* (in) coherent ramblings *

Get back on that bike...

2011-02-06T10:44:00.000-08:00

After writing yesterday that I wanted to "get back into" various things, I was determined to get out and enjoy the day one way or another. I'd been watching cyclists ride by while having breakfast and decided that this is how I'd dip my toe in the water.

Though it took me over an hour just to get the bike ready to go, the ride turned out to be fantastic. It's a short little ride between the towns of Hood River and Mosier (the picture taken above was from a viewpoint 6 miles beyond) that takes you along the Old Gorge Highway. You ride right along the hillside on a road that you'd swear was too narrow to allow two cars to pass by each other. It's only ten or twelve miles long, but in that distance, you pass through two tunnels carved into the side of the hill, forests, and fantastic views of the gorge. Beyond Mosier are orchards and vineyards - though the trees and vines were barren, the landscape was beautiful and it makes me look forward to doing the same ride later this Spring.

If you come to Hood River to visit, bring your bike! I now have trails I can take you on!

Getting Back Into It

2011-02-05T09:08:00.001-08:00

It seems like that's my motto these days. Since moving here to Hood River in October, I've never really gotten into a routine of any kind. I'm kind of halfway between "here" and "there," with no real sense of "home" or "regularity."

This isn't necessarily a bad thing, it's just kind of how it is right now. I was talking to a friend a couple weeks ago on the way up the mountain to go snowboarding and he brought up the following question:

"All of our friends seem to be settling down and growing roots right now. When do you think that this will happen to you and I? I can't imagine anything further from my reality right now..."

It was something that I've considered in the past, this idea that my life looks different from those around me and my view on it has changed considerably over the past several years. At first, it was a sad realization. I felt alone. Incomplete. Lost. I'd lived a very logical life (to an extreme, in retrospect) and had followed a path that was seemingly tried and true. From time to time, I find myself back in that place...wandering around lost.

But overall, I'd answer that question much differently today. Whereas I saw my lack of "roots" as a failure of sorts in the past, I now see it as just a fact of life. My "settling down" is going to be more about settling into who I am and what I value than it will be about sitting in one place for an extended period of time. I have to work on finding my "center" in the little routines in life.

So here I am. I'm getting back into snowboarding, getting back in shape, getting back into sailing, getting back into cycling, getting back into Spanish lessons, and getting back in touch with friends and family. And hopefully, this will put me in a place to get back to writing this blog again. We'll see how it goes...

Let me introduce you to Cyclocross

2010-10-22T06:45:00.001-07:00

"Whatcha doin next Wednesday? You wanna do a cyclocross race with me?"

Rob, my brother-in-law, has gotten me into more than one new pasttime over the past couple of years. The first time I met him (when I was in college,) I tried "overhand bowling" for the first time. I do not recommend this, but it was a ton of fun at the time. A few years ago, he and Cousin Jay took me snowshoeing up (and snowboarding down) Mount St. Helens. Here, I can fully recommend this...also a ton of fun. It seems that each activity he introduces me to ends up way off the right end of the "fun meter." So, cyclocross it is.

From Hiking Mt. St. Helens

On the way to the race, he prepped me for what I was about to encounter. "The first lap, you're gonna feel like there's no way you can do three more. At the end of the second, you will want to puke your brains out. By the end of the third, you'll have passed that and if you make it to the fourth, you'll probably be alright."

Ok, at this point, I'm remembering a little more about Rob's background. I remember that he took me swimming in the surf for the first time. We were in Hawaii and he and Jamie ran out into the water and dove through the waves that were at least as tall (and likely taller) than they were standing. Seemed harmless enough, so I ran out with them. I don't know exactly what happened over the next thirty seconds, but let me just say that I no longer need to salt my food.

Same trip: Rob asks if I want to try cliff-diving for my first time (or at least that's what I hear through the water sloshing in my ears). I politely decline this time. The next day, he points out where he wants to go and I'm overJOYED that I didn't commit myself the night before. Especially as he explains that "you really gotta time the waves...if you jump at the beginning of a big set, those rocks'll eat you up!"

Back in Portland, as these images flash through my mind, we pull into the arena where the race is taking place. What I'd originally pictured as a small group of people at an informal gathering has turned into a large parking lot of cars with bike racks and randomly-scattered people warming up on exercise bikes.

"Those guys are serious," Rob eplains. "We'll be in the beginner group, which is only four laps and typically takes about thirty minutes. Those guys go for an hour...and that's after they've warmed up on the exercise bike for an hour! Not to mention, their race doesn't start until 7 when it's dark..."

Welcome to cyclocross.

The assortment of bicycles was mind-numbing. Rob, being a bike-builder himself, explained that some of the cycles we were looking at cost over $10,000. He pointed out a bright pink frame and explained that it was built by a guy in Portland that's gained a cult following and now charges over $4,000 for a frame. My bike: a mountain bike I borrowed from a friend in Seattle which one of the cyclocross participants thought looked a lot like one he has at home...and bought new in the early 90's. Rather than embarrassment, I felt a sense of pride in this.

We had about an hour before our race, so we walked the course. It consisted of hard-pack dirt, grass, mud, some pavement, a couple dirt mounds (one of which was ridable), and several areas where you had to dismount and jump over 1.5' barriers while carrying your bike.

As we watched the first set of competitors go around (the kids under 17) I started to get a little nervous. At the first hairpin turn, one kid bit the dust. Hard. And he got up, shook it off, and kept on riding. These kids are obviously tougher than me...I hoped Rob would be there waiting with a Bob the Builder bandaid if I fell.

But it went great. I started at the very back of the pack, not knowing what to expect. It turned out to be a great decision, as in the very first turn, somebody hit the pavement and took out at least fifteen other bikes (there were about 60 of us altogether in my heat). From 60th to 45th place in one fell swoop!

At the end, I felt like I would puke if I had the energy to do it, but luckily, I didn't have it in me. It was a FANTASTIC experience - unlike anything I've done before. The people we met were super nice, the bikes were amazing, and the workout was a blast. If you get the chance, you gotta check it out.

The video below was taken on the night of my race by someone in a different heat. I think it's about seven minutes long, but you'll get a pretty good idea of what it's all about.

Blind Date at the Dairy #4: lap 1 of Masters C from Matt Haughey on Vimeo.

The Columbia River Gorge

2010-10-16T10:35:00.001-07:00

I'm two weeks into the job and I have to say that I'm having a ball.

The work piece of it is extremely interesting to me. The long and the short of it is that the company I'm working with has experienced the business-world equivalent of an overnight rise to super-stardom. Four years ago, employees numbered in the low 100's. Today, the company has around 1,000.

The fascinating part of it all is that this is the first time I've worked with a company this size that is on such a growth trajectory. They're being held to the same rigorous contractual standards of the other major defense contractors (Boeing, Raytheon, Northrop Grumman) but nobody in the company understands exactly what that means. There are other contractors who, like me, have worked with the Majors in the past, but our scope of work was extremely limited. In a company of 150,000 people, your highly specialized job has been documented down to the "t" and you really don't know what happens two steps before or after. Here, everybody has to fill in those two forward- and backward-looking steps. To say the least, my horizons have been broadened these past two weeks...

A former Boeing coworker introduced me to a friend of his who is letting me stay at his house. He lives on the Washington side, just outside Bingen, in a rustic little house tucked into the hills. Here's what I wake up to every morning:

Chris (my roommate's name) has extended not only his home, but shown me around town and introduced me to some of his local friends and family. It's really been amazing and I'm extremely grateful. I've offered to help him put in wood floors to partially repay the favor. He has no idea as to how handy I'm NOT, but he seems like he knows what he's doing, so I'll just follow behind and mimic him.

I'm only going to be living here until November 1 - I found an apartment across the river in Hood River (on the Oregon side). It's a basement apartment within walking distance to downtown...it has a view of the river and, at least in the winter, a view of Mt. Adams. PLUS, it's only 35 minutes from Mt. Hood. I'm wondering if it might be possible to get a couple runs in BEFORE work this winter...

Fruitful Employment

2010-09-30T11:52:00.001-07:00

A couple of weeks ago, I was informed by Mr. Potatohead (who ELSE do you expect would run a fruit/veggie stand??) that the tourist season is over, the cruise ships have headed south, and there would no longer be a need for my services at Corner Produce. It was a really great gig - I met a lot of fantastic people, got a lesson or two in fruit salesmanship, and just had an overall enriching experience. A few things that I learned...

Be sure to negotiate your salary before you start work if you care how much you're going to be paid.
A BS in BS will only get you so far in life...eventually, somebody's going to ask you the difference between a peach and a nectarine and you better either know the answer or guess well. (I did neither.)
Tip whenever possible, even if it's just the nickel in change you're getting back. They add up for people who depend on it.
There are some truly odd people walking around Pike Place Market. THOSE are the people you want to talk to if you want to learn something new.
I'm good at talking to customers, but I suck at selling fruit. And yes, there's a difference.

My last day was this past Sunday...time for something new.

And what does that "something new" look like, you may be asking? For the past couple of months, I've been in talks with Insitu, a Boeing subsidiary, to provide some cost analysis consulting work and lo-and-behold, I woke up this morning to a signed contract in my inbox! The company is located near Hood River, OR, which is 70 miles east of Portland, so it's likely that I'll be relocating soon. I haven't yet figured out all the details, but the basic idea is that I'll be helping build a new functional organization within the company. It's an opportunity to build something from the ground-up. Whether the contract will last six months, a year, or five years, I don't know. One step at a time...

What I DO know is that Hood River is on the Colombia River (sailing and kite surfing) and at the base of Mount Hood (snowboarding, camping, hiking). I know I'm going to be SUPER busy, but I'm sure that I'll be able to squeeze in some time for work. :) I'll keep up the blog as I go along...I've never moved to a new place where I knew absolutely no one, so this is a completely new adventure. Looking forward to it!!

An analogy on work...

2010-09-27T14:17:00.001-07:00

I had a conversation recently with a friend who was considering quitting their job and we tried to step back and think about the role that one's occupation plays in living a fulfilling life. We didn't get to any concrete answers, but I think that we came up with a line of reasoning that helps identify the real role that work plays in each of our lives (this reason, by the way, is likely very different for each of our individual situations). Once that role is identified, it helps determine whether you're in the right job for right now or not. Here's the basic idea:

If your job was a jacket, how would you describe it? For example, is it a heavy parka that's bulky and far more than you need most of the time, but provides that extra layer of security? Or is it a light jaket...comfortable, but maybe you have a couple other layers somewhere that provide the real warmth? Is it a low-key denim jacket you've broken in over the years that works "well enough" as long as the weather's not too cold, hot, or wet?

What about it's purpose? Is it to provide basic warmth and protection? Is it something you've had for such a long time that the two of you are virtually inseparable? Does it have some sort of additional ornamental value to it...do people react a certain way when they hear about it or see it? Are these reactions the main reasons you own it, or do you make a conscious decision based upon the current needs in your life?

What if you lost your jacket? Would you see it as an opportunity to update things a little and get a new one that fits the lifestyle you want to lead? Would you feel like a piece of you had died? Maybe it provided warmth and security for other people around you as well...have you stocked up on sweaters in case something like this happened?

I think we all get pretty comfortable in our daily routines in life and don't take the time to determine whether those routines live on because they're leading us in the direction we want to go, or whether they are there just because they've always been there. I'm currently looking at different work opportunities and am actively working to determine the role that a "career" plays in my life. I don't have the answer, but I feel like I've got a decent grasp of the tools that will help me make the right decision.

In case you're wondering, after I answered all of these questions for my current "jacket," here's what I determined my closet to like right now...

Market People

2010-09-22T16:00:00.000-07:00

As you can probably imagine, the market has its fair share of "interesting characters." Here are a few of my favorite stories from the past couple weeks. I haven't included any pictures or names for privacy purposes. If I get permission to include them, I'll do it in a later post.

1. Expensive Apples

My job consists of cutting fruit samples for people and working to get them to buy a couple pieces to take home. When homeless people walk by the stand, I simply cut out the second half of the job and just give them a little snack. Last week, I was sampling Honeycrisp Apples, which were selling at a premium of $3.99/lb (as compared to $1.99 for other varieties). I provided a slice to one of our regulars - this particular woman is around 65 years old, wears thick glasses and is typically fairly well put-together, though her clothes are quite dirty. On this day, she was wearing a dingy yellow raincoat, grey sweatpants, worn out tennis shoes, and carrying multiple cloth shopping bags full of random odds and ends.

Right after I gave her a slice, she reached down, picked up an apple, and gave it to me to ring up without saying a word. I didn't quite know what to say, but I weighed it out and let her know it cost $3.00. She set down her bags and started to dig. I prepared for what I assumed would be a long wait for a handful of nickles and pennies that would likely add up to something significantly less than $3.00 (not an uncommon occurrence).

To my surprise, she pulled out a small cloth zippered bag and opened it to reveal several large rolls of money. She peeled off three bucks, wiped the apple off on her dirty raincoat, took a bite, and walked away. I guess you just never know...

2. Bananas

Another regular is a woman that comes through every day and asks if there are any old bananas in the back. She typically buys whatever we have - sometimes several pounds at a time. I asked her once what she does with all the bananas and she replied that it's one of very few foods that not only agrees with her stomach, but also requires no preparation/washing whatsoever. (Good point, I thought.)

Last week, I was helping two customers at once and this woman was one of them. The other woman seemed to be in an extreme hurry and I felt like I was just barely keeping up with her patience in the situation. She didn't buy all that much, somewhere around $5, and paid with a $10 bill. When I handed her the change, she gave me $5 in ones and told me to pay for whatever the Banana Lady wanted to buy. Before I could really process it, she had picked up her bag and taken off.

I passed along the $5 and the Banana Lady nearly started crying...her bananas came to a total of $2 and this left her with $3 over and above the money she had intended for bananas. Amazing that such a small gesture can make such a big impact on someone's day...

3. Speechless

Last, but not least, my new favorite. There's a guy that walks through the market most every day that is perhaps one of the most intimidating characters around...at least in looks. He's fairly tall - around 6'3" or so - and has long, unkempt, grey hair and beard. When he reaches out for fruit, the fingers on one of his hands are disfigured from what I assume to be rheumatoid arthritis and he walks very slowly with a noticeable limp. On the occasions that he talks, his voice is so far beyond raspy that it's hard to say whether there are any vocal chords in use at all.

I started out somewhat frightened of the guy - I would see him walk by almost daily...sometimes he waved to some of the guys at the stand, other times he kept to himself. After a while, he started to recognize me and would ask (every time I saw him) if I had any cigarettes. I didn't know quite what his mental state was, so I would always reply the same - "nope, I don't smoke."

Finally, one day, I'd had enough. He asked if I had any cigarettes and as I handed him a slice of a pluot, I explained that I don't smoke...why does he keep asking if I have any cigarettes. He replied quite matter-of-factly, "I was hoping you'd start" and then smiled and walked away.

Since then, I've had a few more run-ins with him and have tried to learn more about him through these one-sentence interactions. Here are two of them...common thread: I'm left speechless every time.

Interaction 1

Me: Hey there, how's it goin today?

Him: Not bad - I'm going through some sleep therapy right now and it seems to be doing good.

Me: (shocked and speechless) What?

Him: You know what? Your complexion looks really good today - have a good one - I'll see you later.

Me: (speechless)

Interaction 2

Me: Hey bud - how about some peach?

Him: No - I don't like them.

Me: No kidding? Who in the world doesn't like peaches? What's your favorite food?

Him: Beef tartare. Have a good day.

Me: (speechless)

Triathlon #1: SUCCESS!

2010-09-22T15:30:00.000-07:00

I completed my first triathlon last Saturday and it's taken until today, Wednesday, to catch my breath and be able to write about it. Ok, not really. But it was more difficult than I had expected.

The Kirkland Tri is a sprint, which means that you swim a half mile, bike 12, and run 3. I decided about a month and a half ago that I wanted to do this event because I've always been a poor swimmer (ok, to be honest, I choke and sink within the first lap) and needed a reason to push myself to improve. The bike and swim weren't really a factor for me...worst case scenario in these two events: I take a seat and rest. That's just not possible in swimming...

I did all of my swim training in Lake Washington at what turned out to be the site of the triathlon (Houghton Park). They have a nice area roped off for swimming - during the summer it's PACKED with kids ranging from toddlers to high schoolers. My first training swim in the lake ended within a minute - I couldn't swim with my face in the water for more than ten feet (no exaggeration here). Can you picture the scene? Kids are screaming with glee, teenagers are doing flips off the dock, and there I am choking in the middle of it all, barely able to keep my head above water.

It really pissed me off that I couldn't swim well, so I invested in some goggles and a nose plug and set out to work up to swimming a half mile. Once I overcame "panic mode," which set in every time I tried to take a breath and ended up with water instead of air, I found that I was able to recover and keep swimming. Long story short: I didn't do it fast, and I spent half the time doing the backstroke, but I successfully finished the race.

It was a GREAT experience - Jon Houtzer (pictured below) helped me train and my entire family came out to cheer. Ever been to cheer someone on at a race only to be out-cheered by a nearby section of people? In this case, that nearby section belonged to me. So awesome...thanks guys. :)

Another step forward...

2010-09-08T11:44:00.001-07:00

Big news of the day: I sold Jamie's car.

For Sale: A '95 Honda Civic with 178K miles, a speedometer that sometimes works, A/C that doesn't work, no windshield washer capabilities (other than rain,) and at least three different shades of red paint. Runs great...36 mpg highway, never an issue mechanically. Good tires, new brakes, all-around just a good little car.

Beyond the ad, it was more than that to me. It was Jamie's car. She had it the day I met her at Gonzaga...the little red Honda parked on Astor, just a few blocks from where I lived. When I passed by on the way to school or work, if it was parked on the side of the house, I'd honk and wave (I'm sure the neighbors loved that).

Once, when she went out of town, I wanted to do something nice for her, so I cleaned her car from top to bottom...inside and out. When she came home and saw what I'd done, she started crying, but not out of appreciation. She was horrified that I'd gone through her car...Jamie wasn't known for being the "tidiest" of people. She was fairly certain that when I found the plate under her seat that you could pick up using the fork stuck to it with hardened maple syrup, it would be the last straw. There's also the time that Jamie locked her keys in the car twice in one morning, with the car running, and had to have AAA come out both times to let her in. One of my favorites is that, even though the gas gauge worked perfectly fine, she used the odometer to determine when she was REALLY about to run out of gas. (HA!)

The car was the last of the daily "material" reminders I had of her. Just as it had with her clothes and other belongings, the time had come to move forward and this piece was holding me back. Not because it was a painful reminder per se, but because it was always going to be "Jamie's car." This may be an over-share, but the biggest problem this presents is in dating. It never felt right to have anyone else riding in it. As that factor overshadowed the positive aspects of the car, it became clearer and clearer that it was time to let it go.

Ashley, "Red's" new owner, is a high school senior here in the Seattle area. She's enrolled at an alternative high school - she dropped out once before but has seen the limitations this presents and is on a path to college to get her bachelor's in business administration. When she showed up to test drive the car, her face lit up and she took pictures of the car on her cellphone. I was impressed by her newfound determination and overall charisma...she's exactly the type of person I wanted to pass the car on to. Jamie was a big proponent of education and giving people the chance to succeed...I let Ashley in on a little bit of this before I accepted her offer. An offer which, if she treats the car well, will allow her to sell the car a couple years down the road for the same price she paid.

I hope Red helps get her where she wants to go.

Modern-Day Heiroglyphics

2010-08-19T14:12:00.000-07:00

What if you could actually learn the essence of a city through it's graffiti? This thought crossed my mind last week...here's my attempt.

Graffiti I:
Seeing something scrawled on the bathroom wall is nothing new...I've seen some of the filthiest limericks known to man written on those stalls (all of which were actually highly entertaining...who knew there were once so many men who lived in "Bruckin!?")

But this heiroglyph had me puzzled. It was obviously a "tag" of some sort. Perhaps someone claiming their territory (stall #2). In my mind, the only logical explanation is this is the call-sign of the newest hard-core gangster-rapper. I mean, it makes sense if you think about it...there are a lot of well-known rappers that crone about killing people and have some of their names strike something less than fear in your heart. Eminem. Old Dirty Bastard. And the least-menacing of them all: Snoop Doggy Dogg.

Therefore, it follows, that "KMart" MUST be the name of a liquor-swilling, drug-dealing, gun-toting cop killer. Probably short for "Krack Martin" or "Krime-Luvin Marticia." Discount shoppers beware: that blue light you're running towards has nothing to do with cheap off-brand panty-hose...it's the light of a police car in pursuit of Pike Place Market's dissident in residence. Thank goodness this criminal's "bat signal" equivalent has been illuminated so we know the dangers lurking in the shadows.

Graffiti II:

This is the second time I've seen this bus drive through the market in as many weeks. If you've never been to Pike Place, you should know that the street where I work is typically full of pedestrians. It's open to cars, but it's really meant for foot traffic. So, when a schoolbus towing a jeep drives through, it tends to get some attention. When the schoolbus is painted in patchwork style with quotes from the bible, people start talking. And when, on top of all of that, the driver of the bus rolls through with the door open, asking for money for "his cause," business pretty much ceases to function.

The guy inside was, as you can imagine, the long-haired, grey-bearded, wild-eyed, former hippie-type. And, as many of the female readers will imagine, his wife was sitting next to him, rolling her eyes. She really did look pretty put out with the whole thing. We guys have some pretty wild ideas sometimes (I went through a phase two years ago where I thought it would be a good idea to raise 200 goats) and it's a wonder any of us ever get married.

I can just see it:
Wife: "Honey, we're out of coffee."
Husband: "Shoot, what do you say we go out for a scone and a cappuccino, then?"
Wife: "Really? Ok, sounds great!"
Husband: "You know the bus I've been tinkering with in the garage for the past six months? I think this would be a great time to show you what I've done with it! Would you like to see it?"
Wife: "REALLY!? I can't wait! I've always wanted a motorhome! I'm so excited!"
Husband: "Remember, I said it's kind of an "artistic" take on a motorhome..."
Wife: "I bet it's fantastic. I'm so proud of you honey."
Husband: "You're gonna love this!"
(Scenes such as these are the reason that "til death do us part" was added to wedding vows.)

Ahhh...Seattle. The city where people throw fish, the sun sometimes shines, the streets are strewn with blasphemous busses, and the highly educated population knows better than to trust in Thy Corporate Name. The graffiti makes it obvious: this is a "special" place.

Economics and Morality

2010-08-17T11:54:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I'm riding my bike to work as much as I can these days - the first day on the job taught me that I can't afford parking downtown if I want enough money for both lunch AND dinner (yes, a luxury, but one I need) at the end of the day.
A friend of mine is letting me borrow his mountain bike, which I've converted into a commuter and it works great (thanks, Jon). The health benefits are great (I can eat as much ice cream as possible an not gain an ounce) and it seems straightforward that the financial side of the equation should tilt towards the positive as well.

However, the latter part of that statement has not worked in my favor thus far. One reason for this is my own ignorance - the first thing I did with the bike was tear it apart and tune it. I have all the tools required to take things apart, but none of the knowledge one SHOULD possess to put things back together. Therefore, I've gone through a couple iterations on tires and tubes that would have been avoidable had I known what I was doing beforehand.

The other factor impacting the financials came to light just this past week: petty theft. The bike is fine, but somebody stole my tail light.
I guess I should have known better than to leave it clipped on while I worked, especially given that it's parked in what could arguably be the busiest spot in Seattle for foot traffic, but part of me wishes I didn't have to take this precaution. Any form of theft (unless we're talking about eating slices of peaches while working at Pike Place Market, of course) just strikes me as completely thoughtless.

Consider this: I purchased said tail light on sale for $25. This isn't a lot of money by any means, but when you consider that I make $10/hr, we're now talking two and-a-half hours of work, just to buy this light. If I work 8 hours per day, four days per week, that means I'm pulling in a total of around $1,300 per month. If I spend $500/month on rent, $100/week ($400/month) on food, $100 for each car insurance, fuel, and medical insurance, that leaves $100 per MONTH to spend on entertainment/frivolities. This assumes that I have no student loans, I'm not maintaining my vehicle, and that I'm actually able to find rent that cheap near Seattle.

