No Cars Go

Munich 5/22

2009-05-22T01:29:00.000-07:00

It is time to move on.

Munich has been wonderful. I have met new and exciting people from all over the world, each with interesting things to teach me about him or herself and the perspectives from which they experience life and its complexities. I have fostered new friendships and strengthened an old one, all of which I hope will last a lifetime. I have gone from feelings of calming peace, to pitiful loneliness, to manic vitality, and back again (concurrently with the fickle Bavarian weather) . . . yet, in all these moments I have willed myself to remain positive. I feel alive and in touch with even the most subtle of sensations. I am totally free for the first time in my life.

The more comfortable I have become with my surroundings, interestingly, the more restless I have felt. Without a concrete next step on the horizon, the routine of life here in Munich began to feel slightly repressive . . . contrary to those feelings I hoped to maintain for the duration of this adventure. In a way, I suppose this was both inevitable and necessary. Munich has served as a the first step . . . a springboard from which I will strike out on my own in earnest.

So . . . in a moment of total spontaneity, I purchased an airline ticket to Cairo with Jordan's encouragement. While I had not planned to visit Egypt, in that moment it seemed the only practical thing to do. Munich is safe, comfortable, quiet, and predictable. Cairo, on the other hand . . . I can only imagine . . . Regardless, having fixed my departure date and, thus, plotted out the next concrete destination of my trip, I became instantly revitalized by sensations of excitement and apprehension. Ironically, it is these feelings that have awarded me the very peace of mind I had been increasingly without since my arrival in Germany.

As a friend of mine said . . . even freedom can be restrictive. Perhaps, in the context of this trip, I continue to learn the importance of forward momentum. I am rational enough to realize that one can't be expected to make such dramatic changes in other areas of his or her life whenever restlessness or boredom sets in, it is important to always have an eye to the future . . . a goal . . . something to which one can strive that is challenging and, perhaps, even dangerous in that it demands that we take risks. After all . . . what is a life without risk? Failure, even, has the potential to be the greatest of teachers . . . but only if we allow it to be . . .

Munich 5/21

2009-05-21T12:25:00.000-07:00

I feel alive.

It's beautiful.

It's terrifying.

Dark storm clouds crept past, cast rain, and parted.

Blinding light at night.

I'll never forget.

German for Beginners

2009-05-19T00:39:00.000-07:00

Ich spreche kein Deutsch.
"I don't speak German."

Ent Schuldigung
"Excuse me"

Es tut mir leid
"I'm sorry"

Servous
"Hello"

Tschau
"Goodbye"

Bitte
"Please"

Danke
"Thank you"

Können sie mir helfen?
"Can you help me?"

Wie viel kostet das?
"How much does this cost?"

and . . . perhaps most importantly . . .

Einemal Falafel im brot, bitte
"One falafel sandwich, please"

Munich 5/17

2009-05-17T07:19:00.000-07:00

If you ever told me that 1) I would ever go see AC/DC live, 2) that it would be free, 3) that it would be from the top of a hill artificially constructed from World War II bombing debris, 4) that it would be in Europe, and 5) that I would do so in the rain, I never would have believed you. Yet . . .

. . . Believe it or not . . . it was fun.

My time in Munich gets better and better. Despite an extremely uncomfortable sleeping situation, there have been a few really great things that I have had the pleasure to have experienced in the past few days. The icing on the cake is that the sun has (finally) come out! As of this morning, the dreary, foggy, rainy days are gone. Clear skies and 77 degrees greeted me this morning.

I spent the morning in Englischer Garten, an absolutely gigantic public park located at LMU. Thousands of people were there as well, yet it did not seem crowded at all. I walked along the Eisbach (Ice River), through winding wooded trails, across the vast greenspaces, and up the hill to the gazeebo overlook. People were laid out in the sun, juggling, throwing frisbees, playing catch with their dogs, reading, playing various musical instruments, riding horses or bikes, or simply stolling about as I was. I have concluded that I could not live in Munich. It's difficult not to gawk at all of the stunningly beautiful people in various states of dress or undress . . . yes . . . there are naked people . . . certainly a bit different than the parks back home. Lonliness and an active imagination combined make for an aching curse . . .

