Something Beautiful

Saturday morning I was taken to the Salt Lake City airport where I spent my last bit of time with my family for what will be at least 3 months but likely at least double that.  It was a good time but really quite self explanatory.  I made it to my gate and characteristically chose to be one of the last passengers to board, found my seat, and got settled.  The captain announced his intentions for routing us around Colorado due to some turbulence there and the general consensus from the cabin was that no one really cared as long as we reached our destination on time.  The last passenger boarded, the captain announced that we were cleared for our new flight plan, and we eventually started making our way away from the gate, a move that lasted all of about literally 20 seconds before we hear the captain telling us that for our new flight plan we need about 1000lbs more fuel so we have to go back to the gate to refuel.  After about 10 minutes of fueling he tells us that we need some clearance and a little bit of paperwork before we can go anywhere at which point the sentiment from the cabin was something along the lines of "what the heck were we cleared for 15 minutes ago and why does that change after re-fueling??"  At any rate, we finally made it off the ground about 40 minutes behind schedule.  After a long week of skiing I had anticipated sleeping during the 2-3 hour flight to Dallas but I decided to delay my sleep during take-off due to the beautiful mountains seen through my window.  Keep in mind, living in the flattest state in the country I am completely deprived of mountains or even hills.

What I saw with my face pressed against the little airplane window was breathtaking.  It started out with the mountains that rose up from around the city of Salt Lake.  Rugged masses of land shot high up into the air with small bits of white snow on their peaks.  These mountains merged into others and they gradually changed shape and contours as we cruised past far above them.  My idea of isolation was restructured as I watched paved roads run for miles over the landscape weaving around canyons to stay on flat ground.  Occasionally a rooftop would glint in the sun for a few seconds and then disappear into the rocky panorama as if it was never there at all.  I took time to imagine myself out on those roads either coming from or going to civilization.  It seemed completely solitary out there.  I was spellbound as shallow rivers that fed from mountains snaked along in valleys they had cut out over hundreds of thousands of years.  I was mesmerized by the plateaus that would drop off vertically on one side and rise up to a tall summit on the other.  My eyes became tired as I did everything I could to stay awake staring at the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.  Eventually my body could hold out no longer and I woke up to the captain announcing our descent into Dallas.  When I looked out the window, all I saw was a vastly expansive plain with evident signs of farming.

The Dallas airport was much less interesting this time around.  I neglected to mention it before but on my way to Salt Lake City I had a 1hour 50minute layover in DFW and managed to meet up with Christina for almost an hour outside of security.  It was a real treat to see her again and made my Dallas experience extra special.  Unfortunately on my way back I got off the plane and literally ran to my gate and made it there as soon as they called my zone.  It was neither special nor fun especially as compared to my previous experience.

The last leg of the flight was enjoyable because in the final 30 minutes I looked out the window and saw fireworks bringing sparkling life to the land below us.  It was a cool perspective on something many of us are very familiar with.  I wouldn't say that it was necessarily better to see dozens of firework shows at once from a distance than it is to see one show close up, but it was a new and interesting perspective.

Dominique picked me up and took me to a friend of her's house and at about 11:30 we all went to Sandbar to bring in the new year.  Happy 2012!!

Up, Up, and Away

This is going to me my last or one of my last updates in a while. I’m writing this in the plane from Charlotte to Houston after narrowly avoiding (or at least minimizing) some serious concerns. It started last night when I had a massive list to complete (complete academic registration, check health insurance, sort out birthday gifts, book a flight, finalize packing, etc). As I was double checking the finances, I discovered that the credit card was missing. I tore apart my bags and searched them to no avail. It was about 11:40 and I debated for a solid 5 minutes whether or not to call the “travel phone” which is always with someone 24 hours a day. Ultimately I decided it was better they know sooner than later and I ended up calling much to the dismay of a particularly sleepy office staff. She assured me that everything would be fine and made me feel a bit better though still overall I felt awful for calling. Not only did I disturb her so late at night, but I have already started the trip on a shaky foot. In retrospect, I could have called from Houston but I was running on about 3-4 hours of sleep from the night before and trying to deal with losing a credit card so give me a break.