Furthermore, this tail light isn't something I'd put in the "frivolous" category. If anything, it should sit under "medical insurance" as I'm likely to end up as a streak on a windshield if cars don't see me. Seattle's pretty good for bike lanes and road sharing, but when you get off work at 7pm, the light is no longer working in your favor. All of a sudden, this petty act of theft has put my safety in question.

Rubbing salt in the wound, whoever stole the light didn't take the mounting bracket with them, they just stole the lamp. Which means that there's no way for them to actually USE the light once they get it home. It just annoys me to no end.

Luckily, I'm not living paycheck-to-paycheck and relying on this job for food, but I don't think that was the premise the thief acted on. There are a lot of people out there struggling to get by...I don't understand why some people strive to make it even harder.

If the bridges go out, you'll suddenly think I'm brilliant!!

2010-08-05T13:59:00.000-07:00

In my last posting, I mentioned that I needed to "step it up" with regards to my sales. Since that time, I've realized that I may never be the world's best fruit salesman and have quit tracking my sales altogether. I'm working just as hard as I was before, but I found that it frustrated me more than it helped to see what I wasn't able to do. I'll try again once I've had some time to perfect my craft, but until then, I'm living in complete obliviousness. And I like it.

Things are good at the fruit stand - I've come to an agreement with Mr. Potatohead (the owner of the stand) as far as hours go. We settled on 8 hrs/day, three days a week - Thursday, Friday, and Sunday - and then fill in as it works with my schedule. The days are super busy right now - lots of tourists eatin' lots of fruit. Still seeing some fun stuff every once in a while - I thought this guy's bike was note-worthy (kind of grainy, but it's completely wrapped in Christmas garland):

Had an interesting conversation with a customer last week - a couple from Yakima asked me some questions, the answers to which I didn't know, but made up anyways ("yes, sweet onions really are sweet...they taste a bit like a cross between saltwater taffy and candied ginger"). They took a step back and said "this isn't your regular job, is it?" At the time, I just laughed, not really thinking much of it. But since then, I've started to wonder what they meant by that. Am I really THAT BAD at selling fruit!? I mean come on, cut a guy some slack. :)

In other news, I've found that the short period (I think it was a little over a week) in which I had only a skateboard for transportation really left an impression on me. Much like those who lived through the Great Depression can sometimes develop hoarding habits, I have no appetite for being unable to get from point A to point B. Therefore, following this logic as well as that of being underemployed and therefore living as frugally as possible, I've purchased a sailboat...kind of. The exchange of funds hasn't quite happened, but I've entered into a verbal contract to buy said boat.

Some of you may ask "How does this make sense at this juncture in your life?" I say 'think not of the trivial details, focus on the bigger picture.' In other words, I have no idea.

But now I have a boat. My life continues to be filled with nothing but stress and strife. :)

Cat Fight!

2010-07-28T12:50:00.000-07:00

Ever seen a pink cat play-fight with a skunk? Not sure why this took place, but it was being filmed...so I thought I'd snap a shot to share.

I've seen lots of wedding parties, one marriage proposal, and plenty of people that fall under the "hmmm...that's different" category. There's so much going on at this particular corner that most people walk by with their mouths half-open and eyes darting around the landscape trying to take it all in. I like walking up while they're fumbling with a map and just start cutting slices of peaches, explaining that it helps hone "directional abilities." After one such interaction, I had a tourist ask where the guys "throwing the fish" could be found. I took him by the shoulders and turned him 180 degrees - they were fifteen feet behind him.

I only worked one day last week as I had family in town, but that day proved to be a lesson in humility. I tracked my sales for the first time and got out-sold by my coworkers. WAY out-sold. I had a couple of strikes against me with regards to the part of the stand I was working, but it should have been much closer. Gotta step it up!!

WWPD

2010-07-18T09:50:00.000-07:00

How many of your friends own two cars, but have to commute to work on a skateboard?

Before leaving for Australia, I lent out my vehicles to people who, in turn, set their schedules based on the supposition that the aforementioned automobiles would be theirs to use for a period of three to six months. Consequently, at the end of the summer, my left leg (my "kicking" leg in the skateboard vernacular) will likely be NOTICABLY larger than my right. I think I'll just start wearing spandex in preparation...

Actually, one of my vehicles is coming back later this week, so I only have a couple days of skateboarding in front of me, but it makes life kind of fun. :)

Yesterday was day #2 at the fruit stand and I'm lucky to have an opportnity to see day #3 in my opinion. Shortly after the day started, I sold a couple of oranges to a tourist who returned in thirty minutes holding what looked like orange skins filled with pulp. They were absolutely rotten to the core. This, coupled with selling a basket of raspberries at a HEAVY discount accidentally and ringing up a $28,000 sale (rather than $2.80) got me a little "talking to."

The rest of the day went better once I slowed down a bit and realized that it was only my second day of work. One gal I gave a sample to offered, in exchange, a card with St. Francis on it. I gratefully accepted what I think is the Catholic-equivalent of a baseball card and asked what the other one was in her hand. She got silent, looked me up and down, and then, peering square into my eyes, she said "that, son, is Jesus Christ." She shook her head as she walked away, wondering how in the world I didn't recognize the mint-condition Willie Mays in her hand...especially since she probably thought I looked a bit like him.

Off to day #3 - having a ball!

I'm a workin man!

2010-07-16T15:59:00.000-07:00

Well THAT was interesting.

I had been down to the market earlier in the week and bought some veggies for dinner from Corner Produce, the produce stand kiddie-corner from the guys throwing the fish. At the end of the conversation, I asked if they needed any summer help and the owner said to "come back next week."

Well, I went back day before yesterday, Wednesday, at 9am to talk about his business and what kind of help he might need. I really didn't know what to expect, but decided this probably wasn't the type of job interview you show up to in an Italian suit. Dressed "appropriately" in a polo, cords, and sandals, I walked up and asked to speak to the owner.

Bob greeted me with a smile and a handshake and asked what I was looking for. I explained that I had a couple of months free and was looking for some part-time work. Within three minutes, the conversation was over and I was walking away, having been told that my first shift started in 30 minutes. I had no shoes, my truck was parked in a 2 hour spot, and what's more, I really didn't know the difference between a peach and a nectarine.

Having a pretty solid background in negotiations, I take particular pride in my skills in this area. Therefore, I was more than a little confused as to exactly how we'd agreed to my employment without mentioning the hours I was expected to work or the rate at which I'd be paid. Bob has obviously been doing this a while.

Nordstrom Rack opened at 9:30, so I hustled over and picked up a pair of shoes for $60 - chosen for comfort since I knew I'd be on my feet all day. I found all-day parking for $9 in an "early bird" lot near the market...my total investment on the day was $69. If I started at 10am and worked six hours (I had a pre-set appointment with a wakeboard boat at 4), that was a little over $11/hr...I'm SURE I'd earn more than that! If nothing else, I figured I would work for a new pair of shoes for the day.

I showed up, they handed me a knife and an apron, and said "your job today is to hand out samples of White Nectarines and sell as many as you can. You DO know how to work a scale and a cash register, right?"

As I started shaking my head "yes," I realized that NO! No, I DON'T know how to use either of those! I can build you a budget, set forth a marketing plan, or manage your accounting system, but if I have to weigh and then sell your fruit, I'm pretty much worthless. So, the day started out with "Remedial Retail Sales 101."

Shortly after my cash register lesson, I introduced myself to the other employees and quickly assessed the experience on the sales floor. The one person who had been there longer than three months has also been fired no fewer than eight times. Another employee pulled me aside and said "don't take the job. This place sucks the life out of you! It's hard work for very little pay - seriously, don't do it."

Not exactly the new employee welcome I was looking for, but I ended up staying the rest of the day anyways and had a great time. It was SERIOUSLY a lot of work...I was absolutely drained at the end of the day. My back hurt, I was losing my voice, and I really still didn't have a solid understanding of the differences between nectarines and peaches, other than one (which I don't have a clue) has fuzzy skin.

Before I headed out, I was paid for the day: $45. This meant that, after adding a $10 lunch into my original investment of $69, I ended the day $34 poorer than I'd started. In addition, I'd earned a backache and a sore throat.

For these reasons, I can't afford NOT to go back...Bob liked me "well enough" and alluded to my "potential" if I kept with it. I really had a GREAT time and since the money isn't my focus at this point, I agreed to come back.

I now have a job.

Time to open a lemonade stand...

2010-07-13T18:18:00.000-07:00

After thirty-six hours of travel, including a sixteen-hour layover in LA, I've made it back to Seattle. I landed Thursday night and have spent the last several days doing some of the activities that I would have missed out on had I been gone this summer: some sailing, skateboarding, and wakeboarding. My arrival coincided with the first stretch of warm weather Seattle has seen this year, so I guess I timed it "right."

Now the question beomes "what to do now!?" I got an email from someone in NY who has been reading my blog and noted that she's running into the same questions that I've brought up in my writing over the course of the last couple of years. It's interesting to me just how many people there are that don't quite "have it all figured out." In fact, I was chatting with the mother of one of my good friends today, and she noted that even though she's a generation ahead of me, she doesn't feel like she has all the answers. I don't know whether this is concerning or comforting, quite honestly. Does it mean that I'm just never going to figure it out, so why put too much into it?

For now, I'll be living in Bellevue with Joe, my roommate from college. As far as work is concerned, I think I'll try to find a summer job - something that keeps me busy, and earns me just enough money to keep me from getting fat (being broke is a GREAT way to diet, by the way!)

I'm sure the novelty of it will wear off soon enough, but for now, doesn't it sound like fun to interview to work in a coffee shop or as a server in a restaurant? Just today, I've talked to people that have said their "dream summer jobs" would be to bartend or to be a city bus driver. These don't necessarily float my boat, but it's kind of interesting to see what people say.

So, for my first stab at a summer job, I'm going to Pike Place Market tomorrow morning to see if I can get a job working at a veggie stand. Is it my dream job? The answer to that is that I haven't yet confronted the "dream job," so I really don't know, but being outside greeting tourists doesn't sound all that bad to me! I'll update the blog as I go along...wish me luck!

Brisbane: a distant suburb of Seattle???

2010-07-06T19:59:00.000-07:00

As I only have one more day in Australia (I take off tomorrow morning at 11,) I rented a bike and spent the day yesterday exploring the city of Brisbane. I'd heard mixed reviews before I came...one person told me that it was a fairly unremarkable city, not unlike any other you'd see elsewhere in the world. Other people told me it was absolutely beautiful, full of art and active people. In my opinion, I found the latter to those in the first camp couldn't have been more wrong.

As the locals explained (and city government tourism brochures reiterated,) Brisbane is currently Australia's highest-growth city. The City has gone to great lengths to ensure that this growth happens in a controlled manner that will result in a city that seamlessly blends the region's history, surrounding natural beauty, and modern notions of art and culture while ensuring that no space goes unused. A challenge, for sure, but from what I've seen, Brisbane has done it better than any city I've ever visited, Portland and Seattle included.

My first impression was formed on boarding the train from the airport to downtown. Fifteen bucks for mass-transit made me dread the city that lay before me. It wasn't so much that the amount was too much for my budget, rather, I thought it was an indicator that I was about to enter an overgrown, dark, cosmopolitan center. I have to say that I absolutely love New York City...from the greenspaces to the subway, wherever you find yourself in NYC, you KNOW you're in NYC. Having said that, my head didn't want to BE in NYC and I was hopeful of finding something entirely different. Luckily, the train was not in-line with reality.

Walking from the train to the hostel, I saw a few bikes on the streets, but noticed that a lot of work had been done to make streets and walking paths accessibile for a much larger number. I determined my next day's goal was to find a roadbike to see the city. A little online research took me to Lifecycle, a bike shop that's been in-place since 1973 and proved a great place to get the inside scoop on where to go. The owner of the shop explained that even though the infrastructure in-place was impressive, the city had set aside an additional $100M for this purpose, all of which is slated to be spent by the end of 2012.

I found that this translates into nearly the entire length of the river that flows through the middle of the city being accesible by bicycle, as well as numerous trails and paths within several miles of its banks. Similar to Portland, Brisbane is a city of bridges, from old-style steel automotive structures dedicated to purely transport, to picturesque pedestrian paths that have lend equal weight to both form and functionality. The latter work to form a pleasant transition from the water below to the horizon above and actually add to, rather than clutter, the view.

Equally impressive are the spaces between the city and the river. Boardwalks line both banks for several miles and are quite heavily utilized by locals and tourists alike. There are a few areas along the way with shops, but for the most part, these paths are free of commercial distraction, allowing one to enjoy a quiet walk and take in the surroundings. The South Bank holds Brisbane's art museum, several colleges, a performing arts center, and a couple of small marinas. Additionally, the large 60-foot rock cliffs that line the walkway have been transformed to climbing walls, complete with mapped routes and pre-set anchors.
Several parks may be found along the path and each has stainless steel gas-fired bbq's which the city cleans to a like-new lustre nightly. In the summertime, I'm told that hoardes of kids can be found playing in the river-side city pool, which comes complete with a sandy beach, filtered saltwater, and a kid-friendly fountain sculpture park.

Stepping into the cosmopolitan side of the city, there are several urban spaces downtown where the streets are only open to pedestrian traffic and have all the performance art and street vendors that one could ask for in a city. Oddly absent, as compared to other cities however, is a homeless community. I took to the city square one night around 9pm and saw a few belligerents shouting profanities at apparent apparitions, but for the most part, didn't otherwise notice any beggars or homeless. I'm slightly curious as to exactly why this is...if I were homeless, the area would seem to me to be the perfect place to hang out.

In short, if you're a fan of the vibe that small health-conscious cities such as Seattle and Portland give off, Brisbane would be a great destination for you. This is just a small snapshot of what I took in over the course of a day - it's only a number of miles from the ocean and therefore water-based tour opportunities such as fishing, whale-watching, and sailing - there is far more than this to be discovered in this city. If you have an opportunity to visit, don't pass it up. If you do, you will have missed a vibrant slice of the Outback that could serve as a living marketing brochure for the atmosphere that most other cities continuously strive to attain.

The end of the line...

2010-07-03T16:55:00.000-07:00

After two weeks of contemplation, I've decided to end my trip early and head back to Seattle. The original purpose of this trip was to get out and see if sailing was something that I wanted to do for a living and, while I will definitely do more cruising and open-water passages in the future, I don't think that it is something I want to do full-time.

When I originally looked into this plan, the one reservation that I had was that while I'd be continuously meeting new people, I wouldn't be in any one place long enough to know any one person very well. Over the short three weeks on the boat (and the two here on land), this concern intensified and proved true. I know now that I need to be doing something that includes some semblance of solid ground (both literally and figuratively).

When I first considered the possibility of going home, it was a failure in my eyes and I decided to turn it into an adventure. After all, I was STILL in Australia, how could it NOT be an adventure? While this is true, the adventure was not the point of the trip and while I enjoyed the travels, I didn't feel like roaming the country was the best use of my time. I'm not a backpacker and really don't have any interest in taking guided tours of the islands. Funny enough, I've felt like I have been wasting time rather than living an adventure. Had Jim and I continued towards the Solomons, I know would have loved the trip, but also would have come to this same conclusion at the end.

So, rather than stay in a country where I don't feel I belong, I'm going to head back to Seattle and figure out what to do next. I'm going to continue to explore my interests and see where they take me...while I wish that the result of this trip was different, it's still been a step in the right direction. Thank you all for the words of advice and encouragement! I hope you've enjoyed reading the blog as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

The Road Trip - Part 2 (or "Life sucks when you're a leech")

2010-06-27T18:02:00.000-07:00

(Unfortunately, I have very few pictures to go with this story - they're all on Ewout's camera. I apologize for the length of this entry...this one's probably best-read in three or four sittings.)

After Michelle left us with that last little piece of wisdom, we hit decided to hit the sack in anticipation of our upcoming sunrise hike up Mt. Sorrow. Since we'd spent the better part of two hours talking to Michelle, we didn't have time to set up our tent and therefore spent the night in the car. Not a big deal, as this is pretty common among travelers in Australia and the cars are built with this in mind. The seats folded quite nearly flat and there was plenty of legroom.

When I woke up at 5, it was immediately apparent that the hike was not to happen. It was POURING rain (go figure...in the RAINforest of all places) and neither of us was interested in trudging seven miles through mud. We didn't know it at the time, but the same rain that would continue to dash our plans for the day would prove to define the adventure that lay before us.

As we drove off, I watched the rear-view mirror to see if perhaps Michelle would peek her head out with a bar of soap and wash up. Maybe yesterday was "fasting day" and today was therefore "no bath day." (Remember the lesson from yesterday kids: never pick up hitch hikers. They may get your car dirty.)

Though it was only 6am, it was probably 75 degrees and SUPER muggy. It was the type of muggy where you can hardly breathe...when your clothes cling to your skin and you don't know whether it's due to your own perspiration or to the moisture in the air. We decided to head south where it was a little cooler and where we might be able to get out of the rain. Ewout LOVES fishing, so that became the goal of the day: find a fishin' spot and catch some dinner. With Ewout as navigator, we set out for Tinaroo Dam.

Along the way, our scenery continuously cycled through rainforests, cane fields, deserts, and Eucalyptus groves, sometimes seeing all four within a span of thirty minutes. The rain seemed to come and go at random intervals and it was unclear what we would find when we arrived at our destination. Hopes were high for a sunny, quiet spot on the lake where we could catch our fill.

Oh the cruelty! As we pulled into Tinaroo, the sky opened up and a cold wind blew out of the south. Too proud to admit defeat, we found a spot onshore and pulled over for a sandwich. The raindrops hit the lake like little bombs sending droplets back into the air and completely obscuring any fish's view of the raw chicken we intended to use for bait (the Dutchman swears by it). Neither of us spoke as we choked down our canned chicken-and-cucumber sandwiches though we both knew the score. Rain: 2. World Explorers: 0. Spirits were not high.

As soon as we were properly soaked by the rain and our sandwiches had been lodged somewhere between our mouths and stomachs, we decided to take a drive around the lake..."just in case it stopped raining sometime soon." About a half mile up the road, I got tired of normalcy and decided to take off on a side-road. It looked pretty decently groomed and our station wagon had good clearance and decent tires. Ewout and I had pulled off on several such roads, which typically ended after about a kilometer or so at a campground. We figured this was as good a chance as any to find a place to camp.

After three kilometers, we started wondering exactly where the road was headed. There wasn't one spot in this entire distance that was appropriate for camping. This wasn't because it just didn't feel "right," rather, it was because there wasn't a single place where the road was wide enough to pull off. In fact, had we met another car coming at us, we would not have any way of passing them. This also meant that we had no way of turning around. The roadside changed from dense forest hanging over the car to dense forest falling off the sides of a ridge. We knew we were in for a little adventure.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle and the roads really weren't too bad. The road wasn't really that steep, so we could go pretty slow and navigate between the ruts and rocks without much difficulty. After about an hour, as we were starting to wonder exactly where the hell we were (we'd set out without a proper map...brilliant, I know) I could see a small hill in front of us and therefore gained some speed so I could make it up the hill without spinning the tires. This proved successful, but arriving a the top of the hill revealed another slightly steeper one directly in front of us. If I hesitated, I knew I'd lose traction, so I aimed for the high ground and eased on the gas...

Let me take a second to say a few things about my up-bringing to just clear my parents of any liability of what happened next. If you need a break, this is a good spot to take it (this entry has gotten much longer than I'd intended).

1. I consider myself a decent driver. I've had experience in lots of different weather and road conditions...driving on three inches of ice is something I can do without too much trouble.

2. My parents (Mom in particular) taught me to "be prepared" for whatever the outdoors can hand you. We carried blankets and water in the car in case winter roads gave us trouble. Heading out camping, we always had proper maps, food, and fire-making utilities. I learned to keep my matches dry and my knife sharp.

3. At 31, I'm what society considers an "adult." I've learned that title was developed so that parents can, at some point, say "he should have known better. He's an adult, for goodness sakes. It's not our problem."

Back to the story...

Just when we'd thought we were past the "tough" part of the hill, I felt the front-end of the car start to slide towards the ruts in the road. I turned the wheel slightly and gave a little more gas thinking the wheels would pull back onto the high spots in the road, but the car continued to slide before coming to a VERY abrupt stop. I tried the gas and the car didn't move. We were stuck.

Since we now had to get out of the car to assess the situation, the rain tripled in intensity. Ewout and I looked at each other and, without saying a word, started laughing hysterically. We both knew that we were in for some fun.

I asked Ewout to watch whether both of the front wheels or just one was spinning. He replied that NEITHER turned when I hit the gas. Turns out that station wagons are rear-wheel drive! HA! That sure explains why the car didn't pull out as I'd expected. Oops. :)

Here's an overview of the situation: the car was high-centered, pointed uphill on a one-lane dirt (ok, MUD) road, the sides of which were lined with boulders, it was raining, we had about one day's worth of food, we hadn't seen a single car in the last two hours, we were dressed in swimsuits and flip-flops, and we had 90 minutes left of daylight. I'd just ignored EVERY lesson my parents had ever set forth in the preceding 31 years. Double-oops.

Our initial attempt was MARVELOUSLY unsuccessful...we tried a couple sticks under the wheels to see exactly how stuck we really were. The car slid backwards about six inches, the back-end swinging further towards the rocks on the side of the road.

We then spent an hour digging out the car, bedding the road with rocks, filling ruts, and engineering a way out. I rocked the car with intermittent pressure on the gas and the car climbed up and out...we were FREE!!!

We only had to reverse down the hill for fifteen minutes or so before we found a spot where we could turn around. It took some maneuvering, but we made it and were soon pointed the right way down the hill. If there'd been a camera in the car, you'd think we'd just won the lottery. We were shouting and laughing and pumping our fists in the air. What started out as a boring day ruined by rain turned out to be a fantastic adventure. We were extremely tired and covered head-to-toe in mud, but I hadn't felt better at any single point in my trip.

We breathed a sigh of relief and headed out for a nice, flat, lake-side campsite. We figured we'd take a swim to rinse off the muck and sleep like babies. That was BEFORE Ewout looked down to see why his foot was stinging.

Did you know that the rainforest is FULL of leeches? Neither did we! :) Further investigation revealed 14 on Ewout, which I found HILARIOUS as I didn't have a single one. I did my best to contain my laughter as he continued finding leeches crawling up his legs...he was only half-laughing, but seemed to see at least some of the humor in the situation.

We were still driving thirty minutes later, chuckling at what the day had served up when Ewout stopped laughing and focused his sights on my neck. I pooh-poohed the joke, I knew there wasn't a leech stuck to my neck. All of his were on his legs and feet and I didn't have a single one. He still didn't say a word, he just flipped down my visor and told me to look for myself.

Holy crap. I had a big, fat, juicy leech sucking on my neck. It had absolutely engorged itself and exploded as I pulled it off and threw it out the window. We laughed til we cried...the day's events just refused to cease. What's more, the fuel light came on and informed us we had 40km of fuel left. The senselessness of everything came together all at once...if there was something that could have gone wrong, it did.

We decided that one night of camping had been enough for us and headed for the nearest town. I stopped to ask for directions to the nearest gas station and the guy I talked to couldn't stop laughing to show me where to go. I was covered in mud and blood and I'm sure my eyes were bloodshot. He could tell that the day had NOT gone as planned. We filled the car and headed out to a hostel. The town had been rolled up for the night, not a soul was out in the streets, even though it was only 8pm. The hostel, and next three motels, informed us that all the rooms were full and bid us an unfond farewell. Honestly, I wouldn't have given us a room, either.

The room we were eventually given had a bunkbed and a sink, but no toilet, showers, or lights. Before drifting to sleep, Ewout obviously delierious, imparted this final piece of Zen:

"You know, leeches have to sit on leaves and wait for an animal to come by so they can eat. Life really sucks if you're a leech." After a minute of digesting this, we fell into a final fit of laughter and then slept til 9:30 the next morning.

