The One Handed Bowline

2010-08-03T21:50:00.003-03:00

Day Two Driving is Done.
Just into Chicago from Cleveland, which, incidently is a cool city. Dan showed us an amazing time and I can appreciate how mellow it is compared to a bigger show like NYC. Relaxing with some Internet before grilling out tonight.

USA Boundary Tour

2010-08-03T12:19:00.002-03:00

Day One Flies By.
True to form my packing sprawl finally found it's way into my pack about 30 minutes before departure. I'm starting to realize that othr ppl don't travel this way. But as it happens, planning details melt into the fabric of the journey and the trip takes on a life of it's own.
This one is going to have a good life.

Anticipation

2009-06-08T11:00:00.002-03:00

They laughed hard,
but I wasn't joking.
I really do consider one static year 'settling down.'
The hilarity of my accidental joke to them...
shocked me.

How differently we view the world.
I, whose sense of staying shifts just like my breathing.
And they whose house and job like walls
keep out the messy doubts of drifting.

We live on different planets.

Every day here, I feel more like a cruelly wizened outcast.
Stable jobs smell like prison cells to me.
But oh, for a reliable paycheck... maybe a shred of benefit.

We are told to live to work!
To get that awesome job and be enslaved.
Work to live, and you'll be punished.
Who are you to demand flexibility.
Pitted against each other,
gotta do better.
I'll work longer hours,
I'll never smell the flowers.

*I Sigh Alot At Planes*
Every piercing picture on my idle computer screen,
maims my fading memory...
reminds me of a dream,
that really happened.

This coulda been foreseen.
With such anticipation for such fleeting freedom,
I was an explosion.
Sprinting simultaneously in twenty-two directions.
And wound up right where I began...
with no less mysteries to understand.

It's nice to have a home that isn't a hostel.
I need this year to settle.
But I'll be off again,
just waiting for a change in wind.

Of mice and men

2009-04-22T15:56:00.002-03:00

Leaned over the bar...
he was unshaven,
and his eyes squeaked mischief as he asked...
"Wanna see my little friend?"

Hands moved beneath his shirt.
He's no flasher, I thought, maybe it's a puppy.
But my face did not react.
"Why not." I said nonchalantly.

That's when I met Luanne,
the sewer rat.
This eccentric intellectual
was a rat enthusiast.

Ah the hobbies.

I say, "From looking at ya man...
I never would have guessed
you had a rodent on your person."

"That's nothing,
I've taken her on airplanes before.
Rat's don't set off metal detectors"

Wow, I thought, Wow.

Switching Gears

2009-03-31T16:28:00.002-03:00

Rereading sparks reflection.
---------------------------------------
Shocking feeling:
To realize you stand
over your own corpse.

An older version of myself
has passed,
like shedding snake skin.
Outgrown...
the remains are cast aside.

I recognize the face at my feet...
decaying, as a memory at rest.
Dead lips part... in fear, I start.
"Bury me"
pleads my poor old body.

And so I do.
-------------------------------------

Returning to the Southern United States has been a rocky landing.
Like,
who would put enormous speed bumps on a jet's runway!?

The observations, conversations, and general maturation of ideas
during my sprint abroad...
provided plenty of momentum
for a smart sting when I
walloped back into America's concrete defenses
face first.

Pissed,
I naturally grabbed the nearest pick-axe to pummel the offending cement
in a fit of rage and frustration.
Vis-a-vis the tone of my recent posts.

I don't make a good political pundit,
wouldn't want to be one anyway.
Vomiting venom onto my keyboard
doesn't exactly complement my style.
And is not gratifying.

I have two different kinds of writing.
Starting now, my metaphorical spitting shall be grounded
with other such rants in my journals.
The private ones.
At least until they can count to ten
and learn to play smart.

So expect my political jabs to flirt in and out,
as opposed to taking center stage.

In its place, I intend to continue writing stories as before.
Now from my home in Durham.
With occasional wanderings, of course.
Yes, the unthinkable has happened.
Nate is Nesting.

So to my readers,
Thanks for suffering through my soapbox sermons.

I now present:
The Diaries, Observations, and Musings of your Barman.

The Inevitable Trial

2009-03-06T00:34:00.008-02:00

People are afraid,
Wealthy customers frazzled
Approach my bar with purpose.
Booze is recession proof.

I try being sympathetic...
me: How's shit?
them: I still have a job.
me: Alright! So shit's good then.

I lost nothing in this lemming run.
I have no 401K, no money in stocks,
not even a savings account.

Nevertheless, I tease out drunken opinions
From the political left and right.
Consensus: group consciousness has
resolved itself to wait and see.

See if Obama can say "ta-da!"

I know this song and dance.
Eight years ago,
The herd was terrified of terrorist,
So Bush got a blank check.
Now in Obamaland,
The evil's the economy.

Granted, our current leader's hands are more capable than the last.

That said, I have to call out the President
For encouraging the nation to move on too quickly.

We came damn close to a dictatorship... where the commander in chief made unilateral decisions on torture, personal liberty, and secret military actions.

This is no witch hunt... we need to find out exactly what was going on.
So this type of thing can't happen again.

Somebody in Washington apparently had a hearing on Wednesday about forming a truth commission to get to the bottom of things. Declassified documents revealed that a US citizen on US soil had been held for five years by the military with no trial.

Obama's assertion to just move on is meant to keep things friendly, I know that.
But this is the same short-sightedness that got us into this mess.
A country can't just barrel blindly forward and pretend it didn't do anything wrong.
That's Bush's non-reflective personality, not America's.
We must hold our leaders accountable:
Bush aint God. And even if he was, I would say the same thing:
Put that Asshole on trial!
This truth commission will only be effective if it has the power to prosecute.

And here's the really cool part.
If we don't prosecute Rumsfeld, Cheney, Bush, and the rest of them...
Then smart people from other countries will.
Our leaders fucked with international human rights law,
As much as they fucked with domestic personal liberty.

I don't know about you,
but I'd rather put ole' yeller down myself.

http://www.democracynow.org/2009/3/5/lawmakers_begin_debate_on_commission

How the Bush Administration made me an Alcoholic

2009-01-14T13:57:00.005-02:00

I was a freshman in college in 2001...

Didn't know what the World Trade Center was...
Because I was a child in a foreign country...
Without Upper-Lower-White-Middle-Class American news
or Upper-Lower-Middle-Class American people around.

I didn't care that I didn't know.
Blissful ignorance was the only thing Upper-Lower-Middle-Class American
about me.

What started as a radio
rushed in and mounted like an antenna'd idol
in chemistry lab,
Turned into multiple mutually-worshipped
televisions.
Each plugged in and improvised
all along my campus walk.
They sprouted tiny crowds...
obediently bowing their heads.
One woman was crying.

At first I thought the plane was a glider or a tiny two personed doctor-wing.
Why else would a plane accidentally fly into a large building?

I had no idea that passenger jet liners were actually
stealable usable fuel-loaded, winged bombs.
I had no idea that the WTO was a symbol
of American economic neo-colonialism abroad.
I had no idea that the attack was not only predictable
but warrented.

I found all that out later.

It was not an attack on America.
It was an attack on America's greedy self-appointed owners.
Once again...
Poor men are fighting off an attack on the Rich.
An attack on years of shitty CIA
sneaky-assed selfish
cock-sucking shortsighted
foreign policy.

Think about it,
everything I just wrote is more offensive than
language ever will be.
Yes, even the fuck word.

Bush didn't see it coming because he didn't think
America was capable of wrong.
Just like he thinks about himself.

That's what happens when the History Of Golden Unicorns is taught
Instead of the history of American History.

I saw the building fall, people died live
for me on a big screen
The news anchors were cuming their pants live
for me in Hi-Def.
I was sitting alone
back row of an auditorium.
There hadn't been anything else to do...
my classes were canceled.
And so I saw it
all come down,
Watched my fantasy world go pop,
and thank _insert-dead-guy-of-your-choice-here_ for it
cause I deplored it.

As a believer in the History of Golden Unicorns,
I had voted for Bush in '00.

* I will never forgive myself for that *

I had voted with my parents because Bush was a Christian...
and so was I.

My world view was a tree
with pretty leaves that changed color
in season.
I became very large suddenly and
pulled up my tree
by the roots.

Grew another tree.
Taller, stronger, brighter, more beautiful...
But much Sadder.
A Weeping Strong Tree.

I learned how to self-medicate.

It was easy to distance myself from this land.
America was as foreign to me as Africa.

I was the UN the ANTI
Amerikkka.

But now I see
America needs a voice like me.

Like the rando who accidentally insinuated
that Americans were blue-haired, blonde-eyed
un-tye-dyed.
Arianated...
Made me realize I hated
it when people told fibs...
without knowin it.

I AM American... and I am taking it back...
out of uncapable hands.

Back from Bush
who made it patriotic to invade
Like a band-aid
out of pain.
Cool to use bomb-smoke to screen...
Who tortured...
TORTURED... a brown farmer from Afghanistan
brought in by ex-Taliban.
but somehow forgot
to waterboard Madoff.

American Foreign Policy = Rape the Unrepresented, Undefended.

This Prince is so detached
He can't hide his nepotistical ass.
He said FEMA did a solid.
He said Mission Accomplished.

He wanted to help people in this "part of the world"
standing in New Orleans, with sleeves rolled up.

You can take the businessman out of the government,
but you can't take the business out of anything.

A guy once screamed at me...
"America is the best country!"
He believed it Fair,
Had never gone anywhere.
Expert.
Like our President.

Bush, I didn't know how to deal with you.
I drank a lot, cussed a lot.

But I'm finding my voice.
So watch out.

Upcoming: Why Bush Should Be Arrested and Put on Trial.

Night Life

2009-01-08T14:48:00.002-02:00

Back to quiet mornings
Three a.m. sweeping binges
Sore feet.

The life of a closing barkeep
once again belongs to me.

Some new things to try:
--Waking up early and taking naps...
to keep a little sun in my life
--Making a few new drinks.
--Job searching on the side.
--Writing every day... expect some posts on beer and food.

First Kill

2009-01-06T19:17:00.003-02:00

Last night, I watched a documentary on Hunter S. Thompson.
In addition to writing, hallucinating, and starting gonzo journalism,
he enjoyed guns... hated the NRA (of which he was a member)... but loved guns.

It reminded me of my first gun experience:
Dusk in Montana...
bouncing up a mountain road after work.
The sun plummeted below tree-spiked ridge lines.

Pam propped the 270 rifle on pillows atop her car hood.
I remember bracing for the recoil, listening to instructions,
through stuffed ear-holes.

The trigger obeyed smoothly
And my scope encircled target briefly flamed...
Like a match...
becoming the sun in my eye.
BOOM - Boom -- boom the canyon announced.

I knew I hadn't flinched and ran to find the two holes I had punched
through cardboard
from 50 yards away.

"Getting one as soon as possible"
I noted to myself and grinned.