Anyway, I finished all that I could do last night, got a 2 hour nap, then made it to the airport on time without any problems. Within two minutes of walking through the doors however, I was informed that my flight was delayed and I wouldn’t arrive in Houston until after my flight was scheduled to leave for Belize. Luckily they had another flight to Belize leaving an hour or two later and booked me on it. All was well until we had to deal with the congestion from several delayed flights and didn’t get out until 45 minutes after the re-scheduled departure. The captain said that we would be arriving at 10:30 (thus missing my 10:20 departure) and most of the flight was spent telling myself (and fully believing) that everything would be perfectly fine even if I didn’t get to Belize for another day. It turned out that the captain had neglected to account for the change in time zone giving me another hour. I’ll now have 15 minutes to get off the plane and find my gate before boarding starts. If that’s not enough good news, I’ll be arriving in Belize right about the time another group comes in with a friend of mine so I’ll most likely be able to see them.

Here’s to a fantastic summer - setbacks, delays, problems and all. You can never eliminate every obstacle but you can decide what will be the best way around them.

Exit Strategy

I didn't get the chance to post this right away when it happened, then I simply forgot about it since then. I'm post-dating this update so it falls properly into the chronology. So although it's about 3 weeks late, here's the story of my eventful voyage from Sydney to Sint Maarten.

Knowing I could find the cheapest ride to the airport via shuttle, I searched the internet for the cheapest ones. Twelve Australian dollars was the total for a shuttle called JetBus that would pick me up at the door and take me directly to the airport – much better than the 40+ dollars for the cost of a taxi. Accounting for an hour to make the 45-minute drive to the airport, two hours before the flight left, and another 30 minutes in case traffic was very bad, I told the shuttle to arrive 3 hours and 15 minutes before my flight was planning to take off. Twenty minutes after they were supposed to pick me up I rang the company to politely ask what the story was and to see when I would be picked up. After being on hold for no more than a minute, the man on the other end said the driver was 15 minutes away and coming to pick me up now. 30 minutes later, I call them back and sternly asked where my ride was. He paged the driver and told me the street he was on and said he would be there in about 5 but no more than 10 minutes later. At this point Steve saw me getting a bit uneasy and demanded we play cards. 15 minutes later I hear a car honking at me across the street. I threw my bags in the car and after saying thank you and goodbye to Steve, stepped in the back seat for a very awkward car ride.

As he was an hour late, I really didn't feel like speaking to him at all and kept every conversation to a minimum. I told him where I needed to go, what airline I was going on, answered a couple of his questions in about 3 words or less, and left it at that. I didn't really care about anything else he was saying and frankly as a customer I didn't want to hear it. Throughout the trip, he openly admitted that he wasn't going to take this job but had a friend coming in on a flight and thus decided to take it so he could meet his friend at the airport and make some money along the way. In light of the heavy traffic, the driver said that he would take the back roads. This was fine by me until he admitted that he was doing a bit of guess work. He felt comfortable guessing from his 11 years of taxi driving experience in Sydney... which ended 16 years ago. It would have also been fine had he been using GPS or a map. It might have even been alright if he wasn't cursing the other drivers on the road and making U-turns. I might have even gotten out of the car somewhat satisfied if he'd looked for the airline entrance for more than a few seconds before telling me that “that's good enough, it shouldn't be too far from here.” Because I accounted for so much extra time, I checked in and made it to my gate with a few minutes left over to watch some olympic curling before boarding.