The Road Trip – Part 1 (Chanel’s evil twin: Michelle No. 5)

2010-06-26T17:48:00.000-07:00

The past week has been one for the history books, for sure. I’ve hiked through rainforests, slept in a car, learned to bathe in urine, watched a movie in a van, freed a car in a muddy bog while wearing sandals, and burnt a hole in a camping pad…and absolutely loved every minute of it. The next couple of entries will have to do with this one week – additional pictures will have to be added later as some of them reside on other people’s cameras.

On the 26^th (Saturday) Dutch Ewout and I decided to rent a station wagon (a stylish Ford Falcon, which somewhat resembles a Taurus back home) and some camping gear so that we could get away from the hostel life for a bit. We had a very strict timeline to adhere to as he had to catch a flight out to Sydney on the 29^th. With that in the back of our minds, we set out to find some “adventure.”

We immediately headed north for Cape Tribulation, which is in Daintree National Park, a lush rainforest in northern Queensland. The drive was amazing – I’ve been in rainforests before, but it never ceases to amaze me how lush the vegetation is. You couldn’t hack a mile through the forest in a day, I don’t think. Not only does the amount of vegetation slow you down, but nearly every other species of plant and animal exists solely to inflict some sort of harm upon senseless bipeds like us (the effects of the Australian version of Poison Ivy, for example, lasts 9 months to a year. Yikes!)

On the way through the park, Ewout and I stop at an info station and decide that we want to hike “Mt. Sorrow” in the morning. It’s the steepest, longest, and least-traveled path in the park…all adjectives of “the perfect sunrise hike” as far as we’re concerned. We find the trailhead, pick our camping spot for the night, and continue down the road to a spot on our map that is denoted as the local swimming hole. We make our way past “beware of crocodile” signs (which don’t bother me as I’m too sinewy to be attractive as a meal to crocs) and find a great swimming hole in the middle of the rainforest.

Absolutely fantastic…the water was crystal clear and bugs nonexistent. I could’ve stayed there the rest of the day and been perfectly happy.

The air started to cool off so we started back towards our road-side campsite when we happened upon a woman walking down the middle of the road. She couldn’t have been 120 lbs soaking wet and it seemed that the bags she carried weighed twice that amount. We stopped to ask if she wanted a ride a

nd she replied that she was just fine and may catch up with us down the road. She noted that she “just wanted to get over this hill” and then would make camp. We drove on to our campsite (about 5 kilometers down the road) and took an evening hike along the beach.

It was pitch-dark when we heard footsteps approaching the car. It turned out to be the woman we’d passed four hours before…she was just now making it up the road! She introduced herself as Michelle and explained that she was on a three-year bushwalk and had turned down our offer for a ride as she had incorrectly estimated her remaining walk to be less than a kilometer.

I offered her a couple of apples, which she accepted and ate faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. She explained that today was her “fasting day” and therefore hadn’t eaten all day. I think it would have been more accurate to say that it was her “oh-crap-I-forgot-to-pack-food-day” since she later accepted a ham sandwich after explaining that she didn’t eat meat.

The more we talked to Michelle, the more I learned…about EWOUT! Let me just say that the Dutch are far more forward than those of us in the states. Never was this more apparent than when Ewout asked Michelle if she “minded that she smelled bad.” As I nervously laughed, Michelle started sniffing herself and explaining that she had no idea she smelled. She said she’d just bathed earlier in the day and her clothes had been washed two days earlier. “What is it that you smell, Ewout?” she inquired.

Now, at this point, I hadn’t quite figured out what it was that she smelled like. It was kind of a mustiness that I had definitely smelled before, but couldn’t quite place. Had she asked me, that’s exactly what I would have told her.

However, Ewout had different impressions: “Urine. Does it bother you that you smell like urine?”

Yup – he was right. She smelled like a Seattle parking garage. How it was that I couldn’t place the smell, I don’t know, but he’d nailed it. At this point, I was mortified and didn’t quite know what to expect from Michelle, though a highly defensive response would not have surprised me.

Michelle, however, simply said “oh, it’s probably from having to take a bush wee every time I use the toilet.” And that was it. She was neither surprised nor offended and continued telling us about her life story (which, by the way, was nowhere near as exciting as this conversation on how she smelled). Ewout continued to ask probing questions, she continued to answer matter-of-factly, and I continued to float in and out of consciousness (partially due to the inability to comprehend Ewout’s forward approach, and partially due to the fact that I was sitting downwind from Michelle).

At the end of the night, we bid her adieu and she set off to set up her tent somewhere down the road. A few minutes passed before she returned and said she wanted to give Ewout some advice. I guess they had talked about him taking a month-long hike in South America and she had one last piece of wisdom to share.

“Ewout, I’m really excited for you to set forth on your hike and want to make sure that you take advantage of the opportunity. One thing you should know about is how to keep clean – there’s a very simple method that all bushwalkers use.”

Let me say, unequivocally, that I had already decided at this point that Michelle is the LAST person I’d want advice from on this subject. It’s kind of like the shop teacher that’s missing three fingers. Just because they may know what NOT to do doesn’t mean that they’re at all familiar with the other side of the conversation.

She held up a piece of fabric about five inches square and continued: “this cloth is all that you need to bathe yourself. With one palmful of water, you can bathe your entire body and feel just as clean as if you’d taken an hour-long bath. If you find that you’re in a place that doesn’t have any water, you can also use a palmful of your own urine, which is some of the cleanest liquid on earth. For health, you can even put three drops of your own urine under your tongue every day. Don’t put more than that, or it will kill you, but you’d be amazed at how three drops will make you feel.”

Had she gotten in the car, it would have smelled like a urine-soaked parking garage for the rest of the trip. Thanks to this, I’ve learned a very valuable lesson: “Don’t pick up hitch-hikers. They might make your car stink.”

On the road again...(sing it Willie!)

2010-06-22T17:18:00.000-07:00

Plans are taking shape!

Over the past couple of days, I've spent my time talking to people and gathering ideas on how best to spend time here in Australia. A few things that I've learned:

1. Backpackers are the most frugal people on earth.

"Dutch Bob" (I call him that because he's Dutch and his name is Bob) warned me against buying into the "BBQ Dinner" that the hostel hosts a couple times a week. He explained that "it's a complete ripoff...you only get a couple hamburgers, a sausage, and salad out of it!" Dutch Bob needs a job.

2. I am an old man in these circles.

After dinner the first evening, I stuck around and chatted with people for an hour or so and then went back to my room to read as people were starting to disburse. It was around 9pm...two hours later than I'd been up on any night the previous three weeks...and I was beat. My roommate (Dutch Martin) came in and laid down on his bunk - I figured he was turning in for the night, so I tiptoed around the room. At 10:30, he got up, got dressed, and asked me what my plans were that night. As my dentures were already soaking, I turned down his offer to come out to the pub with him and the rest of Holland (the entire country was obviously staying in this one hostel).

3. Re-entering the world of the "land-sleepers" will not be altogether easy.

I woke up several times last night to the sound of the wind, wondering how widely we were swinging on our anchor. I couldn't tell which direction we were facing and got a quick shot of adrenaline that proved to keep me up most of the night. Don't worry: luckily, the wind was NOT strong enough to shift the hostel off its foundation.

4. I'm ready to do something new.

I was talking to Dutch Ewout (I'm not even kidding) about what he'd planned for the next part of his travels and he invited me to meet up with him in Cairns to go camping in the rainforest for a few days. I politely declined, as I had responsibilities here in Airlie Beach.

As quickly as it came out, I took it back and accepted the offer...not sure where I'll go afterwards, but have half a mind to buy a car and roam around the countryside for a month or two. Not entirely sure, but that's kind of what I'm thinking. I'm stuck between worlds here...driven by different motivations than the backpackers, but not exactly a land-lubber.

I've seen and chatted with Jim several times the past few days and it sounds like he's very close to having someone confirmed to help transit the boat back to Brisbane. We wished each other well, both sorry that things didn't turn out the way they were planned, but neither holding any sort of grudge or hard feelings. All in all, things are turning out good for both of us.

I've included here a picture of the hostel as well as one of me talking to Dutch Ewout about going camping (he mentioned his favorite part is singing around the campfire...go figure!)

Is the adventure already over???

2010-06-20T21:14:00.000-07:00

I'm currently writing from Airlie Beach, a little coastal town on the Australia Mainland that serves as the "Gateway to the Whitsunday Islands" for young backpackers and old hunchbackers alike...it's quite a lively town that sees scores of tourists come and go on an hourly basis. It's an excellent connection point to not only get OUT to island getaways, but also to get back IN to the rest of the country.

"That's all fine, Patrick, but what does this have to do with the trip?" you may be asking. "We want pictures of beaches and stories of adventure, not facts taken from a Better Business Bureau brochure." Little do you know, this IS the adventure now.

Day before yesterday, we woke up anchored at Whitehaven Beach on Whitsunday Island. The wind had blown a solid 30 knots for most of the night, which meant that neither Jim nor I had slept very well. We intended to leave for Airlie Beach and stock up on supplies...just another day in the life of "Cruisers." However, the morning proved to have something different in store.

To cut to the chase, Jim informed me that over the previous several days, he had come to the determination that his heart wasn't into this trip in the way he'd originally planned. When going to bed each night, he explained, rather than hitting the pillow with anticipation of the next day's activities, he was filled with a sense of dread. He no longer looked forward to the passages and taking the dinghy ashore was more work than it was worth. In other words, sailing had lost its luster and he was done. He informed me that he wouldn't be traveling any further north and that from here-on, he would be heading back to Brisbane.

I reacted to the news in the most logical of ways: I openly asked him if my mother had paid him off to get me back to dry land. With a laugh, he assured me that wasn't the case (though conspiracy theories will obviously continue for years to come). So, we pulled up anchor and headed for the nearest mainland town: Airlie Beach.

That was yesterday afternoon...I left the boat with my head swimming, unsure of what to do or how to react. Part of me was angry, but I also realized that it would be a mistake if he were to continue forward without a passion for the trip. I called a friend in Seattle that I was pretty sure would let me whine for a bit and she helped bring me back to center. She reminded me that I've done plenty of traveling - this is how things go. I also realized that this was just another piece of the adventure.

After that conversation and an ice cream cone (the medicinal qualities of which were taught to my ancestors by the Indians after feasting on Turkey one November day) I decided to stay in a hostel for the night and just sort things out.

Though I dreaded sleeping in 4-to-a-room accomodations, the evening proved to be exactly what I needed (I'll save that story for later). I went down to the boat this morning and spoke with Jim - we're going to part ways, each better off for having had the experience. If I had any regrets, it's that I didn't have an opportunity to learn more from him. I've said it before and I'll say it again: he's a fantastic teacher. I very much appreciate his time and patience over the past three weeks...I've learned a lot. Not the least of which being that I have no talent at playing Cribbage, a lesson Jim taught me repeatedly.

Soooooo...NOW the real adventure begins! I'm going to take a couple of days and just kind of figure it all out. Part of me says I should find another boat and continue north, while another part says that I should explore Australia a bit. Yet another piece of me thinks I ought to buy a ticket to Vietnam (where I've wanted to go since I came home from Costa Rica). There are so many options...I don't know quite where to start. So I think I'll go do what I seem to do best: lie on the beach and work on my sunglasses tan.

Hamilton Island

2010-06-16T16:12:00.000-07:00

(First of all, special thanks to Jim's son Greg for suggesting the addition of mapping our location to these postings. From now on, I will attempt to update the map found here. I only have a few locations posted, as this is new for me, but I'll work to update it regularly.

For the past several days, we've been moored at Hamilton Island, which is in the Whitsunday Island group, twenty miles or so off the Australia coast.

The island has been leased from the Australian government on a 99 year contract and one fami

ly owns the development rights to the land. Their vision (which they have successfully implemented over the past thirty years, evidenced by $4 candy bars and $12 magazines)

was to develop an island playground for the wealthy.

Upon arrival at a marina, it's customary to check in on the VHF and request moorage space. It was no different here, but there was an added t

wist. Shortly after receiving confirmation of a slip, we were greeted by a "pilot" (or guide) on a whaler, who

then had us follow him to our slip. On our way through the marina, it was quickly noted t

hat our boat, while not small in absolute terms, was dwarfed by everything else in the marina. We've been surrounded by boats (except

for one, more on that in a minute) with uniformed crews...it's been pretty amazing to see.

My first task was to fix the topping lift, which required being taken up the mast in a bosun's chair (please excuse my spelling).

Being that I was younger than Jim (which meant that I'd yet to experience the true joys of life and would therefore wouldn't know what I was missing out on if I were to fall) I was elected "mast monkey" and he was thereby titled "deadweight holding rope." The job turned out to be quick and easy - I had a chance to snap a couple of photos at the top (mostly taken for my family as proof that Jim was to be held fully responsible in the even that I fell, but also as a keepsake of a fun little activity).

On our second day, we moved to a different slip (could it be they didn't like my laundry hanging off the lifelines?) and noted that our neighbors were in a rental. After a few minutes of conversation, we found out that Jen, Kyle, Tiffany, Anna, and Larry were from Minnesota (of all places!) and were out here on a two-week vacation. Two of them had never sailed and one of them reckoned that riding in the dinghy would have been smoother than on the rail of the boat (ha!)

I later headed out on a hike with my new friends and ended up getting absolutely soaked to the bone. About halfway through the hike (note: the furthest point from the boat) someone turned the knob from "gentle mist" to "final rinse." I have pictures of the hike, but the lens was wet and all you can see is water droplets...which, while a fair representation of the journey, don't make very entertaining viewing.

Through the rain, however, we were treated to some views of island birdlife, which is spectacular. I snapped a couple of photos - each of these birds is found in abundance here, like pigeons anywhere else in the world. They're viewed as quite the nuisance by the locals...the colorful guys are the smallest, but most aggressive of them all. If someone is throwing bread, the courteous crows and cockatoos give way to the graffiti gangs...living the colorful life seems to pay off for these guys.

Over the past several days we've been lucky enough to have our own personal tour-guide, Jim's family friend Margot. She was a foreign exchange student with Jim's wife's (Jan's) family back when Jan was in high school. Margot has made us the most amazing dinners and shown such warm hospitality...I'm taking notes on how to treat my own guests in the future. Gone are the days when I made you all sleep in a tent in my living room (steps which were taken to alleviate the risk of transferring dust from you belongings to my home, surely you understand).

We're heading out and will not likely have internet for a week or so - next stops are Shaw Island, Whitehaven Beach, and Airlie Beach. Things are going great - ready to hit the water again!

Log: June 12, Scawfell Island

2010-06-12T04:06:00.000-07:00

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, thinking I could hear the anchor slipping. I got up, checked the anchor, and went back to bed seeing that we were still secure. Within a few minutes, I heard the noise again, walked back up to the front of the boat (in my skivvies, by the way), again, nothing. Went back to bed, heard the noise again, so I stood up there for several minutes. I heard the noise, but determined it was not the anchor and the boat didn't have a hole in it, so whatever it was, I was going to bed regardless. As I slipped back into bed, I checked to see whether it was about time to get up...my watch read 9:45pm. Ha! I had LOTS of night to go.

Surprisingly, I slept most of the night until 4:30 or so. We got up at 5 and both woke up surprisingly rested...no matter what I write, it won't do justice to the rolling that we slept through last night. The waves came in sets of four or five, with each set separated by 5 minutes or so. I'd estimate that if the center of movement was at my bellybutton, my head was moving eighteen inches up and my feet eighteen inches down. For eight hours.

Rock a bye baby, in the sailboat.

When the wind blows, you hope Gecko floats.

As the waves bounce you, out of your bed,

You think "this trip is crazy...I'm out of my head."

Woke up ready to roll, thank goodness, as we had solid 20-25kt winds all day long. It was a great sail...averaged over 7kts all day long. Had some big waves...one in particular absolutely floored me. I was driving at the time and saw some significant waves coming from over my shoulder (which are no big deal...the boat just rolls right over them) and steered a course to take them appropriately. The first was little more than we'd seen earlier in the morning, but the second was a different story. There was never any danger, but when I got to the trough, all I saw in front and behind me were walls of water. No land, no sea, just two vertical walls. As soon as I hit the trough, however, the wave behind us had caught up and we were up and out.

Thinking that you all would like to see some pictures of this, I snapped a couple in-between watches. I was SO excited to see what I'd captured on film...I was like a kid on Christmas this evening when I downloaded them to my computer. However, instead of the Red Ryder BB Gun, I opened the pink bunny suit from Aunt Gertrude. The pictures make it look like today was a nice little sail out in front of the yacht club (Cheerio, fellas!) Oh well...you guys believe me, right? (Right?)

After ten hours of sailing, I'm driving and about to make the final turn into the anchorage. In order to do so, we had to gybe the main...and we're in about 27kts of wind. I let Jim know I was going to gybe and that we were going to take it SUPER slow...I learned today that there is no such thing as "SUPER SLOW" in 27 kts of wind. There's "Blindingly Fast" and "BAM!" I, unfortunately, put it on BAM. At the next moorage, I'll be going up the mast and replacing the topping lift. (Oops.)

Log: June 11, Percy Islands

2010-06-11T04:05:00.000-07:00

This morning started pretty early (4:30) and ended up requiring our attention until 3:30 this afternoon.

Our anchorage the past two nights was really nice - very flat, made for great sleep. But in order to get there, you had to do some navigating through shallow water and rocky coves. Doing it in the daylight (which was the case when we arrived) is much different than doing it in no light (which is what we attempted this morning). While we navigated the channel without any mishaps, it required a heightened sense of alert, which seems to have sapped me of energy this evening.

The transit today was pretty interesting - we started out with great wind off our beam...probably 15 knots out of the gate. This held for several hours before absolutely dying (3-5 kts). At this point, we motored through the swells, which really weren't bad. The clouds never completely lifted today - made for slightly cooler coniditions. At about 1pm, we saw new wind approaching and ended up with a 90 degree shift in direction and about a 10 degree cooling in temperature. The winds remained at about 15 kts for the final three hours of the trip...I now must rescind my earlier comment that I'm going without pants from here on out. That wind was CHILLY!

We're now anchored in the Percy Islands, a group of three uninhabited islands somewhere around 22 degrees latitude. Water temperature is up to 75 now, though I'm too tired to jump in this evening. These islands are interesting for two reasons: first, this is near the place where Captain Cook ran aground in the Endeavor in the year 745 BC (ok, I have no clue on the year). His journal entry for that night states that the crew successfully navigated the treacherous waters they had come to find, and that captain and crew were heading to bed, confident that the worst was behind them. Within a few hours, they were shipwrecked.

The second interesting point about these islands is that they were once used for grazing goats. They're fairly large in landmass, but I can't for the life of me figure out why anybody would want to ferry goats forty miles off the coast for grazing pasture. Perhaps the salty air helped brine and tenderize the meat?

I'm going to ponder this and the other wonders of life this evening. We're rolling quite a bit, but I think I'm tired enough that it will all work out fine. You'll know by the tone of my next entry, I have no doubt.

Log: June 9, Port Clinton

2010-06-09T04:04:00.000-07:00

We got rolling about 5:30 this morning and headed north to continue our quest in search of warm water. We picked up a degree and a half along the way, so we're going in the right direction.

I also want to announce that today will likely be the last day I wear pants.

Let me rephrase that - I'm not expecting our mornings to be as cold from here on out. I was in shorts and a t-shirt by 8:30 this morning, broke a sweat at 9:30. The weather and water were beautiful today - but sadly (from a sailor's point of view,) there was no wind to be found. I'm actually ok with this - sailing was the original reason for my trip, but the adventure is in taking the trip itself. From that little nugget, you'll see that my head is just starting to turn from "work mode" to something else altogether...though I've been here for two weeks, the trip is only just beginning.

Big news of the day was that we caught a pet fish! At least that was the idea, but once he was onboard, he looked so tasty that he didn't last more than thirty seconds before he was fileted. Who in the WORLD has fresh sashimi as a mid-afternoon snack? Life is rough indeed.

After 65 miles of calm seas, we've found ourselves at Port Clinton for the night. The interesting thing about Port Clinton is that it's not a port. The entrance to the bay is only 15 feet deep at one point, so you'll be hard-pressed to get any goods in or out of here. In fact, I don't think there's even a TOWN here. This fact, by the way, makes this an absolute gem of an anchorage. The landscape is breath-taking and sea-life abundant. We'll likely be here for a couple of nights...the anchorage last night was a little roll-y. (Interestingly enough, the rolling waves worked their way into my subconscious - I dreamt that I was talking to a group of people and that I kept jumping up really high in the air and hitting my head on the ceiling. The whole time, I tried to play it off as completely normal...)

In contrast, I don't feel the boat moving a single inch tonight. I can't say that I "deserve" it, but I sure do appreciate it.

Log: June 8, Cape Capricorn

2010-06-08T03:59:00.000-07:00

We left Gladstone around 8 this morning after refueling and sitting down to what I've determined to be the best breakfast so far - who says you can't make a sausage and tomato fritatta on a boat? (Those of y

ou that know me can attest to my fanatacism over breakfast...

those of you who don't will learn soon enough.) It took a while, but was well worth it.

Got my first taste of rolling seas today - I thought the waves were fairly huge, but Jim informed me that these were only three and a half foot waves. I would have estimated them at closer to twenty...my inexperience is shining through here. Anyways, regardless of how large (or small) the waves were, I fared better than expected...no puking.

The waves made for tough sailing as we were headed directly down-wind to get to our destination. The main would back-wind as w

e hit the bot

tom of the wave and the stretch tight as the wind built up again. we ended up sailing for an hour or two and then motoring the rest of the way. Just the relatively short time we spent sailing was a pretty serious workout. I was driving and it was a lesson in exactly how much I have to learn in sailing. I'll get there.

The excitement of the day is that we're now within the tropics! I celebrated by rowing ashore when we hit Cape Capricorn - there was a cool little pathway along the rocks

on the beach and it appears that it's been built over a number of years and dedicated to someone - what a cool gesture. Some guys bring flowers, others build pathways on remote Australian islands.

I would have hiked to the lighthouse at the top, but when I looked back to take a picture, I noticed that the tides were coming in much faster than I'd expected and had visions of the dinghy floating away dancing through my head. I got back in plenty of time and spent the next couple hours reading on my own private beach.

Kind of cool - the beach was covered with these little balls of sand - I've seen them on tv before, there is a certain type of crab that Temperatures were around 80 today - water's still cold at 70 degrees. Up at o'dark-thirty again tomorrow...expecting ten hours of travel, so hitting the hay early.

I got told on...

2010-06-07T13:38:00.003-07:00

Evidently, having someone call your boat a "pig in water" doesn't come across as a compliment to some people. Know how I know? I got told on.

Jim was talking to his wife

Jan this morning on Skype and she mentioned the blog, laughing about the pig in water comment. Jim then announced that he has now taken over editorial control of the blog. Sooooo...I'd like to first thank Jan (for whom your respect will grow to the highest of proportions as stories continue to be told) and then to introduce you to my benevolent dictator Jim Fabrick.

The first thing you need to know about Jim is that Jim is Jim. At 63, he's spent a lot of years putting up with himself and has now determined that he is who he is and will apologize to no one for it. All joking aside, this is an endearing piece of Jim. There are no hidden agendas and you can always be cer

tain that you know exactly where he stands on issues. The importane of this on a 41' sailboat cannot be over-emphasized or over-appreciated.

He has a quick wit and a seemingly endless vocabulary (didactic and anathema being two words used just yesterday...he just now asked if I'm telling everyone in the blog that he's "bellicose.") Whether or not he uses these words correctly, or whether they're even words at all, I have no idea, but either way, it's impressive.

