Single Life Is Over Forever

It's been years since I considered myself a blogger.  My last post had something about being single for the first time in a long time and here I am writing this as someone who has left single life behind for good.

The backstory:

Coming up with a proposal granted me an opportunity for creatively showing my love.  We had already discussed marriage at length; the potential for surprises came not in the fact that it was going to happen but in the where, when, and how it would happen.  My desire to do something unique and unexpected led me to decide to tap into our collective love for music by writing and performing a song.  Despite never having written a song and not being a very experienced guitar player, I embarked on a quest to write a musical proposal.  I wanted a way to record it all, so doing it at a beach or a park was out.  My house where any recording device would be easily noticed also seemed like a bad idea.  We met at Crossbridge church and that is where we had talked about getting married.  They have a recording studio there which meant that any sort of recording equipment would be a natural part of the scenery.

How on earth do I get Xiomara to come into a recording studio to be with me while I play an instrument that she’s never seen me play before?  In comes Marcus.  Xio and I had discussed asking Marcus to officiate our wedding ceremony so it seemed appropriate to include him.  It was further fitting because he is the worship music leader at the church so it would make sense if he was involved in a “recording session.”  All I needed to do was to get him to request my presence for a false recording session to which I would invite Xio.  We met a few days before and came up with a story about recording some background music for a promotional video.  The bait was set.

The day of:

It was important to me that I gently encourage her to come to the church for this “recording session.”  I would rather put off the proposal an entire week than insist that she MUST be at the church despite her very valid argument that it wouldn’t make logistical sense.  Because of this, I had only dropped a couple offhand references to a recording session by the time the afternoon had rolled around.  The two of us had somewhere to be at 7 and I had managed to pull off an intentionally early dinner.  Just as dinner prep was finishing, I casually cast my request: “it would be great if you could come to the recording session even if you just hang out and do your own thing.”

She wasn’t having it. 

She told me she wanted to get her nails done instead.  I listened to her over dinner while she talked about her day, secretly trying to come up with a way to get her to the church if only for a few minutes.  After dinner I suggested, “what if you leave a little early to get your nails done so you have time to meet me at the church and we carpool to our evening plans?”  I was then told, “we can play it by ear but if I run late I’ll just meet you there.”  My proposal plans were being taken over.  By a manicure.  I tried one desperate last ditch effort, trying not to cross the line of forcing her to be somewhere against her better judgement.  If this didn’t work, I was going to have to push everything back another week.

“What if you leave right now?”

A little put off that I was kicking her out so soon but fortunately not looking too far into it, she agreed and went on her way.  I met up with Marcus at the church where we got everything set up and then we waited.  And waited.  And waited.  It’s amazing how antsy you get when you’re on the precipice of engagement.  We waited some more.  She wasn’t running that far behind but when you have one of the most special performances of your life and you’re more than ready to make it happen, it’s amazing how slowly the clock turns.

Finally she arrived.  With a quick hug I shuffled her into the studio, shut the door.  It was so unusual that I would play guitar that I didn’t want to give her time to think about it so I started playing almost immediately.

While still strumming and singing the closing lines of “marry me, Xiomara,” I pushed the stand away and got down on one knee.  After the final chord, I pulled the ring out and asked her to marry me.  After the unexpected response of “you’re ridiculous,” she then accepted.  So here I am, a ridiculous fiancé who couldn’t be more excited to take this wonderful woman as my wife. 

Top 10 Rugby Commentating Quotes

From last night's game against Russia, I liked the commentating so much that I started writing down all the funny quotes I heard.  Try to imagine all of these in a Kiwi accent.

10.
-...American defense looking 'slick willy.'

9. (regarding a punt from the American team)
-Fairly dusty looking effort. 
-Looked like a lame duck, didn't it?

8. (in reference to the Russian team)
-That's coming from a country that's known for tackling abrasively.
-Did we see that?  Yes we did.

7. (about an American player who had finished getting bandaged up for a small cut above his eye)
-Now they've strapped his head back together. 

6.
-...and go ahead and hit every Russian like his name's Nick.

5. (with respect to a fight)
-He's got an angry face on, hasn't he?
-Yeah, that's because he hasn't done anything.

4.
-He should be arrested for that haircut.

3.
-He got slapped!  That's why he went all agro.
-Who does that anymore?
-Well I hear women do.

2. (talking about a couple buff American fans)
-Which one's the girl?
-I don't know but one of them is on sterroids.
-They both might be, mate.

1. (from the referee to an American player after a rough play that didn't quite merit a penalty)
-You'll be picking up my laundry tab after this.


Overall, it was a phenomenal game and the US fought their way to a 13-6 victory over the Russians.
I'll post about my job later but for now, enjoy the commentating and the glorious win because it is predicted that it will be our only one of the tournament.

Milestone

I am finally back in the land of the free and the home of the brave. It's been a long time coming and unfortunately legalities do not allow me to talk about the trips. However, there are more important matters at hand, such as employment.

I am now reaching out to the doorknob of a new and exciting doorway that as of yet has untold excitement and opportunity. As with everything in life, there is no moving backwards and this will be the last time I am where I am right now. This is a massive step for me and my life is never going to be the same. Some of you may think this may sound a bit dramatic. It does, but the fact is that it IS. Up until now I have never held a real full-time job in my life. I've worked more hours than I can count in my lifetime at numerous jobs but they have all been part-time, temporary, or seasonal positions.

The job I have agreed to take is to be the general lab manager for all underclassmen undergrad marine science labs. This includes making sure labs are locked and unlocked at the right times and that equipment is where it needs to be when it needs to be there and to make sure it works properly. The other part of the job is to be the assistant dive safety officer. Mind you, the Rosenstiel School (RSMAS) has one of the best diving programs of any university in the country and I would be second in command. This part of the job includes servicing equipment, teaching boating courses, helping with classes, conducting labs, taking care of paperwork, going out to do field work (locally and internationally), and doing whatever else needs to be done. Really when all is said and done, this entire job which is a brand new position that the university is still developing is really one and a half full-time jobs. I will be a university employee and will get full benefits of faculty members. My employers want me to be available long-term, as in several years meaning that I will have to find a more permanent housing situation (no, I'm not excited about leaving the house I'm in with Rafael and Luna).

So yes, I am standing on a new frontier of my life looking out over uncharted land. As far as I can see where I stand, I'm going to have to blaze my own trail here and there, cutting through or going around obstacles and really making adjustments. I look at these hurdles with excitement and a bit of a fire in my eyes. I'm ready to tackle this job. I'm going to miss the vast freedom I have enjoyed for so long as a scuba instructor and student but this job will bring me opportunities that I can't possibly imagine. I will continue to live as I always have: stick with what I love and have the faith that it will take me to where I need to be. As long as I keep that up, nothing can really go wrong.

Spring Break!

4 team members with a Caribbean Reef Shark.  Photo: N. Hammerschlag

My legs were pressed tight against the gunwale (side of the boat) as I balanced and braced myself to pull in the line. Hand over hand, the 40 pound weight slowly came closer and closer to me while the rope tore at my tired rugged hands with every pull. From behind me came the usual words of encouragement from the rest of the very capable team while one of the members coiled the rope as it came onto the deck. The sun beat down on the clear blue water and heated our small boat, turning the sweat and ocean water on my body into a layer of crusty white salt. Heaving the weight onto the deck, I announced that the hook timer was intact. The hook timer is a device used to tell how long a shark has been on the line. When the shark takes the bait and swims away, the timer pops and begins counting. This way when we pull them in, we know how long they have been hooked and use this knowledge to decide a plan of action. If it has been on for over an hour for instance, especially for a hammerhead, we let it go without taking a full set of data.