I managed to have an open seat beside me on the way to Honolulu and was therefore able to sleep on the way there. I already wrote about getting in touch with people in St Maarten and eating sushi with Meg and Conor but I didn't mention that the airlines had lost my guitar. When I got onto the plane that evening bound for Charlotte, it was the same story – another empty seat beside me which is always conducive to sleep. By the time I made it to Charlotte the next morning, the temperature was 31F and about 90% of the people in the airport were wearing heavy winter coats and gloves as opposed to my shorts and (thank goodness!) thin sweatshirt. Anytime a door would open to the outside I would bundle up tight and rub the exposed skin on my legs to keep warm. It wasn't until the plane took off that I was finally at ease again about the weather, knowing that I was on my way to sunny blue skies.

At baggage claim, I filled out a form for my missing guitar giving them all the information I had in order to get in touch with me. The crew house I ended up in had an ample amount of beds so I grabbed a bite to eat and settled in for what I thought was only going to be a short time before finding an apartment.

Dawning of a New Age

For about a dozen years, I have looked at life through a particular metaphor. I've never been much of a surfer but I know how powerful and impressive waves can be. The way I have seen it is that you have a surf board and every obstacle in life is a wave. Either stand up and take a glorious ride or bob up and down watching all the excitement of life pass by. Of course in deciding to ride a wave, there is a serious inherent danger of falling off and being churned around and eaten up alive completely at the mercy of the raging waves.

I've been silent about many serious apprehensions about moving to St Maarten. My biggest worries have been seeded in lack of communication, not knowing where to stay, not knowing who to talk to upon arrival, and not knowing where to look for work. Unlike my preparations in moving to the Philippines and Indonesia that involved sending out about 50 emails each, I have only contacted one person in St Maarten, and he is currently on holiday in France. When I tried to phone the crew housing (budget housing geared toward any crew members working on the island) before leaving Sydney, none of the three numbers resulted in an answer. Going to Gili Trawangan, I was not worried about finding a place to live: the island is set up for backpackers and I found a place my first day for $100/month. From what I've heard about St Maarten and the other Caribbean islands, cheap hotels can go for $200/night. Needless to say, the lack of certainty was terribly daunting as I packed and geared up for my marathon flight.

Upon arrival to Hawaii, I stuck to my plan of immediately finding a phone to call St Maarten. After a 30 minute quest to find a phone, I was able to convince the crew at American Airlines to let me use their private staff room to make the calls. As if it was written, it wasn't until the third call (remember I was given only 3 numbers) that I got an answer, but boy what an answer it was. The woman on the other end of the phone informed me that her crew house was full but upon asking if there was another place I could stay, she offered to personally find me a place to stay and set me up with an address to give customs upon entry into the country when filling out the arrival paperwork. The plan was to call her upon arrival in St Maarten and find out where to go. I promptly got in touch with my cousin Meg (thanks again to the generosity of my new American Airlines friends) and organized to meet for lunch. Meg is the cousin I lived with for two months in Hawaii while her husband Conor was in Afghanistan. Thankfully, the three of us we were able to meet up for about 45 minutes for sushi near the airport.

I was so happy that I was practically dancing through the airport. Every detail is falling right into place. Boy did I ever catch that wave. I am riding one of the biggest meanest curling waves of my life with joy and excitement pumping through my veins as I stand on my board like a professional accepting all risk and embracing every bit of the exhilarating ride.

Thunder Down Under

As with my last update, I feel as if I have to cut things a bit short. The good thing is that I'm sitting on a plane right now with nowhere to go. I'm a captive writer. Here's a run down of the notable things that happened while in the land of the most dangerous spiders, snakes, jellyfish, and sharks.

One of my first excursions around the city was to the Sydney Wildlife World. Here over 130 species of native Australian insects, spiders, mammals, and reptiles call home. Most notable are the world's deadliest snake and spider, a massive crocodile, koalas, and kangaroos. Petting and getting a picture with the absolutely adorable koalas required dropping 20 dollars which I was not keen to do, especially when the guide said admitted that they don't like people touching them. However I must have looked particularly special when I went to see the kangaroos because after waiting about ten minutes for the guide's talk and listening to the whole thing, he told me that I alone could come in and pet the one that had come over for food. It was not only the first time I ever remember seeing a kangaroo but certainly the first time I've ever touched one. Coming away from 3 hours of seeing native Australian creatures left me feeling that it was time and money well spent.