He's been on the water for all his life, his boating experience started in the Navy, and he's had Gecko since it was christened in 1999. As you would expect with someone with this much experience, Jim is highly knowledgeable in all things boating: maintenance, navigation, safety, etc. While this experience is highly valuable to have on a boat, the real gem here is his ability to teach others what he knows. He is able to explain things in a straightforward, but never forceful, manner. When you make a decision, he will often weigh the consequences and then go along with what you've proposed to do - just so you can see what the result may be.

Funny enough, as I was writing this, I was filling the water tanks and as it came to "full," I kinked the hose to stop the flow so that we didn't get dirt and debris from the deck in our water supply. New lesson: hose cannot be kinked. Doing so makes user wet (as result of hose exploding).

I will let details of his personality fall out over time, but this will serve as an introduction. If you want to read ahead a bit and do some extra credit homework, listen to some ZZ Topp. It's not only his favorite band, but actually reminds me a lot of him ("a-haw-haw-haw-haw...")

Will be out of touch for some time as we're going to be anchored the next few days. Will probably be nearly a week before posting again. Of we go in search of 80 degree waters!!!

Freighter Fishin

2010-06-06T23:00:00.000-07:00

Today was a quickie - only about 40 miles or so. We took off at about 6:30...low tide, but no trouble whatsoever in getting out. We motored the full distance today as the wind wasn't blowing more than 10 kts and we wanted to be able to get the boat looked at with time to spare.

The problem was fixed pretty quickly - turns out the solenoid was faulty. We had an auto electrician (apparently this is a pretty common profession - we see trucks everywhere with this emblazoned on the side) take a peek and he was able to fix it within a couple hours.

While that was going on, I took the opportunity to check out the city of Gladstone. When we pulled into port, we realized that this wasn't just another little cow-town on the Australia coast. Just the radio traffic we heard as we neared the entrance to the port had us wondering what we were getting into. We were listening to the various captains talk to the port authority and at one point, it was mentioned that the ship would be boarded via helicopter. Su

re enough...a few minutes later, a helicopter flew out to sea.

The ships were pretty amazing - ships hailing from as here in Australia were unloading next to ships from Mumbai and London. The size of the boats was unreal - it appeared as though their rudder was as tall as our boat is long. We were being approached from behind by a large cargo ship that looked like he was pushing an iceberg, due to the bowwave he was throwing off. We were going 6 kts and he caught up to us pretty quickly - these boats were moving surprisingly quickly for being in a narrow channel.

Took a walk after arriving and checked out the town. Not a ton going on here...the big news is the "Hook Up" happening this weekend. Rather than a rum-fueled singles event, it's apparently some sort of fishing derby and the town is pretty excited. I bought some groceries and the checkout gal explained that she doesn'

t "typically go out and do ANYTHING" but she's "looking forward to maybe making it out and catching a fish or two this weekend. That'll be $27.10 - good on ya!" I kind of got the feeling like she wanted a fishing buddy, but given my fishing prowess, I didn't think that there was a chance in the world that I could catch enough fish to satiate her appetite, and I bid her adieu.

On the way home, I was able to feed my ice cream addiction for the first time here in Australia (they've got nothing on Molly Moon's waffle cones) and ended up walking out with Girl Scout cookies. Well, they're actually called "Guide Biscuits" here...and I'm just now thinking that in the states, biscuits are typically dog treats...guides are typically used by the blind...I very well may have bought (and eaten) dog biscuits. Oh well...good on me.

Not sleeping? Get outta bed!

2010-06-06T17:00:00.000-07:00

Slept GREAT last night - we decided to anchor for our last night in Bundaberg and our spot was well-protected...yet ANOTHER quiet night (Jim tells me that we've been supernaturally lucky in this regard, so I'm taking everything I can get).

Woke up this morning at 1:30 am and couldn't get back to sleep...Jim woke at 2 and we decided to get underway (were rolling out by 2:30). Yes, you read that correctly. When I said I slept great LAST NIGHT, I was referring to the period of time after I laid my head down, and before midnight. Think of it this way: how many times have you had a restless night, tossing and turning, waiting for the alarm clock to go off? Well, we seem to have solved the problem - just get up and go!

The morning started out pretty bumpy - Jim was on first watch, so I spent the first hour and a half lying on my bed while we tossed through the water. Winds were pretty decent at 25kts - we sailed with a reef in the main and only partial jib...the boat did great and Jim said it was comfortable to steer.

When my watch came up at 6, the wind died to a meager 20 for the first hour and then dove to 12 for the remaining two. We weren't getting any speed - this boat is built out of brick, but it's a bit of a pig in the water - so we decided to start the motor.

Turn the key - nothing.

Rewind three days: we were in Kingifsher Bay and wanted to start the motor and re-anchor for the evening. When we tried to do so, the motor started, but was accompanied by a loud whirring noise. We shut it off and when we went to re-start it, nothing happened. We ended up hot-wiring the boat to get it started and the problem mysteriously went away.

After a few days of working without a problem in Bundaburg, we decided that it was likely an isolated incident and, if it wasn't, that we had a good work-around in place until we could get to moorage. Today, the first part of that theory was proven wrong.Long story short, we got the motor started eventually and are safely anchored for the evening. We've changed course and will be going to Gladstone tomorrow - it's around an 8 hour detour (a full day) but worth it since we'll soon be in the Barrier Reef and in need of assurance that we'll have our motor when we need it.

Before we anchored here at Pancake Creek (yes, I bought pancake mix just for the occasion,) we were welcomed by two dolphins swimming at the bow of the boat - it was pretty awesome and helped lift some of the stress we had just worked through. One of them turned and gave me a thumbs-up (I swear).

The best part of this anchorage is that the entrance is marked by UNLIT buoys...which means we can only navigate it in daylight...which means that my definition of "night" will extend til at least 6am. PLENTY of time to get some pancakes in.

Log: June 3, 2010 - Bundaberg Marina

2010-06-03T13:35:00.001-07:00

Anchorage was flat last night - slept great. We actually slept in a bit today - got out of bed at about 630 or so, which is practically halfway through our typical days which have been starting about 5 or so. Not much to report today - the trip was pretty easy. We got further into our watch schedules and Jim went below for quite a bit of time, trusting me at the helm. Granted, we were several miles from hitting anything and there was very little navigation to think about, but still...

Pulled into Bundaberg Marina around 4pm after 45 miles or so. We sailed about half the day, motor-sailed and motored the rest. Winds were steady during my watch at about 12 knots, was great to get some sailing in. The boat isn't the fastest in the world - we probably averaged around 6.5 knots when the wind was up, 5 knots when we had to motor.

We're going to stay at this marina for a couple of days before heading up the coast - we're going to slowly make our way up the coast - probably won't leave Australia waters for another month or so. REALLY having a great time - Jim's a fantastic teacher (and not just because he tells me I'm a fast learner...though that helps).

Log: June 2, 2010, Wide Bay Bar

2010-06-02T13:34:00.000-07:00

Well, it wasn't the greatest night of sleep I've ever had.

At about 2 this morning, I woke up to the sound of waves slapping the side of the boat, right near my head. I laid there for about ten minutes before I determined that I should probably get up to make sure that there wasn't a problem - in doing so, I intercepted Jim coming back from a bathroom run and asked if this was normal. "Yup! Gettin' a little slappy back there, ain't it!?" Turns out that the wind was blowing opposite of the current, so the boat's stern was to the wind, which meant the waves were hitting against the flat transom. I don't remember it lasting long - next thing I knew, it was 6am and Jim was making coffee.

We left at about 7 this morning after a great breakfast of fried eggs and cherry tomatoes on an english muffin (I'm a breakfast fanatic, can you tell?) Today was really slow-going, but absolutely beautiful. The Great Sandy Straights refers to the series of waterways between mainland Australia and Frasier Island. The sand deposits make the trip somewhat tricky - at one point today, we were in 8 feet of water and our boat sits 6 feet deep. It's all sandy bottom so the worry of running aground isn't due to concern for the boat, rather the possibility that we'd be stuck til the tide came in. Luckily, this wasn't a worry.

We had been trolling a line and around 9 this morning, we looked back and noticed that we'd gotten something (and given the angle of the line to the boat, that something was BIG). We had to let it swim itself out for about ten minutes before we could bring in what turned out to be a yellowfin tuna. Within an hour, we were having sashimi - the best I've ever had. A little diced red onion, soy sauce, and wasabi - not a bad 10am snack!

We pulled into Kingfisher Bay around 130 or so...averaged somewhere around 4.5 knots an hour (which actually seems high to me given that we crept along at 1-2 kts at several points. There's a great little shower facility and bar here - I guess there's a resort somewhere in the trees, but we can't see it from where we're sitting. Absolutely no wind or chop...should be a very restful night!

Log: June 1, 2010, Mooloolaba

2010-06-01T13:33:00.000-07:00

Departed Scarborough Marina, north of Brisbane, at 0545 - the winds howled all night and kept both Jim and I awake. We were pretty quiet as we got rolling today - a little coffee, eggs, and toast, but not much for conversation. As I walked to the bathroom before heading out, I passed a boat with blue swim lights that were turned on - I walked over to check it out and saw probably 50 fish (looked like angel fish) swimming around. I took it as a sign of what to expect during the day and I was not let down.

We motored out of the marina and got to see the sun rise over Bribie island. I can't say that there were inherent qualities of the sunrise that made it spectacular, but since it was occurring on the first day of the first leg of the trip, it felt pretty special. After about an hour of motoring, we set sail. When I looked at my watch, it was 8:45 and 68 degrees. When you're barefoot on a sailboat heading INTO the wind, this is cold. But I honestly couldn't have cared less...not much you could have done to bring me down today.

As for the ins and outs of today's passage - over the course of 40 miles or so, our average speed was probably about 7 or 8 knots, seas were very small (comparable to those of Puget Sound) and winds probably averaged around 17kts. When we had sustained winds of 21, we decided to put a reef in the main and ended up holding the same speed, but much more comfortably. We're moored at Mooloolaba Marina, which is the home marina of Jessica Watson, the 16 year-old girl that just circumnavigated the world single-handedly. If we were going to stay a week, they're having a HUGE party for her...I guess her parents boat is right near where we're tied up this evening.

Heading out early early early tomorrow - have about 60 miles to go before we hit our anchorage for the night and are expecting very little wind (we'll likely motor most of the day). We're headed to the Great Sandy Straights - it gets a little tricky in spots, so we want to make sure to have plenty of light in which to navigate.

Log: First day of travel!

2010-05-31T13:33:00.000-07:00

Boat Tour

2010-05-28T17:38:00.001-07:00

The weather's been kinda crummy the past couple of days - high 60's and rain, rain, rain. Supposed to clear out this evening - should make for nice sailing on Monday.

Here are a few pictures of the boat - it's a 1999 Tartan 4100 which implies it's 41 feet long. Plenty of headroom down below - I have a couple inches to spare when standing upright. It's a cozy space, but not uncomfortable ("...he said on his second day aboard...") The galley is a tight fit and I'm about to get my first lesson on how to use a pressure cooker. There are several "cooking on a yacht" books here and I intend to do my best to put together something edible. Tacos last night evolved into breakfast burritos this morning...for a skinny guy, my life sure does revolve around food...

Below, you'll see my bed, the navigation station, the galley, and the boat itself. There's another stateroom a bathroom, and a table & couch not pictured - didn't want you guys to get too much information all at once for fear you'll have nothing to look forward to and stop reading. And I'm lazy.

Packing Up, Shipping Out

2010-05-26T04:02:00.000-07:00

I've been slowly packing my bags for several weeks now - setting items aside that I think may be useful on the trip. Jim advised me to bring one duffel of belongings - and that makes pretty good sense to me. I remember throwing out quite a bit of stuff while in Costa Rica - having never done a trip like that, I tried to cover all the bases. This time, I packed with a different intent.

First and foremost, safety was taken into account. Through years of camping with my family and listening to stories about people who got lost and didn't make it out, the ability to stay dry and warm is something I take seriously. I realize that I'm going to be in the Tropics before long, so my foul weather gear is as breathable as it is waterproof. Add to this a self-inflating life preserver, safety whistle, personal locator beacon (last resort communication device that alerts international authorities that I've gone in the drink and provides my location) and a good knife. These items alone take up over half of my pack...which means the rest has to be pretty thin...

Packing list for 6 months away:

5 shorts
5 shirts
3 Undies (each pair good for four days straight...front, back, and inside-out...)
3 Socks (may have one-way ticket)
Travel towel
Travel hammock (required removing two pair of underwear from the packing list)
1 pair tennis shoes (may have one-way tiket)
1 pair sandals
Packable windbreaker
Sailing gloves (probably overkill)
Shave kit
2 pair sunglasses (polarized)
Hat
Travel Cribbage (likely my only source of income the next six months)
Mini Laptop
Camera (purchased in 2003 for $600, it's heavier than my laptop)
Nook e-reader
HD Mino camcorder
Zune mp3 player

In the end, I walked on the plane with a small backpack of electronics and my hiking pack checked below. I didn't make my one-pack goal, but feel like I did pretty good.

My last day in town was spent finishing packing and then having lunch with Marty and Joe. The plane took off at 5 from Seattle and landed in LA 3 or so hours later. I had some dinner at LAX before boarding at nearly midnight - I snapped this picture of the plane from the boarding area.

I'm now within two hours of landing - the flight was made easy by the marvels of modern medicine. I wasn't quite sure what effect Ambien would have on me - thoughts of waking up slobbering and zip-tied to the floor led me to take just one pill, which proved effective for about 3 hours of sleep. I took another and woke up just in time for breakfast.

I've done my homework on Australia, so I'm ready to go when I get off the plane. I have an 8-inch Bowie knife in my pack which I'll strap to my hip as soon as it comes off the baggage carousel. I brought my cleanest rattlesnake vest in my carry-on, so I'll soon ditch my shirt and throw it on. My best Australian accent may be confused for British, German, or Spanish, but I'm betting the locals will appreciate the effort.

Off to make new friends!!

Bob Ross's Happy Little Trees

2010-05-23T14:07:00.000-07:00

I've now crossed over to the other side: I am officially unemployed.

The future is bleak, indeed. Nothing in life to look forward to now that I have no means of earning money. The risk of it all has me paralyzed and I think I'd better start making calls to find work.

Oh wait a second, no, that's not it at all. Let me try again...

The future is blank, indeed: a blank canvas waiting to be painted. As Bob Ross, America's favorite painter from public television, used to say: "there are no mistakes in painting, just happy little accidents that turn into happy little trees."

My final week at work was really great - it had its share of challenges (besides the whole "not enough time to get it all done" thing, I had the phone slammed down on me by a project stakeholder) but was overall a treat. I finished or handed off my projects in good form and know that I've left the group in good shape. As so many of us have learned in our careers, your coworkers can make or break your days at work. Luckily, I was surrounded by fantastic people - I appreciated them giving me the opportunity to work with them over the past nine months. It was a pleasure.

I am pretty much ready to go - I have some details to take care of (packing, paying some bills, and finishing the final eight chapters of "Sailing for Dummies") but these should all fall into place in plenty of time.

As for my mindset...it's hard to pin down. But I'll tell you one thing: I'm not nervous in the least. I'm not scared about being unemployed - not worried about my new axe-murderer/cannibal skipper - not worried that I've made a mistake. I was telling my brother Marty that even though I don't have a clue where I'll be in a year, I feel that I'm at least headed in the right direction.

A year ago, I wrote about the anxiety I felt at turning 30. I was unemployed and didn't really have any clue where I was headed. Shortly after I wrote that, I took a leap and sent out an unsolicited proposal for consulting work...a few months later, I got the job and it's allowed me to take this next step. Even though, just as was the case a year ago, I don't have a solid direction for my future, I have no anxiety. I'm ready to set out and make my share of happy little trees.

Daydreams

2010-05-13T08:01:00.000-07:00

Until the adventure begins in Australia, this blog is kind of just collecting my thoughts along the way...getting in the habit of posting things so that it comes more naturally once I'm under way.

When you get a preface like that, you KNOW that you're in for something deep... :)

I just had something happen that really took me by surprise. I got an email from Jim and Kay Postma, whose email address contains "jkpostma" in it. We keep in regular contact, so seeing an email from them is not out of the ordinary. But this time, seeing that string of letters struck me differently altogether.

When I saw their email address, my mind immediately believed it to be an email from Jamie. I literally got a smile on my face as I was excited to hear some tidbit from her - her emails always had something nutty going on. (I remember that she told me once that she was "so exited to spend Easter in Montana with the Matherns," she was "pooping jelly beans." HA!) For a split second, it wasn't odd to see an email from her. It wasn't as if I hadn't heard from her in over four years. It was just an email...just like old times.

As quickly as these thoughts entered my head, it struck me that this wasn't possible...that my eyes had played a trick on me. Only then did I realize how nonsensical it would be to see an email from her and not be overcome with emotion.

Typically, these kinds of experiences increase in times of uncertainty and I don't doubt that's what triggered this one. As many of you know, after experiencing devastation or loss, it becomes difficult to determine the root cause of emotions. For me, this is particularly true with uncertainty, fear, and sadness. If something triggers a strong sense of any one of those emotions, the walls tend to cave in and before I know it, I feel like I'm back in 2006...lost and confused.

However, this particular event was just a little hiccup...a daydream of sorts. Unfortunately, now it's time to wake up and go to work.

Deciphering the Unspoken

2010-05-07T08:14:00.000-07:00

Less than three weeks to go! I spent the last week in Huntington Beach, CA, for work, wondering if there was any way possible that I will be able to get everything done in time to leave town. I'll likely stick around the office until the 21st of May...that should be long enough to either complete everything on my plate or sufficiently butter up the poor saps who will be inheriting my unfinished projects.

Outside of work, I think it's all coming together relatively well. The apartment has been rented, the tenant in my house has been set up on direct-deposit, my mail is being forwarded, and storage arrangements have been made. All of my bills get paid automatically online...in theory, I should be ready to go.

The next couple of weeks will be spent seeing friends and saying goodbye. My parents came and visited a week ago...we may only see each other once every three or four months typically, but it's a little harder to say goodbye when you KNOW you won't see each other for a given period of time. Friends and family have relayed some truly beautiful messages to me in the past few weeks, which I will hold onto during my trip, especially on those days when home seems like a world away.

It's all made me wonder, however, why we wait until one of us is leaving to tell people how we feel. In many cases, it's not even THEN that those sentiments come up...it just doesn't come naturally for some reason. One of my friends has found a way around this: before he hangs up the phone, he says "I love you, but I'm not IN LOVE with you." I chuckled the first time he said it, but he's continued it for a couple of years now...I think I'd figure I was in the doghouse if he closed a conversation any other way!

It's got me thinking that maybe I need a similar sign-off. I can't use the "I love you..." line as this particular friend is inordinately business-savvy and would likely charge me copyright royalties. I tested out a light tush-tap on my college roommate's girlfriend the other day. I can definitely say that she did NOT take it as an overdue show of friendship and respect. Scratch that. I've tried to make more time for friends, make an effort to meet them out for dinner/drinks and such, but my inner 85-year-old man doesn't let that fly for long (my idea of a solid Saturday night now consists of a bowl of ice cream before a 10:00 bedtime).

So here's the deal, I need you to help me out a little bit. Read this to yourself as if I were rambling it to you over dinner:

"This he always necessarily knew: years of untested fear often renders beings excluded in nearing geniune peace. After reaching the outer fringes may you live in fulfilled existence."

Now smack yourself on the butt and let yourself settle into warm fuzziness that accompanies a verbal confirmation of friendship. Yes, I've decided to continue testing the butt tap...there are far too many potential upsides to this policy to pass up.

(The two sentences in quotes above contain a code - extra points if you can figure it out...)

An Accountant on One Shoulder, and a Happy Hobo on the Other

2010-04-06T20:56:00.000-07:00

Even though I have no doubt that this is the right thing for me to do, there's a piece of me that chimes in from time to time and tries to introduce a touch of reality. You see, regardless of my actions in the past, I'm not the sort of guy that does this sort of thing. I don't see myself as naturally adventurous, I'm not someone to act on a whim (though I often threaten it,) and not entirely comfortable with the complete unknown.

People like me go to college, get jobs, buy houses, get married, and make more little people just like us. As the kids grow up, we continue in our careers, buy a second home, retire, and ride off into the sunset. The path is clear...tried and true.

At least, that's how it's supposed to work. And that's what, from time to time, my head tries to remind me. I'm 30 years old. I should be establishing myself in a career to ensure myself a comfortable future rather than spending my life savings chasing the unknown. In these times when my head catches up with me, anxiety sets in and I seriously wonder whether I'm "doing it right." Whether I should be working to get back on the path...whether this is all just a hopeless dream destined to end in spectacular failure.

It's clear what leads me to have these thoughts. It's fear. Fear of the unknown - both in the upcoming adventure as well as in life in general. I've never so much as slept on a boat...and now I might possibly spend as many as six months living on one? What if, by taking this trip, I miss some opportunity that would have led to wealth and success? What if I'm never able to get back to where I am now with regards to a career and I look back with regret on this decision?

Just as quickly as these thoughts appear, they seem to dissipate one by one. I love sailing - it's the one activity I have that brings me to a place of inner peace. Wealth and success? That's never mattered in the past, so I'm not sure why this comes up now (other than the fact that it's part of the way we typically choose to live our lives). And regarding my career, what if this is in some way the beginning of something new? Something I would never discover if I never took the chance?

Like I said before, I'm not the type of guy that naturally does this sort of thing...I'm not sure this comes naturally to anyone, quite honestly. But I've made the choice and I'm going to ride it out. In the end, I think I'll find that a couple sleepless nights and some long hours spent planning will somehow pay off. If nothing else, I'll never have to ask myself "what would life look like had I taken that opportunity?"

Chapter 2

2010-03-31T07:22:00.000-07:00

Today is March 31st and I am freaking out a little.

Back in December, I came to a realization that I have somehow returned to the life I left two years ago: back in a corporate job, climbing the proverbial ladder, and taking on more and more responsibilities that left less and less time to do the things I valued most. I'd been relatively content - I had my own apartment, made enough money to do the things I wanted in my off-time, and a notion of stability had set in.

But I also started losing touch with friends, didn't eat or sleep as well, and generally felt like I was spinning my wheels. Deep down, I felt an extreme anxiety. I was sitting at the kitchen table at my parents' house over Christmas break, unable to speak. I was frustrated with where I was, both literally and figuratively. I felt that I'd somehow forgotten lessons I'd learned in previous years. I had somehow lost that overwhelming sense of freedom I found during my previous travels, the feeling I swore I'd never let go of.

I've found that when I get anxious, my personal cure-all is to go sailing. Since I had a broken wrist at the time and couldn't get on a boat, I did the next best thing: I started checking out sailing websites looking at crewing opportunities. I sent out a couple of emails to boat owners, received several responses, and slowly felt the anxiety release. Just looking into the prospect of an adventure seemed to take care of the pit in my stomach. I kept in contact with a couple people, but for the most part, I let it go.

It all came rushing back February 27, 2010. My grandfather passed away that day at the age of 92. We had all known that the day would come and generally felt prepared. He'd lived through the Great Depression and had twice been captured in WWII. He managed to farm drought-stricken land and support a family of 9 through hard work and business savvy. Maybe it means I'm a bit self-centered, or maybe I just have a "different" reaction to death given my past experience, but my first thoughts upon hearing the news of his passing were that if I got hit by a bus today, I wouldn't have felt like the past year of my life had been spent wisely. I had found opportunity and had worked hard, but what did I have to show for it? That evening, I again returned to those sailing websites and resumed emailing boat owners.

Enter serendipity.

While in Phoenix for the funeral, I received a voicemail from a friend of a friend that said she needed to talk to me about sailing and that I should call her at work the following Monday. Last we had spoken, a couple years earlier, she was working on a yacht in some far off ocean, so I was more than a little suprised to hear from her. When I called, I was even more surprised to hear that she lived in Seattle and had called from her office (which implies having a job. On land.)