The twilight was all but gone,
Shadows spilled out onto the open ground...
pooling like rising water...
and all were shades of gray and black.

The last shot was mine,
and the cross-haired target was barely there.
I exhaled waves of an echoing Crack
laced with the odor of spent gunpowder
and then came the tiny white flakes.
From above
they floated all around us.

"Is it snowing??"

Couldn't be that cold.
Nope, it wasn't snow.

A tiny corner of the support pillow had reached up to block my barrel,
leaving the scope sight free.

Of course,
the hungry bullet ate through CAMO fabric with one jagged bite,
launching a sack of Styrofoam pellets skyward
and freeing them to cascade down in stillness.
Like so many snowflakes
or falling stars.

I bagged my first kill.
Proudly I strutted my prize
through the kitchen.

"Hey hey!" said chef Brian,
"Got a Grouse?"

"Nope"
I raised my trophy with flourish.

"I shot a pillow."

Consume

2009-01-05T15:49:00.003-02:00

Curious,
she looked at me with half a smile
Somehow knowing my intentions were not the obvious.

"Can I help you find anything, sir?"

Just browsing.

Perhaps I had failed to hide my amusement
dodging jostled single-purposed bodies.
I watched and took notes.

The distant back corner of Target was busy.
Shelves were dismantled
And random merchandise
had consolidated themselves
in diminishing space.

The "Chili Cook-off Champion Set" neighbored disco ball ornaments.
An entire stand was nothing but Italian novelty chocolates.

What an odd cornucopia of Christmas commodities.
The Island of Misfit Toys may have survived this year's wrapping,
But were in danger, invaded by next year's deal-hunters.

Like nausea from eating too much candy,
The plastic poinsettias framed bad gifts
that had lost their luster...
replaced by 75% off signs.

The clash erupted
an air of panic and earnestness.
Bloodhounds craze bound to the scent.
Quick to get their fake snow-dust fix.

No harm meant to them who smartly shop.
They expose such holy materialism
By cutting corners,
shopping after others
are eggnog hangover hazed.
Supply and no demand:
The All-American Morning After Holidays.

I watched and smiled
seeing our culture's shroud
part to reveal the mating dance
of such relevancy:
Religion and Currency
Christ and Economy.

I happily waved adieu
to the Christmas Shopping season of '08.
Blood at the beginning,
Rich people still bitching
That we didn't buy enough.

This post is dedicated to the memory of Jdimytai Damour:
Trampled to death in a Wal-Mart by crazed shoppers on Black Friday '08.
“It was crazy,” said a worker in the electronics department who was in the store during the stampede. “The deals weren’t even that good.”
MSNBC article

Inside camping

2008-12-09T23:32:00.003-02:00

Unrolled the sleeping bags in front of the fireplace.
Uncorked the bottle of wine.

Our eyes and the blank walls made wild plans
of the domestic persuasion.

The home where I hang my toothbrush
now tangible
grows lumps and piles of boxes in corners.

It grows a Christmas tree.
and slowly the home on my back
unfolds itself around this crackling fire.

Base Camp.

How to Sew

2008-12-03T06:11:00.006-02:00

Written Saturday November 29th
.................................................
I feel extremely lucky.
Today I realized what it means to be without health insurance.
Yin and I did a little doctor shopping.
Take a guess.
Question: How much does it cost for 10-15 stitches on a Saturday night in Durham?
.................................................
While the skin on my leg was still one, I waited for a phone call.
The ring came while I was mountain biking down Suburbia Street.
We got the apartment.
Translation: passed the credit/background/criminal/employment/rental history checks (standard these days)... we had the apartment.
The most perfect, tiny, walk to work, sun-baked writing room, fireplace apartment.
All I needed was dough for the down payment, and maybe a little something for ramen.
But life was good, I had a week of solid work ahead of me.
Cakeride.
Time to work on my bunny-hop... ride good fortune's wave all the way home.
If I could jump half as high as I was, I'd clear the vinyl-sided burb-box beside our wood-planked hurdle.
Mountain bikes have spiky pegs on the pedals.
Purposed to help your feet lift your back tire over the crocodile pit, or whatever you aim to clear.
This is called a bunny-hop.

My feet didn't stay on the pedals.
Instead of staying on my feet,
the pedals carved a canyon in my shin.

Pretty deep. Wanna See?
(Not for the hemophobiacs)

Time to shop for medical attention.
Yin spent an hour on the phone describing my laceration to walk-in-clinic and emergency room receptionists.
We got a decent number of quotes for extremity sutures before saying screw it.
Answer: Stitches by a doctor cost anywhere from 400 to 750 bucks.
Now there may have been a tinsy $130 first time visit fee, but you also got a special!
Pay up front, get 30% off.
Goody Gumdrops.
Incidentally, if you can't pay upfront... shouldn't that indicate you need the discount more than someone who can pay? Ahhh the smell of capitalism in the morning.
And, god bless em, emergency rooms won't turn your distressed ass away. But they will at some point during your happy stay with them, introduce you to their financial "advisor" to set up a payment plan.
I know what that is, I'm still working on a couple payment plans for the diploma.

Basically my first month's rent (and therefore any future rent) was on the line.

Now, many Americans don't have health insurance. I'm guessing less have a friend willing to sew up an un-anesthised gashed and grinning Nate.
Strangely, I feel lucky saying that.
But hey, people have done this type of thing before,
in times of war on battlegrounds I'm sure.
I prepared myself by drawing a booze drenched curtain over dancing nerve endings.

Fortunately, via a connection, we were able to pick up supplies from a medical supply store.
I now keep surgical strips and tegaderm readily available. The tape worked, and the wound stayed closed.
I was drunk for nothing now, but felt genuinely pissed anyway.

Now, what happens if you don't have someone who can buy medical supplies for you?
This health system is bullshit.
Americans, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting we have one.
A-greed?
Yeah, there's nothing wrong with privatized, free-market run health care...
as long as you're cool with shopping for docs while you bleed all over the place like you shop for auto mechanics.
Or maybe you prefer paying every month for insurance and still paying for an injury because of a legal free-market-backed loophole in your coverage.
I chose neither, but I was lucky.

We are so afraid of the big bad socialist under the bed that we let capitalists get opportunistic on very important things:
Homes, Health, Education.
In this get-now-pay-later cosmos only one outcome remains.
Debt.
I'm not asking for all out Red, just a little Pink regulation maybe.
Draw the line somewhere. Behind that line no person can be exploited in present or future.
Let's start with the children.

Enough preaching, I'm going to go heal.

By the way, I only ended up spending $40.

Does Unity Exist

2008-12-02T03:19:00.008-02:00

A while since last I wrote...
More humor to laugh...
Too much to candy coat.

Like a PC with too much back noise
slows.

Do you ever freeze,
See the moan
fear the crow...

Of ghosts and king.
Of martyred mass and upturned pinky toe.

At times humanity
Tastes like bile's dry heave.

And then you see something like this:

Musicians on streets
Sway to the same beats.

Like Grandpa Elliot
in the French district,
no talker can compare.
Politicians beware

the day the masses sing in unity.

http://www.playingforchange.com

Steer Riding

2008-11-11T22:02:00.004-02:00

So here we have a video edited by Lindsay Ludwick, one of the wranglers, of some steer riding.
I am so jealous I missed this by a few days.
Brittany, my badass woman, is the one in the converse with the long hair about midway through.
Her ass has recovered.

Emigrant Peak pics

2008-10-14T21:38:00.004-03:00

Clip from the top of Emigrant.

A few Pics

2008-10-06T16:13:00.005-03:00

Me and Tonto

Me on Tonto
Dusty on Shy

Dos Stories

2008-10-04T13:20:00.003-03:00

First of all: very sorry folks for the delay in updates.
It seems the working season has declared a free for all on free time: sleep, hike, ride, read, write, so much to do with so little time.
My deepest apologies.

Nevertheless, even in my silence... I have been busy.

------------------------------------------
1. My first horsey ride (in a very long time):

"Maybe I should have started at the beginner level."
The thought barely existed before being immediately replaced.
"Too late now."
Joining the advanced group made sense at the time.
The front wrangler gave the signal to start loping and the riders ahead of me took off.

I tried my best to appear calm and confident.

A definate challenge considering my inner voice was doing an impressive impression of the Home Alone Scream.

Hands barnacled to the saddle horn, body bent forward, mouth set, teeth grit.

We were hoofin it.... fast.

I knew I had a rational sense in me somewhere because at that moment it was rather loudly insistent on my certain impending doom.

Sure, a possible outcome... but again, too late now.

The wind-press on my eyeballs reminded me of driving my motorcycle.
But this was no machine.
Machines don't huff and grunt, fart (a lot) and bite other machines, stumble, or spook at scary pieces of shit on the trail.
Horses do though.
Loveable, skittish, hilarious, and terrifying.

The heat from the working horse-muscles made my saddle hot... I could feel the huge lung bellows pump... hear the metal horseshoes pound and clack on rocks.
Yes indeed... I was hurtling forward atop a moving blacksmith shop.
Release the saddle horn, move with the rhythm, grin... I caught on. I got hooked.
Have been trying to ride a lot lately.
Last ride I was practicing my posting and totally sat on a testicle.
Yeah it hurt that bad... but everything still works, so don't worry.
--------------------------------------------------
2. Solo Summit

Yeah, noon is a little late to start up a 5,000 foot ascent.
But I had slept in, and was going to climb Emmigrant anyway, dammit (a 10,900-ish ft. peak).

I had my bear spray, lunch, gps, and four bottles of water.
Hot day... the water was done by the summit.
Emigrant was a fairly strenuous hike with steep inclines on loose shale.
This meant that, until I got the hang of it, one step up slid me two steps back. That is unless I slipped off one of the dramatic drop offs skirting knife blade ridgelines... but that didn't happen.
The trick is baby steps.
There were at least six false summits.
Which means the inner monologue went something like this six friggin separate times:
" I can see it!
The TOP!
Almost there... pant* pant*... I did it!
[behind a rock the next false summit murderously reveals itself well above and beyond]
... shit."
But after 4 hours I made it.
The peak was very exposed, which unfortunately didn't mean much as the weather was perfect.
If you know me, you know I like a little rough weather or at least some wind at the top of a mountain.
A six hour solo hike, complete with a summit, is a wonderful thing. I highly recommend it.
I practically ran down the mountain, racing the setting sun and reached the car just as the light went out.
Shavin it close.
----------------------------------------------------
Coming next:
Skinny dipping in Yellowstone

Bear Sighting

2008-09-12T22:43:00.003-03:00

Finally happened.

I know you're supposed to stay away from bears...
but we were kinda excited so we ran toward it.
For pictures.
I will post them when I can.

Coarse and shiny black,
His coat seemed heavy
as it rolled with lumbering
paw steps.
Muzzle of gold,
he panted throught it.
Saw us and ran...
and didn't seem so heavy any more.
He nimbly bounced over the grass, head up...

right toward the softball field where Jenn was about to sit down and enjoy a cigarette.
A shriek and a rather impressive fence hurdle later,
Jenn was standing on top of Brittany's car
yelling if the bear was gone yet.