My housing was quite peculiar during my stay in Sydney. For the first 3 nights, I was happily in a cheap backpacker's not far from the city. The intention was to spend that time finding another equally or less expensive place but I ended up just deciding it was too much hassle. When I went to book a room for the rest of my stay, it turned out that between the AC/DC concert, Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras, Ultimate Fighting Championships, and the Chinese new year, they were full for Saturday. It didn't take too long to figure out that literally every single backpacker's within a 40 mile radius was completely full for Saturday and Saturday alone. Considering my options, it turned out the best I could do was about $100/night. It was then (Thursday night) that I started frantically sending out emails to everyone I knew asking for a place to stay. I was honestly prepared to sleep on a park bench. The following morning I got an email from Shavely (sha-VEL-ee), a Denison student studying abroad here, that I could stay at their place on a couch and I immediately took her up on the offer.

Later that night, I was hanging out with the study abroad group in their apartment. I didn't think anything of it when the doorbell rang and 3 people came in. One of the three was a curly-haired guy who introduced himself as John. It was odd because I thought he looked incredibly like a John that I knew from Denison but certainly couldn't be the same one since this was in Sydney. Upon asking where he was from, he answered Pennsylvania. I had forgotten where the John I was thinking of was from, but I went out on a limb, looked at him, and just said, “Auerbach? John Auerbach?” He looked at me in bewilderment and I knew at that moment that it was he. The rest of the night I spent in shock that a guy who went on pre-orientation with me to Washington DC and spent two years at a tiny school in the middle of Ohio could end up in the same place on the other side of the world. We reminisced for a while about different people we both knew and it was amazing. Unfortunately I, of all people, didn't get a picture. Rats.

The famous Sydney Opera House

Another activity high on my priority list was to see a concert in the Sydney Opera House. I had seen the structure from the outside but decided it would be more memorable to actually go to a show and see it from the inside. Unfortunately I missed my opportunity to see a proper symphony in the concert hall but managed to snag a ticket for Lady Carol, an Irish ukulele player/singer. It took me an hour to get there by bus (instead of 20 min) thanks to the New Year celebration thus I was about 5 minutes late. It was a great show and I loved that I was able to go inside the Opera House. Definitely worth it.

The one and only AC/DC in concert.  Yes, I was close!

A far more memorable concert was the sold out AC/DC concert at the Olympic Stadium with 70,000 spectators. I went to the Australian equivalent of Craig's List and found a ticket selling for less than the original cost and jumped on it. The day of the concert I spent about 4 hours navigating my way around southern Sydney trying to track down the guy's house but obviously made it there. The tickets were Stadium A, meaning house left, touching the stage. In other words, this is the section where mosh pits tend to happen. Because the guy I bought the ticket said it's not really out of control (he had too many tickets and went a couple nights before), my camera came along; I would have kicked myself throughout the entire concert if I didn't have it. I must say that AC/DC is not my favorite band, but let me just say they are AWESOME in concert especially considering their age – they got going around 1971. I have a ton of photos and videos but I won't post them all. Of all the things I did in Sydney, the concert was possibly the most memorable.

Thanks to everyone who helped me out during my time there! Kate, Shavely, Steve, Chad (thanks for reading, man), Mike(s), Shauna, Steph, Chris, Sandy, and everyone I met at the backpackers. Peace!

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!

Flying Into the Future

I’m writing this while high over the Pacific. Wait, I’m not high. The plane is very far above the Earth. Anyway, I know I’ll not be able to update right when I get in so this will have to suffice for a little while.

This journey to the Philippines is a journey into the future in several regards. First of all, I am moving into the future relativistically. I did a quick and relatively simple time dilation calculation (come on, I spent four years studying Physics. I have to use it for something). Anyway, I made a couple estimates and calculated that based on my velocity in the plane and the amount of time in the air, the principles of Einstein’s Theory of General Relativity predict that I’m essentially moving 25 microseconds into the future. I can’t even blink my eye in that amount of time, so don’t be too jealous.