She explained that she worked for a modeling agency and that a client had contacted her requesting models for an upcoming photo shoot in the San Juan Islands. They wanted people who could sail as the shoot would be on a sailboat, so she reached out to me. My big modeling debut didn't work out (something about my inner beauty being much more striking than my outer beauty,) but this phone call led to quite a few conversations about working in the yachting industry. The more we talked, the more we realized that we share a common anxiety. She explained her role on boats and what working in the industry would look like. She noted that while I had experience in sailing, I didn't have any open water experience and needed to get my first gig under my belt if I was serious. She told me something that I thought I'd learned several years ago: "The only thing holding you back is you."

Two dozen emails to boat owners, seven offers, two phone calls, and $1,100 later, I'm holding a round-trip ticket to Australia. I take off May 25th. 5pm. The day after my 31st birthday. Less than two months from today.

I have a very busy full-time job, two cars, an apartment full of "things," and five months left on a year lease. I've never met the boat owner and have never spent more than one day at a time on a boat. If it turns out I don't get along with the boat owner, I'll use the second leg of my ticket to return home after a month in Australia. But if it DOES work out...between June and November, you'll find me somewhere among the islands off the coast of Australia.

I've got some work to do. Between my landlord, my manager at work, and my parents, I'm about to cash in any personal equity I may (or may not have) built over the past 10 years. So yes...I'm freaking out a little.

But I know I'm headed in the right direction. I can't pass this up. I can only hope that one day I'll be responsible for someone other than myself. But today, I'm untethered. And I intend to make the most of it.

Death led me to Costa Rica. Life is leading me to Australia.

The Road Less Traveled, Chapter 2.

It Took 30 Years to Get HERE!?

2009-07-13T10:06:00.001-07:00

While there are a few birthdays with inherent significance (we vote at 18, drink at 21, get an AARP card at 55, collect (reduced) Social Security at 62, and get a shout-out from Willard Scott on Good Morning America at 100), 30 is really just another thumbtack on the kite-string timeline. Our rights and responsibilities remain unchanged - no secret wisdom is imparted in the night. Nobody expects anything more or less of us…it’s just a day.

Or is it?

As I approached the big 3-0 at the end of May, I felt an unfamiliar sense of trepidation. Somewhere along the line, I picked up an expectation that I would “have it together” by thirty. That I would be on an identifiable “path.”

In reality, I couldn’t have been further from it. I had no such path. I had no direction. At my age, in my social group, people are most-often defined by their job, marital status, and income level. Here’s how I stacked up: I’d been laid off three months prior and was building a loose business plan but with really no interesting job prospects, had just ended a long-term relationship that had spanned (on and off) nearly a year, and my income not only didn’t meet a basic standard of living, but was very limited in duration per federal unemployment benefit regulations. I owned my own home, but couldn’t afford to live in it.

While circumstances and details differ across the board, many of my friends have expressed a similar sentiment during conversations on the subject. Even many of those who are married and/or have kids feel some betrayal by this implicit three decade promise. We spent our twenties checking boxes, going through the motions. We successfully struck out on our own without the need for personal parental bailout packages. But we now find ourselves wondering if the way in which we’ve done so is sustainable and meaningful (words which, by the way, we don’t even know how to define at this point).

It took me a number of weeks, but I was finally able to slow down and take an assessment of where I really stood.

Job: I’m not inspired by titles, pay scale, or promise of long-term security, but that in itself is part of my direction. I have a fuzzy business plan that I’m working through – working with small business owners on succession planning – and recently landed a contract with Boeing for part-time work in cost analysis (my former group). I have no title, no advancing pay scale, and absolutely no promise of security. And I’m absolutely inspired. Stay tuned. This could be interesting.

Marital status: Most of my friends are either dating seriously or married and have kids. I don’t really mind being the third wheel – I’ve always been independent and self-sufficient. But I have to say, can be really hard not having someone to talk to. Someone to share with. The fault in this one falls squarely on Jamie’s shoulders: had she not loved me well and taught me how to open my heart, this wouldn’t be a problem for me right now. So yes, I’m flying solo, but I have a growing capacity for interpersonal connection and it’s starting to leak out through conversations with both friends and strangers. In the end, this looks like it will end up in adding depth to existing friendships while forming new ones.

Income: I don’t make any money, but I don’t spend any either. My clothes are getting a little tattered, I only go out for dinner on special occasions, and I bike as much as possible. But I don’t feel shorted or in need of anything more. My spending habits are now much more deliberate and I feel good about what I have. I don’t remember the last time I experienced buyer’s remorse. If I buy it, you can bet I really need/want it.

So at the end of the day, I’m extremely excited about and inspired by my current “job,” friendships all around me continuously find new depths, and I’m fully content with my spending power. I definitely don’t “have it together,” but now I wonder if there’s any other place in life I’d rather be.

What's that BURNING smell...!?

2009-02-24T10:00:00.000-08:00

Well I'll be damned. A year and ten days after I quit my job to travel, here I am...in exactly the same position. Well, kind of.

On my way to work yesterday, I spent the bus ride building a prioritized list of tasks that I was going to accomplish throughout the day. Ideas for drumming up new business, new takes on my sales pitch, and ideas on ways to close sales that were continuously moving out to the right. I'd been through this exercise before, but still had no problem meeting the challenge head-on...day-in and day-out. I hadn't slept well in several weeks, but I had enough fire behind me to keep pushing until things broke loose. I mean, it's only a matter of time, right?

Well, time ran out at 9:33 yesterday morning.

I should have known something was up when the receptionist asked how my weekend was...she NEVER does that. "We always exchange pleasantries and I continue on to my office...why should today be any different," I thought to myself. We chatted for a few minutes and as I headed into my office, I noticed a group of employees waving folders at me. They had all been notified that they were laid off...I glanced back at the receptionist's desk: she had one too. Crap. This ain't good.

Over the next ten minutes, HR walked me through my NDA, COBRA, and unemployment benefit details. They explained my four days of severance pay (yikes) and had me sign something that (probably) said I'd been read my rights and wouldn't sue (or something...I really don't know). When I got back to my desk, the first thing I thought of was to pull up CNN.com and see what else was happening in the world. Here's a screenshot (if it's too small for you to read, the headline says "Dow, S&P end at lowest level since 1997...as investors can't shake worries about the economy."):

Wow. Not real encouraging...

So, here I am. I figured I'd take the day off, compose myself, get some much-needed rest, and hit the ground running in a couple of days.

So why the hell did I get out of bed earlier than I NORMALLY would for work!? Why did I sleep even less than I have been over the past couple weeks? Am I stressed about the prospect of being unemployed? Is it because I realized that this is the toughest job market I've ever faced.

Surprisingly, none of the above. Maybe it just hasn't "sunk in" quite yet, but I feel GOOD! Don't know how, but somebody snuck in and lit a fire under my ass last night. I've got some business ideas to look into, job leads that have been forwarded by friends, and above all, time to actually think straight. Don't get me wrong, I loved my job and if it were possible, I'd go back in a heartbeat. But...I'm not going to sit around and see if that will happen. Time to make something happen...it's about to get interesting...

Even Indiana Jones has to know when to hang up the whip...

2008-11-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything here, but it’s not for lack of events to write about. Against the wishes and will of my friends and family, I started a new job in Seattle. It’s been nearly three weeks and I’m really enjoying everything about it. The company is called Morse Best Innovation and they provide marketing services to technology companies such as Amazon.com, Intel, Sprint, and (of course) Microsoft.

Now, before I tell you the kicker, let me first say that I’ve appreciated the praise bestowed upon me by those of you out there who have said you were living vicariously through me on my adventures through Central America. Having said that, I fully understand if you are to retract those statements when you learn exactly what it is that I do for employment and who I do it for. Heroes, too, must one day die.

So, having said that, you should know that the account I manage for Morse Best is…none other than…Microsoft. And you wanna know something even WORSE!!? I’m really looking forward to it. I know, I know. You’re asking yourself “But PAT!!!! What about being chased by crocodiles in a kayak? Watching monkeys in the jungle!? Diving with sharks off the coast of Nicaragua and hiking volcanoes!? What did your parents do to deserve this sort of rebellion!?”

Contrary to popular belief, this is actually a decision I made independent of the fact that my parents never gave me that go-kart for Christmas (that event was addressed with a tongue piercing in college). During my travels, I realized that I really enjoy talking with people – and believe it or not, MOST of them were open to talking to me, too. I have a certain (if not fairly unique) ability to not only talk to people, but listen as well. I took this job because it allows me to do just that. I’m in sales and my job is to work with groups at Microsoft to help them use creative approaches to marketing to diagnose and treat problems they’re experiencing.
Never having worked on a commission basis, it’s a change, for sure, but the job itself feels quite natural. As my mom noted yesterday on the phone, I was in college the first time I received a report card that didn’t say “talking in class disrupts the learning of others.” Now I get paid to do it. Go figure.

So that’s what’s happening with me. I’ve vowed to continue writing, though subjects are admittedly more challenging to come up with when you’re not faced with new sights and sounds every day. I don’t know where this job will lead, but at least for the next couple of months, the adventure continues on.

You Work, I'll Travel.

2008-09-22T19:39:00.000-07:00

Rick, you're absolutely right.

Tonight, Rod was on the phone with his cousin, Rick Mines of Gillette, WY, when I heard them discussing the BIG EVENT coming up this Wednesday. That day marks the "end" of my little adventure away from Seattle. When informed of this, Rick replied quite simply..."Why?"

Well, that's a great question (and one that has come up from many of you who have read this blog/journal/collection of rants over the past seven months). A countless number of you have contacted me and told me that you love the decisions I've made. Many of you have said that you wish you had the opportunity to take a little time out and have an adventure of your own. I've been told to forget Corporate America, that my future should be in writing. You've said that you not only love what I've done, but that I should keep going and NEVER get a job.

Well, I think you're absolutely right.

That's why I'm setting up a foundation called KP-FART (Keep Pat From a Regular Trade) to accept your donations. I figure that if each of you out there contributes a measly 5% of your pre-tax (that part is important) income, I could continue my journeys and provide you with some weekly reading material. Think it over...let me know what you think.

While I collect responses (and bank account numbers) I've pulled a couple of work options together. The week following my return, I have two interviews scheduled and have a couple other options on the horizon. "Options" is truly the name of the game at this point. It's not entirely clear what I want to do if I grow up, so I see myself continuing down the path of finding something a little closer to "ideal" than what I had before. I guess, in theory, that's what we're all doing.

A very lucky few have found a job that they truly love. We all know those people...they can be found saying things like "I have the best job in the world" and "I can't believe they pay me to do this." I consider myself one who has embarked on the journey to discover the job that makes me say those things. I'm neither bitter nor lazy - I guess I'm just not satisfied with the term "working for the weekend."

I intend to continue writing about the trials, tribulations, and trivialties I encounter. I'll post these writings here, though I do not currently know the frequency with which I'll be doing so...we'll see how much material I come across as a Wal-Mart greeter.

Thank you all for the words of support you've provided over the past seven months. It's been what has kept me pushing forward. Rather than the end of a chapter in my life, I see this as the closing of the prelude. I'll see you at the beginning of Chapter 1.

Story Update: Sludge

2008-09-01T12:54:00.000-07:00

Well, Rod and I made unknowingly made our way into the annals of history back in July. If you'll remember, we spent several days hauling sludge in Rock Springs (see Sludge). It's been almost a month since we finished the work and even now, when walking within twenty feet of the equipment used on the job, one's greeted by the overpowering aroma of treated sewage.

Well, I guess Rod and I weren't the only ones who were able to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Check out the front page of the Rock Springs Rocket Miner from last week:

I've spent the past three weeks between Montana and Seattle visiting family and friends and am now back on the farm for one more month. We've got one field of alfalfa and two fields of barley to contend with in that time. We're laying low today because it rained all night and then snowed for about an hour this morning. Nothing stuck, but it's pretty much a mess out there right now.

In addition to farm work, I'm spending a bit more time these days looking more seriously at finding a job. I'd really like to find a contract position that would provide me with a high degree of freedom - both in my physical work location as well as the hours involved. The further along I go down this path, the less interested I am in sitting at a desk every day for the rest of my life. I'm well aware that any job I take will involve some time behind a computer, but I'm hoping to eventually find something that enables me to get out part of the time (and I don't mean walking between buildings for meetings). My friends have suggested I look at either sales or a career in writing, both of which interest me and I'm looking into further.

One step at a time...and I think my next step will most likely be outside to load a horse trailer with hay.

Anybody need gum?

2008-08-18T08:09:00.000-07:00

I dipped my big toe in the labor pool this past week and got nothing but the chills. I had some extra time while in MT, so I took advantage of a new skill I mastered while in Latin America. Namely: lying in a hammock. Laptop fired up, I settled in for the hunt for that perfect job.

I started out by visiting the big job sites: Monster.com and Hotjobs.com. Leaving the keyword box blank, my Hotjobs search returned 118 results for marketing positions in the Seattle area. Here are a few of my favorite job blurbs:

1. Top Performers Needed - Manager/Sales Manager/Broker/Realtor/Sales/Auto Sales Manager - I was completely confused by this one...from the description, I don't have a clue why anyone would even click on this. The company listed next to the job title was: $13.8 Million paid in commissions in 54 weeks! Earn $3,000 to $5,000 per week! Didn't I feel stupid! I had no idea that manager-sales manager-broker-realtor-sales-auto sales managers made such good money! I'll be emailing Gonzaga shortly to inform them that the business school needs to add a new concentration.

2. King County Police Officer How this is considered "marketing" is beyond me. The basics of marketing are often cited as the 4 p's: Product, Place, Price, Promotion. I have a feeling that if I walked in and provided the sargent with a market analysis focusing on the 4 P's of speeding tickets, I'd end up spending a few days a padded cell with matching silver bracelets on my wrists. (Anybody have a good promotion idea to increase speeding tickets?)

3. *Fun!*New!*Hot! Earn $10,000/Month Processing Wellness Gum Orders From Your Computer! Start Today! This one proved just too much for me and I clicked through to check out the description. There, I learned that there is no selling involved, and no computer experience is required to make up to $120K per year "from [my] home computer selling the hottest gum products on the internet today!" I was promised that I could "be [my] own boss in the multi-billion dollar gum and wellness industry." Finally! The opportunity to crack into the gum and wellness industry that I've always been looking for! I again clicked through to discover more fascinating details of my future career.

Interestingly, though the company was listed as "Ampark Wellness," I was redirected to http://www.isorotator.com/ and then again to http://www.ampark.com/dgail985. I finally landed on a website with the header "Ampark Gum Company, Make Money Chewing Gum!" Intrigued about this amazing product, I dove into the website to learn more, but not before placing a call to the local Porsche dealership. I figure that one needs to look GOOD if they're to be taken seriously in the billion dollar gum and wellness industry!

My products are as follows:

Breast gum - get the size you desire without expensive surgery! Pat's translation: Remember those great juice filled pieces of gum you loved as a kid!? Well now it's back! But instead of juice, we've filled each piece with hormones and bullshit! YUM!

Hoodia gum - lose weight with powerful herbal ingredients! Pat's translation: The first gum clinically proven to give you uncontrollable diarrhea! YAY!

Virility gum - increase your male sexual desire & please your woman! Pat's translation: As proven by Tom Cruise in Top Gun, chicks dig dudes chewing gum! Made to taste like dirt so you THINK there are some special herbs involved, our gum will have you looking like a fighter pilot instantly!

Stress gum - get rid of stress, anxiety, and depression! Pat's translation: Feeling stressed? Chomp down on some rubber until the pain in your jaw replaces the anxiety you feel due to overextending yourself on your mortgage, credit cards, and car payments! Proof of dental insurance required upon ordering.

Menopause gum - relieve symptoms and restore hormonal balance! Pat's translation: Guys: is your wife driving you crazy? Does she want you to spend more "quality time" with her? Does she say you work too much? Forget the flowers, buy her a gift that you can both enjoy! Note: Contains special herbal ingredients that will likely cause comatose-quality narcolepsy.

All I can say is "God Bless America." I'm not done looking into this...stay tuned for future updates including pictures of my new Porsche (yes, I've already ordered some stress gum to prepare for my impending doom.)

To work or NOT to work...IS that the question?

2008-08-14T08:29:00.000-07:00

I've been spending more and more time thinking about work lately. I'm finding that my resume gets a lot of attention from people that I would rather didn't even look at it. I've gotten emails from insurance sales companies, network marketing representatives, some guy in Taiwan named Hong Seng that has $1M to invest and needs a smart American friend to help him do it, and even the HR department at Google.

The ONE place I thought sounded like something I'd be interested in was Big Mountain in Whitefish, MT. I applied for "Lift Operations Supervisor" and received a request for a resume from their HR department. After several rounds of correspondence with the HR rep, I decided to stop in and chat for a few minutes. She gave me the basic outline of the job and told me who I should go meet to get the inside scoop on things. I asked if she'd had any other applicants for the job and she replied that there were several, but nobody fit the position perfectly. She went on to tell me that "[they] even have a guy applying who lives in Seattle, has his MBA, and works for Microsoft!" Not knowing quite what to say and unsure of whether I really wanted her to finish that story, I just sat in stunned silence. She continued to say that "I don't have a clue why someone with that type of resume would want to live and work here in Whitefish. It's just crazy."

Now, the way I've come to take away from this conversation is as follows:

1. I don't look like somebody that comes from Seattle and/or Microsoft. I'm not sure how to take this...on one hand, I'm proud that I somehow buck the stereotype that people have in their minds, but on the other, I wonder if my first impression is really what I want to portray. Still investigating this one...having second thoughts on the facial tattoo I was looking into.

2. My resume reads a little TOO well for some jobs. I hadn't even thought about this one before, but I guess I need to tone it down for some jobs. I'm finding that as qualified as I am for a career as a desk monkey, people don't pay much attention to me when I apply to be a part-time snowboard instructor or bartender. Considering going back and revising the resume to only include "poo flinger" and "Spanish language student" as my most recent jobs. Might be a fun experiment...stay tuned.

The box I've drawn below was shown to me by my dad's business partner, Chuck Macadam. I found it extremely interesting and wanted to share it with you. The left side represents the number of years spent in a job. If you draw a horizontal line from the left through the box on the right, the portions of the triangles it intersects provides a model of the relative proportion each represents in your work life. For example, in the first year, it's all fun. At year 5, you're still having a lot of fun, but you are building knowledge and are working pretty hard. At 10 years, you've likely peaked in your knowledge, are working harder than you ever have before, and it's really not a lot of fun. As you continue through the years, the fun continues to wane, administrative duties take over, and your industry knowledge and hard work are fading into the past.

The challenge here is to figure out a way to figure out where you're happiest and then take steps to impact your model in the way you want. If I was to draw mine, I think it would look something like this:

The idea is to figure out a way to continue to have fun throughout your career while continuing to build your knowledge and work hard (or at least as hard as you want/need to in order to be fulfilled). My model isn't quite perfect - the administrative duties will always be there, but seem to have fallen off here - but I think it's pretty sound. I intend to not only refer to this when comparing future opportunities, but also want to look at it from time to time to make sure I'm not cheating myself. It's so easy to get stuck in a rut and feel like there's no way out. One's lifestyle starts to demand more out of every pay period, health benefits start to look better and better, stock options grow and vest annually...and all of a sudden it gets extremely difficult to admit you're not enjoying work and consider making a change.

But consider this: quitting your job isn't the only answer and I think this picture illustrates that. Are you truly on top of your industry and broadening your knowledge? Do you have the opportunity to get your hands dirty, or are you stuck in administratia? What do you find fun in your job that you can place more emphasis on?

I would challenge you to make two models of your own. First, use the first model to see where you are now and whether it fits your career stage. Then, make your own...what does your IDEAL model look like? Now, make a list of differences between the two - what needs to change in your current career so that you get to your ideal model? It's truly possible...I believe it's just a question of whether or not you're really willing to make those changes.

"Sludge" - that's a new ice cream flavor, right?

2008-08-03T10:21:00.001-07:00

"This job is gonna be the shits."

I'd never heard him complain about work before, so Rod's comment took me by surprise. He said it as we pulled up to the Rock Springs Solid Waste Treatment Plant. Having recently been requested to submit a sludge-spreading bid on behalf of his relcamation company, we were stopping to gather details on what needed to be done.

Now, if you're anything like me, you've probably never heard of "sludge," but given the context of the waste treatment plant, you probably already have a few images coming to mind. Sludge is what's left over after solid waste has been processed and has had (most) of the liquid removed. As far as I can tell, treatment facilities all over the world have piles of this sludge and use it in a multitude of ways. Some use it as fertilizer in city parks while others ship it to China for use in children's toys (just kidding). The city of Rock Springs dries their's for a year in an empty lot before spreading it on an adjacent sagebrush field.

When we pulled up to submit the bid, we were met by Mike, the plant supevisor. I introduced myself and shook his hand. He started out by explaining that he's one of the few people who can go to bathroom in the morning, look down in the bowl, and say "see you at work!" before flushing. The conversation was pretty much one-sided from that point on.

Mike, like a proud parent boasting about his honor student, insisted we take a tour of the facilities. That's about the time I realized that my choice in shoes (flip flops) could not have been worse that day. As he explained that they return 2.4 million gallons of treated sewage water to Bitter Creek (what an ironic name that turned out to be,) raw sewage splashed on the sidewalk where we were walking. Surely looking like the sugarplum fairy out on a mid-morning stroll, I could be seen hopping over and around puddles for the duration of the 30 minute tour.

At one point in the tour, Mike showed us the final tank where the water was stored before it's redirected to the stream. As he extolled the virtues of his state-of-the-art facility, he dipped a water bottle in the tank and poured the "water" over his hands to show how clean it was. My eyes moved slowly from his dripping hands to my own. That was the first time in my life I'd ever regretted shaking someone's hand...I'll forever credit Mike with as the reason I now bow when first meeting someone.

At long last, we stepped up to a long pile of what I figured was dirt, but turned out to be the very sludge we would be working with soon thereafter. It was approximately 200 feet long, 50 feet wide, and between 3 and 4 feet tall. Mike kicked the pile and showed that the top layer was brittle and dry like dirt. But a second kick showed what we were really up against...after jiggling for a full five seconds, the pile came to rest, minus the wet chunks that had become caked into the laces and seams of his boot. As if the sights I beheld thus far weren't enough, the scent released from the pile made the hair on my neck stand on end. At that point, I figured I had two hopes for this job:
1. Rod wouldn't win the bid.

2. I'd be long-gone by the time work started.

In the following week, I learned that Rod Mines Reclamation, Inc. had been taking care of Rock Springs' sludge for over twenty years, so option 1 dissolved before it ever had the chance to materialize. As for option 2, well...I have a few theories that I'm working on, but the strongest at this point is that aunt Jan slipped a mickey in my beer one night at dinner.

Of the four days of work, I was on this project for the final two. The plan sounded like this: Rod would dump four or five buckets of sludge into the manure spreader with a front-end loader and I'd then spread it over the field. I'd be in an enclosed tractor the entire time, so I figured there really wasn't any way that I'd come into contact with any sludge. Since I wouldn't be coming in physical contact, I really probably wouldn't even notice the smell. With those two senses taken care of, I reasoned that I would be able to trick myself into believing that it was just a layer of brownie chunks that I was scattering in the field.

What I failed to take into consideration was the impact of weather. Rock Springs is in the middle of the high desert in southwest Wyoming - temperatures at this time of year are nearly 100 degrees every day and there's often not even a breath of wind. As a result, the smell was unbelievable (when I told a friend about the job I'd be doing, she optimistically suggested that maybe "treated" meant that it smelled like babies or roses or something. It was a good thought, Corey, but couldn't be further from the truth.)

Let me put it this way: think back to a time when you went to the fair or an outdoor concert on a sweltering day in July. You can only hold your breath for so long...and when you inhale for the first time, the warm damp aroma makes you wonder how other people could possibly stink so much. Now, dump enough of those outhouses upside-down on a cement pad to create a pile that would fill a grain silo, heat to a simmer, then fling it in the air while driving through the middle of it in a tractor.