I have begun to overcome the fear to yield a camera I noticed had mostly overtaken me upon my arrival in Germany. While, certainly, there are times when taking pictures is rude or otherwise inappropriate, I am growing more comfortable as the days go by. I recall a similarly gradual transition when living in Over-the-Rhine in Cincinnati (when I first started taking photographs). I'm sure there are a few factors: 1) I don't want to appear as though I am some bothersome and otherwise socially disinterested tourist, and 2) I don't want to lose myself in a mindset in which the taking of photographs takes precidence over the actual, lived experience of being in a new and exciting place. I think I am reaching a healthy balance . . .

Speaking of photography . . . a group of us attend a phenomenal William Eggleston exhibit a the Haus der Kunst. I found this photo to be profoundly moving . . . For fear of sounding pretentious . . . I think I could look at it all day. The color . . . the texture . . . the pattern . . . the composition . . . sigh . . . I should have taken this . . .

Jordan and I also stumbled upon an art exhibition in the U-Bahn station at the Universität a couple days ago. A young woman was taking pictures of herself with every person who stopped in to see what the exhibition was about . . . and the pictures that were taken then became the exhibition! The wall was covered with hundreds (and hundreds) of these photographs! Needless to say, Jordan and I jumped at the chance to participate. We later chatted with the young woman, whose name is Rosa, and she encouraged us to return the next day (yesterday). This would lead to a fantastic afternoon of talking with Rosa and her friend, drinking beer, and listening to Beirut's Elephant Gun over and over . . . I fucking love that song . . . it makes my soul do cartwheels . . .

Finally, the other night, a group of us went (back) to the gazeebo overlook at Englishcer Garten to celebrate Norwegian National Day with Norwegian friends. It was a calm, starry night, and much merriment ensued . . . perhaps a bit lubricated by plenty of beer and Akvavit.

So . . . perhaps I should joy down a few of my cultural impressions . . . To begin with, I still have a hard time believing that Munich actually exists and I am not actually the victim of an eleborate hoax with the purpose of convincing me that there is, indeed, a heaven on earth. The following observations have led to this conclusion. In Munich . . .

1) . . . trains operate on the honor system, are always on time, are clean and quiet, and are absurdly comfortable.
2) . . . no one dares cross the street at a red light . . . even when there is no traffic in sight! I did so (as all people who have lived in American cities have learned) and was given a disapproving look by an older woman on the oter side.
3) . . . dogs don't have leashes . . . and are so well behaved that you would think they are remote controlled. Even in parks, dogs run about freely, but repectfully. After all, all dog owners are required to have completed a training course with their pet(s).
4) . . . there are thousands of bikes everywhere. Hardly anyone even bothers to lock them because . . .
5) . . . crime is practically non-exisitent. Jokes abound about how the main duty of the police is to pick up trash and remind people not to be so loud in public. Going out to a Mexican bar with a large group of Italians was a reminder that Bavarians are pretty quiet people.
6) . . . drinking in public is not only allowed, but actually encouraged!
7) . . . there is public nudity and no one cares. Ironically, I have been told that Bavaria is the most conservative part of Germany!

Of course, no place is perfect. Yet . . . this is certainly a far cry from Chicago.

That's about it for now.

Be sure to check out my latest photos.

Saludos!

B

Munich 5/15

2009-05-14T05:38:00.000-07:00

I made it!

After a nine and a half hour long sleepless flight, I arrived in an overcast Munich this past Tuesday morning. Before deplaning, we were required to wait on board while one of the passengers was examined by the German Health Authority and the rest of us signed government documentation regarding the dreaded Schweinegrippe (Swine flu) . . . a word that I have taken to saying when I sneeze for comic effect as no one here takes it at all seriously . . .

Finally, I was met by my friend, Jordan, with whom I will be staying for some time. The S-Bahn (suburban train) ride from the airport to Olympiazentrum, where he lives, took us quietly through huge fields of vibrant, yellow flowers, into the city, and to the complex of utilitarian dormitories at which the infamous hostage situation took place thirty-seven years ago.