Diagram of fishing setup

One of the team members jumped in and started reeling in the monofilament while another prepared the next bait to go on the hook. We paused as we noticed that there appeared to be some tension in the line. Curious, we all stopped to watch, hoping for the best. Since nurse sharks live on the bottom, they often take the bait and don't move so we assumed it was just another nurse. As it came closer it became clear from the shape and coloration that it could not possibly be a nurse but we couldn't quite identify it.

With one flick of the tail, the shark bolted and the one reeling it in struggled to stay on two feet. Knowing the shark was one of our biggest, all six of us quickly took action and within seconds we were all standing by: one with a tailrope, another with the cable, someone else to move the weight as needed, another to spot, and two people helping to pull in the shark. These tasks are never assigned but always get done as needed. We had become very good at recognizing what needed to be done and making sure it happened by this point in the trip.

“Definitely a tiger!” the captain called out as the shark neared the surface, still fighting and threatening to pull two of our experienced team members overboard. (Tiger sharks sometimes don't realize they're hooked and thus don't pull enough to pop the hook timer which explains why it was not engaged.) A renewed excitement washed over the crew. I wanted to drop the tailrope to help bring the shark in but there are only so many hands that can pull the line at a time. At long last, the shark was brought alongside the boat, the cable was wrapped around the body and I made quick work to slide the tailrope around the tail. The massive tiger refused to cooperate and she rolled over and over and over while we did our best to hold her in place. My hands were aching while I braced myself in the engine well grasping the aluminum rod that held the rope now attached to the shark's tail.

After a few minutes, she exhausted herself and we were able to start taking data. During this time it was decided that a couple of the girls (one being the videographer) could jump in the water with the shark so they quickly pulled their gear together. My long arms were needed to hold the dorsal fin out of the water enough to take a fin clip. After passing off the tailrope I made a split-second detour to my underwater camera to hand to the other team member in the water before grabbing the medical shears and draping myself over the gunwale in one smooth motion.

Trying to hold the shark. Photo: C. Shepard

Sharks secrete what is called TMAO on their scales and for all intensive purposes we can just consider it to be a mucous layer all over their body. For a reason unknown to me, tiger sharks have a lot of it. The reason I bring this up is that when trying to hold onto a dorsal fin to lift a several hundred pound fish up from the water as much as possible with one hand, operating medical shears in another hand, and holding onto the small piece of fin that is being cut off with yet another hand, things are complicated enough. Throw in a moving boat, raise it about 3ft from the water, and add a whole bunch of slippery TMAO into the mix and the task is rather impossible. Luckily with the help of the girls in the water we were able to take the sample and we were ready to set the shark loose.

Using bolt cutters to cut the hook is rarely a problem when the sharks are on the boat. However, it's another story when it's a 9-ft tiger shark in the water 3ft below the boat's edge with the hook lodged deep into the jaw and the boat is rocking back and forth. The professor wasn't able to cut the hook himself and needed help. Every situation calls for different measures. This time, help came in the form of me needing to scramble up to the port side, tangle myself there in the railing with my legs, dangle over the edge of the boat with my face hardly two feet from the shark's mouth, pull the monofilament taught with one hand, and grab one handle of the bolt cutters with the other to help him cut the hook. Here was yet another task that proved to be a great reminder that I am not a magician. I had to let go of the bolt cutters and monofilament to reposition myself while barely keeping from falling into the water within striking range of the tiger's jagged teeth. I settled myself, pulled the monofilament, and the professor was able to brace the cutters against the outboard side of the boat to cut the hook. A bit jaded, the shark swam slowly away, dipping under the hull and passing to the starboard side as she descended into deeper water. All six of us shared a brief moment of understood excitement, relief, satisfaction, exhaustion, accomplishment, and exhilaration before the feeling turned to the realization that we needed to make a swift hook replacement, set the bait and line, and tend to the 9 other baits in the water that needed to be retrieved.

Tiger shark swimming away.  Photo: F. Graham

Releasing bait. Photo: C. Shepard

Over the course of the 3 fishing days, 33 sharks were pulled up to the boat with a species list including bull, nurse, great hammerhead, lemon, tiger, caribbean reef, and atlantic sharpnose. Most of the catches were much easier to deal with and we handled them like a well-oiled machine. Although living quarters were tight on the 38ft boat, the trip could not have been successful if we had cut back by one person. The story above makes it sound as if I was doing a lot of the work but this is not the case. Everyone else had just as many responsibilities when a shark was on the line and it would be unfair to go without giving them due credit; I'm the least experienced member of the team after all. Anyway, I had many “firsts” during the 5-day trip to the Dry Tortugas and I apologize for not going into detail. If anyone asks, I will provide another story, but until then, here is the list:

Goliath grouper. Photo: D. Lazarre

Going to Key West
Going to the Dry Tortugas
Touching a tiger shark
Touching a caribbean reef shark
Snorkeling with wild dolphins
Catching a goliath grouper (larger than me) on rod and reel
Snorkeling with a nurse shark


Since returning to Miami from break, everything has gone my way. I found out that my cousin Claibourne had her baby, I got an A on my diving midterm which means I'll be one of the 6 to dive in the Florida aquarium in a week and a half, I used my birthday money to buy a new Halcyon backplate and BCD with Apeks regulators, and I scored a free ticket to the 4th round of the Sony Ericsson Open for Monday night through a friend of Rafael (we don't know who will be playing that match yet). Stay tuned and as I said, let me know if you want more detail on the other parts. It's getting late, this post is long enough, and I think sleep is a little more important at this point.

Young Eyes

Look into a mirror. Look hard. Stare into the eyes of the one who knows you best. Don't think, just observe and clear your mind. Take all the time you need.

Imagine yourself as a child. Allow enough time to truly remember. Watch as the face in the glass gets younger, as memories flash in front of you. Think back to the games you played, the friends you laughed with, and the dreams you had. Hear the calls of your friends to get you to come outside. Feel the wind in your hair as you ride your first bike. Smell the baseball glove when you opened it up for the first time. Taste your favorite candy on which you happily spent your entire allowance. Whatever your memories are, relive them while staring deeper and deeper in to the eyes in front of you. Remember the details of each memory. You are young. You are innocent and naïve. You have your whole life ahead of you.

Look now from within the reflection at yourself. Is this adult the person you had wished you would become? Has this person made wise choices? Do you want to grow up to be just like him or her? Would you look up to the adult staring you in the face? Think about these things. Connect with yourself. See your own life from inside and out.

We all change. A dynamic life is the only one I would ever want to have. I know that I have different values and ideals now than I did years ago and in some cases, just days ago. I would act much differently in past situations if I was put there today. This is part of growing. Embrace the change; without it you would actually be the child you were and there would be no point to try seeing yourself through those eyes because the perspective would be no different. What is nice about this inner reflection is that it's possible to step back and see where this growth is taking you. If it's not where you want to go, it's never too late to change. As Gandhi said, "you must be the change you wish to see in the world." I believe this starts with being the change you wish to see in yourself.

The bottom line here is to think. Think about yourself, your habits, ideals, beliefs, and actions. How do these things play a role in the world around you? Are you proud of who you are? As a child, would you look at yourself now and be excited for what lies ahead? Think about it.