The second way I’m traveling into the future is that I’m leaving on Wednesday afternoon and arriving Thursday night even though the flight lasts for less than 11 hours. This is the first time in my life that I have ever crossed the International Date Line. It has shot me into the future, at least when looking at a calendar.

The other way that I consider this flight taking me into the future is the metaphorical sense. I have made the leap. I’ve let go of the life I know so well, but I’m doing it much to the extent that a boomerang does, which will inevitably return before taking off again. With fire in my eyes, I am opening this new chapter of my life and I feel like I did when I was 5 years old waiting to open presents on Christmas morning. The differences should be clear, but the similarities are undeniable. I know that everything waiting for me is exciting and will provide entertainment for a long time, but I don’t know exactly what to expect. Presents, they don’t play themselves; it’s up to me to use imagination and child-like enthusiasm to take the toys out and use them to have fun. Likewise, I can’t expect to sit around and let experiences fall upon me; I must be active no matter what it is.

This flight is certainly taking me into the future. There will be difficulties, problems, complications, troubles, and hardships. With those will come experience, rewards, excitement, adventure, and fun. I say bring it on!

Out with a Bang

I have been having a phenomenal final week in the states. Everything seems to be going my way. I randomly got in touch with someone who works a resort where I'm looking to find a job and I'll be meeting him within my first couple days. I also managed to get in touch with someone living in the city I'm flying into (Manila) and they are happy to take me as their guest for a few nights. I can't thank either one enough for the help they've offered.

I picked up several thousand Filipino pesos (not much money), my visa was approved and shipped back in time, packing is coming along, and I'm finishing up the last few things I wanted to take care of here (minus going to Pearl Harbor).

Meg took me to Waikiki a couple nights ago and I had a hard time leaving. We went to the international market where we practiced our haggling skills, sipped pina coladas next to the beach set in front of a setting sun, went to a rotating restaurant overlooking the entire town, and finished up indulging ourselves at half-priced sushi night in a spectacular sushi/karaoke bar. We ended the night fat, happy, and exhausted, not to mention Meg let me drive her manual 6-speed car all the way home on the other side of the island which was the cherry on top of one unforgettable night. For anyone who knows me well, I have a little bit of an obsession with driving stick-shift cars which is heightened by the fact that I don't have one thus am rarely ever able to drive one.

The car was only the beginning of my driving adventures recently however. I was able to finally meet up with Mark and he took me flying with his wife Claire. Allow me to attempt to describe the things I set eyes upon today:
There were sheer cliffs painted with lush vibrant growth rising with pride 2000ft vertically from the frothy blue ocean below. Ridges farther inland folded and cut back into the mountains where streams of water sprung from the high volcanic rock. Around the ridges we would see the water courageously cascading down the mountain with the vigor of a stampeding herd of wildebeest. The gorgeous black jagged shoreline covered with greenery was sprinkled with mansions - resort-like houses of the wealthy far from the hustle and bustle of regular American life. The climate change within the islands was spectacular. Flying not 20 miles from the lush rain forest climate of an island would often reveal a harsh, dry, and seemingly unforgiving desert with sparse houses along lonely dirt roads. These are the kind of roads and homes one might picture when imagining moving as far as possible from society. However, continuing another 10 minutes around the island would transform brown into green, dry into wet, and barrenness into abundant life. On the way back to Honolulu Mark gave me a brief lesson on flying and a "crash course," so to speak, on stalling. After demonstrating, he told me to pull out of a stall. I absolutely love roller coasters, but there is something about not being on a track and completely at the mercy of wind and gravity that makes weightlessness in a puny 4-seat plane particularly thrilling.

Diving with Mark on Monday and going to Coconut Island (Gilligan's Island) on Tuesday will round out my final domestic activities. Wednesday morning I leave for Manila and will be out of the states indefinitely.