Jon. We spoke of time, of slowing down to feel, of death and loss, of age and change...the moments weighed my eyes and I was a public fountain, just seeping and pouring tears while people smoked and played games in the fog. Nikki held me and wiped my tears. Time is catching up....
We left after breakfast at Barney's for Brussels to see the peeing boy statue and check into our hotel. Our room was cute, great beer was cheap, and the peeing boy was small and amazing! i am glad that the capital of the EU has such a sense of humor... The next two nights we camped at Gaasperplas Campground just outside of Amsterdam. It was surreal when a little old roundfaced Dutchman with khaki shorts, little dark shoes, and khaki stockings worn high, dismounted his bicycle to show us our campsite after acting as our escort, bell ringing and feet slowly peddling through the tent-packed grounds. |
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Tuesday, 8 August 2006
Europe 2 NYC
Amsterdam was a great gram of delight (Panama Gold!). A return and refelection to a root point of the journey. A rendevouz with the ghost i left behind, the man i was 2 months ago...a reunion with memories, a reunion with Ryan...who's gone back to where we are moving from...this trip was the most time we will spend together for some time...
We made it back to Brussels for our Eurostar train into London, had a drink with one of Nikki's old co-workers, a friend that now lives in London...small world...then we took the short train ride to the South Cities of Brighton and Hove. Our hostel room had a window that peered out over the Brighton Pier and the red and white glowing Ferris Wheel. It also had a drunk Irishman that stormed through the room half the nite tossing things around blathering about 50E he had lost...
Europe 2 NYC
Amsterdam was a great gram of delight (Panama Gold!). A return and refelection to a root point of the journey. A rendevouz with the ghost i left behind, the man i was 2 months ago...a reunion with memories, a reunion with Ryan...who's gone back to where we are moving from...this trip was the most time we will spend together for some time...
We made it back to Brussels for our Eurostar train into London, had a drink with one of Nikki's old co-workers, a friend that now lives in London...small world...then we took the short train ride to the South Cities of Brighton and Hove. Our hostel room had a window that peered out over the Brighton Pier and the red and white glowing Ferris Wheel. It also had a drunk Irishman that stormed through the room half the nite tossing things around blathering about 50E he had lost...
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Brighton is an English party city, its hot and twsits with beachlife, Hove is a small town by the sea, full of flowers and little shops. It's damn hard to tell where one ends and the other begins...the beach and sea unites them both.
My grandfather left Hove as a young boy after his mother was forced to pawn her wedding ring for passage. They traveled together on these waters. Nikki and I had rock-findng contests on the same beach my grampa played on as a boy...an old rotting pier, rusting and burning in the sea, drowns in an arthritic kneel right off the hot small-rock sand of the beach. Hell of a city. Another look in the mirror, a gaze at the evergrowing tree, a prism of leaves...
My grandfather left Hove as a young boy after his mother was forced to pawn her wedding ring for passage. They traveled together on these waters. Nikki and I had rock-findng contests on the same beach my grampa played on as a boy...an old rotting pier, rusting and burning in the sea, drowns in an arthritic kneel right off the hot small-rock sand of the beach. Hell of a city. Another look in the mirror, a gaze at the evergrowing tree, a prism of leaves...
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From Brighton we hiked to the train staion past a fire that was pulling an apartment into the sky. Our trian sat for a step in the station...then pulled us to Gatwick, where we flew RyanAir through a ton of security, into Dublin. We met Jon, drank Frosty Jack's for the first time since we'd been with Ryan in Belfast, and passed out in the airport McDonalds on the floor. At 4am some damn kids woke us up, squealing in the same voice in a different language...eggmcmuffins and Frosty Jack's made it easier...we flew into NY and shotgunned our final European beers as we waited for the A train. We found our way to Jim's...another return to New York, only this time to find a place to live...
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We hunted down an apartment, on a day I was ready to give up. i had no energy...i told nicole, "i am ready when you are..." nikki took charge...fate twisted after a week...time was settling in...we were back in the lion's den...the corpse of the American Dream...one grand stage of betrayal...i am guilty by association and that hurts...pressure and eyez, competition and dehumanization...instead of foreign condescention and isolation, ego and alienation...fuck...europe wasn't far enuff away, but it was away...