Paradise at the Base of Desolation

In the sweltering heat, the boat set off from the pier filled with 8 divers, a captain, and a bursting sense of enthusiasm. All smiles, we moved away from the barren desolate desert of Egypt that is made up of little more than sand and rocks. It was the final dive of the day and we were all worn out from a long skill session for the rescue course. A very short thirty minutes of laughter brought us to the location of the dive and after a quick backward roll entry we found ourselves in the water. As much excitement as there was to be found, no one knew what wonders were awaiting us beneath the surface.

The descent brought the group down to the base of a large pinnacle – a monumental cone protruding proudly from the ocean floor towering like a giant above the soft sand below. The pinnacle itself though made of stone was covered with a dense and diverse range of soft and hard corals and the entire surface was alive and moving with a multitude of fish. Imagine what New York City must look like to a giant alien – glowing, bustling, flourishing, flashing, and alive in every way. Circling the pinnacle left me utterly awestruck and the dive so far had only gone on for 15 minutes. Ready to go around again, I was upset when our guide motioned us to head away from this marine wonderland.

A minute's swim led the group to a jaw-dropping sight. Another pinnacle more vibrant and spectacular than the one before. Starting at the base, we made our way around the peak in utter bewilderment. The small orange reef fish were so abundant that they looked fake. There were groupers and soldierfish lurking under every crevice. Unicornfish with their distinctive long spike on their heads kept their eyes on us as we passed as if they had never before seen a diver. Anemones swayed in the steady current and their orange and white inhabitants watched us with a defensive stare. Parrotfish with their vivid color schemes maneuvered around the corals with their smiling beaks finding an abundance of food in the environment around them. Colors on the gargantuan pinnacle spanned the entire spectrum with every shade and tint of every color being utilized.

At the top of the peak, the aquatic scene opened up to a trevally feeding frenzy. The slender bait fish stayed in a tight school near the corals seeking refuge in numbers while the trevally swooped in from the blue to catch one of them off guard. Hovering 5 meters below the surface in a swarm of reef fish watching large trevally chasing the immense amounts of small schooling fish was the cherry on top of the sundae. Not only the amount of fish themselves but the number of different types of fish was beyond measure. It was more crowded than you will ever find in a healthy aquarium. I could have easily hovered there below the surface watching the frenzy for hours but being the responsible diver that I am, the group needed to surface. I have no pictures from this particular dive but the memory will be with me for ages to come because it was one of the top 5 dives of my life. Welcome to Egypt!

What a Sensation

I'm too charged to sleep.  I close my eyes lying in my bed, awake.  What a sensation.  My bed.  At home.  In Ohio.  With my family.  Safe.

I sift through memory after memory as they pop up in my head just like the balls that decide the winning lottery numbers.  They come in short snippets, sometimes just images, other times full experiences.  Some come just as feelings while others are series of events.  Memories.  I have been gone for a year and now I’m home.  I’ve been to the ends of the Earth alone and have made it back safe and sound.  At home.  With my family.

My body is relaxed but my mind ticks through memories of the year.  Sitting on the porch in Hawai’i, the view of Arthur’s Pass in New Zealand, the Hindu ceremony in Singapore, finishing and passing the scuba instructor exam, the dogs I passed on my way to work in St Maarten, cleaning the rail on the sun deck of the yacht, and biking through the coconut farms on my way to work in Indonesia.  Memory after memory comes to mind then is replaced by another one just like leafing through a textbook and looking at the pictures, stopping occasionally to read a caption.  But now I’m in my bed.  In Ohio.

I still can’t sleep but I’m enjoying the feeling too much to move.  Everything at home is just as I left it, almost untouched.  The memories keep coming to me, almost as if my mind doesn’t want me to forget.  Everything is as I left it so my mind is afraid that I’m going to pick right up where I left off as if nothing ever happened.  It does already feel like it was a different life, like it was a different me.  As the memories float past, I remind myself that they are my memories.  It wasn’t someone else, it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t a parallel universe, and I didn’t imagine it.  I went to the other side of the world and now I’m back.  In my bed.  Safe.

As I lie awake with all of these thoughts swimming in my head, I can’t help but think of the future.  I’m excited to see friends, go to church, drive through town, and even in the more distant future like working in Egypt and going back to school.  It’s all going to be an adventure.  I’m ready for it but I don’t want to rush it one bit because I am enjoying too much the feeling of being safely at home, in Ohio, with my family, in my bed. What a sensation.

Table for One

What image does that phrase put into your mind? Table for one. Yes, certainly eating out at a restaurant, but more importantly it blatantly implies eating out at a restaurant...alone.

This phrase has been a recurring theme throughout my travels for the past 7 months. I do make an effort to eat with company but all too often I end up on my own. This theme is present not only during meals however, but also when doing anything else: booking a tour for one, bus ticket for one, accommodation for one, movie for one, always one. As long as I keep busy, the concept of loneliness is foreign. However, as soon as I'm on my own with nothing planned, it slowly creeps in from all sides.

Walking back in the dark to the hostel after an uneventful night in Queenstown, I look up at the stars. I can't help but notice how bright and beautiful they are. I think of the friendly Hawaiian waitress I just met and wonder if I should return to the restaurant and boldly ask when she finishes working, but decide instead to lose myself in thought. After all, she did imply that it would be a long night for her.

On a sidewalk on the other side of the earth, I begin to reflect on my travels. Thinking of everything I've done fills me with an acute sense of accomplishment. I have traveled across the globe on my own, found work, overcome obstacles, met new people, experienced new cultures, tried new things, had grand adventures, and have really truly been living my life. As my feelings turn from satisfaction to pride, I am pierced by the cold realization that these feelings won't keep me company. They won't talk to me, laugh at my jokes, give me a hug, keep me warm at night, or care for me when I'm ill. Every step on the cold hard concrete echoes across the vacant street filled with strangers. The streetlights stoop toward the earth trying to see what's wrong with this lone solemn wayfarer. I tilt my head back toward the sky to pick out the familiar shape of Orion and take a slow deep breath; the cool fresh night air tastes stale and dry. People pass me by in cars and on foot. They are passersby with direction, uninterested in my presence. I am a ghost.

My thoughts turn to home – to family, friends, and places. I think about Denison, about the blood, sweat, and tears that I sacrificed every night learning physics. I think about all my classmates who valiantly struggled by my side to make it where we are today. I think about the fun I had all four years with roommates, classmates, teammates, bandmates, and other friends. I also think about not only my sister and parents, but my relatives too who have vigorously supported and encouraged me. I think about what everyone else is doing at this very moment. In my head, I live the classic movie scene where a character is out in the winter cold and peers into the window of a house to find a happy smiling family sitting down for a meal by a warm glowing fire. However, as it plays out in my head, I resist the urge for inclusion, consciously turning my back and continuing on down the street as if to say “not yet, not today.”

Photo from Arthur's Pass

I truly believe that I am much happier alone on my grand adventure than I would have been staying in Ohio. The amount of freedom I have in where to go and what to do is far beyond what I would have at home or if traveling with a companion. It is that freedom and ability to be completely spontaneous that has shaped my entire journey and I don't regret one bit of it. I'm no psychologist, but I think a touch of loneliness is a natural healthy response by anyone in my position. Life is about feeling alive. In order to feel alive, you have to feel. I embrace the moments of loneliness, allow the feeling to course through my veins, and then move on with my life strangely rejuvenated. Here's to being alive.