In an effort to fight the jet lag, we decided to spend the day on our feet as much as possible. We took the U-Bahn (subway) to Marienplatz, the trendy shopping area, as well as to Odeonsplatz, a large, open city square. It goes without saying that, under normal circumstances, a place like the Marienplatz would not have been all that intersting, given that it is a large collection of outlet stores, a Starbucks, and a McDonalds (wait . . . am I really in Europe?). However, the atmosphere was exciting! Simpy walking through crowds of people speaking different languages is truly an enriching experience. Around every corner we were confronted with various sights and sounds, including human statues, street musicians, and different people offering fliers and information. Whenever someone spoke to me and held an outstretched flier or sheet of paper, I could say nothing but "danke," and look to my friend for help. By the end of the day, I would have ended up with literature from the German branch of the Jews for Jesus, Tamil hunger strikers, and something relating to a live infomercial about a kitchen utencil, among other things.

We managed to see at least a couple famous landmarks, including the Rathaus, Munich's large, ornately decorated City Hall which has turned a mottled green from oxidization. Above its thick wooden doors juts the Glockenspiel, rings of life-sized painted sculptures that rotate every day at 5PM. Walking into the towering Fraun Kirche Cathedral, I was kindly reminded by one of its ancient caretakers that I needed to remove my hat (oops!). The fifteenth century building is practically spilling over with pristine sculptures, paintings, and religious iconography, and has several nooks containing shrines to particular saints. After a dizzingly climb up 50 meters of tiny, winding stairs, an elevator took us to the top of one of its towers, from which one can see the whole of the city below . . . at least as much as was visible through a hovering fog.

Lunch was fantastic . . . although I am embaressed to say that I actually got lost in the Augustiner beer hall when I went looking for a bathroom. Once I had finally found it, I then stumbled around for longer than I would like to admit trying to find my way back to the table where Jordan and I were sitting. Equally hilarious was the fact that I managed to find myself in front of the same table at least four times where a puzzled, older German man tried in vain to assist me, in German, to find the restroom . . . I suppose that is what happens when pain pills, Weißbier (wheat beer), and jet lag mix.

Later, friends of Jordan's began to pop up out of nowhere (something that continues to occur). I have met Finns, a Brit, an Irishman, several Italians, Germans (of course), a Frenchman, Norwegians, a Tunisian, and a Greek, among others . . . Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, where Jordan is studying, is crawling with students from all over the world. Incidentally, LMU is the school at which the ill-fated anti-fascist White Rose organization sprang up during Hitler's rise to power in the early 1930s, and there is now a memorial on the school grounds.

I have done my best to learn bits and pieces of the different languages I have encountered, but have found that, luckily, most everyone speaks at least some English. I cannot help but be reminded of how secluded I was in the United States . . . as are most Americans. While it is a shame that there are those that would live their lives never having traveled to another country, I am under no illusions that this trip of mine is both a luxory and a privlage . . . one I intend to make the most of in every way possible as I cannot imagine ever having the opportunity to again throw caution to the wind in such a way.

Well . . . time on the computer here is at a premium. I will post again in the upcoming days regarding both some of the oher places I have been able to visit, as well as my cultural impressions of Munich.

Stay tuned.

Be sure to take a look at my latest photos.

Saludos!

B

The Beginning

2009-05-10T19:08:00.000-07:00

This is it. Here I go.

Guilt

2009-05-08T07:08:00.000-07:00

Though I can never be absolutely sure, the possibility that all those ignored phone calls and unanswered text messages were cries for help has weighed heavily on my conscience to this day. Though his pride would not have allowed for him to admit that he was depressed and lonely, I knew well enough from having suffered from similar feelings to recognize that he was in a very bad way.

We had been drawn together, I suppose, for this very reason. We were two young men unsure of our places within a world that required that we learn to be responsible and take risks. We were lost and did not know ourselves or even why we existed, and for this reason we were so afraid of death that it kept us from ever truly living. In a way, with him I felt a bond that can best be described as a fateful infatuation.