Sorry bout that Jenn.

After a few days and a few mischievous bear visits,
the head chef made an announcement as follows:
Now we all know there's been a big black bear hangin around,
so lets step up the cleaning
and try to clear the outside grill as best we can.
We don't want any incidents with the guests.

I love working in a place where "bear safety" is an agenda in staff meetings.

-----------------------------------------------------------

I drank a Fernet con Coca at a bar in Montana.
The taste,
bitter sharp and herby.
The buzz,
heat emitting vines crawling up arteries to flower in my brain.

The whole experience was an amputation.
I was in Argentina again,
but all I could see were cowboy hats and glowing gridirons above them.
I was suspended between two times and two places.

I am no stranger to the paradox of position:

The most random insignificant stimuli
feeling rather ambitious
passes through its choice of my sensory organs
and arrives in my brain.

This is where most good little insignificant stimuli
are assigned a predetermined meaning and promptly shelved.
Not our little rabble-rouser.

Yelling "stick em up"
He holds up my Memory Bank
and high tails it
to the forefront of my consciousness.
Where, after an epic gun battle,
our outlaw goes down in a fiery ball of glory...
spilling his stolen memories before my eyes.
Becoming a legend.

This is why a smell,
rice ready for harvest.
A laugh,
forced guffaw or tinkling cascade.
A sight,
setting sun glint on the tiny-veined wings of millions of insects in a grass field...

Can each hijack my static here-ness
to another time and place.
No one can see when this happens.
You can never be prepared for it,
You can never force it.
but you can ride it.

And so I call myself wind...
with my brothers and sisters like me.
We are always going somewhere.

Contact Info and Videos on Ice

2008-09-08T19:10:00.010-03:00

As requested folks, my contact info in Montana.

For Mail:

PO Box 1219 Emigrant, MT 59027

For Packages:

480 Big Creek Rd. Emigrant, MT 59027

I had to taste the ground to make sure it was salty.

Ever wonder what life looks like for a dog chasing a frisbee?

Coatis... the South American Raccoon. Watch out, they bite.

Iguazu: these falls in Argentina were mesmerizing. Like the Niagra of South America.

See how the jungle wraps the falls?

Rainbow by the falls.

Boat ride up the river to the falls.

The Boat ride under the falls.

Fear and Loathing

2008-09-06T21:36:00.003-03:00

Below is a short piece I wrote in the airport, shortly after being overcome by sudden anxiety. The wave of terror passed as soon as it arrived, but it left an impression on me.
This is for anyone who has ever grappled with fear.

-----------------------------------------------------------------
A heart cramp.
Cool prick of a vaccine needle in some vague muscle
in some vague spot
in your torso.

It wallops into a tinkling crescendo...
the sound of an acme anvil dropped on a pyramid of beer bottles.
Jump Spasm.
You realize that there is something fragile in grave danger...
in your gut.

Creeping terrification.
Bland taste of ignorance.
Static panic:
Doubt.

Unbeknowst to you.
Tiny pranksters TP'd the tree limb-like tubes in your lungs.
Someone throws a maltov cocktail down your throat.
Don't choke on the smoke.

It's a good thing you are well practiced in dealing with the paralysis of fear.
Otherwise you wouldn't be able to wiggle your big toe.
Wiggle, toe...
------------------------------------------------------------------

I think I'm a cowboy, but I'm not...
I'm actually a housekeeper, dishwasher, driver, and waiter.
I did learn to dance the two-step in cowboy boots though.
So I'd say I'm heading in the right direction.

This is a high end guest ranch.
People pay more to stay here for two weeks than I did for my whole trip.

It stunned me like a coco butter smack to the face.
I have seen poverty...
Families shuffling through garbage.
I have been poverty...
stretching every last euro to the max.
Surviving off ham and bread and beer.

Some people live very differently.
Some people leave half of a $300 bottle of wine unfinished.

Don't get me wrong,
They are very nice... not uppity or snotty.
But the fact that they exist in the same world as the other extreme...
rattles me.
Somehow between Spain and here,
I must have entered a wormhole.
Too dazed and confused for loathing,
but I wouldn't know what to loathe anyway.
Who's fault is it...
the sprawling wasteland between really-haves and really-have-nots?

-------------------------------------------------------------------
Setting is epic.

The mountains reign here.
Commanding is their presence,
be it bright or brooding.
They bristle with evergreens and aspens tremble at their site.
Deliver down cloud swept frowns
or hawkish sunny grins,
on their back dwelling people-ants.
All we do is beneath them.

And the stars...
wow
It's like someone found a plug,
and singularly tiny-spark-summons
the building buzz of a million baseball stadium lights.
They drown out the black background.
They drown out words.

We are remote, and Wild is not far off.
Brittany has already seen several bears and two (yes TWO) Mountain Lions.
I have yet to see a bear here, but am repeatedly assurred that I will soon.

I like my coworkers.
We knock back brews and trade tales in the lodge with the guests at night...
stretching out beside sassy backtalking fireplaces.
Last night, after a brief tutorial from one of the wranglers...
I attempted and completed a rafter shot.
Ankle locked boots and hanging upside down from a crossbeam in the rafters.
Just picture my shit eating grin the other way around while shooting liquer UP my throat, and you'll have the picture.

The kitchen is top notch.
Manned and Womanned by golden characters,
it cranks out miracles.
I learned how to make pasta today.
That's a miracle itself.

Other things I hope to learn while here:
How to dance better (aka how to twirl the ladies till they don't know which way is up).
How to fly fish.
How to gallop on a horse.
How to hunt.
How to chop wood like a pro.

Pictures coming soon.

Cowboy Nate

2008-08-31T18:43:00.006-03:00

It has been quite a ride.

Current location is now Mountain Sky Guest Ranch in Montana. About 25 miles north of Yellowstone National Park. I apologize for not alerting everyone to my stop in Durham, but I was only there for 10 hours and really hadn't slept in two days.

My last night in Barcelona, I stayed up all night so as not to sleep through my flight. The night before I had slept in the park for maybe 3 hours. And the night after, I was in my old bed in durham, but still unable to sleep because I had to pack. So long story short, it was a really really long trip.

Some really surreal moments in the past week.
Coming back to NC, and actually feeling like I had a home. Matt and Diana had my bed made. Weary dirty traveler that I was, I had to smile at the sight of a room with only ONE bed... as opposed to the snoring/humping/partying circus rooms in many a crowded hostal. It was actually kind of a shock.
I awoke in the night in a cold sweat, breathing hard... sitting bolt upright.
I thought I was hallucinating. The room was completely dark, and my sleep encrusted brain was vein bulgingly trying to remember what country I was in, and whether or not I had a plane or train to catch. Momentary panic was replaced by a hard breath out. Scarily Refreshing.

I had plenty to worry about... even though I stubbornly refused to. Aer Lingus had lost my bag AGAIN. This time in Boston. I just got it back yesterday, barely put back together and missing a stuff sack of dirty clothes. Apparently when a bag is left for a certain amount of time with no lost bag report filed (I couldn't file until the next day at my final destination)... they open it.

Unceremoniously would be putting it lightly. But that's ok, cause they found my cell and Josh's number and therefore, got me my bag.

But why go through all that trouble if you're just going to fuck it up in the end? My bag was practically open when Fed Ex brought it. I'm surprised more wasn't missing than just my stuff sack.

I am looking forward to calling them up. For those of you that pray... remember the poor soul that has to take my call. And remember forgiveness for me... for all the things I will probably say about their mother. The flip flops are off, and I'm feelin slappy.

Another surreal moment...

Riding the train from Valencia to Barcelona a good 6 hours after La Tomatina, I decided to scratch my ear. Lo and behold, I discovered... and fingered out a giant chunk of dried tomato ... one in each ear actually. To others it must have looked like I was wearing some kind of organic Buetooth. I sat there, staring at it, and wondered if I would ever have another moment quite like that one.

If you think that's disgusting, you should have seen the shower water around my ankles when I finally bathed with soap... yes, a day later, back in NC. The water was a dirty pink. I knew I was going to have to be tomato ridden on the plane due to the time crunch, but I didn't realize quite how saturated I was. Could you imagine trying to explain my fruit smuggling to customs?

All the tomatoes are out of the dreads now, but occasionally a seed stowaway will still show itself. I want to plant one of them.

The next day was quite possibly the longest of my entire trip. I was too excited about my destination... and two excited about the person I was going to see.

The road has been lonely... as I knew it would be. I knew parts would be extremely difficult and parts would be rapturous. And I knew I would crack open a few more coconuts of reality and life. One such realization has led me to Montana.
And my trusty wind has blown me here.

I have returned to the States to pick up a partner in crime and continue my adventure. The plan to date is to reline the old bank account until the end of October and then road trip somewhere in the US. I want to be back in NC for Thanksgiving.
I have a tradition that I will not miss. Nate's Turkey will be returning this year... accomplanied by plenty of spiked cider. All are invited. Chela... bring the pigs feet.

I have so much to write about the shock of being where I am, doing what I am doing. It will come later, as this is already a long post.

Mainly I wanted to let everyone know that I am still alive and that I am in Montana.

Check out the link for Mountain Sky to see some pictures of the ranch. Below are some of Lauren's pictures from Paris.

A toast from the best men.

Remember the story about loosing Tai and Yin and then finding them as they tried to pick my pockets? Lauren caught the moment of reunion.
Of course, I had to try to climb the Eiffel Tower.

Yin and I chugged a beer before racing each other down the stairs.

City Lights

My friend's women make sure nobody's left out in the City of Romance.

Loner moments speak the loudest to me. But there is nothing like a good companion

La Tomatina Video

2008-08-29T08:45:00.001-03:00

Not my video but yes, I was somewhere in the middle of that.

Tomatoes

2008-08-27T23:56:00.003-03:00

Lots of them.
They were up to my calves.

I confess,
afterwords I did have a bloody mary.

I was right by the truck when it unloaded tomatoes on the street.
To borrow a phrase:
All my Christmases came at once.

Granted, at certain memorable moments it felt like getting smacked in the face by a bunch of head circling... rubberchicken weilding stars.
Look right?
incoming left.

But it didn´t matter.
I was in a tomato fght.. a big one.
And I was a tomato weilding fiend.

I didn´t get the ham, fans...
sorry to say
the opertunity hath not presented itself.

But nobody else got it either(which makes me feel better).
The trucks interrupted things.

Crawling toward you...
Accesible first
by the ketchup laden screams of delight
somewhere that way.
The space just above the carpet of heads erupts in pulp ridden catastrophe.
A mist of tomato juice stretches the length of the street
hovering over fruit slinging limbs.
Jostling erupts,
nostalgia.
Taiwanese night markets
Franklin Street bonfires.
Riots.
A mass of juiced bodies swaving... stagger... like red tide.
Only one hour... a collective breath out,
release...
The locals hose everyone down on the way out.

the night before, I slept in the park.
but on a tarp
provided by the Italian fellas.

it reminded me of a music festival crammed into a tiny town square.
Everyone just crashed on the ground.
True to tent village form,
mass-contributed entertainment was born and did blossom and we became a small house.
acrobats and games.