Hitchhiker's Guide

First of all, I was waiting for the day that I reached 25 followers. I was going to have a celebratory post where I got really excited about having a quarter of a hundred people reading my blog, but then I missed it. Sure enough, there are now 27. I try to make a habit of not judging myself on what other people do, but seeing the number of followers rise is the only measurable quantity to how many people are interested in what I'm up to. Here's a big shout out to all 27 of you. Thanks a million for following my travels and keeping me company along the way!

Hitchhiking outside Christchurch

Transportation. What does the word make you immediately think of? Does it bring up images of driving in a car? Fond memories of plane rides? Perhaps a lovely trip in a boat? If you think long enough about the concept of transportation, the idea of cost might cross your mind. With gas prices soaring, there is really only one cheap way to get form one place to another. I'm sure this form of transport is equally as old as any other: hitchhiking. Can't you imagine the very moment Karl Benz started up his first automobile for the first time how his buddies must have been running after him for a free ride? I'm sorry if your imagination doesn't have as much fun as mine seems to but the bottom line is that hitchhiking is still a great way to get around today.

I am going out on a limb and assuming that most of you have never tried it before as a means to travel across a country. Based on this assumption, I will describe a few things I've discovered as a result of my experiences.

Who:
From what I've seen, it's very difficult for more than one hiker to get picked up at a time. People often have space for only one more person, so if you're trying to hitch with someone else, good luck. If there is competition, it's best to walk in the direction you want to go. Separation from the competition is the only way to get picked up.

Where:
Places where cars need to slow down are ideal such as construction zones, turns, or bridges. However, there needs to be a place for them to pull off so forget mountain roads. Getting picked up in town is very unlikely, so starting from the far end of traffic areas is ideal.

When:
It's always best to start early. Sometimes there's hardly a wait but on off days, it may take over twice the time that it would driving there directly.

Why:
It is way cheaper than any other mode of transportation. Moreover, it can be far more interesting and much more beneficial. For instance, I had my first ride on a jet ski as a direct result of hitchhiking.

How:
As seen on tv. It's nothing special. Hold the arm out and confidently stick that thumb toward the sky. There are a few tricks that are handy: facing the cars allows for eye contact, a smile goes a long way, a limp arm or thumb will only hinder, a sign with a not-so-distant location (even if it takes 3 different signs) increases chances, and continuing to walk is an indication of liveliness and determination.

Off-roading in the second ride I got

As you should expect, I have come away with some great stories. For instance, the first car that picked me up literally went up in smoke. I was taken off-roading through bush and rocky river beds (pictured). As I said above, one of the people to pick me up later took me out for an absolutely thrilling ride on his jet ski. I've been picked up by many different nationalities, a wide variety of ages, and people with quite different stories. The experience that stands out slightly above the rest however would have to be the ride I got after finishing my tramp in Arthur's Pass.

Full picnic offered to me, a hitchhiker

Two long days of hiking several kilometers through rugged terrain with a 20kg pack brought me out to state highway 73. Some 200km to my right was Christchurch, and about 25km to my left was Arthur's Pass Department of Conservation (DOC). Unfortunately although my destination was Christchurch, I needed to swing by the DOC first. About 20 minutes of standing exhausted on the side of the road, a green car that had already passed me comes up behind and asks me if I need a lift. My initial thought was “duh,” but I politely said something to the extent of “if it wouldn't be any trouble, I would certainly appreciate it.” I hopped into the back of the '78 Rolls Royce and introduced myself to the other three. Steven, a 50+ year old New Zealander was on his way through Arthur's Pass with his mother and cousin to see the mountains covered in Rata, a native flowering tree that blooms red for about 2 weeks out of the year. We started talking and it turned out that Steven is actually going back to Christchurch after a picnic lunch with the family and offered to take me all the way there. After completing my errands at the DOC, it was insisted that I join them for the picnic lunch set beneath the mountains bursting out with red blossoms. The two and a half hour ride back to Christchurch (which included a shameless 20 minute nap) was probably the smoothest and most comfortable ride of my life. Who knew that my first ever ride in a Rolls Royce would be as a sweaty tired hitchhiker?

Goodbye Indonesia

My time in Indonesia has expired. Unlike milk, it didn't begin to gradually smell putrid. Nope, not like that at all. Instead, it turned from happy to rotten in a matter of minutes. Before going into that, I'd like to write a little preface about how nice my final days were on Gili Trawangan.

First of all, the dive resort I was working for, named Lutwala Dive, is amazing. It is beautiful, has a great pool, it's clean, has an incredible view, is situated away from all the noise and tourists, and has very friendly staff. I truly enjoyed showing up to work every morning because I felt incredibly welcome and there was always someone to talk to.

Before finishing, I certified my two divemaster candidates named Francois and Audrey. Audrey finished up first and went out to Bali to begin the instructor course right away. Francois, who started later, was on a much more serious time crunch. I worked with him every day for just over 2 weeks and on my last full day on the island, we finished. That night was spent at the Irish bar celebrating the completion of the course. Needless to say, Francois probably forgot what he was celebrating by the time he went to sleep (I exaggerate).

By 10:30 the next morning, I had been to Lutwala Dive twice, signed all the divemaster paperwork, sent a couple emails, printed off tickets, paid my ferry ticket, finished packing, said goodbye to friends, sold my bike, and bought a few pieces of bread before getting onto the boat. The last boat leaving Gili Trawangan departed at 11:00 and I was on it. 3 hours later when I arrived at the airport, security informed me that I was too early to check in for my 9:45pm flight. I knew I would have to wait that long, but I was hoping that waiting would not involve schlepping luggage everywhere. This is when I realized how great an idea it was not to sell the guitar. My guitar skills are quite far from being able to play in a public space for money and my vocal ability is even worse (I'm my hardest critic, but anyone hearing me would agree I can't do it for money). However, when it comes to playing for myself just for passing the time, I'm a musical wizard. No, it's not that it sounds any better when I'm playing for myself. It is just a matter of how I connect with the sounds that come out.

6 hours pass with the sun already setting. By now, it's time to check in. The first problem to throw off my systematic and fluid journey through the airport was a woman corralling passengers through to the check-in counter. “Sorry sir, the guitar has to be checked.” Arguing quickly proved hopeless and I easily caved, being forced to pay $6 to have my $16 guitar wrapped in bubble wrap. Having this issue sorted out, I proceeded once again to check-in.

The friendly face behind the counter greeted me with a convincing smile as if to say “hello sir, I really like my job and I want to make your journey pleasant.” She was clothed in a standard green uniform with a matching hat and shiny lapel pin that glinted in the dim fluorescent lights above. My actions and answers preceded her predictable commands and questions. Everything was textbook form. Then we got to the luggage. (Marcus, perhaps this is the island's way of trying to get back at me for leaving.)

As it turns out, Jet Star, a proud partner of Qantas, has this policy. You are able to take sports luggage on the plane without a problem. Scuba gear listed under sports luggage includes bcd, fins, mask, snorkel, regulator, knife, weights, and even tanks. However, if you take these things in a bag to check in on a Jet Star flight, you will quickly find out that you cannot take anything else with you at all. The max limit is 20kg no matter what kind of luggage you have. You see, I have 20kg of sports luggage. I also have about 20kg of everything else (books, clothes, shoes, toiletries, chargers, etc). Jet Star's policy is that for every additional kilo, you pay 20 Australian dollars. After some arguing and talking to a supervisor, it turned out that it's actually 23 US dollars on an international flight. Isn't that convenient.