He was always cynical and often arrogant, but he was rarely hurtful. Despite everything, I recall knowing that behind the shield of charisma and stoicism, there was sadness and vulnerability. Looking back, I would have liked to have been unrelenting in my efforts to chip away at his hardened exterior in order to get to know him better . . . to get know the real him. However, his preferred methods of escape were drugs, alcohol, deafening music, and mindless entertainment, and never allowed for the time or space for such conversations to take place. Regardless, I suppose I was as unreceptive as he was during those times.

The day he slid a small mirror with white lines across the table in my direction and I hesitated for much longer than I would like to admit was when I decided that I simply could not be his friend anymore. I had tolerated his drug use since we first met, and I would be lying if I did not admit to regularly joining him in smoking endless amounts of marijuana and downing can after can of malt liquor whose foulness I vividly recall to this day, but in that moment I realized that I was at a crossroads.

I would like to think that in that I had looked past those white lines and deep into my own eyes before sliding the mirror back across the table and shaking my head but, in truth, I am sure it was not quite so poetic.

He killed himself two years ago. Whether or not he had intended to end his life with heroin, or simply numb himself until he could do so again, in my opinion, is irrelevant. He had lost the will to live.

By the time I heard the news, I had already moved away and, in doing so, given myself an excuse to sever communication and our friendship. Up until the end, however, he had made efforts to contact me. The messages he left were often inquiries as to when I planned to return or if I would consider a visit.

I never called him back.

Coffee and TV

2009-05-07T10:35:00.000-07:00

Coffee and TV

Do you feel like a chain store?
Practically floored
One of many zeros
Kicked around bored
Your ears are full but you're empty
Holding out your heart
To people who never really
Care how you are

So give me Coffee and TV
History
I've seen so much
I'm going blind
And i'm braindead virtually
Sociability
It's hard enough for me
Take me away from this big bad world
And agree to marry me
So we can start all over again

Do you go to the country
It isn't very far
There's people there who will hurt you
Cos of who you are

Your ears are full of the language
There's wisdom there you're sure
'Til the words start slurring
And you can't find the door

So give me Coffee and TV
History
I've seen so much
I'm going blind
And i'm braindead virtually
Sociability
It's hard enough for me
Take me away from this big bad world
And agree to marry me
So we can start all over again

So give me Coffee and TV
history
I've seen so much
I'm going blind
And i'm braindead virtually
Sociability
It's hard enough for me
Take me away from this big bad world
And agree to marry me
So we can start all over again

Oh...we could start over again
Oh...we could start over again
Oh...we could start over again
Oh...we could start over again

- Blur

Restless

2009-05-06T21:01:00.000-07:00

blue cornmeal
cast against the wind

Anticipation

2009-05-06T16:24:00.000-07:00

I am spinning round faces
places
and mirrors

Stop motion flickers
and time tickers
march my core

Through walls
ceilings
and floors

I am reaching
not yet breaching
smirking miles

All for this

All for this

All for a smile

Daydream #3

2009-05-05T18:32:00.000-07:00

She. Kissed. Him.

Daydream #2

2009-05-05T16:56:00.000-07:00

They strolled hand and hand along the bright, tree lined boulevard. Her pace quickened. When he began to trail behind, she turned with a smile. The earth rose as she laughed and he nearly lost his balance.

With her taught arm, she spun him around a corner and into a recessed doorway. The scent of urine and baking garbage was thick in the air. She gripped his belt, twisted, and drew him closer. He felt the warmth of her breath on his neck as he traced his lips along the edge of her ear. "Si me tomas," he whispered, "por favor toma mi corazón."

She drew her head back suddenly, held him at arms length, and was gone.

He was later walking alone along the tree lined boulevard when the staccato pops of a solitary woodpecker sent him diving into the underbrush with one hand on his head and the other grasping for his sidearm.

Daydream #1

2009-05-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

Before he realized that the word she had spoken was not, in fact, "quedate," but rather, "bastante," his heart had already risen from his chest, spilled from his gaping mouth, and landed with a splash in the cup of coffee over which he was leaning at the table.