Anyhow, we found a beautiful apartment, TAKING it after we lost our first find...it is in Flatbush, a Carribean neighborhood in Brooklyn. Our landlord is an absent-minded, well-meaning Jamaican guy, he chose us with no credit check, proof of employment... i had to push aside a stem and seeds to sign our lease, we got the keys that day and slept there that night, leaving the next morning to come back home...
Anyhow, we found a beautiful apartment, TAKING it after we lost our first find...it is in Flatbush, a Carribean neighborhood in Brooklyn. Our landlord is an absent-minded, well-meaning Jamaican guy, he chose us with no credit check, proof of employment... i had to push aside a stem and seeds to sign our lease, we got the keys that day and slept there that night, leaving the next morning to come back home...
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Wednesday, 13 September 2006
NYC
In AZ we stayed at the homes of those we love as much as we could...2 nights with gramma, 4 with mom and dad, 2 with Steve, 3 with Donna, 3 at Ryan and Joe's...home is nebulous now...we just found a new one, left an old one, carried one on our backs for 80 days, traveled in the only one we can call our own through most parts of the Western World, commited our truest to the other's 4.5 months prior, and feel we are there at each place we lay our heads to rest on this welcome home and goodbye return...
The man i used to be in the life i used to live used to drive a car i used to own to see my gramma twice a week. we would go to the bank, to Fry's, buy bananas and cinnamon rolls, go out for breakfast and omelettes, chat by the bird feeder outside the kitchen window and breakfast table, sit in the living room and gab over the distraction of background tv, the Travel Channel, Animal Planet, Discovery, or CNN usually...he used to drive to see mom and dad after, my dog by his side, she'd be happy as hell, smiling and waiting for the kitties, the yard, her grandparents and cat food...he would put his things on the end table, greet the kitties, hug and kiss my parents, go to the gym, sit and watch the news or a good tv show with mom, or she and dad with his wine and maybe M&Ms, sit and talk over the hardwood floor, mom or dad in the rocking chair, or dad on the floor and mom on the couch with me, stand and talk in the kitchen...he would eat dinner on the table of my childhood in the light of my youth every Sunday with my parents...he would drive to pick up Nikki at her mom's, they would all hang out awhile, then he and Nikki would drive home with The Edge SkaPunk on the radio, drop off Ginger, put her things on the hallway ledge, and drive out to see Ryan and Joe in east Mesa. The man i was in the life i lived would go with Nikki to all the DSC shows and the following gang-reunitng parties, Ryan and or Joe would come over and we would discuss life's hell, life's laughs, drink, smoke, and share time...we had family dinner night every week...sometimes when Nikki fell asleep, i would drive over there in my slippers and through the window Arizona night would whirl across my mood, the cooling season and warm company to follow cradled me...i remember riding my bike in the morning to school at ASU in our final fall, my i-pod in my ears piping Social D on my way to class and while I rode home in the cool night as autumn took its shift at the watchtower in the sky, writing anti-capitalist reports after Hurricaine Katrina, our hallway, the ivy over our living room window, our dining room and 2-side access stove, cooking with the fam every week, our Arizona Room, firepit and orange tree i brought to juicing...
Anyhow, we saw all those we could, and though we had come back, home as we've known it remains a memory...
NYC
In AZ we stayed at the homes of those we love as much as we could...2 nights with gramma, 4 with mom and dad, 2 with Steve, 3 with Donna, 3 at Ryan and Joe's...home is nebulous now...we just found a new one, left an old one, carried one on our backs for 80 days, traveled in the only one we can call our own through most parts of the Western World, commited our truest to the other's 4.5 months prior, and feel we are there at each place we lay our heads to rest on this welcome home and goodbye return...