The poor girl in the uniform was clearly feeling helpless as her smile turned to genuine concern while she watched this bubbly lone American traveler turn into a rather upset, insistent, and panicked customer. Several times I made sure to tell her that my anger and shock was not being taken out on her at all and was certain to make it clear that she was doing nothing wrong while at the same time trying to get her to solve the problem. She was a puppet, almost completely helpless in my dilemma that was taking control of my temper. $570 was the total: more than I paid for the ticket. When I asked about canceling the flight and booking another one (listen, desperation was setting in and I needed to take serious action), she fetched me a phone number of the Jet Star office.

I kindly took my bags to abandon my stake at the counter in front of the dazed employee and retreat to an empty post. With shaky hands I dropped my bags and pulled out my phone. The first number I dialed was not the one she gave me: it was my father's cell phone. At 7:30am EST on a Thursday, my parents are probably already at work but Dad usually has his cell with him. I tried every combination of +001, +01, +1, 001, 01, and 1 preceding the phone number, but nothing worked. I frantically tried the same for my mother's cell and my dad's office (3 of the only 5 numbers I have memorized). I tried calling the number she gave me and no one picked up. One more round of every possible number to reach home and one last effort to call the office proved in vain. I was on my own. My life lines have been used up. I had to pull myself together and face the bureaucratic corporation alone.

Ripping my bags open, I pulled out another backpack and began stuffing it with anything heavy I could find. I was taking one of the employee's good ideas: take 10kg out of my bags and take it as carry-on. Most of the passengers on the flight had already checked in so I didn't have to wait to speak to her again. Heaving my bags onto the scale one last time showed that I was about 12kg over the limit and the face between the recently pressed jacket and matching green hat showed no signs of reassurance. Her disapproving and worried face brought panic back into mine. At this point, the only thing I could do short of making a scene was make it look like I planned to make a scene. The area that I was pacing widened, the tension in my hands went up, the amount of times I rubbed my face and pulled my hair increased, and the feeling of worry and panic was radiating from my body. The next thing I know is that there was a different supervisor than before standing next to my friend in green asking me questions about my luggage and before I knew it, my bags were on the conveyor toward the plane with no fee. I got a stern threat not to tell anyone [until after leaving the Auckland airport] that I had more than 20kg or else she would be in huge trouble. I thanked her a few dozen times and went on my way. If there's anything I learned from that experience, it would be that pretending to get ready to cause a scene is very effective.

During the Bali-Sydney leg of the trip, an infection broke out on my foot and while I was practically skipping onto the plane, I was forced to limp off of it. A quick purchase of band-aids and ointment were made but it would be 2 more days until seeing a proper doctor. By now, my foot is feeling much better.

Auckland is great, the people I'm staying with are wonderful, and I'm looking forward to my adventures ahead. I haven't decided whether or not to take my laptop with me (remember I can't use the battery). If I don't, I'll make sure to update every once in a while. I'll certainly take lots of photos! As always, thanks for reading and I hope you are excited about what's to come not only in this blog but also in your own lives. Take care!

Playing a Lion Being Led to a Cage

I've been having strong feelings lately, like messages from within that can't be silenced. Believe it or not my friends, I feel like I'm selling myself short. Sure I'm on the other side of the world taking 18 months to teach scuba diving, but honestly I'm not completely satisfied. Too many things about my way of life simply don't seem, well... right.

I've assessed my life here in my humble accommodation on this meager island out in the middle of Indonesia. As much as I don't want to admit it, I'm a slave to civilization, a pawn in man's deliberate quest to detach himself from natural being. Here's a list of a few brilliant inventions surrounding me that man has created to better his life over the course of thousands of years: brick, mortar, chair, bed, fan, toilet, sink, running water, pavement, light bulb, motorboat, restaurant, computer, the list goes on. All of these and other great inventions which I have been successfully trained to love and rely upon my entire life are for what purpose? Are these inventions a means to a “better” life or simply hindrances to a truer life? Let me put it straight. What are you living for? What are the most important things to you in life? Have you found true happiness or simply discovered things that make you smile?

As for these instinctual feelings I've had, here are some details. I want to get away. I want to leave the grips of civilization for a while. I am yearning to get away from it all and live where nothing can hinder natural life. For how long, I don't know. In what way, I don't know. Where, I don't know. Why it is so strong now and never before, I don't know. All I know is that these feelings are real. Are they any stronger in my soul than in my neighbor's? I propose that it is not a matter of having these feelings but rather recognizing and listening to them. Listen to yourself. Where is all of this suddenly coming from though? Is this what it feels like to get a message from God? Perhaps could it be a human instinct no different from the desire to obtain food? Maybe there is simply something wrong with me and I need to snap back into reality and sort my life out as it should be. Nay, I implore you: those who have resigned yourselves to the goals put forth by society, open your eyes! Open your minds! Listen! We are only sculpted by society as much as we allow ourselves to be. Go to school, get a job, make money, wear fancy clothes, get married, buy a house, own an expensive car, have children, teach them to do the same thing, retire, and die. Anything we do outside of that framework seems to be simply a brief break from that unalterable plan. How are we supposed to find meaning in life let alone find ourselves if we're always busy trying to stick to that program? Even I could come up with excuses all day long why someone might not want to break the mold. However not a single one is more important than following your dreams.

Did I forget to mention that a tourist died right off the north end of the island while snorkeling a couple days ago? The fragility of life makes the question ever more pressing. What are you living for?

So here I stand on the uncharted frontier of my life, a stranger to closed roads. The shackles of society around my ankles can still be heard with every step I take and the scratches on them are clear evidence of many attempts of removal. Alas, they hold strong for now. As the morning dew lifts, I stretch my arms and gaze in awe upon the multitude of options. One deep breath fills my lungs with new fresh air and clears my head. Without wasting another moment, I step into the unknown. There is no destination, but only direction: forward.

Onward and Upward

A chorus of crickets echoed across the vacant brown fields on either side of the road as if to announce the absence of all other life. Occasionally a goat would cry out in search of its mother or a rooster might call out to demand his respect, but the main players were the crickets. My bald flat tires led the way across the familiar loose dirt path that cuts through farms standing between my place and the ocean.

Favorite road through the island

I was on my way to the island's center, the location of the only hill. I spent my morning lounging on my bed under the mildly refreshing breeze of the fan until the power went out and I was forced to flee the oven I was in to seek refuge in an air conditioned internet cafe. While there, I bought a plane ticket to Singapore for the 28th of this month. My visa expires on the 1st of December and the only options of renewal are to travel back to Denpasar and bribe the guy from customs who gave me his phone number upon arrival or flee the country. Seeing as how it's only slightly more expensive to flee, it was my choice for renewal. I will obtain a legal 60 day visa so I will be set for the remainder of my time here in Indonesia, plus I get to see Singapore.

After the spending spree, the decision to climb the hill again was made so I lathered up the sun-screen, threw on a lightweight (and sufficiently dirty) shirt, and grabbed my bike. The ride takes me across my favorite stretch of road on the island, due in part to the carefree farmscapes, but also because the dirt is packed enough that I am not required to dismount and walk the bike every 200 feet. Five minutes later, I dropped the kickstand and started my ascent on foot leaving my bike safely unlocked at the hill's base.