Somewhere in between playing kings´s cup with the Italians, drinking with the hitchiking Poles (nicknamed "tarzan" and "shorty"), ... and wandering the streets of Barcelona with a pierced Swede....
I witnessed yet again, proof that
Connecting conquers
when it comes to humanity.
Different cultures can be savy.
This I know...
they can.

I wish I could tell all the details..
I broke my toe attempting to breakdance barefoot.
No biggie,
all you can do is tape it anyway.

I camped for free, when I shoulda paid.
drank redwine and cola.
scammed friends into the disco.
learned how to bowl for cricket.
got confident and jipped another campsite.
watched kite surfers swarm like gulls.
I strutted scars and traded tales with the most random grab bag of nomads you can imagine.

My European leg is coming to an end.
I gave it a good salut.

La Tomatina

2008-08-25T08:29:00.002-03:00

Two days away from La Tomatina.
I am very excited!
Today the campsite will fill with Aussies part of an organized trip package for the festival.
Translation: 300 drunk Aussies and Kiwis are on the way.
Tonight the celebration begins... and tomorrow I head to the small town of Bunol, where the festival will take place.
The night before, the entire town drinks in the streets. I am only taking an extra shirt so I can just pass out in the park that night.
The next morning will kick off with the climbing of the greased up pole, for the hamleg at the top.
As I mentioned...
I want it.
And then come the trucks full of tomatoes which everyone throws at everyone else for exactly one hour.
I will try to buy a waterproof (or rather tomato proof) camera to record the days events.
Promises to be a good time.

Campsite Summer Nights

2008-08-25T07:30:00.003-03:00

Shout out to my long lost Aussie childhood buddy, Adam Jenson.

My two Italian friends and me... drinking Mate (an Argentinian drink similar to tea but different from anything else you have ever tried) and whiskey under the stars.

A few random videos

2008-08-23T09:14:00.004-03:00

Throughout my recent walking, and waiting, I started playing with the video function on my camera... doing short interviews.

Here are a few.

Sorry about the second one, I accidentally hit nightview, but I pass some old drunk spaniards that you can just barely see.

Oh where oh where to sleep

2008-08-23T08:30:00.006-03:00

The past few days have been somewhere between a whirlwind and a clusterfuck.

I left Figueres a day later than I planned.

On the day I planned, I got to the bus terminal to get my big pack out of the locker.
Bus terminal closed.

A short beg routine later, I am let in and thankfully retrieve my things.

But its just started.

Nate misread the arrivals for the departure trains and got himself stuck with no hostel for a night.

The first night search is on.

So help myself to a little 2km hike to the campsite where I sleep on the ground for 5 euros.

Have been making a habit of counting pennies lately.

Next day I make it to Barcelona and then grab a second train to Valencia.

True to form every single hostel in the city is completely full.

Unbeknownst (sp?) to me, the city was in the middle of a huge Formula 1 rally or race or something.

After hiking all over the city looking for a Pension or a bar with a room ... a hostel worker finally rescues me and finds me a room.

Granted it was the equivalent of 45 bucks, a bit steep, but I really didn't want to sleep in the park with my passport and creditcards on me (shoulda left them in the locker).

That night was hot, very hot... humid room, no fan, no breeze... I had to sweat it out, using a damp towel to cool off, periodically throughout the night.

Next day was a search for housing.

Everything was full.

I finally found a campsite 30km out of the city where I am now. Had to hike across the city for the bus to get here.

The campsite wouldn't give me the cheap price for no tent, but I met an Aussie Kiwi pair of rubbers... car camping across europe.

They offered to let me camp on their site further up the road, so tomorrow that's where I'm heading. They're going to La Tomatina as well.

I'm recruiting guys to help me get up the greased pole.

Tradition demands the festival doesn't start until someone gets the leg of ham at the top.

I want it.

But I have to get past the Spaniards that try to pull tourists down.

We'll see how that goes.

This was their drunk finger puppet.

Two other Aussie fellas I met and their tounges ... and the drunk fingerpuppet.

Interview with a drunk fingerpuppet.

The Bull fighting arena in Valencia.

This is what I wanted to see.

This was all they had in August. Yeah, this.

Dali Pictures

2008-08-20T08:27:00.025-03:00

Teatro Museo

Gold painted figures threaten to jump.

Gala´s rowboat and umbrella sit attop a giant column of car tires in the center of the museum´s main courtyard.

The Persian Queen atop a steamy vine filled car with water dripping from the roof.

The shocking nature of Surrealism´s use of the impossible.

At last, the blank canvas gives up and just as you expected promptly craps itself.

Who ate all the ice cream?

This was painted on a large ceiling.
Dali from below: see the upside down drawers?

Tristan and Isolde

Which image do you see?

I really like this one.

Dali also designed and created Jewelry. This is the Corset Ring... so you, Brittany

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Casa de Dali

Dali´s house from across the bay.

Quiet Reader in the Garden

Dali´s bedroom through a mirror.

There was random stuff like this all over his house.

The Canaray Room.

Fishnet draped slanted walls, this space was very tight. Unfortunately it was roped off. The statue at the top made it hard to fight the temptation to run for it and see what was up there.

The Pigeon Roost

Below the winding staircase was the model´s room where people could relax after posing in the studio.

Lip couch by the pool

Dining Room, complete with Winged Rhinoceros Head

One of Dali´s unfinished pieces left in his studio.

The Beggar and the Michelin Man.

Giant rowboat carcass

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Randoms

Kids cliff diving. I jumped from the point where the blond boy is. The water is on the other side of the closer rocks.

Inside the Church at Cadaques

Tiny alley in Cadaques

The Amazing Pirate Dog

Sunrise over the campsite

Ah... the Mediterranean Sea

Preparing for the leap

Where´s nude Waldo?

Some little piece of architecture in Paris.

The I-Know-Where-I-Am Dance

2008-08-19T08:28:00.002-03:00

Ever do the I-Know-Where-I-Am Dance?

I did it last night.
Got myself completely helplessly lost at 5 in the morning.
Well not completely... the character I was with said he knew where he was...
then he kept changing his mind.
And then he left.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.
Unable to meet my friends, I parked it at a local waterhole to chat with the bartenders and see how they mix up a cocktail in Spain.
Between making the cheapest beer last the longest, I actually got some new tricks.
Whoever gets lucky enough to try my next Mojito... prepare to be astounded.
Matt and Diana... that´s you.
Also tried a beer mixed with Fanta limon... surprisingly good, but I won´t make you guys try that.

Anyway, my new friend starts talking to me about Dali... asking some of the most interesting questions I have heard in a while.

"Tell me what is your writing... use two words please"

He told me:

"That which you create must come from your universe, brought into existence for you and no one else... it talkes balls, sensivity, abandon, violence, thought."

He had a face that was weather worn, making it impossible to guess his age.
White scruff sprouted under sun beaten cheeks.
He had features carved by countless experiences.
They spoke a language all their own, complete with well worn expressions of deep thought.

When one bar closed, we migrated to another.
Winding down back allies, covering distance.
I tried to keep a bearing, but eventually had to give up.

Lean and sturdy, he walked with a purpose ...equally stopped with a purpose to point out a fountain made by Dali or a mural made by someone else, asking what it resembled to my eye.

He wouldn´t tell me his nationality because it carried a meaning that wasn´t his.
I can relate to that.

He regretfully accepted my email, apologizing for he did not operate in cyberspace... he mourned friends unknown to me... lost to time, and distance. I could see it behind his eyes.
I knew I would not see him again.
He taught me a slight of hand game... we played for cheap beers.

And then he disappeared into the night.
I chose a direction and started walking.

Figueres is a busy tourist town by day, and a deserted ghost town by night.
I didn´t see a soul.
Flip flops echoing on cobbled streets and bouncing up into the night off shuttered windows.
I followed my shadow.
And then suddenly I knew where I was.

I broke out my dance in the middle of the empty square.
A little booty shake, jump kick spin and groove.
I even gave myself an encore performance.
Then walked to bed.

It was a good night.

On Distance

2008-08-17T10:36:00.003-03:00

This is from an email I wrote a few weeks ago while I was in Paris:

--------------------------------------------------------------------

The other day as I hunched over my computer obsessively trying to focus... a beautiful day passing unnoticed outside, I overheard this Australian girl bawling into her webcam beside me.
It was a little distracting as you can imagine,
more like impossible to ignore.
It was her birthday.
Apparently right before I had gotten there she had fought it out with the internet guy to get a computer that had skype so she could call her friends and family.
Now as she tried to tell her parents what a good time she was having, the tears wouldn't stop.

Unable to concentrate, I was secretly listening in.
After her parents came her friend, after her friend came her boyfriend.
And after the quivering goodbye to her boyfriend...
came the shortest, most heart breaking sigh I have heard in a long time.

Then she gathered herself... stepped outside into the sun and carried on.

I know that sigh...

---------------------------------------------------------------------

As I´m sure many of you do as well.

My life has given me many new faces... but also many goodbyes in turn.
They never do get easier, but you learn to take it in stride.
Lament the separation.
Celebrate the memories.
Hope for the next meeting.

My parents say goodbye to Isaac my brother today. He returns to the US for another year of school.

I dedicate today´s post to connections of love, of friendship, and of family which stubbornly fly in the face of pan-global distances and pan-state differences alike.

May they remain to be renewed.

Avast!

2008-08-16T10:00:00.003-03:00

I just drank an expresso and whisky... that was mostly whisky.
It made me feel better if that tells you anything about how I am feeling right now.
Where´s a decent Bloody Mary when you need one.
Which, for those of you who don´t know, is probably my favorite drink to make.
I consider it Bartender Jazz. Improvisation is key.
Each one is different and each one is a work of art. The right mix of citrus tang and spice, a good one will knock the back of your throat out... kiss your lips with fire, and have you on your feet in 2 minutes flat.
I especially like them garnished with fresh peppers or pickled asparagus.
God I´m fienden for a rightous red one.
On my way to see if Spain can make a bloody... but figured I would write my hangover first.
From what I remember last night... I had a good time.
I met these guys from Edinburgh and the UK a few days ago. They just walked from the Atlantic Ocean. Took em 48 days.
Ballers.
They kept me outta at least one fight last night and somehow managed me back to my tent.
Good lads. They remind me of the old days, fellas... runnin around causing mayhem.
Anyhow, I was going to write about Cadaques.
This town, or rather the campsite here. Sometimes reminds me of Tortugo, the hidden pirate city in Pirates of the Caribean. Tattoos, dreadlocks, earings and plenty of swaggering. Albeit somewhat touristy, at drunken moments aided by the lack of language it´s easy to enter an imagined world where gypsy pirates meet and drink.
The main street of the town wrapps around a cliffed seafront. Whitwashed walls emit glowing rectangles of light from rock to chapel-like silhouettes.
My first night here, the seas were high and the main road was drenched by crashing waves.
Wind seems to be a standard fixture... and the lack of any today has definately left a void.
Like many seaside towns this one has many faces. A comic doing impressions, the light and the sea seem to emit emotions. One cannot describe the scenery as anything other than brooding or playful... laid back or ravenous.