The man i used to be in the life i used to live used to drive a car i used to own to see my gramma twice a week. we would go to the bank, to Fry's, buy bananas and cinnamon rolls, go out for breakfast and omelettes, chat by the bird feeder outside the kitchen window and breakfast table, sit in the living room and gab over the distraction of background tv, the Travel Channel, Animal Planet, Discovery, or CNN usually...he used to drive to see mom and dad after, my dog by his side, she'd be happy as hell, smiling and waiting for the kitties, the yard, her grandparents and cat food...he would put his things on the end table, greet the kitties, hug and kiss my parents, go to the gym, sit and watch the news or a good tv show with mom, or she and dad with his wine and maybe M&Ms, sit and talk over the hardwood floor, mom or dad in the rocking chair, or dad on the floor and mom on the couch with me, stand and talk in the kitchen...he would eat dinner on the table of my childhood in the light of my youth every Sunday with my parents...he would drive to pick up Nikki at her mom's, they would all hang out awhile, then he and Nikki would drive home with The Edge SkaPunk on the radio, drop off Ginger, put her things on the hallway ledge, and drive out to see Ryan and Joe in east Mesa. The man i was in the life i lived would go with Nikki to all the DSC shows and the following gang-reunitng parties, Ryan and or Joe would come over and we would discuss life's hell, life's laughs, drink, smoke, and share time...we had family dinner night every week...sometimes when Nikki fell asleep, i would drive over there in my slippers and through the window Arizona night would whirl across my mood, the cooling season and warm company to follow cradled me...i remember riding my bike in the morning to school at ASU in our final fall, my i-pod in my ears piping Social D on my way to class and while I rode home in the cool night as autumn took its shift at the watchtower in the sky, writing anti-capitalist reports after Hurricaine Katrina, our hallway, the ivy over our living room window, our dining room and 2-side access stove, cooking with the fam every week, our Arizona Room, firepit and orange tree i brought to juicing...
Anyhow, we saw all those we could, and though we had come back, home as we've known it remains a memory...
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We took to the road after 2 days of loading and a week of goodbyes. We passed through New Mexico, sleeping in Gallup, heading north in Albuquerque, through Santa Fe and a massive deluge of rain, to Denver. We stayed the night with Darren Coats, and the afternoon of the next day with Vonn. We met both of their little ladies...how crazy it is to see that all those you love are living their own lives, days go by, we die, we love each other, but we really do most of it on our own, united and divided by time, what we spend together, what we spend apart...we spent some together...
Matt joined us on this cross-country move, Nikki's brother, my brother is moving to D.C...i really got to know him, to appreciate him as i believe he has learned to do himself, and i love that...i love the guy...we had a great time the 3 of us...We drove through Nebraska that night after chilling with Vonn, and passed out for little more than an hour in the Penske truck with blankets on the window in an Iowan truckstop...After a night in an Illinois hotel we visited Nikki's Poppy in Fort Wayne, IN. A peaceful, star-filled stop, a visit with a peaceful man of center and a passion for laughter, family, cigars and woodwork. 
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We stopped in the Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania for another night...Moved into our aparment the next day...all our shit fit in alright, gotta see if there is room for me here too now...i miss AZ like hell, mostly just those i love, but also my life there with Nikki, our home, our times and places we'd go, our park and E!Ba teas together with puppy, meeting her for her lunchbreak, the sun, the monsoons, the roads, driving with the window down, camping...goddammit...i also miss traveling...gotta keep on moving...
But I am here. We are here. We are here for each other. Nikki and I, and we are pushing each other everyday to find our happiness here. And we are happy. This is where we must be. Our neighborhood is fucking awesome; a Jamaican bakery, a veggie Jamaican restaraunt, a beer walk-up window all night. This city is amazing, sometimes you actually need an umbrella, its already kind of cool out. I make this oath right now. i have not traveled this far to repeat patterns of defeat and work as a slave to laziness and inaction. i will face my reality and grab this city by the heart and balls. i will remind myself why my half of our union was drawn to this place. it is both the best and worst things about this nation. it's the jugular. all things pass from, to, and through new york city...i'll find my way into the blood...spread the cancer of tolerance, change, unity and truth...gotta keep moving... |