Dry ground everywhere

It is quite clear that Gili Trawangan is going through a dry season at the moment. The bare parched earth and scraggly brush are enough to give it away. On the summit, the only respite from the relentless sun could be found under the uninviting coarse naked brush and frail trees which sufficed only for the nomadic goats. After a while of looking for a shady spot, I was met with success in the form of a small tin-roof shelter next to the cell phone tower. Across the desolate hill goats gathered in the shade of small trees conserving their energy. It is a mystery to me where they possibly find any food for survival. Sitting on the hill alone, I felt as if I had ownership. I have made three trips to the top, and not a single time have I seen a soul. It was this feeling that made me suddenly want to have an instrument, perhaps a ukulele to sit under a tree and play, play for the goats, play for the brush, the birds, the dirt, the sky, to play for the sake of playing music.

In town when I began asking around I somehow picked up a guy with a personality like velcro and he has been helping me find a guitar since then. His kindness and willingness to help is admirable, but I can't help but wonder if he really is that eager to help a stranger or is he trying to get something out of me. Is this what society has done to me? Anytime someone offers an extraordinary amount of help, I automatically become wary? What sort of a world is this where kindness is met with suspicion? I will continue to keep my guard up since it is what I have been trained to do, but the experience has not passed without being noted in memory.

Ole!

I'm writing this post after having just returned from the Lombok football championships. Sorry but I left my camera at home during the game for its own safety. My day started out lazily with some snorkeling around the shallows (daily activity since no one needs me for work right now) followed by the standard Indonesian lunch of various meats and vegetables over white rice though this time I took it to go and ate it under a tree on the beach. Then I hiked up the only hill on the island with my camera just long enough to take one single photo, realize there was a storm quickly approaching, and turn right back around. After an hour (and and a lot of thunder with maybe a thousandth of an inch of rain), the clouds dissipated a bit and the sky started to look promising.

The story really starts out yesterday when I was wearing my (very) old soccer jersey while riding my bike along the main road deciding where to eat. A man renting bikes out asked me if I play and invited me to go with him to the Lombok finals. I told him that I might, and went on my way. I thought about it that night trying to gauge how much I trusted him. When the storm clouds were rolling away this afternoon, I decided to meet up with Ali after all and take him up on his offer but when I went to meet him, his friends said he had already left. I got in touch with a friend of his named Morgan and together we caught the ferry to Lombok. The 40 minute drive to the field was particularly exciting because it was my first time on Lombok, it was the first time in over a week that I had seen a motored vehicle, we saw monkeys in a few spots on the side of the road, and the scenery was at least as good as that of the Philippines. I focused more on the scenery than on the fact that my life was in the hands of this stranger as we went careening up slick sharply winding mountain roads with our hair blowing freely and vulnerably in the wind. It was against better judgment but one of those “you only live once” situations. Plus, to be fair, he was actually a very good driver.

Morgan and I had talked a lot about how it was a big game and there would be a huge crowd with tons of enthusiastic fans so when we finally arrived to the field, to simply say “my expectations weren't met” would be a gross understatement. The parking lot was a large unkempt grassy area overrun with weeds and covered with large puddles. The foreshadowing provided by the wall of thatched palm surrounding the field provided classic irony. Upon entering the stadium, my first observations were the fact that there were no bleachers and that there was a small irrigation canal filled with polluted water that we had to step over. I kicked myself for thinking that it was going to be in an actual stadium but kept my mind open and hoped for a good game, even though there were no marked sidelines, the puddles on the field were enormous, and the grass and weeds had been left uncut for at least a week.

The crowd continued to expand after the game had begun, filling in the area between the field and the thatched wall. The game was nothing spectacular and the announcer's constant flow of indiscernible Indonesian was not helpful for me in the least. It was the moment that I looked up when I started to fully appreciate the experience. To me, this was way more than just any old game. It was on Lombok, in Indonesia. I was on the other side of the world watching a legitimate local soccer match with not a single other white person in sight. I looked up past the field, the players, and the fans. Looking beyond the aged limp thatched walls held up with bamboo I found a gorgeous sight. The sun was falling low in the sky behind me while it brilliantly bathed the distant mountain in gorgeous warm light. Nearer the field, the palm trees stood as silent spectators peering above the wall as their branches swayed in the warm humid November breeze. To me, this country has many faces. This was more than just a game: this was Indonesia.

Even by the end of the game when the championship came down to a shootout, the crowd remained shockingly reserved. It was impossible to tell who anyone wanted to win because the fans had been completely silent most of the game, the kind of eery silence you get when you walk into a dark basement. Not until the Gili Trawangan player put in the final goal did the crowd erupt. Victory for the good guys. Morgan fetched the bike and fought the crowd in the parking lot. I hopped on the back and we proceeded on our way. On the return trip, we traded one danger for another: although the sun had set, the roads were now dry. We returned to the harbor safely and made it back to Trawangan without a hitch, and now it's time for bed.

Amed

I had one of the best dives of my life in the warm waters of Amed – an hour and 22 minutes of fish, untouched corals, sharks, turtles, cuttlefish, nudibranchs, and almost everything else the sea could provide. I'm sure that because we were down for so long we drifted beyond the normal dive site to where there were no signs of any activity past or present, and that was the true gem.

I won't go into anymore detail because there is something that trumps even that dive. As I was tucking the last inch of the mosquito net in around my bed by the light of my headlamp (thanks Liza, it's been really useful!), a knock comes to my door. The rapping came paired with a female French voice urgently calling out my name. Before my mind could come up with any possible disasters that could be happening, the voice announced that there was a car of people in the parking lot waiting for me to go to a traditional full-moon ceremony. Convinced that it couldn't be a dream since I never actually fell asleep, I tell Margerie that I need to put clothes on but will be there straight away. Fully clothed and suddenly far from tired, I climbed into the back of the van filled with 4 Balinese guys, Margerie, and some French girl strangely dating one of the guys even though she met him after she arrived alone a few days ago. Weird.

About 45 minutes of talking, laughing, singing, and trying to learn Indonesian, we came to the house of the guys in order to don the appropriate attire. A sarong for everyone, with an extra waist piece for me as well as a headdress. The pictures pretty much say it all. With the seal of approval on the attire, we were back in the van and all systems were go for the ceremony.

A 5 minutes' drive took us straight to the ceremony where we walked through a sea of at least a hundred scooters and motorbikes parked tightly all in the same direction. How anyone could locate his or her own, especially in the dark, was entirely beyond my imagination. Upon reaching the ceremony, my only focus was staying with the group. I barely looked around enough to notice that there were vendors there just like on the streets of the rest of Bali. I then realized that the ceremony was more of a celebration not unlike a carnival. This realization softened the shock of what I saw next, though I am still a bit dumbfounded. There were several clumps of men, each clump standing and sitting around something that I knew must be of great importance. When I finally peered through one of the crowds packed like Times Square on New Year's Eve, I could barely make out what seemed to be a game of some sort. There was a mat on the ground like Twister in the sense that there were different colors, but this mat also had different shapes and numbers. A man would release a silver ball on a wooden board with identical marks but this one came with nearly imperceptible troughs on each shape so the ball would stop on only one. It seemed to be a game not far from roulette. The thing that struck me was the fact that there was gambling at this biannual religious ceremony. I'll be the last one to judge, but all I'm saying is that I was taken by surprise.
Wandering through the crowd, the alienation was undeniable. Children's mouths would drop in awe and even members of the older age groups could be caught doing double takes. It was not offensive; we were the only three whites that I saw in the crowd of well over a hundred. I don't imagine white people at their traditional ceremony is commonplace so I came to expect the varied quizzical reactions. I couldn't go 5 whole minutes during the entire ceremony without an audible chuckle as I replayed in my head Margerie's urgent message at my door as I was literally putting my head on my pillow. Fruit bowls were passed around in a very sharing manner. Although a bit confused, the general demeanor of the crowd was one of acceptance and not a single person was rude to us the entire time unless you count staring which I've already addressed shouldn't be considered rude under the circumstance. By the time midnight rolled around, the guys ordered a round of meals for everyone. The sauces, meats, and vegetables prepared traditionally and served over rice were all too good to pass up, hungry or not. Before I knew it, we were back at their place returning the clothes and dropped off back at our hotels very soon thereafter. Although I was exhausted, finding rest proved difficult after such an extraordinary event.