Stormy Sleep

2008-08-15T07:25:00.004-03:00

Last night a storm blew through the campsite.

Everywhere was the sound of flapping nylon tarps and zipping.

Flashes of sheet lightning momentarily took blue and green snapshots of shadows mid sprint.

Spectacular forks of light like intricate glowing cracks in the cloud above seared themselves into being as a united gasp escaped the lips of those lucky enought to be looking up.

Lone street lights and headlamps illuminated slanted sheets of raincurtains angling into trees and sandy ground. The smell of earth and wet branches rose like smoke from below.

As I ran past one tiny shelter I heard from within muffled moans and the unmistakable high-pitched barely-voiced inhale. A couple, possessed by the spirit of reckless weather, were riding the rhythm of the storm as the wind wolf whistled along.

The night was whispering to each in turn their secret messages.

From afar.

Driven abreeze they now shook loose in rhyming clarity... to wrap the receiver in farflung dreams beneath the chaotic canopy.

I tossed and turned all night as the tent repeatedly claimed to give up cruel world! or tear unshackled from my aluminum stakes. While the moon... a shapeless hidden glow... struggled across the embattled sky, gusts of wind charged my tent from every angle in turn. Like the hands of a clock slowly stalking its center. The chiming bells were periodic cracks of rolling thunder that seemed to rattle your organs from the inside out.

But my shelter held its ground, and I slept dry within.

Something about being at the mercy of unbridled nature has always appealed to me. Testing my fortitude against the onslought of the elements.

Perhaps I see the forces as beautiful mirror images of the wild parts of myself and humanity that are equally halting in their mystery to me.

Or perhaps I just like a good party.

Either way I enjoyed my little storm last night.

The House that Dali Built

2008-08-12T14:21:00.004-03:00

Two Dali museums down, one more to go.
The first was in Figueres, the Teatro Museo... an extremely popular museum. The holy bible of traveling (aka guidebook) hath so-seriously-you-guys declared it top most visited museum in Spain, or something along those lines.
I don´t know about all that, but the big crowd did somehow force my experience. Hard to get lost in an art piece and be jostled at the same time.
I was lucky... I walked into the room of his tomb just at the right moment. I was the only person there. It was a nice touch.
The Teatro Museo was first created by Dali... constructed on the ruins of a burned theater in his hometown (the actual site of his first art exhibition at age 14). The Mayor of Figueres asked Dali to donate a painting to the town. The artist refused, instead promising a museum of his design. And there it was.
As you can imagine the whole building is a surrealist experience down to every minute detail.

The real winner though was Casa de Dali which I visited today.
This was Dali and Gala´s (his wife and muse) home and studio. They lived here until Gala´s death.
This place is so wild, shit! I want a house like this someday... seriously.
Three separate fishing huts strung together... it grew and evolved over years, the universe of Dali in a physical labyrinth. To enter it is to enter a shrine.
Due to the size, the number of visitors are strictly limited... adding to the aura.
In fact, you´re supposed to call ahead and reserve tickets. Solo to the rescue... if you´re alone, sometimes it works in your favor.
Something about the intimacy of the whole experience... hushed and holy... was riveting. Be it the mirror positioned just ye, so the artist could see the light of dawn from his bed; or Gala´s private room designed by her lover... the acoustics of which created a dreamlike echo, completely confusing and enhancing for any ear-eye coordination.
In this house, a hall was not just a hall: completely white... blank except for a tiny birdcage, it could have been an artpiece... but it wasn´t... it was his home.
Very moving day for me.
After that I took a walk by and then a swim in the Mediterranean.
In case you were wondering, yes nude beaches exist in Spain (stop reading if nudity makes you queasy):
no, they aren´t marked, a regular beach becomes a nude beach when someone takes their pants off, but they do tend to be remoter... yes I saw a lot of tits, pussy, and dick today... no they weren´t all pleasant to look at... yes that means flabby, saggy, hairy, etc. But one or two weren´t bad. I might try it tomorrow.
Instead of getting nude today... I jumped off a cliff and then I jumped off another higher cliff. Nothing too high, about 30ft maybe I just saw some kids jumping and surviving so I gave it a try. Fun stuff.
The past two nights, I have been extremely lax about finding places to sleep. Both places I found after 9pm. Instead of paying too much for a hostel, I just figure I can grab a midnight bus and sleep on it... since it doesn´t really matter where I go. As long as I keep moving.
In other news... I am happy to announce I have bought a plane ticket back to the States and will begin my season of money making in Montana this time: Mountain Sky Guest Ranch. At least until October and then it´ll be the road again.
Cheers.

Dali Stop

2008-08-10T06:33:00.003-03:00

I just hopped off my train to Barcelona because I was about to pass not one but three Salvador Dali museums. So I´m here now in Figueres the place of his birth and death.

Pics, tips, and freedom fries

2008-08-08T09:53:00.016-03:00

Starting with the photos this time:

Church in Dublin

Same Church: I couldn't go in cause they were filming The Tudors (whatever that is)

Dublin Castle

Ivy Building

I'll have a ... a ... Jamesons?

Irish Harbor

Irish Sea

Amazing day at the beach: I think at this point I had 3 hours till my plane left.

Irish Fishermen

Boats

The Golden Gates of Versailles Palace

The Ceiling of the Royal Family Chapel

Now that's a bed

The Famous Hall of Mirrors: Testament to Extravagance

I would kinda like a fireplace that burned whole trees though

Fountain in the Gardens

The Palace from the Gardens

Yin and Lauren

Me and my favorite god... you guessed it: Dionysus (aka Bacchus)

Lunch / Yin's face

Eiffel Tower Sunset

***************************************************************
And Now the Post

First of all. I'm going to Barcelona tomorrow!!!
Second of all, a few thoughts on stereotypes:

Its no secret that Americans have certain stereotypes about the French in general and the Parisans in specific. You know its coming, but I'll get to Freedom Fries and Freedom Toast in a minute.

Before my trip I was warned several times that the French in Paris were assholes... especially if you were lacking in French fluency (or something along those lines).
At the risk of jinxing myself, I will state for the record that I have experienced nothing but kindness and patience in my interactions.

Here are a few examples:

My first night in Paris came at the end of a very long journey. I had finally reached Mathieu's apartment where I was supposed to crash. Due to the lost bag and lost taxi incidents, I was slightly late... only four hours. It was three a.m. I was mapless, dead on my feet, dying for a cigarette, and staring at a locked apartment building. I needed a phone.
Three city blocks later I concluded that coin payphones were as plentiful as freakin unicorns in Paris.
Any shop selling phonecards had closed long ago.
In desperation I wondered if it would be worth yelling at windows in the above apartments until the right one opened.
I decided against that.
Instead I was politely approached by a slightly intoxicated Frenchman asking for a cig.
Hmm, it seemed I wasn't the only one in this city with nothing but a habit.
I started to ask where all the telephone booths hung out at this time of night... but I only got as far as "telefono." He had pulled out his cell and was asking for the number.
That single gesture probably saved me another two hours of searching.
Mathieu whom I had never met (we had a mutual friend), had been waiting up with his friends. He graciously invited me into his home and handed me a smoke.
And that was my Paris first impression.

Another time I saw a young French guy chase down an Asian tourist in the subway because the back of his bag was unzipped. After frantically rumaging to make sure everything was there, the flustered tourist could barely squeak a "merci."

Of course the responsiblity for harmonious cross cultural interactions must be shared. Sometimes you have to help too:

In response to my "parle vous anglais?" bombshell...
I can clearly read the "oh shit... and I was having a good day" expression flash across the information desk lady's face.
She eyes me warily.
Luckily here's where I shine.

If I may offer a few free tips:
First, before you begin firing questions, greet the individual in French. This step must not be underestimated... many cultures (even ours) value politeness and the establishment of a relationship.
Second, establish two things as soon as possible: you are neither distressed nor rushed.
In the absence of words you must communicate through other means: body language and facial expressions.
In practice, adopt a non challenging relaxed stance, make eye contact (minus that intense crazy guy stare)... and smile for the love of god! Act like you are having the best day of your life.
Now... having said that, it gets a little tricky when you are, in fact very rushed, extremely distressed, and consequently having the worst day of your life. Lie, baby lie. Acting cool can be better than blowing your top: better service and it clears your head.
Practice makes perfect.
Third, use whatever means to communicate. This often ends up being amusing for everyone in line. I have used drawing, acting, singing, dancing... anything. Try using words in different languages. Try having a good time doing it. If it seems funny or awkard thats because it is, so laugh.
In this case after a little miming with some Spanish thrown in, the young lady took a liking to me (thats the smiling for ya), and walked me to the appropriate ticket counter. Which ended up being the wrong ticket counter but hey... at least it was in the vicinity.
Plan on repeating the entire process several times before success. That way you can be pleasantly surprised instead of devastated (if your the prone to devastation type).

I just had an ominous feeling that after such a self-righteous post... I must have doomed myself. Next post: Nate in Paris jail after beating store clerk with flip flop.

Lets hope not.

This post is too long for me to go into Freedom Fries, so I'll just say that I suspect the US government (or at least the current administration) to be behind a media driven smear campaign against the French culture. Imagine what a pain it would be if some Frenchies did things opposite from your way and fared much better. I mean wouldn't that prove you... gasp... wrong?
I'm referring to France's health care, educational, and work vacation systems which are decidedly left of our left... and better.
Mainly though, I feel like anti-French jabs really heated up in the US after France took a stand against the Iraq War.
I'm no expert on this so feel free to add your thoughts in the comments. Just tossin it out there. Discuss.

Raw Versailles

2008-08-06T12:38:00.002-03:00

First to answer some questions: The reason Chinese or Spanish gets a better response in Paris for me seems to be because Parisians are more likely to speak Spanish than English due to Spain being right there. As for Chinese, I just look for the closest Asian and hope they can at least understand it. Paris is a very cosmopolitan city: lots of different cultures.

Yesterday was raw day with Yin and Lauren.

Lunch: Beef tartar (they gave us each a plate with enough ground beef for two large American burgers). It had onions, herbs, capers, and citrus, but not very much of it. Yes we ate it all; Yes it was really good.
Foie Gras... also raw. Never had it before... it came with toast and the best balsamic reduction I've ever had.
We also had escargot... cooked. SO good.
Dinner: Oysters, mussels, clams, tuna, scallops, and brined shrimp. All raw. Delicious!

