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The clouds had parted and the wings of our plane began to dry. The very first thing I noticed was that “I wasn’t in Kansas anymore”. Gatwick Airport had green pastures on both sides of the runway. Unconcerned cows looked up at our passing plane. This was a total contrast to the cement landscape we left behind in LA. …
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We arrive early into Istanbul but were without coinage and to compound our dilemma that day was the Sabbath. All the exchanges in the station were closed. We walked across town and ended up being directed to a major hotel in the area, but they would only exchange money if we weren’t guests of the hotel. “Get a room and we’ll exchange money for you” the receptionist repeated to us twice. The only other option we had was to charter a taxi to the airport, but the taxi wanted to double charge for having two occupants. So Jenni went to the airport while I stayed behind and watched the bags in front of the hotel lobby. …
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One night at Mik’s place while passing around the pipe, he weaved stories of sprits possessing the trails between the white horse and the many rock circles heading north. I could almost visualize these images he was painting and hear the pounding of drums in the wind, as I focused in on the flames dancing with the beat. …
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We woke to another picturesque day and it wasn’t till we began driving the Ring of Kerry that we realized it was also a lucky day. We were heading clockwise, south to north and every possible tourist and circus was traveling in the other direction. This gave us the ability to stop and enjoy the scenery and not second guess our place in line or force us to let others dictate our pace. …
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Sometimes when I take photographs I place more value on where I am standing than what I am looking at. In Rouen I stood where Monet stood. I preferred the light and shade of a subject, the dark spaces that define its character and capture the surroundings of the moment, revealing its alternations. That evening’s twilight was a symphony colored in grey and rose that I watched as I waited for the sun to set. …
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I had earmarked a hostel on the outskirts of Siena but the travel guide didn’t provide a good description of how to get there. I asked a young lady who was sitting across from me on the train if she knew the best way to reach this destination. She made a few attempts to explain but probably the combination of her hearing herself and the expression on my face persuaded her to just show me, so I followed her off the train. …
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I found a good cup of coffee on the square in front of the Duomo, sat there and caught up on my journal while I watched Milan wake up around me. The morning light danced past its arches onto the adjacent building. It was a breathtaking sight, absolutely gorgeous, a very unique structure. I spent some time queuing inside and then sat along the edges of the square. I discovered an excellent restaurant just not far from the Duomo and relaxed to a bottle of wine. …
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We traveled into Cote D’azur, then into San Remo. The weather was just perfect. It couldn’t have been any better with the white sand, blue water and cypresses dancing in the breeze. Another day beckoned us to swim. We stopped off in Ventimilia in search for an open bank. There too we hung around the waterfront and just let the days slip away. We arrived in Genova late one night and ran into a bit of difficulty locating a room. This is par for the course. …
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I woke to what I thought was a scream. Eventually I realized that it was the manager of the hotel yelling at somebody. Apparently Dawn had spent the night with a young man who got himself caught on his way to the bathroom. That was the sign I needed to change locations and find a new room closer to the restaurants. I managed to locate a much nicer room directly across the street from what I had labeled the best restaurants and it was a whole lot cheaper. I guess this time I didn’t to have to compensate a taxi driver. …
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Like a string of pearls, one complaint began to lead into another. One minute it’s the weather, next minute it’s the price of food, carrying too much shit and then it was his feet. “I’m not walking any further, maybe I’ll just fly home”, confronted Jim. I reminded him that I was not his mother and if he thought I wanted to hear this shit, he had bigger problems than just his feet. “Nobody’s putting a gun to your head and you don’t need my permission to make choices”. I explained that I was not budgeted for repeating every other step and had a plan of what I wanted to see and experience and sometimes those things aren’t at the end of a train line. “I’m committed to go forward and if you find it in your best interest to detour, I’m more than willing to meet you anywhere else on the map”. “There’s no rule that says we have to do everything together”. I provided an example of picking up women. “I expect this to happen along the way and when we reach that fork in the road I’m sure you’re not going to be wanting me hanging around as a third wheel or vice versa. We’ll just meet up someplace down the road”. I tried to be a good person and attempt to avoid confrontations but traveling together has a tendency to bring these things to the surface. Conflicts start and end with words.
Surely I dreamt today, or did I see. I wandered in this forest thoughtlessly
the clever boy that I once knew; with pebbles white and bread crumbs too
left no trail and lost my way, where all my pictures were thrown away
Through the forest, in the middle of a glade, forever nagging to persuade
no plank or bridge was placed in sight, only fists clinched as if to fight
the wind, the wind has caused me harm; you pulled too many false alarms.
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I was intrigued with the works of Escher and understood there was an exhibit in the Hage, so I persuaded Jim to board a late train out of Luxembourg. We arrived in to Rotterdam even later. There didn’t seem to be anybody but the two of us, the streets were virtually empty. We wandered toward the lights advertising vacancies and pounded on doors until one finally opened. The price the gentlemen in pajamas requested was outrageous. …
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We found ourselves a small room above a bar not far off the main square of Brugge, claimed ourselves bed, dropped off our stuff and hit the local canals for a little sightseeing. We roamed among the flower vendors, chocolate shops, lingered behind a cup of coffee and smoked a cigarette while standing on a humped-backed bridge. I enjoyed the mood of the weeping willows and gazed endlessly at the reflections painted by the water. …
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I woke with that taste of too many cigarettes and one too many beers and wandered toward a morning coffee before it was back on the road again. We started down the coast searching for another room, kind of back tracking over the previous day’s plans but we ended up in Monte Carlo instead. It had just begun raining as we headed up one of the steep hills looking for shelter and a cup of coffee. We sat down alongside a window and while we sipped our coffee I noticed a motorcyclist get hit from behind. …
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I enjoyed traveling on trains through the darkness of those mountains. When there was nothing else to do and I was tired of writing, I just stared at the passing shadows from the darkness of my compartment. I reached Lausanne early in the morning and walked into some confusion. Apparently the airport in Paris was on strike and that had a domino effect across Europe. Every form of information service had a line leading out its door. I noticed a young Finnish girl waiting in one of those lines. …
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Over the years I’d met so many people that believe, believe in their personal God. When I would seek answers, ask questions, express an opposing opinion or different view, or anything that might contradict their belief system, they would jump into a defensive or offensive position, a position of judgment. …
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