First Impressions

It is actually the 12th of November but I am post-dating this entry to fit a little more with the chronology. Just so everyone knows, I left my laptop charger in Sabang. The one I picked up in Manila doesn't actually charge my battery so I can only use my laptop when I have power. In the place I'm staying, we have power 15 hours a day at best, but usually less making it impossible to update my blog. At this point, I've spent two days in Legian, two days in Amed, two days in Ubud (all 3 in Bali), and about 6 days on Gili Trawangan (an island next to Lombok), but for the sake of the blog I'm still in Legian. I consider this enough to give some general impressions about the Bali/Lombok region of Indonesia. First and foremost, unlike the Philippines, there was no American occupation and thus English is not as common. I regularly come across people including taxi drivers, waiters, and hotel staff, that know little to no English. Sometimes it makes interactions rather interesting, and other times it makes things very interesting. Take for instance a certain taxi ride I took with Margerie and her friend Howard who was traveling with her.

We hopped in the cab and asked for a seafood restaurant from the guidebook that we thought wasn't too far, but we asked him just for a definitive confirmation on the distance. Sure enough, after 4 or 5 repetitions trying to make sure we understood each other, we discovered that it was conveniently only 150 meters away. After 3-5 minutes of driving we asked again to make sure we were going the right way and he repeated himself in a very genuine assuring tone in broken English that the restaurant was only 150 meters away to which Howard insisted he said the same thing several 150 meters's ago. At this point we decided to cut our losses and have him take us back to Legian (the region of Kuta we were staying) so we could go to Warung Yogia, a small traditional spot near the hotel. We repeat very slowly several times to the driver, “Stop. No more restaurant. No more seafood. We go Legian. Three Brothers Inn. You know? No food, just Legian. We go Legian.” We were comforted by the unsurprising response indicating that he understood where the well-known region of Kuta was located. There were doubts about the direction we were headed, but we just brushed them off since he knew the area much better and it was after dark. Nevertheless, we repeated a few more times, “No seafood. Legian. No eating. We go hotel in Legian. Three Brothers Inn. No restaurant,” to which he gave some nods and reassuring “yes, Legian”s with a “shut up, you've already said so a hundred times” undertone.

5-10 minutes later when the taxi finally stopped, I looked up a bit startled at the cab driver's expectant face as he turned to negotiate the price. Looking beyond him through the windshield, I saw the neon lights with the unmistakable words “Legian Seafood,” a fresh seafood restaurant in the middle of Kuta, not near the hotel at all. Unsuccessfully holding back laughter, I started to realize that our cab driver had honestly done his best to bring us exactly where he thought we were asking and didn't seem to be driving us all over town for more money. After Margerie showed him the listing in the guidebook for Warung Yogia on the street named Padma Utara, the driver indicated that he knew exactly where Padma Utara was, and no questioning could break the language barrier enough to find out whether or not he had ever heard of the restaurant. Like a little kid saying “I told you so,” he pointed to and read the street sign as we turned onto Padma Utara. Almost certain he had no clue where the restaurant was, the three of us begin reading every sign we saw for a few minutes, passing our hotel (where we started the whole endeavor) and other familiar spots. This went on until Margerie told him to stop the car so we could ask around and find it on foot, we payed him what we thought was appropriate (I think around $5), and began backtracking, following the directions of several locals until we came to a tiny ill-marked restaurant with a traditional Indonesian menu. After happily finishing our meals, we spent about an hour in the pool under a virtually full moon that brilliantly illuminated the surrounding palm trees.

Going beyond the language, my impression of Bali is one of great beauty and enchantment. These photos are the best I can do to convey what I have seen. As always, it's never the same as being here, but at least you get the idea.

Under the Sea

The friendly Friday sunrise washed away the gloom that had been polluting the Filipino sky for days and with it came the promise of incredible diving. I was surprised when Mark offered me a tank for the dive that was launching that morning; nothing had been set up in advance and we hardly talked about diving the night before. My overwhelming child-like enthusiasm broke loose for a brief moment when I agreed to go on the dive and began gathering my gear. Being my first dive in the Philippines, I had no idea what to expect.

When I first hit the warm water and began looking around, my hopes were very quickly deflated; all I could see was blue. We gradually descended and through the dark blue I began to make out shapes. A large rock took form, then an enormous sea fan, another rock covered in coral, then a school of fish. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of a flourishing aquatic world full of life and color.

Small prairies of soft pink corals swayed lazily back and forth. Bright yellow and white fish surrounded me with wide eyes making them appear to wonder what sort of creature I could be. I was so focused on a little nudibranch glowing with yellow and blue nestled between masses of gorgeous feather stars that I nearly drifted directly into a sea fan wider than myself. The large rocks rising from the gradually sloping wall boasted a vibrant parade alive with colors and shapes I could never have imagined. Every inch of the wall was home to some creature or another; not a single vacant crack or crevice could be found. Gliding through the water and hovering motionless inches from the corals, I floated through the watery world as freely and gracefully as a ghost though as inconspicuously as a monster truck in a bumper car arena. Leaving the wonderland was disappointing but the ride back was nearly as beautiful.

During the few minutes’ ride back to the dive shop, the boat passes by the coastline that now defines the Philippines for me. The hills that rise out of the water transform from beautiful reefs beneath the surface to vibrant palm tree forests above it; hardly any land can be seen through the dense tree coverage. The contours of the jagged green coastline make it no surprise that the Philippines ranks 5th in countries with the longest coastline (despite its small area). Back in the dive shop I rinsed off my gear and prepared for the next dive. This is why I moved to the other side of the globe. This is what I love. This is the life.

Sink or Swim

The first two nights in Manila (capital of Philippines) were made spectacular by the Fajardo family. I owe them big time when I come back through there on my way out to Bali (or if I take a weekend visit to Manila). Their hospitality was more than I could have asked for.

Manila to Sabang: the epic journey.
I pulled into the bus station and squeeeeezed onto the bus like a Sherpa with a huge bag on my back, an enormous duffel in one hand and my full backpack in the other. Picture an elephant trying to mingle with gazelles. No one seemed to be too concerned about me, but the looks I got were unmistakable: genuine surprise and disbelief. I made my way to the back and assumed the position of the lonely traveler pensively gazing out the window as a real-time slideshow of a land unknown unfolded before his eyes. Before long my thoughts were interrupted by a 60-year old retired Filipino military sniper who called himself Adorico. Through a very thick accent spoken from a mouth lacking several key front teeth, I learned about malls, factories, military, and his current trade: real estate. Nearly an hour went by before my new companion kindly motioned to the exit, shook my hand, wished me the best, and left me alone to wonder weather the rest of the country was equally friendly.