In the afternoon we hopped a train to Versailles. It was moving for me to see the setting of the French Revolution and imagine the peasants storming the palace. It was so unnecessarily lavish inside I felt sick. The gardens were nice though.
An interesting moment:
As we sat on the grass I noticed a group of men with cameras and shit eating grins following a slutty looking, suspiciously buff, high-heeled woman. Alright, it was actually a French dude and his bachelor party... drunk off their ass. Just then a family passed us, the mother momentarily blocking our view of the entertainment. She wore a long flowing chadri... only a rectangle exposed for her eyes.
I was momentarily overcome by the extremes in human appropriateness. The modest muslim mother and the crossdressing drunk both sauntering through the gardens of Versailles. I was most interested in the possibilities for how these two would regard each other. But no interaction occurred as they passed each other seemingly indifferent.
Still I can imagine the possibilities ("sex deviant!"... "prude!").

A few notes on my thoughts:
The justifications for any given action deviate greatly between the actor and the observer of the action.
While the ramifications of both are quite strong, neither is the complete and true motivation for the action.

I know this because my reasoning for my traveling (and anything else I do for that matter) is as elusive to me as to those who speculate about me. It is never one reason but a heirarchy of reasons.

To me, the complexity of a person or character is a mirror of the complexity of this heirarchy... as well as its ability to change.

I dont know fully what drives me, I do know who I am by my actions, I dont know who I will be... and neither does anyone else.

Make sense?

On another note:

I realized last night that I couldnt see the stars... its time for me to leave the city.

Below are some of Cody's Pictures from the Road Trip in Salta, Argentina.

DUI-M

Driving Under the Infuence - of Mate

Salta Overlook

The Gnomes live in those mountains!

Salt Flat Fun

Lunch

Hey, did anyone bring any salt? ... waiiiitaminute

Be the Salt Flats

Pink Thermos Balancing Act:

Daniel-son Style

You won't believe this

2008-08-04T11:05:00.005-03:00

When we last left our hero he was sitting in an internet cafe in Paris trying to reach his lost friends, who were obviously the ones lost... as he knew exactly where he was.
Unable to contact them, he decides to chance at it and see just how lucky he really is.

And now the exciting conclusion:

I left the internet:
To stubbornly enjoy the day
I was hellbent!
I am solo anyway.

Where to thought me? The Louvre'll be neat.
In Line One I see a bag check ahead.
No sweat I know this drill:
Bag on the belt be sure to smile or wink at Miss Security,
In case she's feeling frisky?... ok, she's not.

Down I go beneath a pyramid of glass.
Wow, big room... lotta people to see...
The sign says tickets free.
But I didn't see it as I thought:
"Now where's that dead Virgin supposed to be?" *
So I wait for the ticket I didn't need.

Which put me in just the perfect spot
For hands to enter my left and right pocket.
One for my cigs and one for the wallet...
respectively.

I jumped I'll admit it...
a foot or two
and assummed a slight resemblance...
to that kid in gym that always was
surprised at being pantsed**.
But so would you...
so shut up.

I hear familiar laughing,
Turn... Yin and Tai are grinning.
GOT you!

A chance finding in Monstrous Paris City
I guess I am pretty lucky.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

* A reference to The Da Vinci Codes, which I somehow couldnt get out of my head at the Louvre, dammit all.

** To be pantsed is to have one's trousers abruptly and unceremoniously relocated around one's ankles. It can be observed mostly among middle and high school aged. The rather amusing result is an uncontrollable expression of shock and embarrassment coupled with frantic motions meant to restore said clothing to its proper place as rapidly as possible: a sort of red-faced jiggle-dance.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I couldn't figure out how to work this French computer so some of these are just going to be sideways.

Sidewys Eiffel Tower

My Parisian Friends: Farida, Anna, and Mathieu

Look Familiar?

One of my favorites

FROM DUBLIN

For those of us with a cornier disposition

It begins

Inspiration: This was right before I fought the line for my free guinnes.

A beautiful sight

Things get interesting

2008-08-01T11:45:00.003-03:00

So this is where the trip starts to get interesting: I no longer have any tickets or places to be. The road is wide open and i'm as free as they come. I have no idea where I will be in three days, and that's just my style.

Flying into Paris at night: there's nothing quite like it.

There's nothing quite like the airport losing your bag either. I just got it back today, I think it has a sticker on it for Japan... figures.

Little travel tip:

This lost bag popped my cherry, but I have been waiting for the day. I knew it would happen. So I always keep my basics in the carry-0n. You know... contacts, deoderant, toothbrush, cigarettes, condoms (bare necessities). Enough for a day or two, which is usually how long it takes them to find your bags. I was extremely lucky this time... Paris was the first destination on this trip where I actually had a phone number and address to stay. The rest of the time, I just hit the hostel kiosks.

In Dublin:

True to form, I can proudly announce that I hit the Jameson distillery and the Guinness brewery all in one day. I was toasted. Also had the chance to get out of the city (led by two slovakian ladies I met at a restaurant) and saw some Irish Sea... always nice.

By the time I got into Paris from the airport it was really late (delayed flight, lost bag). I met two Americans whose flight had been cancelled. They had ten hours to burn, so they were staying up all night walking around the city. I wanted to join them but could barely stand. I saw the city though, between hiking in search of open metros and chasing taxis I gaped up at the illuminated architecture. The streets were alive with intoxicated people... in love or in wine. Couples by fountains, women gliding through the warm night in their bright sundresses. The wind was cool off the Seine. Then I was treated to a tour of the city when my taxi drove me to the wrong address on the other side of town.

The next day the wedding party met up for drinks and dinner. Great to see everyone... Matt and Diana... we wish you could be here.

Today was Notre Dame... beautiful. I somehow lost my friends, so decided to find some internet and catch up on writing instead.

We'll see if i'm lucky enought to find them in Paris... if not I'll find a bar and go from there.

Interesting note: I have used more Spanish and Chinese on the streets of Paris than English... gets a better response.

Avalon House

2008-07-29T06:59:00.003-03:00

Avalon House is the name of my hostel in Dublin.
My room has over twenty beds in it. That's a lot, even for a hostel.
I kinda like it, though. This morning, as i quietly crept into bed, the rain was really coming down.
Wind swept sheets of rattatat above...
a chorus of contented snores below...
the dawn light creeping through...
the windowlined tin roof.
My beat up body slept off the airport.

Today I hit the guinness brewery and possibly the jamesons distillery.
I may throw in a museum since the rest of the day seems to center around alcohol.

Either way, expect a drunk post later.
Cheers!

Nate's Steak and the Drag to Dublin

2008-07-28T19:38:00.006-03:00

It's not enough just to buy tickets to get somewhere. When you don't travel on a set schedule it frees you up to experiment a little bit. And I do love experimentation.
On this past leg from Raleigh to Dublin, I tried saving money by doing a little mixing and matching. Good in theory, right? Actually the more I saved, the longer my actual traveling time. For example... yesterday I went from Raleight to Charlotte, to Boston, to Newark, to Dublin (switching airlines somewhere in the middle). I know, it doesn't make sense... burning more fuel and paying less for it. But hey, what really makes sense anymore?
To make things even more interesting, I woke up late (yes, still drunk) and had to pack in about 20 minutes.

If I may point out: some people will choose to call this irresponsibility... and that's fine.

I prefer to think of it as challenging myself: extra practice in not-taking-shit-too-seriously (also known as "fuck it"). Once things are out of your control, getting worked up doesn't accomplish anything, and I've found, things tend to work themselves out.

For example: Yesterday I missed my first flight. Somehow, don't ask me, the Saints of Nate were on their game and almost all flights on the East Coast got delayed due to weather. I made my connecting flights and here I am.

When to attempt this type of travel:
First, if you don't mind the physical strain of airport travel: in this case, sprinting, sitting, and standing for long periods of time with no end in sight.
Second, if you have a sense of humor and can joke when everyone else is pissed in the "pissed off people line" (yeah... you know the one I'm talking about).
And most importantly third, if you have the ability, after all is said and done, to admit that paying the extra money would definately have been worth it.

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

My two days in the US were as refreshing as they were hectic. Of everything I had planned to do, I accomplished the usual Half. But it was the good Half.
I had the biggest grin on my face the whole time. There is something truly euphoric about going from Winter to Summer in a day. I soaked up every second.
Caught up with some friends: It was great to see every single one of you!
Dropped by City Beverage and was amazed and delighted to find on the menu: Nate's Steak.
Yes... there is a steak named after me. Thank you Chef!
Ever get something and then realize that you've always wanted it?
I think I can die happy now.
So everyone, if you're in the area, drop by City Beverage and try Nate's Steak! Inspired by my adventures in Argentina.
4810 Hope Valley Rd.
Durham, NC 27707
910-401-6500
www.citybeverage-durham.com

Video from the Road Trip

2008-07-25T20:39:00.005-03:00

Pics from the Roadtrip

2008-07-25T13:32:00.011-03:00

View through the howling wind tunnel

Ever set free a collective gasp? Close to the high pass, we clear a bend... no sign of life for miles. The lone herdsman watched our sedan inquisitively. The Llamas gazed regally down at us from the white snow bank. The barren mountainscape softened in the presence of her inhabitants, clouds of hot breath freeze in the air.

Closer to the top, a quiet moment. the silence of the mountains is deafening. Twilight and first star take us over the pass.

Top of the pass... drunk on the altitude... stars spin and fall out of the sky.

Hot Mate melts the cold.

The equivalent of 16,000 ft. in altitude

The Quilnes Ruins: The natural fortress is topped by the chief's palace with ramparts down each ridge. The villiage steps up the middle. Walking the old paths, gazing over the valley... I wonder what eyes watched the Spanish come across the plain so many ages ago.

Cacti Can Kiss

Lunarscape wide angle.

Testing the Water

Drop Trow!

Windswept.

Flying Nate

Cody on the dunes.

Sorority Squats

Lookout

Amigas

Miles makes a fire

Incredible layers of every color

sunbaked

Dry hot wind, big sky, long shadows... Happy Nate

In photos the backdrop doesn't look real, but it is.

The Ragtag Crew

Blues on the Wing.

Wide angle cactus.

Deserts are awesome

Chilin.

I had always wanted to climb one of those mesas that looked like it was about to fall over.

Dune trodder

Silver snake carves through the sand

Hiking to the natural bridge

Wading under the natural bridge... I am really cold right about now.

Miles, this had better be your new profile picture

This was the original color, not a bad rental actually.

The same car later... dirtier, just the way I like em.

Desert Sunset

We would stop randomly along the road to climb things, throw rocks... you know, the usual.

Crazy rock formations.

Ridge Hiker

Movin On

2008-07-22T15:02:00.002-03:00

Today is my last day in Argentina. The past few days have been a whirlwind of Buenos Aires and preparation for my next trip.
Two nights ago, I hung out with my friend Cate and her boyfriend, who I had been surprised to find living in Buenos Aires. Later in the evening I found myself standing in the same bar I had discovered last time I was here... Deja Vu. It has no name. Only a red door in the wall off a small street. People call it la Rojo Puerta. Very cool place. I spoke to a very interesting transvestite for most of the night and then met the cast of Disney on Ice.
I have so many pictures to download, but I will conquer them when I get back to the States, and have consistent internet. Here´s when I´ll be through town.