While the brew bubbled, she reached for a pair of reflective sunglasses. Placing them over her eyes, she then plucked the steaming heart, which by now had begun to sink, from the earthen colored liquid. With her other hand, she grabbed his own, prying his paralyzed fingers from his palm. In one fluid motion, she raised the hand that held the heart and placed it, ever so gently, in his rigid grasp. He looked from his heart to his own mirrored face, stood, and turned to leave.

Dripping heart in hand, he walked through the open door and out onto an overcast beach at high tide. A chilling gust of wind brought his shoulders to his ears in an effort to shield them from the cold. With a sigh, he withdrew a small, dirty pocketknife from his waistband and began to cut away the dark, hardened rind from his heart like the skin from an apple. Crimson ribbons fluttered to the damp sand below.

When he had finished, and that which he held in his hand was again vibrant and clean, he stuck the knife in the sand and began to carefully remove his clothing. The process was made difficult by his mindfulness not to drop his heart, but also because he was exposing himself to the biting wind.

Now naked and shivering, he stooped awkwardly to retrieve the knife, but in doing so, dropped the heart. He wiped sand from both with his discarded clothing and stood rigidly for a moment before violently plunging the knife into his own chest. Once he had made a large enough opening, he put back his heart and, without looking back, walked into the sea.

I Used to Write Poetry

2009-05-04T09:25:00.000-07:00

I used to love language
it was a lustful affair, to be sure

Many a night I spent by incandescent light
with coffee the color of my dreamgirl
head bobbing to the bassline
bobbing to the bassline and

Putting myself on paper
in spurts

There was red in the letter "s" and I
playfully penned alliteration that
felt like foreplay . . .
. . . fully penned alliteration

The repetition of rhythm and rhyme
quickened and slickened with time
thrusting forth line after line
of words that just came . . .

. . . to my mind

And when I was finished
I'd clean up my mess,
roll over and . . .
. . . well, you know the rest

But

I don't write poetry anymore

The Zoo

2009-05-04T08:54:00.000-07:00

There is, perhaps, no more confusing and depressing place than the zoo.

It has taken me years to finally and firmly arrive at this conclusion.

Whereas it used to be that simply avoiding the cat houses was enough to keep me from being overcome by such emotions, a trip to the Cincinnati Zoo yesterday proved that I would prefer not return to any place in which animals are held captive, for the good of their own survival or not.

I noticed that even the bears exhibited maddeningly repetitive and artificial locomotion within their restrictive enclosures. The primates, usually the sole source of humor, struck me quite differently. As strange as it may sound, I felt embarrassed for them. During feeding time at the gorilla "exhibit," a keeper informed the largely disinterested audience of the renewed dangers to the animals' habitat due to the surge in the mining of minerals needed for the construction of cellphones.

Even watching people watching animals, which had been one of my favorite pastimes at zoos, had me twisted in knots. I was surrounded by young, happy couples with their small children (many of whom were babies). As more and more people my age and younger get married and have children of their own, I cannot help but feel old, lonely, and without direction.

In other news, I gathered together five large, cardboard boxes full of books I have been accumulating for the past eight years and took them to the local Half Price Books. It was as if I were abandoning old friends, and I was choked up by guilt.

I left feeling as though I needed a cigarette. The strange thing is, I have had this feeling often lately and, apart from smoking a pipe occasionally in college, I was never a smoker.

Windowsill

2009-05-01T16:00:00.000-07:00

"Windowsill"

Don't wanna hear the noises on TV
Don't want the salesmen coming after me
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more
Don't want it faster, I don't want it free
Don't wanna show you what they done to me
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more
Don't wanna choose black or blue
Don't wanna see what they done to you
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more

Cause the tide is high
And it's rising still
And I don't wanna see it at my windowsill

Don't wanna give 'em my name and address
Don't wanna see what happens next
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more
Don't wanna live with my father's debt
You can't forgive what you can't forget
Don't wanna live in my father's house no more
Don't wanna fight in a holy war
Don't want the salesmen knocking at my door
I don't wanna live in America no more

Cause the tide is high
And it's rising still
And I don't wanna see it at my windowsill

MTV, what have you done to me?
Save my soul, set me free!
Set me free! What have you done to me?
I can't breathe! I can't see!
World War III, when are you coming for me?
Been kicking up sparks, we set the flames free
The windows are locked now so what'll it be?
A house on fire or a rising sea?