Sinking back into my position by the window imagining what experiences lie ahead, images of trees, villages, stores, fields, shacks, cars, and people flashed past. Every turn of the wheels marked the farthest from home I had ever been. Like a child making his first jump from a diving board, peering over his unstable toes at the water far below, I wondered if this was really what I wanted to do. Will I be able to find a job? Will I make any friends? What if I get robbed? Will there be any places to live? What do I do if no one will hire me? These ringing questions turned into faint echos as the bus rolled to a stop in Bantangas Pier at which point I needed my mind to be as sharp and focused as possible.

Off the bus I was met with suspiciously friendly people whom had evidently been waiting in Batangas all day long for me to arrive so they could bend over backwards to carry my bags, lead me straight to the ticket booth, and practically hold my hand all the way to the ferry. I may be trusting but I'm no fool. After fighting a few of them off I followed everyone else conveniently to the ticket office. I was in for an unfortunate surprise; the waters were too rough for the ferry straight to Puerto Galera so I had to book a seat on the ferry to Calapan a couple hours later. By the time I picked a seat on the ferry I had walked at least half of a mile while climbing 4 flights of stairs schlepping a full suitcase on my back, a loaded duffel in one hand (each one 50-60lbs), and a bulging backpack in the other. My arms were on fire from straining to keep everything together and sweat was pouring from my face. I was able to make it all the way not by physical endurance but by adrenaline and the realization that if I didn't make it to that ferry then I would be stuck in Batangas with no one to turn to for help.

The man next to me talked to me for a while along the way. He turned out to teach English and was very interested in American education and economics. However I got a weird vibe from him and declined his offer to swap phone numbers. I made eye contact with another passenger about my age and when he hung up his phone he sat down to chat. I reminded myself to be cautious around strangers but couldn't help feeling comforted by his friendliness and seemingly genuine character. I got his number and then Bong introduced me to his three friends he was traveling with. As the ferry pulled into port, he told me that my destination (Sabang) was along the way to the place they were staying and that a buddy of theirs was going to pick them up. I cautiously agreed to travel with them and a new adventure began.

I Have a Plan ... kind of.

My plan has yet to include securing housing and having a visa, but it does involve having plane tickets. As you can see from the map, I'll be in the Philippines from the 6th of August until I leave for Bali at the beginning of November.

I don't know a single word of the language, I don't have a place to stay, I have not figured out what to do for transportation once I arrive, there is not a single person there whom I've ever met, I don't know what the food is like, I am clueless about the culture, and I have no idea if I need any vaccinations or medication. I'm not just taking a little road trip vacation to Florida. I'm moving across the world to the Philippines completely on my own. If there has ever been a time in my life that I've been out of my comfort zone, this trip is going to blow it out of the water.

Am I excited? Absolutely. I'm ready to tackle whatever challenge comes my way and adapt to any situation.
Am I nervous? You bet I am. I'm closing my eyes, climbing to the edge of a cliff, and taking the biggest leap of faith of my life. This year is going to be amazing and exciting. I'm going to learn more than I ever expected about other parts of the world and come back with more stories than I'll be able to remember (thank you Blogger.com). However, it will not be without tremendous challenge.
In Him, all things are possible.

These are a few of my favorite things

I am generally a happy person. Do you want to know what makes me stay so happy all the time?

The smell in the air after rain
A child's laughter
That last spoonful of ice cream
Sunrise
Sunset
People letting me pull out in busy intersections
Playing music
Climbing trees
Stopping to listen to the birds
White puffy clouds
Raucous thunder storms 
A bag of candy
The way grass smells when it's cut
Mist beneath a waterfall
Warm clothes fresh out of the dryer
Hearing (and understanding) French
Listening to a good story
Telling a good story
Wind blowing through my hair
Seeing people smile
Making people smile (SO underrated)
Soft grass beneath bare feet
Incorrect translations
Dreaming
Folding a pair of pants without creases
Playing ultimate frisbee
(Not getting clobbered in the face)
The smell of air blowing over the sea
Watching lizards catch bugs
Making the first footprints on a field of pristine snow
Seeing sharks
Walking into a clean house
Coconuts
Seeing birds glide through the air
People standing up for something they believe
Hills on the road that make you feel weightless
Being outside instead of in
Cold shower on a hot day
Hot shower on a cold day
Fresh bread warm out of the oven
Lying down looking up at the stars
Knowing I tried my hardest
Green lights
Licking batter from the bowl
The phrase "hakuna matata"
Swinging on a hammock
The last puzzle piece
World maps
Just the right lighting for a photo
Telling people what I really think
Open air markets
Randomly breaking out into song
The purr of a cat
Oldschool Mario on the original Nintendo
Driving stick shift
Making people laugh
Knowing the lyrics to a song on the radio
Jumping on a trampoline
Changing highway lanes without hitting the reflectors
Head, shoulder, and/or back massages
Getting lost in a beautiful painting
Well-deserved naps
Being inexplicably slap happy
New can of tennis balls
Personal letters in the mail
Imagination
Wishing upon a star
Autumn leaves
Singing as loud as I want in the car
Riding my bike down a hill
Landing on the mat and not having to put the bar back up
Waking up before the sun
Sleeping in
Palm trees
Being with family
The sound of waves against the shore
Hugs
Collapsing into bed with eyelids too heavy to keep open
The beauty of math
Watching ants march
Scratch and sniff stickers
Being able to run
Head massages (yes, it's worth listing twice)
Getting responses to messages/emails
Physics humor
Being under the sea
The thought of living in another time and place
Thinking completely in music without words
Finding the 20 dollars I left in my pocket when it appears in the dryer
Grace and poise in animals
The perfectly timed sarcastic comment
Learning a new instrument
Cool accents
The excitement of being in a new place
Waking myself up by laughing in my sleep
Finding out the girl you have a huge crush on likes you


Remember, it's the little things in life that can make a world of difference. Don't forget to smile for no reason and laugh until you cry as much as possible. There are certainly appropriate times for stress, sadness, worry, and struggle but there are too many incredible things in life to remain upset. (All of these things are easily trumped by the good news of the New Testament, but that's a whole other post for another time.) Keep an eye out - I'm going to make additions to this list with no warning at all.

Instructor exam starts tomorrow (Sat) morning! I think I'm ready so it should be fun. Time for some sleep right now. Cheers!

Taking on Water

The rain felt like popcorn kernels being hurled at us, pelting our skin, soaking our clothes, covering the deck, and obscuring our vision. The strong winds came in gusts as if trying to catch us off guard while being pitched like a toy boat by the choppy white-capped water all around. Looking up, I could see one tiny blue window in the expanse of ominous rainclouds dominating the sky. I took a breath and allowed my mind to imagine reaching my hands into that hole and ripping it open, pulling away the blanket of darkness. The clouds would give way to a beautiful bright evening with the setting sun casting its warm light over the steep green mountains and then reflecting across the crisp blue water. The moment was cut short when a wave washed over my already drenched feet snapping me back to reality, and not a moment too soon. On cue, everyone prepared to tack and as soon as the sails began to luff we immediately set to work moving, tugging, releasing, pulling, bracing, cranking, and cleating with utmost speed and precision, unhindered by the rocking of the boat or the pelting rain from above.

I didn't hear the results, but I honestly had a great time sailing tonight. Kimo, the captain, is very fun to sail with and he managed his 4-man crew tonight very well. We had a great group dinner afterward (everyone brings/cooks a dish or two). I intend to continue helping him out every Thursday even when Meg goes back to the mainland in July. I love sailing.