Can´t wait to see everyone.

Flight in: Continental Airlines 2240 from Houston arriving 11:12 am Friday July 25.

Flight out: US Air 4032 from RDU to DC 11:25 am Sunday July 27.

Road Trip in Short

2008-07-17T22:57:00.003-03:00

A quick post... yes I am still alive.

I just got back from our seven day road trip. I will write more detailed stories when I have more time. We rented the little Gaucho-Car-That-Could (a four seater sedan, no 4WD here)... and she took us everywhere from deserts to rain forests to salt flats... crossing rivers, ice, and 4900 meter mountain passes. She only gave up two hubcaps and bent her front liscence plate. If there's one thing I love, its getting cars REALLY dirty. And she was ... a dirty dirty girl.

Quick highlights:
I tried Coca Leaves for the first time... legal in northern parts of Argentina.
Went on a drunken midnight moonlit gnome hunt (apparently they exist in the mountains of Argentina).
Listened to incredible live music in small country towns along the way.
Did some solo camping in the desert and in the mountains. Translation: danced naked alone in the desert under the stars.
Tried and failed to learn the flute.
Watched Cody order cow shit stew by accident.
Witnessed some of the most incredible landscape of my life: barren desserts with cacti and mesas, sandblasted lunarscapes seemingly devoid of all life, fertile irrigated oasis tucked into painted valleys, layered canyons millions of years old, ancient Quilnes ruins, and much more. I kept a writeen journal which I will copy when more time allows. Showers have been few and far between much less internet.

It's official the motto of this trip is now "If only I had more time. "
At $20 US per day per person (including gas) this road trip could have been at least twice as long, and I have only explored a corner of this massive, beautiful country.
I have just bade farewell to my carmates and am now once again solo. Mixed feelings on that one, but more awaits.
I bought my ticket to Iguazu tonight: home of the waterfalls. I leave tomorrow morning... only a 24 hour bus ride. Back to BA after that and then State Side.

For now friends... a thought on moments that threaten to break you.
Quoted from Martin Fierro:

"De ese modo nos hallamos
Empenaos en la partida-
No hay que darla por perdida
Por dura que sea la suerte;
Ni que pensar en la muerte,
Sino en soportar la vida."

"So there were we-friend Cruz and me
With our lives in the lap of Fate;
But even when trouble has got you grassed
You must kee up your pecker till the last;
If a man keeps thinking about his death
He may think of his life too late."

The Gaucho Martin Fierro
"Part the Second: The Return of Martin Fierro"
Chapter 3 Paragraph 1
Translation: Walter Owen

2008-07-10T11:36:00.002-03:00

Today we rent a car and leave Salta for our 4-5 day road trip around the surrounding countryside.

My travel companions include Miles, Laura, and Cody (the three on the left below).

and of course... your truly.

yeah, yeah... I still think Im a little bad ass rock star.

We plan on hitting the salt flats, mountains, cloudforests, and some multi-colored valleys that are supposed to be gorgeous. Mostly I´m just looking forward to doing some driving and getting outta the damn city. Although Salta is a bit smaller than Mendoza and definately has more of a South American feel to it architecturally and with all the churches and stuff. I can´t wait to get out to the really small mountain villages. And I love to drive.

Internet will be spotty at best, so it might be goodbye for a while.

Tickets to Tierra del Fuigo are quite expensive so my plan B currently is to small village hop (skipping the major cities) up through Chili perhaps into Peru, down to Santiago... then across to Buenos Aires for my flight out. But of course, that is subject to change at any moment.

Congratulations to Matt and Diana... all my best.

And Happy Birthday to Josh.

I´m hittin the Road!

Vamanos!

2008-07-07T17:20:00.003-03:00

Decision made: I'm going to go both South and North.

I find when I can't decide between two equal choices (in this case equal because I know nothing about each) , I simply choose both. Usually de facto, I run out of time and only complete the first choice. But it makes me feel better to choose both, so I do.

I don't know too much about my destination... Salta, except that it is north and everyone I ask says it is very beautiful. I have a 16 hour bus ride to read up on it, so I'm not worried. I leave in two hours.

The real reason I chose to go north first was because I have some friends who want to rent a car. As a solo traveler, certain outings can get pricy (car rentals especially), and in the smaller towns, or in between cities, public transportation is scarce. I had a chance to do some driving around so I grabbed it. I hope I will still have time to go to Tierre del Fuego, butS I have already decided to come back.

I also decided not to cancel my return tickets. The airline makes you do a double blindfolded back flip onto salted broken glass in order to change tickets, so i'll pass on that. I'll be back in the States on July 24th for a grand total of 3 days before I head off to Spain, minus a quick stop in Ireland for two days to get drunk.

City Beverage: I will be popping in to see everyone, have a few brews and tell all the innapropriate stories that I don't post here (wink wink).

Asta mas tarde chicos!

and more pics

2008-07-04T18:23:00.003-03:00

Seems I keep finding more pics to put up from past weekends...

I was in this position a lot

Fans

See the group of cops discussing the tiny fire?

I like this one

Reflections

2008-07-04T15:35:00.003-03:00

When I trek, I shoulder my pack
at the break of day and limp and groan
the stiffness out.
When my pack and I together break the battle lines of morning chill,
and I feel the heat from my body swell.
I sit me down and breathe; remove my shell and tighten this,
adjusting that. I shift the weight just so.
I eat a bit, check my sites, and watch perhaps some form of life
across the snow.
My breathing steady, body heat, my movements smooth and sure...
my pack slips on like a well creased glove... and now I set my pace.
The miles unroll beneath my boots and beauty greets my eyes.
But skip the sit my friends, and see
a certain rise in difficulty
for whatever may arise.

Life takes a slightly sloping turn, not down per se... but a definate drop in momentum is registered... The slightly too-hard brake that wakes you up on the bus, making you panic as you wonder where you are, how you got there, and where you are going.

Sometimes a decision has to be made, something you convince yourself is important, whether or not it really is. You concentrate, and tune out the here and now. You smile less, you cope, you watch your feet when you walk.

And then something happens in a split second. Hard to describe its many forms. But the one thing it always has is the element of surprise: the unexpected laugh... did it come from you? And like a long-lost guarded erotic memory, it grows and explodes. The food tastes better, the lust for life does a back flip, and you stride on.

A small moment is all it takes. Not the full kiss of an unseen angel... fainter... only the breath. You will miss it if you don't keep a sharp eye.

I had my small moment yesterday... insignificant if recounted... it is powerful only in its effect. A shared moment over coffee, a connection.

It reminded me that I hadn't taken a break to sit on my pack... tighten this adjust that, watch life and let the initial heat of open gates balance into a pace that I can keep. And so I take a moment on this July 4th, far away from fierworks ... to write and reflect, and check my course.

Today is my last day at the Intercultural Institue in Mendoza, a few final fiestas and then I set out on my own again to a destination not yet determined.

Futbal Pics

2008-07-01T18:22:00.002-03:00

Some old pics from the futbal game a few weeks ago that I got from some friends.

This was before it got really tight.

In this picture you can see some of the fireworks in the stands. At one point you couldn't even see the field.

Lots of riot police and canine units in the back. The players had run out and climbed on the goal, so the police backed off. One of the players almost got stripped by over enthusiastic fans.

Crazy Weekend in Las Lenas

2008-07-01T15:24:00.005-03:00

The past weekend was one for the records. I joined a group of about 13 people, most from the Intercultural Institute where I study Spanish, on a trip to Las Lenas... the world class ski resort about 5 hours south of Mendoza. As you can see from the pictures below, it was beautiful. I snuck a bottle of wine on the bus, so the trip was rather enjoyable.

A little foreshadowing here... I tried my damnest to forget my bus ticket lying on the counter at my school. After walking halfway to the bus station I decided that it just wouldn't be any fun to remember where it was, so instead I remembered that it was lost. Frantic search for ticket... check, now I was ready. Or so I thought.

We stayed at an Eco Hostel in Malargue which was very far away from light pollution. The stars were giving one of their best performances, hamming it up with meteors and a milky way kissing each horizon. My glass of fernett and I gave them a standing ovation. A toast to the southern hemisphere. Salut to the Southern Cross, Sagittarius, and my personal favorite ... Scorpio with the red heart Antares.

Next day we hit the slopes. As for the snowboarding, it was another half day before I realized that one doesn't have to roll down the mountain. Remaining upright is a much more desirable option. But I had to spice things up a bit, so I tried the pulley lifts... they had these lifts for several of the slopes that consisted of bars on ropes that went between your legs. The "idea" is to ski up the mountain being pulled along. Apparently its trickier on a snowboard than skis (I don't care if that's true or not, cause it makes me feel better). I wiped out halfway up the mountain and went down to try again. The Man told me if I fell again I would half to walk to the other lift, so when I fell immediately out of the gate, I didn't let go... on principle. Ignoring their yells, I let the rope pull me, sliding on my back. Twisting around to my knees I eventually got my board under me and stood up. Victory! I looked back at the Man letting out a whoop in triumph, ... and promptly fell again. It was a long walk back.

More foreshadowing here. I tried to lose my ski lift ticket (a two day pass) near the end of the first day, but they insisted on finding it and giving it back to me. Wow, I'm a really lucky guy... I remember thinking.

The evening after our first day of skiing, the hostel was throwing an asado... the first in their new cabin made partly of mud. Two goats were roasted in kilns with lots of vegetables and the best table wine I've ever had. I made sure to compliment our hosts by consuming copious amounts. Somehow vodka joined the party and then fernett showed up. There was drunken singing... someone was using a goat bone as a microphone... I think I had a conversation about legalizing marijuana... yeah. Not sure when I went to bed, but the rooster was crowing. Next morning I had to test fernett's reputation as a hangover cure... my new friend is quite the rennaissance liquer... beats you over the head and then makes you feel better.

More skiing and drinking the next day, and somehow 13 drunk gringos ended up waiting for the bus in a park in downtown Malargue playing light up frisbee at 2am in the morning.

My bottle of wine and I made it on the bus and after a five hour nap, we were back in Mendoza and class was about to start. I made it through class, went home and promptly slept 13 hours. A sure sign of a good weekend.

Oh yeah... almost forgot.

I tried to lose my debit card... yeah... i lost my debit card.

it was so sunny and hot, barely needed a jacket

Me Corazon en la Cielo: My Heart in the Sky

Sunrise over the farm at Eco Hostel

Early morning bus under the moon.

The Goat Asado

Miles (aka Kilometre) and the Mud wall

Full House: students at the Asado

Long Lift Ride

My shadow and I kept running into eachother on the slopes, so I was glad he was so far away.