Why is the night so still?
Why did I take the pill?
Because I don't wanna see it at my windowsill

Don't wanna see it at my windowsill
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill
Don't wanna see it at my windowsill

- The Arcade Fire

Panic

2009-04-30T19:09:00.001-07:00

I wonder if it's normal for those about to embark upon a fairly complex trip to suddenly be gripped by an almost debilitating and fearful sense of panic at one point or another while making preparations. I cannot be sure. Instead, I wonder if the fact that I was overtaken by such a feeling this afternoon means I am in over my head and need to completely re-evaluate my travel arrangements.

Whether I'm trying to make heads or tails of a map of Paris' public transportation, sending (literally) hundreds of emails to people whom I have never met from a handful of cities in Western Europe in the hopes that they might be able to provide me with a place to sleep and a connection in a strange city, or trying (very unsuccessfully) to estimate my expenses, I have nearly driven myself insane. For days, I have been glued to the internet from morning until night. It doesn't help that the beautiful, 80 degree days have been replaced by wet, dreary ones and I haven't made it to the park for what had become my daily head-clearing walk.

I desperately need to ask myself a couple questions. First, am I biting off more than I can chew? The original plan was to provide myself with only an intentionally vague schedule in order to be able to allow for spontaneous side-trips and to avoid feeling too restricted. In theory, this made perfect sense, but what I hadn't taken into account was that the people whom I have been fortunate enough to have met online and have generously offered to be my guide and/or allow me to sleep at their flats have restrictive schedules of their own.

I have been placed in the unfortunate situation of having to pick and choose individuals and establish at least semi-concrete arrival and departure dates. How can I know that the person that I am unable to meet simply because I couldn't make it into the city in which he or she lives three days earlier wasn't actually the one person with whom I would have most connected? How can I know whether or not I have missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime simply because I decided that traveling to a particular place is too expensive?

Secondly, I need to ask myself whether or not I am sabotaging my trip by having built up such high expectations about the kinds of people I will meet and the experiences I will have. What if I become so blind to the nuances and subtleties of traveling abroad that I am unable to truly enjoy my trip for what it is? Will I have been able to have had the type of experience for which I would have hoped if I cannot bring myself to just relax and go with the flow?

I am far too intoxicated to continue writing in a coherent and meaningful way. Maybe I'm just getting cabin fever. Maybe this is normal.

No Turning Back

2009-04-25T08:14:00.000-07:00

I took the final plunge last night and booked a flight to Munich for Monday, May 11th. Now all that remains is for me to make last minute preparations, continue to try to contact people in Europe, soak up as much information as possible, and generally try to remain calm and collected.

This is huge. Never have I attempted anything quite so audacious in my life. While seasoned travelers might think this an overreaction or melodramatic, I find it hard to describe how surreal this is. I have always made excuses so as to avoid taking risks or striking out on my own. I have always settled for something which never truly satisfied what I have come to understand is my suppressed and neglected adventurous nature. This theory will soon be put to the test.

While there are several potentially stressful, dangerous, or inconvenient considerations with which I will have to deal, there is one truly nagging concern which gives me particular worry. For about a year I have suffered from occasional insomnia and, more commonly, fitful and inconsistent sleep. In my experience, several factors have often contributed to this difficulty, including traveling and sleeping in new and unfamiliar places or on different surfaces. Because I plan to stay in hostels and, when lucky, on people's couches or in their spare rooms, this will be impossible to avoid. Either I will become a zombie and will have learned to deal with it, or I will have found sufficient inner peace by the time the trip is under way that the issue will have become a thing of the past.

Save Miguel!

2009-04-23T06:58:00.001-07:00

These past two weeks have been a reminder that, for me at least, drinking and involvement in a relationship are practically mutually exclusive. While I am not under the impression that this is due to any one thing in particular, the fuzzy numbness of mild intoxication is inviting.

I digress . . .