I spent my time in just that scenario, spreading the pile, at somewhere between 4 and 5 miles per hour from 7 in the morning to 5 in the evening. My biggest fear was that I'd get a flat tire in the middle of the field. I had waking nightmares about the possibilities: I could see my left rear tire going flat. There would be no other choice than to get out of the tractor to jack up the trailer and change it out...wading through 6 inches of rich brown sludge to get there. I'd never again go on a date, be allowed to eat in public, hold a baby, or even pet a dog. My friends would stop calling, family would have secret reunions, and I'd eventually end up Supervisor of the Rock Springs Solid Waste Treatment Facility waving bye-bye to my morning duties (or "doodies"). I didn't run over so much as a nugget of gravel the entire time.

We were told after finishing that the treatment facility received calls from unhappy Rock Springs citizens regarding the smell, so I know for a fact that I'm not exaggerating the conditions we endured. Cleaning the tractors a few days later was nearly as bad as the work itself. Rod figured that we could just spray pine scent in the air filters and get by. Rather, it just made the tractor smell like a Christmas tree had pooped in the cab. In the end, we picked up five gallons of no-stink-em spray from the waste facility, six large boxes of baking soda, two cans of aerosol spray, and six air fresheners to get the smell out. We had to wash our clothes in vinegar and have washed our shoes twice a day for nearly a week. Even after all of this, I'm not certain I'll ever be allowed to wear my shoes indoors again.

The moral of the story? First, next time you use the facilities, don't hesitate to wave goodbye before you flush. And second, if you find yourself in a Subway sandwich shop in Rock Springs, WY, take it easy on the stinky fellas that walk in behind you. There's a good chance that they wouldn't smell that way if you just ate a little healthier.

Babies and bales

2008-07-29T16:36:00.000-07:00

First and foremost, you should know that Johnny (pictured) and Meghan had a healthy baby boy this past Monday morning. John James Lewis weighed 20 lbs and was 7.2 inches long...or was it 7lbs 2ozs and 20 inches long...? Just kidding...anyways, mom and baby are doing very well I'm told and expect to be home in a few days. Many of you know that John James was born with a cleft lip - it turns out that none of the palate was involved and the cleft is minor in that he hasn't had any trouble feeding. I spoke briefly with Johnny and he sounded absolutely elated (not to mention exhausted).

I spent the past week in a bale wagon hauling bales of hay from the field to the stack. We had quite the operation going at one point - my cousin Doug cut the grass with the windrower, Rod baled, and I hauled. I think we put up somewhere around 6,000 bales, though if you asked me, I'd put the figure at just over a million. I knew I was getting tired of driving the tractor when I saw a prarie dog shake his fist at me (I chalk this little hallucination up to inhaling a mix of diesel and alfalfa, though neither Doug nor Rod seemed to suffer the same.)

The week was not without its trials and tribulations - I got a text message from another cousin (Jana) late in the week asking if I'd knocked down a stack yet. Smugly, I replied that I was an old pro and don't make such rookie mistakes. Not an hour passed before I was forced to eat my words. 52 bales, each weighing 75 pounds, came tumbling down in the stackyard. My first reaction was to just get in my truck and drive to Seattle. It was the end of the day and I was already exhausted. What's more, I only had one more load to go to finish the field. After restacking the bales, Rod saw I was sweating blood and had Doug and I take the night off. Quite honestly, I don't think there was any choice on my part. I was lucky to make it to the dinner table after that.

So today marked the end of baling - next we've got a little work to do for the city of Rock Springs, quite literally a "crappy" job that I hope to expound upon in the next entry. As for the rest of life, I'm starting to put out resumes to various jobs. So far, I've applied to Aspen, Big Sky, Mt. Bachelor, Mt. Hood, and Mt. Baker filling various roles ranging from "snow reporter" to "PR Manager." I've got an itch to work at a resort...my trip through Colorado made an impression on me. We'll see where it goes...I'll keep you posted!

Long haired country boy...

2008-07-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

I'm currently writing this from Farson, WY, a small town in the SW corner of the state. I'm staying with my uncle Rod and aunt Jan on their farm consisting of 350 irrigated acres (alfalfa and barley) and 1,500 total acres. It's absolutely beautiful here - the plains surrounding the area provide an unobstructed view of the mountains around 40 miles north of the house. I'll snap a picture and get it on the blog soon.

One of the highlights of the trip thus far was a day I spent with my uncle Don branding calves. Even though I grew up in WY and MT, I'm a city kid through and through. The last time I was asked to do anything like this was back in Gillette when the whole family went to a nearby farm to help "dock" lambs. Long story short, I fainted after only about thirty minutes of "work" and had to sit on the sidelines for the rest of the day.

So, when asked to go branding, I was both excited and a little nervous. I didn't think it'd go over too well to be passing out at nearly 30 years old in the middle of the corral with 200 head of cattle running around...but I figured I'd give it a shot.

There were about ten of us altogether including myself, my uncle Don, and three cousins: Doug, Kelly, and Eric. We left the house around 8am and headed out to the pasture - about twenty miles outside of town in the middle of the high desert. The first task upon finding a suitable location was to set up the corral while the three ropers set out on horses to round up the cattle. Once the corral was set, all 200 cattle were led in and that's when the fun began.

While a couple people set up the propane torch to heat the irons, I helped Don carry some supplies from the truck. As he passed by, he asked if I had anything to carry nuts in. Not exactly sure what he was taking apart, I grabbed a plastic Pepsi bottle figuring we could cut it in half and carry however many he had.

He looked at me, then at the bottle, then back at me again..."I figured we'd use something more like this grocery bag" he suggested after realizing I had completely misunderstood the meaning of "nuts." I'd forgotten that "branding" also included castrating the calves.

About this time, Don and the ropers sorted the cattle so that all we had left were the "calves," many of which were much larger than the cute country-fair varietal and all of which had a look in their eye that said "I'm gonna kick you in the teeth every chance I get." I really couldn't blame them, actually. Especially the soon-to-be steers...

So, the ropers would drag a calf out of the herd by the hind legs, we'd catch the head on the way by, one or two people would hold it down, one or two people would brand, one person would notch the ear, and one person would castrate. It was quite a mess - by the time we were done, we were bruised up, covered in blood, smelled like burnt flesh, and grinning from ear to ear. The ropers got the shopping bag that night - can't say I'm too torn up about that. Doug and I decided that we're now bona fide cowboys and that we need to buy a herd of cattle so we can do that every weekend.

We'd be the only cowboys in the entire world with a herd of cattle covered head-to-toe in brands...but we'd be cowboys nonetheless!

My brother Jerrel...the CHEF!?

2008-07-08T17:04:00.000-07:00

Just had to relay this quick story...while I was in Aspen, I got the chance to meet up with my brother Jerrel (most of you know that I have four brothers and Jerrel is the second youngest, or, as I like to say, the third Mathern boy born after my parents achieved perfection.) Jerrel's spending a couple months near Aspen working at a summer camp for deaf students. I had the chance to meet his fellow counselors and the camp director, some of which were hearing, some deaf, all really cool people.

He mentioned that I should pick up a copy of the Aspen Time Out, a local weekly entertainment publication, and that I'd know why when I saw it. I found a copy and sure enough, there was Jerry on the front page. You can click on the following to see larger versions and read the article for yourself.

While reading the article, our childhood came to mind. Jerrel was what you'd call an extremely picky eater. In fact, he often chose whether or not to eat a food based on its color and green is never good (upon first eating green grapes while in college, he seems to have lessened how strictly he follows this rule). Also while growing up, we each had to play a part in cooking the Thanksgiving meal. It was always understood that Jerrel's contribution would be Jello...if he was feeling racy, he'd layer a couple different colors (but never green, mind you).

So it was a bit of a surprise to see that he's been training under a world-renowned chef for the past several days and learning the finer points of the culinary arts. I vote he's kicked off of Jello duty this year...I want some of that creme brulee...

Bicycles are for (very tough) children

2008-07-08T15:43:00.000-07:00

Hello from Farson, WY! I arrived here last night and will be staying for a couple of weeks to work on my uncle's farm. My "city boy hands" already don't like this place...I hammered in no more than ten fencing staples this morning and earned myself a small blister. This was a few short hours after the sun came up, which I witnessed first-hand while doing the rounds with my uncle. The last time I saw the sun come up was from a hot tub in Calistoga, CA...very different conditions indeed. What the heck happened to wasting away in a hammock on a deserted beach...?

Last week, for the 4th of July, I spent some time with a friend of mine from elementary school, Farah McDill. We hadn't seen each other in somewhere around 14 years, so I didn't know exactly what to expect. What I remembered from my youth went something like this:

Tall red-headed girl

Laughed a lot

Liked riding bikes

Did not like being chased with headless grasshoppers

On all the above points, she hasn't changed a bit. In fact, this nearly proved my demise. When I talked to her on the phone and let her know I'd be in the area on 4th, she invited me to go on "a bike ride" with some of her friends. I explained that I'd never really done any serious riding and that most of the past three months had been spent with my feet up in a hammock, but she insisted that I come along. I was pretty sure that the last time we'd ridden bikes together, I was able to ride a wheelie longer, so I figured that I'd probably be fine and accepted the invite.

If you've never been to Aspen, you should know that it's known for its beautiful scenery, wealthy inhabitants, and jaw-dropping mountains. In the winter, these mountains are a virtual playground for skiiers and snowboarders. In the summer, as I found out first-hand, they're a great way to get revenge on someone who chased you around the block with headless bugs as a child. Our ride started out in the middle of town and took us up 5,000 feet (and 20 miles) to the continental divide.

Here are some fun facts about cycling that some of you may now know, but all of which I experienced first-hand:

Given a steep enough incline, it's possible to hardly move when using the easiest "granny gear"

If you sit on a bike long enough, you will likely go numb from the waist down

Bicycles are specifically made so as to ensure every vibration from the road is telegraphed through your body, starting at your buttocks

I made it 17.5 miles and 4,700 vertical feet before I finally waved the white flag. I think I likely could have made it to the top, but I don't think that it counts if you have to stop and sleep for four hours before doing so, which I surely would have had to do. I'm glad to say that it no longer hurts when I sit down and that going to the bathroom is now done at leisure, rather than to ensure that I still have the ability. The worst part of the whole thing is that now I'm hooked and can't wait to do it again. In all honesty, it's one of the best times I've ever had on the 4th of July.

Obviously, sitting on that seat must have done some above-waist damage as well.

Just can't wait to get on the road again...

2008-07-01T18:14:00.001-07:00

What a crazy couple of weeks it's been! I set out June 16th with Joe Schwab (a roommate from college) for a roadtrip - the final destination being LA on the 29th. The first day of driving pretty much sums up the entire trip: we set out to drive all the way to Lake Tahoe at 6am on the 16th and instead only made it 180 miles to Portland. We decided to stop and see a friend for lunch and before you know it, we'd stayed for lunch, frisbee in the park, mojitos in the back yard, video games, and a movie. We didn't end up getting back on the road until the next day at 11am. At that point, we decided to ditch Tahoe and just start driving south.

Over the course of the next week, we camped at three lakes (Shasta, Mendecino, and Clear) before ending up in Calistoga, CA, for a friend's wedding. Along the way, we learned some very valuable lessons:

1. Leaving home for a roadtrip without a map ensures that you're going to have an adventure, whether you wanted one or not.

2. The people that drive the fastest are the ones driving the most beat-up cars and are likely the ones complaining loudest about the price of fuel.

3. To be a roadside hippie in California, the first step is to buy a dingy looking dog (my theory is that it's being raised in case of a sudden lack of food...)

4. It takes FAR less than a week to drive from Seattle to Calistoga, CA, but there's enough to see to take far MORE time.

5. I have a penchant for L.A. fashion designers (or at least those who happen to be just as smart and witty as they are beautiful,) but they don't seem to feel the same about homeless, unemployed, long-haired, bearded guys from Seattle (should have seen that one coming, but it blindsided me somehow and I think I'll be reeling for a while...)

The wedding turned out to be three days of some of the best times I've ever had with my friends (though I find more and more that I say that almost every time I get to spend time with them). The Solage hotel where we stayed during the event is pretty amazing and my first experience in wine tasting was...well...more intoxicating than educational to say the least. If you've never driven through wine country, you're missing out on some of the most beautiful scenery this side of Tuscany. Redwood forests, olive groves, and vineyards line the highways and dot the hillsides as far as you can see. Thanks to the 1,100 fires burning in Northern California, the sunsets were unparalleled.

After the wedding, we stayed with some of Joe's relatives near Pismo Beach and in addition to wine tasting experience #2, we visited the Hearst Castle. For those of you who haven't been there, here's the basic idea:

The Hearst family made their original fortune in the California silver mines which the next generation turned into a mountain of money through publishing newspapers and magazines. WR Hearst spent over $140 million (in today's dollars) to build his castle, 1/3 of which was spent on furnishings. We had a great time on the tour, during which we convinced a young boy that he'd be thrown in prison if the guide caught him drinking his bottle of water. He quickly threw it to his mother who asked why SHE should be the one in prison...when we walked away, they were discussing which of them was more deserving of solitary confinement. "Joe Schwab and Patrick Mathern: helping your family make life-long memories, one prison argument at a time."

From Pismo, we headed on to Huntington Beach, south of L.A., to visit some friends and catch some rays. Paul and Andrea live within blocks of the main pier, so most of our time was spent shuffling between the house, the beach, and a nearby sandwich shop. Things got interesting one night when we ordered pizza and decided that when the delivery guy showed up, we'd all be dressed in scrubs and holding models of human skulls. While Joe paid for the pizza, the rest of us shuffled around behind him, acting as if we were knee deep in a serious operation. If you ever experience a lull in a party, bring a suitcase full of scrubs...guaranteed to liven up the night!

We spent the next few nights at a friend's house in L.A. (she has a very successful interior design blog you should check out) before I left Joe for Arizona. My target that day was Phoenix, but, in holding with the original plan of "having no plan," I ended up staying a night with relatives in Bullhead City. Now, I thought Panama was hot, but it doesn't even start to compare with Bullhead City, Arizona. It was 117 degrees before peaking out for the day and I'd venture to say that it hit 100 before cracking 10 in the morning.

I finally made it to my grandpa's place here in Sun City last night around 9pm. Today was the 16th day so far this year that went beyond 110 degrees and that's half-way to the record that was set last year. Grandpa's an amazing guy - he turned 90 last year and during his speech before the party, he said "this is a wonderful party and I thank you all for coming. But, if you wanna see a party that will knock your socks off, just come back in 10 years!" I'm having a ball and find myself wondering how in the world I've made time to get all the way to Latin America without getting here first. No regrets, but a good reality check all the same.

Tomorrow, I'm headed out again. In the next week, I will (probably) be in Aspen, CO, for the 4th, then (highly likely) somewhere in WY for most of July. End of July (almost certainly) takes me to MT for a week with my parents before I (probably oughta) get back to Seattle (maybe). At some (uncertain) point, I (might) need to look for a job, but that's still somewhere too far down the road to think too much about. For now, I'm planning my days only after my morning coffee and loving every second on the open road.

Sidenote: My grandfather told me this story today and I thought it was pretty cool:

When he was a POW in WWII, they were often made to march. If soldiers couldn't walk on their own, they were usually shot. Well, one of Grandpa's buddies (Johnny) was pretty sick on a day they were supposed to march and couldn't make it ten feet on his own. Grandpa and his men were able to talk the guard into allowing him to ride a cart for the day rather than marching. At the end of the day, a fellow soldier by the name of Dave Nation wrote a poem and this is the verse that Grandpa could remember:

Eggs and bacon, we do not see
There is no sugar in our tea

And we all are gradually

Fading away

Each verse ended with the last two lines...a special "thank you" to Grandpa Mines for sharing this story and to all veterans, without whom the 4th of July would be just another day.

Nothing is as foreign as home...

2008-06-12T11:10:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the first time you returned home after going away to work or college? Well, my experiences since returning to the US have been a little like that.

When I stepped off the plane at Dallas-Fort Worth, an airport that I love to hate, I was immediately struck by the scale on which everything is built here. The airport is so large that it requires a monorail to escort people from one end to the other...unHEARD of in Latin America (save Panama, perhaps). Stepping off the monorail throws you into walkways that are MUCH wider than any city street I saw on my trip (and also cleaner, given the absence of burning trash). People moved in an orderly fashion and I was able to understand every word being spoken around me. Ahh...the luxuries of life, right?

After an ice cream cone (highway robbery at nearly $5) I boarded the plane to Portland. During that trip, I met a guy who was traveling on business. He was headed to Bend where his grandkids were graduating from high school. He asked what I did for a living and didn't buy the "unemployed and homeless" response that I tried to give him. After learning that I was "in need" (a term I use very lightly these days) of a job, he suggested that I get into the hospitality business. He explained that he and his wife were hotel brokers and had just returned from business meetings in NYC. While there, they stayed in the Waldorf-Astoria and paid $695 per night. He went on to explain that the NW severely lacked such elegant accomodations and that his current projects had to do with bringing high luxury to small town America. At that point, the conversation just kind of languished. I didn't know how to tell him that the place I'd stayed in the night before was $10 and lacked hot water in the communal bathroom. Or that I'd stayed in a hotel in Nicaragua where the shower was just slightly off-center from the toilet (turn on the shower and everything in the room gets a little wash-down) for $6. For argument's sake, I wanted to say that we're REALLY lacking super-cheap hotels, not super-expensive ones, but figured the point would get me nowhere.

The Portland airport proved to be just as foreign as Dallas, if not more so. In Portland, everyone is carrying a cup of coffee (even though it was 7pm) and talking on a cell phone. The walkways are TWICE as wide as in Dallas, obviously constructed so that if there is a problem on the runway or too much rain for the baggage handlers to brave, planes may be easily diverted to land indoors. So thoughtful!

While gathering my bags, I was met with the overpowering scent of rum. I looked up and a crisply-dressed businessman stood in front of me waiting for bags. He didn't look inebriated, but the smell proved otherwise. As he walked away and I gathered my sympathy for him, the scent mysteriously lingered. In fact, it seemed to grow even stronger. That's when I looked down and saw the growing dark spot on my backpack. One of the bottles I'd brought home for a souvenir had obviously broken. Looking around, I recognized the looks on people's faces as I walked past...guess they figured I didn't look inebriated, but then again, that smell doesn't lie...

My day was capped off with a deep slumber, in the middle of which I awoke thinking in Spanish, unable to decide whether this foreign bed in which I lay was located in Panama or Nicaragua. Unable to solve the mystery, I eventually went back to sleep, confident that either way, I was sure I'd be able to find some breakfast in the morning before hitting the beach. (Ha!)

I'm in Seattle now, preparing to leave once again on a road trip to California for a wedding. I'm driving down over the course of two weeks with one of my college roommates, and then leaving him in LA before continuing on my own through AZ, CO, WY, and MT to visit family and friends. I'll return to Seattle somewhere around the 1st of August...theoretically in search of gainful employment. I'll continue writing entries as time permits and hopefully have better access to internet so I can share more photos along the way.

Coming Soon to a Couch Near You...

2008-06-02T13:58:00.000-07:00

Been another crazy couple of weeks here...my brother Waylon came down for a week and we enjoyed our first tropical storm together. Alma was the first to hit Costa Rica's Pacific Coast in 120 years. The news showed video of people being plucked off rooftops and loaded into the backs of dump trucks. Bridges were washed out and the hillsides turned to mudslides which made it impossible to get out of Manuel Antonio by bus. Luckily, we took the initiative in the middle of the storm to secure plane tickets back to San Jose which allowed us to get back in time for Waylon's return flight...without much time to spare. Every week is something new here.

I leave on Wednesday, the 4th, to trade warm rain for cold rain, and I'm finding myself reflecting back on the three months I spent here. Remembering back, my goals when I arrived were as follows:

1. Learn Spanish

2. Learn to surf

Done and done...mission accomplished!

I've received quite a few emails from friends and family regarding the bigger picture of it all...whether I've ¨found what I was looking for.¨ I don't know how to answer this directly, quite honestly, so I'll skirt around it to the best of my ability and see if I can´t tie it up at the end...

Leaving work was an EXTREMELY difficult decision to make. My life has quite honestly been one success after another. I've gotten into the schools I wanted, beat out the competition for jobs that I desired, and have consequently been able to live a very comfortable life. But over the past couple years, everything that had fallen into place with regards to work (and life in general) started to come apart at the seams. It felt like I lifted my head up one day and found myself in a completely different landscape than I'd ever experienced before. At one point in my life, it made sense (and actually fed my ego to some extent) to work long hours, attend late night meetings, work on email from home, and compete for that next promotion.

But the day that I lifted my head up, that all struck me as a complete waste of time. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but I think what I felt was that I wasn't living my life in a way that I valued. I threw around the idea of working part-time (which my employer encouraged) thinking that I was just struggling to cope with losing Jamie. With the passage of time, I would be able to step back up to the superstar status I was used to...I'd once again value the time I spent in front of the computer and life would once again make sense.

Well, the closer I got to actually starting part-time status, the clearer it bacame that it was really just a band-aid for what I really needed to do. Deciding to quit my job was done over the course of about six months. The more I talked to people and paid attention to the signs around me, the clearer it became that my job was a part of someone I used to be, but it no longer made sense in the life I was living. So I gave notice...and eventually left. I say eventually because I gave LOTS of notice - about 2.5 months. Part of the reason I did this was to ensure I didn't leave my group in a tough spot by having to backfill (this reason proved laughable since my manager didn't start interviewing candidates until my final weeks with the company). The other reason that I gave so much notice was that I was absolutely scared to death. I knew it was the right course of action, but quitting a job without an upward move (or any plan whatsoever) went against everything I had been taught and had experienced in my life. But eventually...the day came and I left.

And you know what? There hasn't been a single day that has gone by when I've wished I'd made a different choice. Do I miss my job? Not even a little bit. I´ve thought about work maybe three times this whole trip, and one of those times is in writing this blog. I made some great friends while there and I do miss them, but I'd rather see them for beers in the future rather than comisserating about work over a lunch eaten at the speed of light in the cafeteria.

Long story short, I have found what I was looking for, just not on this trip. I found it the day I quit my job. I found that when I listen closely, life tells me things and it's my job to not only listen, but take action. The life of logic that served me so well for so many years no longer makes me tick.

So if the trip wasnt a source of enhanced wisdom, what was it? Quite simply: three months of selfish decadence. I cruised through rainforests on zip lines, saw poison dart frogs, four species of monkeys and countless other animals I'd never laid eyes on before, learned Spanish, got stood up on a date with a Costa Rican girl, learned to cook local foods, kayaked in the jungle, swam behind waterfalls, learned to scuba dive, saw the Panama Canal, read no less than seven books, sat alone in a hammock on endless stretches of beach, ate shrimp larger than my fist, experienced countless new fruits and foods, lived with a Costa Rican family, went fishing, drank my weight in Nicaraguan rum, cruised a border town with machine gun-weilding cops, got sprayed in the face with pesticide, escorted my parents and brother around to my favorite destinations, suffered three separate body-peeling sunburns, and sneaked into a hotel to watch movies during a tropical storm.

But if I have to spend one more week away from my family and friends, I'm gonna go nuts. The trip has been great, but enough is enough. I miss you all more than you know and can't wait to get back. See you soon.

Karma

2008-05-27T14:00:00.000-07:00

I´m currently in Manuel Antonio (yes, again...it´s easy to get stuck here) with my brother Waylon and we´re having a ball. We surfed all day yesterday (and I mean ALL DAY) and I think I can still taste a little salt today.

The past couple weeks have been pretty crazy...when my parents left I decided to go back to Nicaragua and get my open water diving certification. Remembering that my border experience in Panama was...well...interesting, I got myself ready before getting to the border this time. Everything was in order, ready to rock. Well, almost.

When you get off the bus at the Nicaragua border, you´re inundated with guys carrying bricks of money - they will exchange your dollars or colones for cordobas at a pretty decent rate. Well, I was ready for them...I knew it was between 18 and 19 cordobas to the dollar, so when they said 18.8 per dollar, I knew I had a good guy. I exchanged my colones for cordobas and was walking away when I realized I´d made a terrible error...I´d exchanged my colones for the rate of dollars, which left me with about a quarter of the money I was supposed to have. When I turned to find the guys who changed my money, they were gone.