Gorgeous

Every trip back was accompanied by alpine-glow killer sunsets

Skier

Snow and Tango

2008-06-26T19:03:00.000-03:00

Here are some pictures from the past three weeks that have been waiting for a fast enough internet connection. I'm not used to snapping photos and frequently forget my camera, but I promise there will be more.

See all that glare behind me?

Yeah, that's ice.

My ass was killing me.

Foothills of the Andes just west of Mendoza.

Monement to the Army of the Andes on Cerro de la Gloria in Parque San Martin

I like the Condor on the lower right

Road Hog

Tango Show finale

I takes two to Tango

Climbing Trip

2008-06-24T21:16:00.001-03:00

Finally folks, I have some pictures. The climbing trip last weekend was incredible, but very cold. Usually when you climb, you can find holds with your fingertips alone. On this trip... my hands were so numb, I had to look at my fingers to make sure they were solid because I couldn't feel the rock. Needless to say, we did less climbing and more hiking.

Camp

Juan Paulo on top of the world

Me in the Andes

High Nate

At least -10 C at night.

Very glad the new sleeping bag works.

This path led up a tiny canyon to a route right by a waterfall.

Muy Linda!

An Ode To The Boat

2008-06-24T19:39:00.000-03:00

When i needed Ocean's swell,

gravel clacked in your wheel well.

You banked and cruisedyou were my boat.
Cracked window scaled each landscape's note.

Sweet music of the open road

You sang and shouted, even crowed.

You climbed a mountain, you old salt...

for me to summit rockytop

Could not outrun their shiny rig,

but you still tempted every pig.

Some would think you were a pest...

My girlfriend's first sobriety test

I close my eyes at night and sigh

upon your hood, a starlit sky.

Weighed a ton,

Rest in peace.

You wouldn't drive for anyone

but me.

Banging Pots and Pans

2008-06-19T17:29:00.000-03:00

Wrote this one last week, but couldn't post it right away:

Im afraid I have to start off this entry on a sad note. I found out today that back in the States, while The Boat was being driven to her new home she finally quit. If you never had a chance to meet my Tank she was a dented, rusty 84 Chevy Caprice : ghetto fabulous, smooth and loud... she will be missed. I guess she didnt want anyone driving her but me.

I have been brushing up on my Argentinian politics ever since I attended a protest this past Monday (6/16) to take some pictures. My host family, like most of Argentina it seems, has been paying close attention to the standoff between striking farmers and the current administration. It was all complicated, I had been repeatedly assured and seemed quite far away.

On Monday evening I was pleasantly comatose... until rudely awakened by near continuous car horns and gratuitous saucepan bashing outside (very loud).

After watching the news and deciding that yes, in fact, I still could not understand Spanish, I grabbed my camera and walked downtown to see for myself.

From talking to my spanish teachers and reading a few articles (including the one below), the tradition of saucepan bashing in protests began in Buenos Aires, January of 2002 when it lit up apartment balconies, spread across the city, and ended in a spontaneous and violent clash with police in the city central Plaza de Mayo. Empty pots... empty stomachs, the sound of hunger was deafening.

(http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/1754399.stm)

The protest I watched was one of many across the country... small, neither desperate nor violent. The tactic of saucepan bashing is pretty intense as you can see from the video clip I took.

The agricultural strikes and roadblocks affect delivery of groceries and things to stores around the country. As I walked past old women and young children banging pots and pans, I reflected on the relative stability I take for granted and the fragile nature of governments in general. It was not long ago that Argentinians experienced oppression by a tyrannical government. This memory is very much alive, it appears, as I watch the people demanding communication with their leaders. I still have much to learn about this situation.

Enough politics for today/this week... Im off to prepare for my climbing trip this weekend!

-N

Asado!

2008-06-15T22:56:00.000-03:00

I had my first asado tonight... an asado is basically an Argentinian grill out. Lots of meat, LOTS of meat... wine, and food of all kinds. The house where my friend took me was very old, built in 1870´s, and very unique. Apparently its a lodge and winery/vineyard as well. Here´s the website with photos.

(http://www.baquerowines.com/photo_gallery.htm)

I am still attempting to habla espanol, so in addition to 4 hours of class every morning, two hours of spanish related activities provided by the school in the afternoon, breakfast and dinner with an argentinian family, Argentinian news on tv, and conversations at bars and clubs (these are usually a mix between three languages: spanish, english, and drunknate), I have added a project. Every day I will attmept to read/translate a spanish short story or poem. Yesterday I almost got through a whole sentence... yeah. So an hour of dictionary diving a day should do the trick.

Thanks to everyone for the encouraging emails and notes. They really mean a lot.

Salut!

OLE!

2008-06-10T16:16:00.001-03:00

The drums started beating faster, and time altered. It felt like being in a battle. One of those really old one's where smoke from cannon fire made it impossible to see further than the flag in front of you. And the roar of thousands, like a rising wave... topples over itself as the crack and boom of explosives whip the masses into a frenzy. All around you are widened eyes, gaping mouths, and teeth... and gunpowder is in your nose and throat. Blue smoke dissolves the spaces between individual people and for a brief moment we all are one... there is nothing but us. And we are charging. I went to my first South American futbal match last night. We won 2:0.
Besides the match itself, there was an entertaining side show going on the whole time. At first I thought the kids running around behind the goal were entertaining the crowd well enough, but the police and canine units had to make a push for team mascot, so they chased the kids off the backfield. The dogs won cause they had bigger teeth. Another cop in full riot gear was playing stomp out the fires... but it looked a lot more like whak/a/mole. The crowd got a kick.

Snowboarding was very fun, even though I haven't been able to sit quite right since. The lower slopes had iced over pretty good. I realize I'm going to need to buy some warmer clothes for my trek... thank god I bought a minus 18 degree C sleeping bag. There's just something about high winds in the Andes.

School started this week, so i have been busy learning espanol. I will upload pics as soon as I can get some WiFi.

Mendoza

2008-06-08T02:33:00.000-03:00

How many bus rides begin with a shot glass of champagne and a pastry? Wine with microwaved dinner, and a glass of whisky on the rocks before the lights go out and the movie starts... 13 hours went by fast... I slept so well, the bus chairs were huge and reclined. And awoke to the snow capped Andes on the horizon. Not a bad trip for under $70 US.

Now, having said that. the 15 minutes right before I got on the bus were pretty intense. I was almost at gringo panic mode. That's ok, you can chuckle... I know I will when I read this again. But at that moment I was one frazled nate. I got to the bus station already late for my bus... didn't even know if I was waiting in the right place... no one would help me cause I couldn't speak spanish... and about 3 people had earlier warned me about getting mugged at the bus station. Hey, I might not have been prepared... but I never said I was a boy scout. So I took a moment to relax after pacing the length of the bus terminal, breathed for a moment, and finally noticed the giant (like huge) sign showing bus arrival gates. It's a good thing argentinian buses are later than I am. Hmm, what a concept... I think I like it here.

So long story short... I made it to Mendoza.

Too tired to give details for today, but I rode aPi bike around the city and ate 420 grams of incredible rare argentinian beef, wine, beer... and tomorrow I snowboard.

Pictures from today on the way!

Nate's Travel Tip #1: Airport Lockers

2008-06-06T17:07:00.000-03:00

So I tried this when I was with Yin in China and it worked well.
If you ever are stuck or "spending some extra time" in a city (like a matter of days)... store your pack in a locker, and take a daypack. It is usually quite cheap and makes navigating buses/taxis much simpler.
Of course on this trip I misjudged the distance between my hostel and the airport, so after wearing the same pair of socks for 2 and a half days I finally broke down and rode for 2 hours out to the airport to get the bag.
So moral of the story... use airport lockers but make sure you have everything you need with you.
N

Buenos Aires Wrap Up

2008-06-06T15:44:00.000-03:00

Well folks, its been four days in the beautiful city of Buenos Aires and I am officially bouncing. I forgot that I had only paid for three nights here at my hostel (Miltown), so when they told me they were all full tonight I bought an all-night bus ride to Mendoza. Here I come, Mendoza, at the base of the Andes... apparently famous for its wine and trekking... I am very excited!

The past few days have been nonstop. As soon as I arrived from my 13 hour trip I hopped on a walking tour of the Boca district. Brightly painted houses, art, and tango in the streets... a bit touristy (the famous Caminito street is no longer residential). However it was fun to imagine the streets at their bohemian crescendo. A port full of ships from everywhere and drinking, singing, and fighting in the cobbled streets. I was practically sleepwalking at this point and totally forgot the camera so here is just a random stock photo of Caminito off the web (http://www.worldisround.com/articles/10723/photo21.html).

I also got to see the Bocca Junior's Stadium... one of argentina's major futbal clubs. Seeing a game there is supposed to be a hell of an experience (on the todo list when I pass back thru).

The other two days were spent getting a feel for the city... errands, a night of tango (lessons, dinner, wine, and a show). I have never seen dancing like this... very hot, with sensational moves, and incredibly fast steps and variations. I was in awe.

Mornings are spent recovering. To my fellow bar warriors... get this... the night doesn't really start here until midnight or two a.m. That's right, I said 'start'. Pregaming is at 11. So lets just say I've been sleeping in a bit. Clubs range from Drum & Bass to 80's music. But last night was the best... argentinian club and argentinian partying.

You ever want an experience... go out with people who don't speak your language to a club where you can't understand shit, and hang on for the ride. Good stuff.

In any case... the decision to take spanish classes outside of Buenos Aires was easy. There are too many people that speak English in the city, people are generally less likely to engage in conversation, and the temptation to hang with hostel kids who speak English is too great. I have no question that I could make Argentinian friends, I have had great interactions with them, but I am severly handicapped by my complete and utterly embarrassing lack of Spanish. Priority number one is to learn the language... and since I want to trek as well... Mendoza it is.

Goodbyes

2008-06-04T18:38:00.001-03:00

Due to my frantic attempt to pack and get the hell outta dodge I realize that I missed saying goodbye to many people. If I missed you its because you suck and I hate you. Joking, joking... seriously tho, I hope to see you all again and please keep in contact with me. I have lost friendships with quality people in the past when I made a move, and I don't want to lose any of you.
N

An Ode to Packing at the Last Minute

2008-06-04T18:09:00.000-03:00

Packing is not always the funnest thing in the world to do...
which is why I have devised a failproof way to simplify and streamline your packing experience.
Do it all 4 hours before your plane leaves.
Impossible you say? Insane?
Maybe... but it's worth it for the following reasons.
It saves time: You will definately maximize efficiancy out of sheer panic.
You will pack light: Only the bare necessities go in the pack.
You won't remember it: Your brain is in such overdrive, you won't remember it as a pain in the ass.
Excitement: When your not sure if you'll make the flight as you sprint to the gate.
Perspective: Planning is overrated.
Of course you will need some extremely patient friends/family to help, and the goodbyes are usually much more cheerful cause everyone is so happy the whirlwind is over ;-)

So for anyone who wants to spice up their traveling experience (and its not for the faint of heart)... give it a shot and good luck!