I recently spoke with a young woman whom I met through CouchSurfing and who is currently living in Lisbon, Portugal. One thing led to another and, before I knew it, we were discussing wine and, more specifically, Portugal's cork industry. I had no idea that there was so much to learn about, well . . . cork . . . Did you know that Portugal contains 33% of the world's cork forests and produces over 50% of cork worldwide?

Perhaps most interesting, however, is the important environmental role that cork and cork forests play. The forests, themselves, offset over ten million tons of carbon a year and are the primary habitat of the critically endangered Iberian Lynx. Furthermore, the harvest of cork requires only that the outer bark of the cork oak tree be removed, thus causing no irreparable damage to the trees themselves.

Unlike synthetic wine "corks" or metal screw-tops, the natural cork stuck in your wine bottle is biodegradable and, not surprisingly, carries a much smaller carbon footprint. Furthermore and, perhaps, most importantly for those who fancy themselves wine connoisseurs, natural cork permits the transfer of oxygen into a bottle, thus allowing for the proper aging of the wine inside. For the uninitiated (myself included), this simply means that wine bottled with natural cork tastes better.

Now that I know, I hope to do my part to help Save Miguel!

If all goes according to plan, I will be visiting a Portuguese cork forest this summer. Stay tuned for updates and pictures . . .

The Beginning of the End of the Beginning

2009-04-22T11:49:00.001-07:00

It has been two weeks since I last left Chicago and the date of my departure for Europe and, quite possibly, Asia draws nearer. I have ordered what few supplies I will need, including a new pack, a money belt, a universal AC outlet adapter, and comfortable inserts for my shoes. The last item, I believe, will prove to be the most valuable.

I am committed to traveling lightly and inexpensively so as to extend the duration of my trip for as long as possible. While, at this point, I am certain that Portugal, Spain, France, and Germany are among my destinations, I would love to travel through eastern Europe if at all possible given monetary constraints. At this point, I cannot be certain if I will be able to meet a friend of mine in Asia in September. While I would love to do so, I have absolutely no idea how to anticipate how quickly my savings will be depleted.

While this will be my first international trip on my own, and only the second I will have taken (assuming Canada does not count), I have decided to throw caution to the wind. In my experience, for so long as there have been opportunities to ensure my comfort and to encourage moderation or the avoidance of taking risks, I have acted upon them. I have waited far too long to strike out on my own in a way which forces me to assert my confidence and independence.

That is not to say, however, that I will be completely alone throughout my travels. In addition to the friends I plan to visit in Germany and France, I have also taken advantage of some of the positive aspects of ongoing globalization. Through different internet communities and forums, I have been able to contact people living in many of the cities through which I will be traveling. They have agreed to meet me, show me around a bit, and even let me sleep on their couches. I suppose this convenience is the trade off for the skyrocketing cost of traveling through Western Europe these days. I am jealous of those, my parents among them, who, at my age, were able to visit Europe for a fraction of what it costs today.

That being said, I continue to get the impression that I could not be traveling at a better time. Airfare is at new low and the U.S. Dollar is on the rebound. These factors, combined with the fact that I plan to patronize hostels, cook my own food or eat snacks whenever possible instead of eating at restaurants, and sleep at other peoples' places as much as possible means that the only major costs will be transportation. While I am not wealthy, ten months of salaried employment and modest and debt-free living has provided me with enough to make a go of this.

Leaving Chicago, while certainly a difficult and painful thing given its multitude of complications, has proved a mixed blessing.

This is my time.

No Cars Go

2009-04-21T12:06:00.000-07:00

"No Cars Go"

We know a place where no planes go
We know a place where no ships go
Hey!
No cars go
Hey!
No cars go
Where we know

We know a place where no spaceships go
We know a place where no subs go
Hey!
No cars go
Hey!
No cars go
Where we know
Hey!
Us kids know
Hey!
No cars go

Go!
No go!

Between the click of the light and the start of the dream
Between the click of the light and the start of the dream

Little babies?
Let's go!

Women and children?
Let's go!

Old folks?
Let's go!

Don't know where we're going

- The Arcade Fire