A cop noticed I was looking for something and asked what the problem was. I explained it to him and he told me to follow him. He led me back into the bowels of the border town to a dingy little pool hall. There were four guys playing pool...including the guy who took my money. At first, he denied it, but the police officer did some quick negotiating and the guy ended up handing me his entire brick and I was told to take however much I needed. I took my money and got the heck out.

Taking time to fix the money issue meant that the bus had already crossed the border into Nicaragua and everyone had already put their bags through customs. I went to pick up my backpack and just as I was figuring out it was missing, a guy walked around the side of the bus and handed it to me. Basically, he made sure it was out of sight while customs searched through bags. He told me to quickly get on the bus, but on the way, border patrol told me they wanted to see my bag. I told them I was making the bus late, so they made me an offer. Pay $1 and you don´t have to be searched. Not a bad deal, so I bought my way out of it. All´s well that ends well, right?

Since my first experience in bribing public officials went so well, I went for broke when I returned across the border. The line was two and a half hours long to enter Costa Rica and I really didn´t feel like standing in it. So, I let some locals know that it was quite inconvenient to stand in line and they said they could get me to the front for $10. Done and done. I´d now bribed my way into both Nicaragua and Costa Rica - I´m a dangerous man, I assure you.

After arriving in San Jose, my luck changed rather quickly. I hailed a cab and told him to go to the bus station. He asked why I would want to do that - the bus drivers were on strike. This happens pretty often here, but I was still skeptical because my final destination is quite a ways from town. So, I told him to take me anyways. Well, he made a phone call and the guy said he was from the dept of transportation. I asked about the bus strike and he said it had been going on three days and was scheduled to continue for the next week. Well, he won. I told him to take me to Alajuela and he told me that it´s normally $30, but today it would be $40 since there were no buses.

I feel like I have to put my reaction context. It happened to be my 29th birthday that day (I know, I know...you´re all going to write and let me know the check´s in the mail) and I´d just spent 10 hours on a bus from Nicaragua. I´d been up since 5am and hadn´t slept well in a week due to the heat and bugs. I was tired and just wanted a shower and clean bed.

So, I agreed and paid it. I told him I thought he was full of bullpuckey (or something like that) but I really didn´t have a leg to stand on. Waylon arrived the next morning and without incident, we made it to the bus station and caught the first bus out of town. There was no strike and he charged me about double what the REAL fare should have been.

I could hear a little voice singing in the back of my head...

Happy birthday to you,
Bribing cops like a fool,
You think you got away with it,
But now it´s come back to you.

Ma and Pa Mathern Invade Costa Rica

2008-05-15T15:43:00.000-07:00

I don´t quite know where to start...my parents left Thursday morning after 10 days here in Costa Rica. Not sure they would move here permanently, but I got the distinct impression that they would have loved to have spent more time. In two weeks, they saw nearly everything that has taken me almost three months to see. I´ve written this posting twice (and deleted it twice) as it´s hard to accurately capture all the experiences we shared. I decided to go with the vignette-style posting...not necessarily in chronological order. To get the details, you´ll just have to get them straight from the horse´s mouth (although you could also ask my mom or I).

HIKING UP AN ERUPTING VOLCANO

We started our trip with Volcano Arenal in the Northern Central Valley of Costa Rica. The view from our hotel was like nothing I´ve ever seen before. During the day, we hiked along a trail that took us close enough to the volcano that we could see (and hear) rocks being spewed out of the crater and exploding on the hillside. At night, the rocks exploded in fire and the resulting pieces glowed for as long as fifteen minutes afterwards. Definitely worth the trip.

WHAT ARE THOSE STRANGE LINES IN THE ROAD?
We took a scenic tour through Monte Verde on the Costa Rican equivalent of the Oregon Trail (I think the map labeled it as a ¨country road¨ but ¨cow path¨ would have been more accurate). I found myself loosening up behind the wheel a little bit...driving like a Costa Rican (or ¨Tico¨) means that you drive at nearly twice the speed limit, pass multiple cars at once regardless of the lines in the middle of the road, and honk the horn incessantly. I was just getting used to this style of driving when I got pulled over. The cop asked if I was aware that it was illegal to speed and pass someone on a double yellow and I admitted that I was aware of that. I pretty much explained that I was "estupido" and that my parents were going to kill me when they found out I was going to get a ticket. He told me that I´d earned myself a $40 ticket at which point I indicated that it would take every ounce of my energy to keep from fainting at hearing this. In the end, he dropped the ticket to $4 and sent us on our way. However, the Ticos got the last laugh. I lost the ticket and ended up paying $13...$3 for the ticket, $7 to find a new copy, and 30% tax because...I don´t know...just because.

DAD GETS FRIENDLY WITH A CAYMAN
We woke up at 5am on Tuesday (after a 12am bedtime...a direct consequence of our night-time turtle hunt that you can ask the horse for details on) for a three-hour canoe tour through the jungle. When we finally found a cayman, the tour guide told my dad it was ok to touch it. Now, for those of you who don´t know my father, he has what is scientifically known as ¨Walleye Vision.¨ Ok, actually, it´s "macular degeneration," but it means that he has little sight other than his peripheral vision. (Just a sidenote...over the years, this has proved to be EXTREMELY humorous for the family. Dad getting on buses that lead to the extreme opposite end of town, speaking sign language to one of his hearing sons, or eating heaping spoonfuls of sour cream thinking it was mashed potatoes.) Anyways, when the tour guide told my dad he should pet the cayman, all my mom and I could imagine was him sticking his hand directly into it´s mouth or poking it in the eye or something. The pictures above explain the situation well. The first shows him spying the cayman intently. I liken it to a five year-old staring at a glowing-hot stove. At some point, the cayman decided it would touch dad before it was the other way around...the second picture is my dad´s reaction as the cayman jumped out of the water, knocking my dad´s hand away in the process, and scurrying up the enbankment. It was so funny...I think we laughed for a full five minutes before we remembered to check to see if he still had all his fingers.

Long story short, we had an amazing time. Lack of food and sleep led to some interesting debates (such as the reason that there is a lack of businesses accepting credit cards) and more than once, we were physically unable to stop laughing. When you talk to my mom, ask her about doing the zip line tour and about Costa Rica having the world´s largest rats. When you talk to my dad, ask him about stamping out "dangerous egrets" and grabbing entire sticks of butter with his bare hands.

Thanks so much for coming, Mom and Dad. I had a fantastic time. (I probably spilled the beans on a couple family secrets above, Dad, but at least I didn´t tell everybody that Mom rubbed that guy´s arm on the boat to Tortuguero for a full two minutes before realizing it wasn´t you.)

Who needs Spanish if you have sign language!?

2008-05-05T11:28:00.000-07:00

Well, my parents have made it safe and sound...we're currently killing some time before going on a canopy tour (zip-line between trees through the jungle). We're staying at a really cool hotel at the base of Volcano Arenal...absolutely spectacular. Both Mom and Dad strained their necks yesterday in the car...there's so much to see and I think that they must have figured that if they whip their heads from left to right fast enough, they wouldn't miss a thing.

One lesson that I wouldn't have learned if it weren't for my dad is that Costa Rican's don't understand sign language. He knew that they wouldn't understand his English and I had told him that a lot of people just talk louder if they're not understood the first time. Realizing how ludicrious this would seem to someone that didn't speak English, he rationalized that perhaps the opposite would be true. To all of our surprise, speaking softly in English while using sign language is no more effective than speaking loudly in English. Thanks, Dad!

School buses are surprisingly nimble!

2008-04-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

Hello from Bocas del Toro! I flew here yesterday (more on that in a minute) after spending most of the past week in Panama City. I didn´t expect much out of the city...all the other Central American cities I´ve been to have let me down. I was pleasantly surprised this time, however. Panama City has a vitality that I haven´t noticed in other places on my trip. I found dingy street markets as well as malls where everyone wore designer labels and the stores included names like Gucci, Armani, and Luis Vuitton. There are taxi cabs that look as if they were salvaged from the bottom of a lake as well as BMWs, Mercedes, and expensive sports cars. Beggars wearing rags for clothes are being passed by men in Italian suits. Truly a city of contrasts.

One thing I found particularly adventurous was the bus system. There's really no central "city bus." People have bought old school buses from the US (I know this because one that I rode in had bus rules posted...rule #2 was "give the bus driver the same respect that you give the teacher in the classroom" and rule #7 was "no smoking") and modified them in interesting ways. Most are repainted in bright colors with elaborate airbrushed detailing. Some make excessive use of hood ornaments (I counted 12 on the hood of one bus) and some even have plastic fins on the roof that resemble giant shark fins. The drivers are something special...I don't know how they are hired, but I think the test likely covers yelling loudly, excessive use of the horn, swerving through traffic at high speeds, and stomping on the gas pedal repeatedly. It's quite an experience, to say the least.

I decided to make my way to Bocas del Toro, a series of islands in Northeast Panama, and elected to skip the bus for once and fly. The plane was pretty small...15 or 20 seats...but there were only 4 of us on board. I had visited the Panama Canal a few days before, but the view from the plane was unbelievable. I could see ships lined up ready to pass through the locks and some transiting the lake that exists between the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. The pilots were obviously unamused...as soon as we took off, they put shades up over the windows in the cockpit. It kept the plane cool, but it was kind of interesting looking in the cockpit and seeing two pilots screwing around, unable to see out the windows. I guess I should have foreseen that when I got on the plane and the pilots weren't wearing shirts. (Just kidding.) They took the screens down to land...I'm guessing because they didn't want to hit any of the children that were walking and playing alongside the runway (not kidding). I guess you could say that airport security is a little more lax here than in the States...

I'll spend two or three days here in Bocas lounging on beaches and snorkling, then head back to San Jose to meet with my parents on the 3rd. They're coming for two weeks and we're planning on visiting Arenal, Dominical, Tortuguero, and anythnig else we happen upon in-between. It's going to be a great time...my dad has never ventured beyond Mexico and I firmly believe in the "baptism by fire" method when introducing people to new cultures. I'm not sure how much time he's spent in the past riding donkeys and picking coffee, but it should be fun to watch from the comfort of the air-conditioned car my mom and I will be traveling in.

I wanted to take a second to thank my friends and family for their genuine interest in my health and safety. For instance, my brother Marty said he's really excited to have me come to parties this summer...since I've been sprayed with pesticides, he says he won't have to buy the expensive Citronella candles. I know there are more of you out there thinking the same thing and I have only one request: just invite me to the party and let me think it's because you enjoy my company. I don't need to know that I'm being used as either insect repellent or a night light.

I'm permanently mosquito proof!!!

2008-04-20T15:47:00.000-07:00

If any of you have ever crossed an international border in an airplane, you know that it can be somewhat of a mess. The lines are long, people don´t have much patience, and the inspections officers really don´t care that the immigration desk isn´t your only place to be for the day. A few of you likely understand first-hand what I´m about to explain...how the process works when traveling by bus in Central America.

I crossed the Nicaragua-Costa Rica border with someone who had been through the process before and even then, it was intimidating. But I figured, for some odd reason, that doing the same thing between Costa Rica and Panama would be a breeze (or at least a repeat of some of the things we did in Nicaragua). The only shared experience I could see between the two border crossings is this: it´s complete chaos.

As the bus approached, I decided to wait for a few minutes until about half the people on the bus had departed. That way, I could follow people around and get the basic idea of what to do. Great plan, in theory. When we arrived at the border, everyone got off and immediately scattered. Figuring I´d wait for the other half of the bus, I looked back and realized they had gotten off the back door and were also gone. I don´t mean milling around...I mean GONE. So, I did what anyone with my language skills and traveling experience would do. I froze. Eventually, a young kid came up and asked if I needed help. I figured the worst he could do is pick my pockets while I wasn´t looking, so I said yes and proceeded to follow him. Here´s a basic idea of what happened:

1. We go to Costa Rica desk and ¨clock out¨ of the country. I knew this one...I was just testing him.
2. Follow boy to Panama desk #1. Arrive three steps behind him as he takes a slip of paper from the immigrations officer and quickly walks past you in the other direction.
3. Walk a little more quickly to catch boy who has (for all I know) an important piece of paper that I need. Stop with boy at Panama desk #2.
4. Boy says it will be $5. I refuse, but official-looking woman behind desk informs you that it's for the Tourist Visa. Hand boy $5. Boy hands $5 (under close supervision) to woman. Receive visa in return.
5. Boy takes off skipping. Gringo skips behind boy. Boy stops at woman #2 at office #3 which happens to be a running car. Boy requests payment of $1. Gringo refuses but is then told by official looking woman #2 that it's payment for stamp that validates visa #1. Gringo pays, but is relatively certain he just bought a two cent postage stamp for $1.
6. Boy gallops off...back to desk #1. Gringo catches up and gets in back of line...proceeds to wait fifteen minutes in sweltering heat. After approaching desk, gringo is informed he needs to show proof that he has $500 on his person to enter Panama. Boy is surprised Gringo is so stupid, but decides to help anyways. Proceeds to lead Gringo back to bus.
7. Bus driver informs Gringo the only way in to Panama is to show proof of $500 cash on person or buy a ticket back out of the country. Gringo buys return ticket...boy brokers deal and likely makes a nice commision.
8. Boy runs away from bus, back to desk #1. Gringo, tired of the process, walks directly to the front of the line, hands official all papers in his posession, and scowls at said official. Passport is stamped and Gringo is handed more papers.
9. Boy smiles at Gringo. Gringo interprets this as the cheetah smiling at his weary prey. Gringo stands a little taller and smiles back.
10. Boy leads Gringo to inspection line and tells Gringo to take everything out of his bag. Gringo does not comply. For once, Gringo wins...inspection officer decides not to search luggage.
11. Back at the bus, boy asks for money...Gringo gives him $2. In the end, the boy really was trying to help and was likely just smiling at the Gringo's apparent lack of brain.
12. Rather than get on bus, Gringo decides he needs a candy bar...proceeds to nearest Duty Free shop. While in line, he notices a large red bus driving by...decides he better get on before it leaves. Jumps on before it gets too far down the road...sweaty...no candy bar...but is relieved to see most people had gotten off at border. Takes a prime seat next to window and opens window...what a luxury!
13. Just as window is opened (all others are closed on the bus at this point,) bus goes through car wash...Gringo is sprayed in the face with organic disinfectant, designed to stop the transmission of Costa Rican insects. Gringo acts as if it never happened and drip-dries on bus. After 30 seconds, Gringo falls apart laughing.

I made it safe and sound. I reached the end of the bus line and found a hotel. Hope to get up tomorrow with a renewed sense of adventure and hit the road. For now, however, I' m sticking close and am thankful that I made it this far.

Life is an Adventure

2008-04-15T10:06:00.000-07:00

Hola from Manuel Antonio! I'm writing this from the Pacific Coast of Costa Rica...I'm finished with school and, as I remember doing after graduating from high school, now it's time to be irresponsible and lazy. I'm thinking that I'll quit my job and be a beach bum. I've found, over the past month, that this is what I'm best at. No reason to fight fate, right?

Before I continue, I want to clear up some things.

1. I've had a LOT of people write me emails and say that they're unable to post comments to the blog. I honestly haven't a clue as to the cause of this, but if you're one of those people, just know you're not alone. Rest assured that I know that, since no one is posting comments, that no one really cares that I'm thousands of miles away. I get it. (Just kidding.)

2. I've also been told several stories about people who have said to themselves "If Patrick can do what he's done, then I can have a little adventure, too!" For this, I have nothing but praise. You should all quit your jobs and travel to far off lands. When you do, please email me the position that you're leaving as well as the HR director to whom I can email my resume. The more of you that I can talk into following my path, the better chance I have of not moving in with my parents for an extended period of time (I love you, Mom and Dad, but let's be honest...you don't want it any more than I do.)

3. I've lost the ability to upload photos. Not sure exactly what's going on, but hope to resolve it soon. Until then, you're gonna have to use your imagination. For instance, right now, I'm writing this on the back of a large orange elephant on a cliff overlooking the ocean. The wind is blowing my blonde locks back, I'm holding a crystal ball high over my head in one hand, and I'm wearing nothing but a loincloth. In fact, I imagine you really wouldn't want to see the pictures at this point anyways...

The past week found me tying up loose ends in Heredia. I finished school and now have 96 hours of formal Spanish instruction under my belt. I'm pretty impressed at what I was able to accomplish in that amount of time...I'm now able to go to any restaurant or store and competently ask if anyone is able to speak English. Ahhh...the beauty of a bilingual population.

Last weekend, I took a trip to the family farm in San Carlos. The family I lived with (the Delgado Gonzales family) owns a large plot of land that they're renting out to a couple of ranchers who are raising cattle. It's pretty much like any farm you'd see in the States, except for the jungle filled with palm trees, toucans, and more species of poisonous snakes than any other country in the world.

Fun little story...I've got a little bit of farm experience (by little, I mean more than just driving past a farm on the highway, but less than enough to consider me anything other than a city boy on a farm) and was given the opportunity to show what I knew. We were hiking in the jungle when we noticed that the cattle were on the wrong side of the fence. Someone had left the gate open and, I'm making an assumption here, I don't think the cattle had the proper identification on them in the case that they were stopped by the police. Therefore, I volunteered my services to help round them up and get them back to the proper grazing area. While Fabian ran to get help, I took it upon myself to gather the cattle in one area so we could then drive them through the gate (the location of which I was not aware at the time).

Well, when the hired hand appeared, he had a bucket in his hand and decided to walk right into the middle of the herd, at which time the cattle quickly dispersed, rendering my previous work worthless. He picked the bucket up again and set it next to the gate, continuously calling the cattle as one would a household pet. When this didn't work (to noone's surprise but the hired hand) we had to revert back to the method I had used previously.

In order to appreciate the rest of this story, there's one detail that you need to know. The area the cattle had entered was being developed for housing. (In the US, we do it a bit differently...for instance, in CR, the first things that are built are the sidewalks. Once this is done, it looks as if the bulldozers then drive over the fresh sidewalks to level the land, thus rendering the sidewalks completly useless. This explains a lot about the walking paths here in CR, quite honestly.) Anyways, in addition to fresh sidewalks, the drainage ditches have already been dug. In this particular site, this consisted of four parallel ditches, ten to fifteen feet deep, two to three feet across.

Now, what do you think would happen if two cows actually fell INTO one of these ditches? Do you think they would be able to fit, or do you think they would get stuck due to their girth? My money was on them getting stuck, BUT, as I was firsthand witness to, they actually fit quite nicely. One way or another, we ended up driving two cows directly into the ditch. Lucky for us, the end of the ditch (probably 150 yards long) had enough slope that it was possible for them to walk out. I would give anything to have a picture of the three of us looking down into the ditch, scratching our heads, and wondering what in the world we were gonna do...it was a sight to behold, I kid you not.

Anyways, all turned out well and now here I am. I'm thinking about hanging out here in Manuel Antonio for the week and learning to surf. Seriously considering taking a bus to Panama next week (really wanted to catch a cargo ship to Seattle, but just received word that there are no ships in the next two months that will take passengers the direction I want to go.)

Trying to wrap this up, but want to share something with you. As I mentioned before, I know that this will find many of you embarking on adventures of your own...in fact, believe it or not, every one of you is embarking on your own adventure (and I want to tell you how). I found myself on the bus yesterday, thinking about the events that would be included if there were a book about my life. I think that a person's story would include the BIG events...weddings, funerals, successes, failures, and the occasional stroke of good or bad luck. But in all honesty, what really strikes me as interesting, is that our lives are just as defined (if not more) by the OTHER moments in life that wouldn't make the final cut. Driving to work every day, you pass through the neighborhood that you choose to live in and drive to the job at which you choose to work. When you get home, maybe you like to sit and read the newspaper. Maybe you LOVE to sit and read the newspaper, but in reality, your evenings are spent running kids to sports practice, cooking dinner, cleaning, and wondering where the hours go.

Therefore, I suggest that if someone really REALLY wanted to know each of us on a very personal level and know who we are, they should read our "story" for important highlights, but pay the most attention to the way we live life in-between those moments. Parallel to this notion (and I ask you to take a leap of faith with me here) would be the idea that it's in these mundane moments of life that we're really truly living. If I'm to make the most of my life, I find myself thinking that I likely need to place just as much emphasis on this moment right NOW as I would any other. I think that's what it means to truly live every minute of your life. Living in anticipation of life's grand adventures means ignoring the very definition of life itself.

Now that I read back on what I previously wrote, saying you're "embarking on your adventure" is inaccurate. You've already embarked (as have I), now just go continue it.

Tortuguero

2008-04-07T15:15:00.000-07:00

What a week it turned out to be...absolutely incredible. There´s no way I´ll be able to do the trip justice in this column...if you get the chance to visit Costa Rica, make sure Tortuguero is on the list of must-see locations. I have tried to condense this as much as possible, but I´ve never been known as someone who had a problem coming up with things to say.

First of all, when I was choosing places to visit, I was advised to steer clear of Tortuguero since it´s not currently "turtle season." During the months between July and September, hundreds of Green Turtles return to Tortuguero every year to lay their eggs (the word tortuguero translates as "place of the turtles"). This is the main draw in the town, but to assume that this is all that is offered is way (way) off course.

To get to Tortuguero, a boat is necessary as there are no roads in or out of town. On the boat-ride there, I met a group of locals heading to their fishing lodge for the weekend and ended up being invited to stay at their house for the entire week. The town sits on a strip of land no more than three city blocks wide...on one side you have the ocean. On the other, a series of canals draining rainwater off the mainland. These guys actually owned a piece of land that had both ocean and canal access...if I got tired of one set of scenery, I just walked to the other side and took in a completely different view. Unbelievable...both the house and the hospitality.

It´s hard to pick out ¨highlights¨ when every minute of an entire week was filled with some sort of adventure, so I´m going to attempt to create a list of the top five experiences of the week (I´d create a top ten list but I´m afraid that my father in law, Jim Postma, will compare me to David Letterman and I´ll come up short).

5. Hanging out with the locals

Having the opportunity to meet some of the locals was a ton of fun. One day, I was walking between the house and town, and I came across a guy raking leaves in the jungle in just a pair of shorts (no shirt, no shoes, no problem). I struck up a conversation with him and he told me that he owned this particular piece of property, though he actually lived (and was the caretaker of) a neighboring plot of land. He´d been working all day in the sun and jumped at the opportunity to chat. He explained that he used to be a fisherman, but that in his "old age" he decided that he was better off doing a little farming and groundskeeping. He walked me around his fruit trees and explained that he had guanabana, bananas, platanos, yucca, and pears. He told me that he was the only one in the area that was starting to grow pears - a prized commodity locally that would bring him an extra $300 per tree per year. This didn´t seem to be substantial at first, but when he explained that he made $2 per hour ($4K USD per year) those four trees started to look pretty good. I asked if he enjoyed living in the area and he said that he really didn´t, but it was hard to pass up such good money. He said he felt lucky to have his job and his land, but hoped someday to return to Nicaragua with his family. As our conversation wound down an he started stacking logs, I asked how old he was. I about fell over when he told me that he was 72. Barefoot. Stacking logs. In the middle of a hot, humid day.

4. Bodysurfing with sharks

When we first arrived at the cabin, the guys I was with promptly jumped in the ocean to cool off (it was probably 90 degrees that day, cruising through canals in the equivalent of a floating greenhouse). I didn´t think anything of it until the next day when I was talking to a local fisherman who was fishing in the same spot we were swimming. I asked him what bait he was using and when I didn´t understand, he brought in his line and showed me. He had a live fish on a hook that was probably five inches long. I asked what kind of fish took bait that large and he told me that the abundance of turtles in the area attracted a large number of sharks. I explained that I had been swimming there the next day and the look on his face said it all...it´s the same look that we used to give to tourists in Yellowstone who were attempting to hand-feed the buffalo. It roughly translates to "what a jackass."

3. My new name: Pescador ("Fisherman")

I´ve done a little fishing in my day, but never without a pole (for the record, my brother Waylon caught a two foot long salmon with his bare hands once, but I´m not nearly as dextrous as him). The preferred method of fishing in the area is with a spool of line held in your hand with a sinker and a hook on the end, using shrimp as bait. My experience consisted of fishing off of the dock in the canal and I have to say that it was fantastic! I was at dinner with some British people I´d met that day when a kid no more than seven years old started fishing from the dock on which we were sitting. He already had one fish in his bucket, so I knew it was possible, but he wasn´t having much luck. I asked him if I could try and on my second "cast," I hooked something big. It took me a minute to bring it in and when I did, not only was he REALLY excited, he yanked the line out of my hands and took off at a full sprint...with fish and all. Just as quickly as he´d left, a local came running back with the line and fish in one hand and a pair of pliers in the other, followed by four or five more kids and a couple of adults. He quickly returned the fish to it´s rightful home and explained that I´d caught a very rare fish, though he didn´t know the name. I´m pretty sure the kids thought I was the Great Gringo God of Fishing as they called me "Pescador" every time they passed for the next week. Needless to say, I left before they had the chance to heave me in the volcano.

2. Learning to cook

I received an email from a friend back in Seattle one day and she inquired whether I had decided to take surfing or cooking lessons for the week. Having such a short attention span, I forgot altogether that I was trying to choose between the two a few days earlier (neither of which were offered anywhere near Tortuguero). All of a sudden, I had the urge to learn to do a little cooking, so after dinner that night, I asked the owner of the restaurant if she would mind teaching me to cook the following day. She obliged and I recieved a crash course in Caribbean cooking, learning how to make fish cooked in coconut milk, Caribbean style rice and beans, and fried plantaines (two types). The food was fantastic and I even learned how to make my own fresh coconut milk (I´d tell you that you just shave a coconut, put the shavings in a blender with a LOT of water, blend, then strain...but I don´t want to give away my greatest secret of all). I´ve been testing ceviche and will hopefully have the recipe perfected by the time I return. In another, unrelated and unplanned course, I learned to make a "Coco Loco"...chop top off coconut, take three big gulps of milk, fill to top with rum, and enjoy.

1. Kayaking with crocodiles and the story behind my tattoo

My favorite time in Tortuguero was spent by myself in a kayak. There are a series of canals in the area and you can rent a kayak for about six bucks a day. The first day was the better of the two (and, coincidentally, happened to be the day that I forgot my camera). After kayaking for about an hour and not seeing a single animal in trees or in the water, I started to get a little frustrated. I decided to take a little Oreo break and as I was sitting there, I saw something move in the trees. Oreos in one hand, paddle in the other, I crept up a little closer and found myself within five feet of a white-faced monkey. As I scanned the trees, I realized that there were probably ten or fifteen within fifty feet of my boat and they were using the tree above me as a bridge across the canal. We snacked together for probably twenty minutes before I decided to move on and see what else I could find. Within thirty feet, I passed within two feet of a "small-ish" (three feet head to tail) cayman. I was a little freaked out, but had been told that cayman are typically very docile and won´t attack unless provoked. Another hundred feet or so down the canal, I spotted a much larger reptile on the banks (which to this day I believe was a crocodile, the cayman´s grumpy cousin) that I estimated at around seven feet head to tail. Before I could stop the kayak, the croc (ok, likely a large cayman, but croc sounds scarier) rushed into the water and started swimming towards me. I have no prior experience in a kayak, but somehow, in an instant, I was able to flip the kayak around and paddle out of the canal at a great enough speed that I threw off a wake comparable to some of the best wakeboard boats on the market today. From that point to the end of this particular stretch of canal, every falling leaf, croaking frog, jumping fish, screeching monkey, flying bird, and butterfly fart became that crocodile tapping me on the shoulder, politely letting me know that he was hungry and would prefer having Tanned Gringo for dinner. I made it out in one piece (probably surprising no one else in the park but myself) and consider it the best adventure of the trip.

I´ve left out a lot here...hiking with poison dart frogs, adventures in waiting for boats, being lampooned on the river bank for three hours, and getting a new tattoo...but those will have to wait until I´m able to tell you the stories in person. (Ok, the tattoo tidbit was just a teaser to get you to read this blog entry, but it worked, didn´t it? Did you really think that Conservative Patrick would decide one day to get a tattoo!?)

Hand crank-powered internet...?

2008-04-01T15:14:00.000-07:00

Gotta be a quickie (not sure whether to apologize or say you´re welcome, honestly) as I´m writing this from Tortuguero in the extreme northeast portion of Costa Rica. I decided to take a week vacation from school (I´m writing the rules here, so if I want a vacation while I´m on vacation, that´s the way it´s gonna go) and found myself here. On the boat over, I met a group of people, one thing led to another, and I´ve found myself staying at their house for the week with their groundskeeper. The electricity is spotty here, so I have to make this quick. I´ll post more when I get back to Heredia Saturday or Sunday, but here´s the idea:

sun
kayak
crocodiles
off-season
hammock
lizards
tent in house
turtle
dead battery in camera
birds
new tattoo
fishing
rooster
monkeys
coconuts

More to come soon!

The Easter Bunny Doesn`t Stand a Chance Here

2008-03-24T16:47:00.000-07:00

What a weekend here in Heredia. It came in two parts...outdoor adventures and observation of local customs. Ill focus on the local customs here...my next post will be about the other adventures I had.

It was Easter weekend (hope that mischeveous egg-hiding bunny treated you all well). Easter is quite a big deal here, as I have referenced before. On any given evening, Thursday through Sunday, you could have run into a procession in one of the various neighborhoods around town. I´ve included a few pictures of one such procession.

I happened upon this particular event by accident. I got bored one day and hopped in a cab looking for something interesting. I told him to take me to San Joaquin, which I had heard had a nice small-town feel to it. He was a little confused when I said I didn´t care WHERE in San Joaquin I wanted to go (imagine telling a cab driver that you wanted to go to a suburb of Seattle, but no particular place IN that suburb). It was near lunch, so I asked him to take me to his favorite lunch spot in town.

A little geography lesson will help you appreciate where I found myself next.

San Jose, as well as Heredia and the neighborhood of San Joaquin, are nowhere near the ocean or, for that matter, any other source of potable life-supporting water. Geography lesson complete.

The restaurant I found myself standing in front of was a Sushi joint. I don´t care WHAT city you are in, there are two rules of thumb when choosing a Sushi restaurant...

1. If it smells like fish, don´t eat the fish.
2. There has to be at least one person working there that kind of somehow resembles an Asian. Doesn´t matter what part of Asia and it could be that they have a t-shirt on that has some sort of kanji symbology on it. But there´s gotta be SOME reference to SOMETHING Asian.

If fish wore perfume, this would be the world headquarters of their manufacturing plant. In other words, you didn´t have to read the sign to understand that they served fish. What´s more, I think that behind the counter, there were three Costa Ricans making Sushi, another watching (quality control obviously,) a CR woman taking orders, another taking money, and a young (Latin American) girl sitting on a crate of empty beer bottles.

I asked two questions. First, I asked if the fish was fresh. The woman taking orders assured me that the fish was fresh this morning. It took me five minutes of intense interrogation (in broken Spanish albeit) to find out that ´fresh´ actually meant that they took it out of the package today. Got it.

Next question...I asked the guy making the food where he learned the art of sushi. With a big grin, he pointed to the QA inspector and simply said HIM.

I was already there and had asked enough questions that I felt obliged to buy something, so I asked if they had any vegetarian options. Luckily, they did, and to work up the courage to eat it (seeing how they prepare it with the same tools as the FRESH sushi) I downed a beer before they brought it to my plate. Quite honestly, it was pretty darn good, considering all the strikes they had against them going into the deal. If you ever visit Heredia, you wouldn´t have trouble finding it...as Toucan Sam says...JUST FOLLOW YOUR NOSE...

ANYWAYS...the point of this is that when I returned from my journey, I ran smack-dab into one of the aforementioned processions. It was actually really cool.

It starts with a line of kids dressed in Arab-esque clothing carrying various things such as incense, oil, food, etc. Behind them are women dressed in black with white scarves on their heads. The women were in front of three life-size statues that were being carried upright on peoples´shoulders. One of Mary, one of Joseph, and one of Jesus. The statues were really life-like...one of those ¨you had to be there to appreciate it¨ kinds of things.

Behind the women were men playing drums. The entire experience resembled a death march (yes, appropriate for the event) including the drums and the look on people´s faces. They marched extremely slowly...I followed the entire procession from start to finish and it took an hour and a half. In that time, they covered a distance of approximately 8 city blocks. People lined the streets and there were all sorts in attendance...young kids eating ice cream, families where the parents were explaining the significance of the event, and elderly women with tears in their eyes. I found myself wondering what their tears signified...have you ever done that? Were they tears of gratitude...for this man who gave his life in return for their own salvation, or did the event bring to mind similar occasions of years past? Maybe when a loved one was able to attend with them or when they themselves explained the significance to their own children...? Whatever they signified, their tears were authentic and a sign that they were living in the moment, which is never a bad thing.

The procession ends in the church where the statues are marched in behind the drums. Most of you have likely been to church at one point in your lives and likely remember a crying baby. Sound resonates in churches and even more so in Catholic cathedrals (intentional in the design so as to catch young boys talking during mass...ingenious, quite honestly). So, imagine the sound of 16 drums while these statues were being slowly marched down the center aisle. As the statues neared the alter, the volume increased to the point where your heart was pounding, the drummers were sweating, and the energy in the church was incredibly strong. When the last statue reached the alter...

Complete silence. This lasted for about a minute before the priest greeted the congregation and mass began.

Pretty incredible.

Catholics vs. Christians

2008-03-18T08:00:00.000-07:00

I´ve received a little bit of education on religion here in Costa Rica and I´d like to share it with you. Approximately 5% of the population is Jewish, 60% is Catholic, and the rest are Christians. Woah...wait. Let me state that another way. As my professor stated last week when we asked her if she wanted to have a cup of coffee: ¨I drink neither alcohol nor coffee. I´m Christian. Only Catholics drink.¨

Ok. Obviously, somewhere along the line, the definition of Catholic has somehow mutated to the point where it´s no longer part of Christianity. Just to set the record straight, being Catholic doesn´t give us the right to drink. In many cases, being Catholic REQUIRES drinking! How else can one quell that little voice that we so affectionately refer to as ¨Catholic Guilt?¨ If Christians don´t drink, then they either don´t have enough rules or don´t have strict enough consequences. Either way, they obviously have it far too easy. I think I´m going to write a letter and complain.

So here we are in Easter Week, or ¨Semana Santa¨ in Spanish. On Wednesday afternoon, businesses start shutting down and won´t re-open until sometime next Monday. There´s no school all week and the hotels on the coast have been booked several months in advance. I´ve seen a couple processions in the evening with people carrying crosses and singing...very interesting stuff (and I´m told those are the Catholics, not Christians by the way). I think we´re going to hang out here in Heredia for the weekend...especially since bus service is shut off for the week. Maybe I´ll color eggs. I´ll go to Central Park and strike up conversations with locals about the giant rabbit that is going to leave me candy during the night and hide the eggs all over my house and yard.

The Christians would surely KNOW that the Catholics were wacko at that point. Must be the booze.

The Delgado Gonzalez Family...

2008-03-13T07:58:00.000-07:00

I thought I´d take a few minutes and introduce you all to the family I´m staying with here in Heredia...

Ana and Roberto are the parents and take very good care of me here. Roberto owns a plot of land here in Heredia which he sublets out to several farmers. They grow coffee in the fall and winter - tomatoes in the spring and summer. I took a trip out there yesterday...I´ll talk more about that in an upcoming article. Ana is studying network administration at a local university and is a fantastic cook. I´m not sure how she gets it all done, honestly. If she´s not helping one of the kids with homework, you´ll find her cooking, cleaning, studying, or helping ignorant language students (that´s me, by the way) practice Spanish. ¨Salt of the earth¨ people, Roberto and Ana have made me feel very comfortable in their home.

Rosaly is 20 and studying Psychology at a local university. She is quite proficient in English and also leads a very busy life. If she´s not working or at school, you´ll find her studying or doing research on the internet. She REALLY wants to go skydiving someday...adventurous at heart, Rosaly is putting in a lot of hard work right now so she can have time to enjoy some of life´s adventures down the road. She doesn´t know it yet, but she´s going to help me learn some slang phrases. With such an innocent smile, I doubt she would lead me astray. But then again...I´ve done it to others with sign language in the past...just ask Joe Schwab how to ask for a glass of orange juice...

Fabian is the youngest and, despite what this picture indicates, he usually wears clothes around the house. Currently he´s working at a local internet cafe and starting to take English classes. He´s not around much and I don´t know a whole lot about him. My Spanish is pretty limited at this point, so I´ll tell you what I learned this morning at breakfast - he can grow a beard in four days and his grandfather shaves twice a day. Sorry Fabian...it´s your mom´s fault that this is being broadcast around the world. She´s my conversation partner at breakfast every morning.

I´m very lucky to be able to have such a wonderful family welcome me into their home.

Sitting hurts, but living feels good.

2008-03-10T17:02:00.000-07:00

Spent the weekend in Puerto Viejo on the Caribbean coast and had a fantastic time. Seems that the west coast of Costa Rica (or at least the portion I´ve seen) is very dry...nearly desert-like in some places. On the east side, you find rainforests and a laid-back Caribbean culture. Seems like two different countries honestly! Very cool. On Friday, shortly after we arrived, we went to a reggae show at a local watering hole and in the middle of the concert, they were RUDELY interrupted by a sloth that decided to climb across the backdrop behind the band. The crowd started cheering and taking pictures...the band must have thought they had finally broken through to all us gringos...only to find that they had absolutely nothing to do with the crowd´s excitement.

We rented bikes and rode between Puerto Viejo and Manzanillo, about 13 kilometers. In the States, that translates to 187 miles, when you change between kilometers and miles and also take into account the condition of the roads and bikes. I can´t complain too much, however. It hurts to sit, walk, stand, and think, but I rode a bike through the rainforest in Costa Rica, stopped on the beach and drank milk from a coconut, swam in the ocean, and read a book while laying in the sun. What did YOU do this weekend? I count myself as one of the fortunate, for sure.

Which is very interesting, honestly.

I´m in a very odd place right now. I´ve never taken for granted the opportunities life has afforded me, but for the past couple years, I haven´t exactly felt like I´ve been fortunate to live the life I´ve been handed. How can one feel fortunate when they can´t share life with the one they want to most? I think I´m (slowly) navigating my way towards learning how to live life WITH Jamie...without her. By no means is this the story of my life, but it´s an important sub-plot right now.

Sounds expensive, but OK...

2008-03-05T15:26:00.000-08:00

Well, vacation is officially over. We took a bus from Nicaragua back to San Jose, CR, yesterday - in the states, it might take four hours. Here, however, it takes ten. It makes me tired just thinking about it. Apparently we somehow got on the Latin American Idol bus...it seemed like no matter what was playing on the radio, the woman next to me knew the words and was proud enough to proclaim it to everyone else. The guy behind her made fart noises with his mouth to the beat, so it was quite a show. I didn´t know who to tip, so I instead bought two beers upon arrival to try and forget the whole thing.

When we first visited San Jose, we were pretty nervous. Things were pretty run-down and the people seemed to stare at us everywhere we went. However, upon returning from Nicaragua, San Jose seemed like home. Nicaragua really changed our perspective on things...to not be run over by a horse-drawn cart and then a Mack truck all in less than a block seems like quite a luxury here in CR. Nicaragua is great - if you make it down this way, I would make it a point of getting up there for a couple days.

Yesterday, I shared a cab with Will to the bus which I took here to Heredia. I got a little nervous for a few minutes, knowing that I really didn´t know Spanish and that no one around me really cared. I have my numbers down pretty well, but got spooked by the bus driver when he told me the fare. Good thing he was honest...I handed him triple the amount of the ticket (which only came out to about fifty cents) and wouldn´t have thought twice if he´d asked for more.

I had enough Spanish to ask someone to help me find Central Park and then found my teachers waiting for me. They took me out to lunch and then to meet my host family. Ana and Roberto have two children - Fabian (18) and Rosaly (21). Rosaly speaks some English, but has been instructed to speak Spanish in my presence. This isn´t hard for Ana and Roberto - they speak less English than I do Spanish. Three hours of conversation last night resulted in me telling them that I was from Seattle, I´m left handed, and I like coffee. If you´re going to have someone living in your house, I guess those are the fundamentals that you really need to know, right?

I THINK I learned from them that they grow tomatoes and coffee on a farm outside of Heredia. But they could have just said they like tomatoes and coffee. Or that they like farms. Or maybe they hate both. I don´t know if they´re right handed or left...we´re just getting to know one another, so that´s probably coming in the next few days. Ana is taking computer classes twice a week and I THINK I´m on dish duty those nights. Again, I don´t really know. As far as I´m concerned, they´re saints for being so patient.

Things are great - Heredia is a very nice town, much cleaner than San Jose and there are several Universities nearby. I found a gym today and, again, my numbers got the best of me. I told the girl that I wasn´t really interested in paying eighty dollars a month and she was confused as to why I´d do so since the price was only twenty-five.

From now on, I´m going to try to be more regular about my blog postings. I´ll see how it works, but I´m trying to have at least one posting per week, Monday afternoons or evenings. Gotta go find some dinner...there´s a special on Big Mac´s next door...two for eighteen dollars...or something like that...

Got trash?

2008-02-29T20:10:00.001-08:00

After a couple days of surfing and hanging out on the beach in Tamarindo, we decided yesterday that we should hop on a bus and go to Nicaragua. Why not, right? There's never been anything in the news that would discourage Nicaragua tourism that I can remember...or am I thinking of the Netherlands...?

We really are in Nicaragua right now, Granada to be exact. This place is really cool...in some ways, a step back in time, but then modern at the same time. We were nearly hit by a horse-drawn cart in the street earlier today, only to survive long enough to dodge a Mack truck that was following close behind. Quite a few young tourists here and we feel completely safe. Not the Nicaragua that we all know and love from the news in the 80's...drugs carry a mandatory 10 day jail sentence and you're given three handfuls of rice and beans three times a day. Definitely enough to sustain yourself, but doesn't sound like a ton of fun.

Let's talk a bit about pollution and garbage. There's a story in which Jamie, on a family trip as a kid, saw someone throw a piece of trash (cigarette butt I believe) out their window and she picked it up and let them know how irresponsible that was. She could turn that into a full-time job here in Nicaragua. During the trip up here yesterday, street vendors would come on the bus at stops and sell juice and pastries and things (by the way, juice came in a plastic baggie with the top tied...you bite off a corner and suck out the juice). They sold quite a bit to travelers which in turn created quite a bit of garbage. Without hesitating, people opened the windows and threw all their waste paper out on the side of the road. In towns, on "highways," no matter where...this is just common practice here. It's not implausible for someone to believe that yellow plastic bags are a major crop here...they're everywhere along roadsides. I carried an empty pop can through multiple bus trips so I could throw it away properly. When I found a garbage can, it was overflowing with trash so, in the end, mine ended up on the ground too.

If you see a seagull flying around with an empty can of Peach Nectar stuck on its wing, you can blame me. Before you know it, I'll take up smoking just so I can throw the butts out the window. It's a slippery slope...

Why do they put the chairs so high up on the beach?

2008-02-26T14:26:00.001-08:00

We're in Tamarindo doing some surfing and enjoying the sun. It's 90 degrees every day, the water is warm, and the food is cheap. Today's little adventure had to do with the tide...Joe and I were remarking that the beach chairs were WAY up on the beach and I thought maybe it was due to the gradual slope of the beach - when the tide comes in, we figured it came in FAST.

Well, we ended up renting a couple surf boards and forgot about our little epiphany. We all took off our sandals and sunglasses and Joe and I went out to surf. Will and Martie were close behind and we caught some fantastic waves. Well, Joe and I were absolutely worn out, so we swam back in and realized there was far less beach than when we had started. We found the approximate area where our stuff would have been...it was under about six inches of water. No sandals. No sunglasses. No shirts.

Two valuable lessons from today:
1. Don't be stupid. This doesn't come naturally for me most of the time.
2. If you are stupid. Be sure to take friends along like Martie and Will. Before coming out to join Joe and I, they moved all our stuff up to the top of the beach so it wouldn't wash away. Whew...

As a sidenote...I ask that you keep some friends of the Mathern family in your thoughts. One of my parents' friends is having serious health challenges and was life-flighted to Harborview in Seattle (from Great Falls). They have been running diagnostic tests since this weekend to find the source of a lesion in her brain. We all experienced that torture when Jamie was being diagnosed...send some positive vibes towards Seattle for both Jan and the rest of the family.

Ninja police and the truth about toilet paper

2008-02-23T22:08:00.000-08:00

Well, we´ve all made it to San Jose and we´ll be off to the beach tomorrow. As the crow flies, it´s only two hours, but as the bus drives, we´re looking at five and a half to get to Tamarindo. I´ve heard the roads leave something to be desired...exactly what that something is and the degree to which it´s desired, I don´t yet know. Will showed up today, sans luggage. After only fifty hours of traveling including a seven hour layover in Guatemala, he´s not exactly excited that he has no clean clothes. However, it´s surprising how quickly you can make a friend forget his troubles with a cold beer and hearty meal. Plus, I told him he could use my slightly used undies in a pinch.

Forewarning...Mom, its not as bad as its about to sound.

Went out last night and walked around the wrong corner. The ninja police (so titled because of the ski masks they were wearing) stopped us with submachine guns drawn and demanded our passports. Luckily, one of the three of us spoke Spanish, so it was never really a worry that we were in trouble, but when a guy with a machine gun is yelling at you in a foreign language, you tend to take notice. Turns out they were patting down locals for drugs and the only reason we had trouble was because the stamp on my passport wasnt quite legible. To the ninja police, that implied that I was in the country illegally. Immigration eventually cleared us and the whole experience was kind of fun. I wanted to take pictures, but something told me that wasnt such a hot idea. I think it was the guns. Actually, Im sure it was.

While learning that you should have copies of your passport stamped with your date of entry is very valuable, it´s not something you´ll use every day. However, this little nugget of wisdom IS something you´ll use daily...some of you may use it SEVERAL times a day! South of Texas, absolutely NO toilet paper is to be flushed down the toilet. There´s a garbage can next to the toilet that you throw every rotten little square into. I´m still coming to terms with this...but it sure explains the horrid smelling lavatories that I´ve run into. The wisdom fountain is flowing fully open right now.

cardboard and foodstamps

2008-02-21T08:39:00.000-08:00

So here I am: homeless and unemployed.

I haven't had time to really enjoy my newfound freedom yet, but I think I'll get used to it pretty quickly. I went in to work on Monday and cleaned out my desk. Erasing the board, I couldn't help but feel like I was somehow erasing my existence from the company. I spent countless nights awake, thinking about what I needed to get done at work, emails I needed to respond to, slide decks I needed to build (one of my friends thought I should be a carpenter, given all the decks I'd built in my day...) My laptop was filled with "important" documents...and with a flick of the wrist, it was all gone.

Why did I spend all those nights awake, stressing about work? Why did I work 15 hour days, take international conference calls at 1 in the morning, and continuously go over the "woulda- coulda- shoulda-" lists in my head? Because that's what it took to get the job done. And I don't regret it a bit. I'm just glad I don't have to do it anymore. Now, all I need to do is figure out a way to make money without working. No problem!

Flight leaves in three hours from LA (where I'm sitting now). Can't help but wonder what I'll be saying in three months...

1. Remember when I used to stay up all night putting my blood, sweat, and tears into presentations that ended up never being shown because someone ended up having a scheduling conflict!? Man, life was good back then. (Maybe not)

2. Paychecks were nice. (Very possible)

3. These mosquito nets are great! Why haven't they caught on in the States!? (Hope not)

4. Another Mai Tai, please. (Best option)