It's about time I explained what "Una Idea Peregrina" means.
I first heard this expression when I told some collegues my plans for the future - educating myself by the book of the world, drinking deeply from the stream of life and traveling for the foreseeable future. As I explained in my first blog, I wanted to walk El Camino de Santiago, move to France, learn how to speak Spanish and French, play the Spanish guitar, learn how to write and then sail back home across the Atlantic!
"Esta es una idea peregrina" was their response - That's 'a pilgrim's idea,' meaning it's a hopelessly idealistic and unrealistic plan. This phrase dates back to the middle ages, when pilgrims (peregrinos) would embark on the pilgrimage to the tomb of Santiago (St. James) in northwestern Spain. The trail was full of bandits, unforeseen dangers and shifty foreigners that only a fool would risk so much for an ideal.
But I have accomplished most of what I told my colleagues I would do. Apart from sailing across the Atlantic, I think I've done it all. My Spanish is not perfect, but I've got another year in Spain to work on it. I started writing for a travel magazine and moved to Paris to take creative writing classes. I even learned a smattering of French, which I will improve this year. And above all I walked 500 miles of the pilgrimage to Santiago. This peregrino's idea wasn't so unattainable after all.
The challenge of each passing year is keeping my spark of madness alive. I watch my friends further progressing into their successful careers and I need to remind myself that I have chosen my own path, one that is perhaps riskier, initally less fruitful but hopefully more fulfilling in the end. As for my pilgrim's dreams, they are still alive. My backpack is waiting under my bed, ready for the next hitchhiking adventure, that eventual trip to the port of Gibraltar to pick up a ride across the Atlantic. This peregrino keeps on dreaming.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Some Books to Help You Start Your Journey
Ever dream of traveling the world? College tells us plenty about how to get a job after graduation, but very little about alternative lifestyle choices.
When I decided to pursue my dreams of traveling and working around the world, I got almost no help from the traditional sources of advice. Parents, teachers, and career counselors could help me find a job in LA, but few had advice on how to travel. I had to turn to books for inspiration and guidance. Here are a few of my favorites that helped me get started.
First, discover your dream
This is perhaps the most difficult step of all. We are fed so much of other peoples' opinions of what we are supposed to want that we often forget what it is we truly want to do with our lives. The book that helped me realize my dreams was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. This book is popular for a reason - through the tale of Santiago, a young Spanish shepherd who dreams of traveling to the pyramids in Egypt, Coelho teaches us about how to follow our dreams and discover our personal destiny in life. He shows us how to overcome what prevents most of us from realizing our dreams and inspires us to take off on our own journey. Packed full of wisdom, The Alchemist is a must read.
Secondly, learn how to take the first steps,
If you're reading this blog, I'm assuming you harbor dreams of travel. So here's step two.
Almost by chance, I stumbled upon the book Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term Travel by Rolf Potts. Its pages hold the secrets of how to make long-term travel a reality. Travel, says Rolf Potts, is not about a mere 2-week escapist vacation, but about taking a sizable amount of time to travel slowly and experience the world on your own terms. It's a philosophical introduction to an alternate lifestyle, complete with tips on how to get started, how to budget money, work abroad, interact with other cultures and return home. I carried this book with me through Asia like a Bible, consulting it from time to time to ensure my wanderings were following the right course. Aside from the practical and philosophical advice, I really loved the abundance of travel-related quotes from everyday people to famous authors such as Emerson, Whitman, Kurt Vonnetgut, just to name a few. About a year and a half after picking up the book, my own travels took me to Paris, where I studied travel writing from the author himself. Rolf Potts writes from experience and his website is a great place to find inspiration and advice.
Next, plan out your journey
Once you've realized your dreams of travel and learned how to turn them to reality, it's time to start getting practical. For my trip through Asia, I used First Time Around the World by Rough Guides. This book blew my mind when I learned of just how many options are open to the traveler who sets himself free. What was so great about this book was it's larger scope - it talked briefly about the pros and cons of each continent, then showed me how to link them all together via the Trans-Siberian Railroad or hitch-hiking on yachts across the Atlantic. It also contains very practical advice on how to find work abroad, how to buy round-the-world airplane tickets or shop for travel insurance and everything else involved in pulling off your dreams. Above all, it inspires you by showing that even the wildest dreams are within your reach if you just do some planning beforehand.
Finally, remember the big picture
One of the most compelling reasons for traveling in our youth is the only real, unavoidable truth - one day, we are all going to die. Sounds a bit morbid, but recognizing that we could die tomorrow and living your life accordingly is the key to freedom. Here are my favorite books that inspire me to live my life to the fullest:
- On The Road by Jack Kerouac - I read this book before I read any of the others. In his masterpiece, Kerouac reminds us that the important things in life are not the things we own but the experiences we have had. This book chronicles his travels across the USA in the early 1950s, living life to the fullest, living in the moment, and trying to make sense as to what it is we are supposed to do with our lives. Every one of us has a tiny spark of madness within our souls and each page of On The Road blows on that spark until it erupts into a flaming passion to Go! Go! Go! and 'burn, burn, burn, like a Roman candle.'
- The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham - This book spoke to me more than any other I have read. It is about a middle class American boy who comes back from fighting in WWI a changed man. He has seen death, and realizes that the comfortable borgeoise life offered to him is not what he wants. He must seek truth and answer the larger questions of life. We follow the protagonist as he travels first to 1920s Paris, then across Europe to India and eventually back to the USA. A wonderful combination of philosophy, societal commentary, and travel, I could not recommend this book more highly.
- Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis - Amazing book. The main character is a bookish Greek intellectual who moves to Crete in the 1920s on a quest for happiness and meaning in life. There he meets Zorba, a larger-than life Zeus-like man of 65 years, who is younger, happier and wiser than the learned protagonist, despite never having been to school. This book teaches us (ironically, perhaps) to stop looking for wisdom in books, to go outside and live life to the fullest for wisdom can only be found in experience, happiness in the pleasures of the flesh. Read this book and you too will see the wisdom in living like Zorba.
That being said...
...you can only do so much reading before you simply must close the books and start your journey. I read only On The Road before taking off on my adventures, but each of these books has guided me, inspired me, and kept that spark of madness burning strongly within my soul.
These were the books that worked for me. What worked for you? Share your favorite reads in the comment section below...
Happy reading!
Mark
When I decided to pursue my dreams of traveling and working around the world, I got almost no help from the traditional sources of advice. Parents, teachers, and career counselors could help me find a job in LA, but few had advice on how to travel. I had to turn to books for inspiration and guidance. Here are a few of my favorites that helped me get started.
This is perhaps the most difficult step of all. We are fed so much of other peoples' opinions of what we are supposed to want that we often forget what it is we truly want to do with our lives. The book that helped me realize my dreams was The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. This book is popular for a reason - through the tale of Santiago, a young Spanish shepherd who dreams of traveling to the pyramids in Egypt, Coelho teaches us about how to follow our dreams and discover our personal destiny in life. He shows us how to overcome what prevents most of us from realizing our dreams and inspires us to take off on our own journey. Packed full of wisdom, The Alchemist is a must read.
If you're reading this blog, I'm assuming you harbor dreams of travel. So here's step two.
Almost by chance, I stumbled upon the book Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term Travel by Rolf Potts. Its pages hold the secrets of how to make long-term travel a reality. Travel, says Rolf Potts, is not about a mere 2-week escapist vacation, but about taking a sizable amount of time to travel slowly and experience the world on your own terms. It's a philosophical introduction to an alternate lifestyle, complete with tips on how to get started, how to budget money, work abroad, interact with other cultures and return home. I carried this book with me through Asia like a Bible, consulting it from time to time to ensure my wanderings were following the right course. Aside from the practical and philosophical advice, I really loved the abundance of travel-related quotes from everyday people to famous authors such as Emerson, Whitman, Kurt Vonnetgut, just to name a few. About a year and a half after picking up the book, my own travels took me to Paris, where I studied travel writing from the author himself. Rolf Potts writes from experience and his website is a great place to find inspiration and advice.
Once you've realized your dreams of travel and learned how to turn them to reality, it's time to start getting practical. For my trip through Asia, I used First Time Around the World by Rough Guides. This book blew my mind when I learned of just how many options are open to the traveler who sets himself free. What was so great about this book was it's larger scope - it talked briefly about the pros and cons of each continent, then showed me how to link them all together via the Trans-Siberian Railroad or hitch-hiking on yachts across the Atlantic. It also contains very practical advice on how to find work abroad, how to buy round-the-world airplane tickets or shop for travel insurance and everything else involved in pulling off your dreams. Above all, it inspires you by showing that even the wildest dreams are within your reach if you just do some planning beforehand.
Finally, remember the big picture
One of the most compelling reasons for traveling in our youth is the only real, unavoidable truth - one day, we are all going to die. Sounds a bit morbid, but recognizing that we could die tomorrow and living your life accordingly is the key to freedom. Here are my favorite books that inspire me to live my life to the fullest:
That being said...
...you can only do so much reading before you simply must close the books and start your journey. I read only On The Road before taking off on my adventures, but each of these books has guided me, inspired me, and kept that spark of madness burning strongly within my soul.
These were the books that worked for me. What worked for you? Share your favorite reads in the comment section below...
Happy reading!
Mark
Friday, August 20, 2010
My Year in Spain in Retrospect
I learned a lot this year, almost all of it the hard way. Stripped of most of the things that make me happy, I learned the value of what we take for granted.
I was alone with very few friends in a stagnating village, unable to change my scholarship, unable to move to another city and unwilling to give up and come home. The conclusions I have drawn in the last year may seem obvious to most, but I assure you they are all borne from deep experience. So here they are, in no particular order - except for the first ; )
Mark's Seemingly Obvious, Painfully Realized Conclusions from One Year in Spain
1) Friends and family are vital - When someone moves abroad, he temporarily gives up his friendships back home because he assumes he will make new friends in his new home. But I miscalculated this one. As I've previously described, there were only a handful of people my age in the town, all genuinely good people but none able to replace my friends I'd left in California. Arevalo was a small town with no university, very little economy, and few prospects for ambitious young people so most people between 18-30 years of age left the town. My four roommates dwindled to one, then none and I suddenly found myself all alone in the middle of rural Spain, praying to be reunited with my friends as soon as possible.
I constantly thought back to my time at UCLA, when I was constantly surrounded by friends and even made Social Chairman of my fraternity. But because I had 30,000 students around me, each individual person's significance can be diluted by the sheer number of other people. You meet a great girl at a party, but lose her in the crowd five minutes later but it doesn't matter because there are many fish in the sea. Arevalo was a small pond with few fish. Living in a 6,000 person town with a half dozen friends showed me how valuable every person is, that we should never treat people like they are disposable or replaceable. We must bring small-town-style friendships to the crowds of our biggest cities.
2) Your Environment is Everything - I didn't realize this until I'd moved into a negative environment. All my life I have lived amongst successful people, from my family to my high school friends to my classmates at UCLA. Being around successful, motivated and intelligent people encourages you to reach your best and provides you with stimulation. In Arevalo, my sole roommate was so lazy he could hardly get off the couch to defrost his frozen dinner, the nearest intellectual conversations I could find were at my friends' apartment an hour away, and, for lack of options I was forced to - eh-hem - stimulate myself. Intellectually, that is. I read a lot, studied Spanish a lot, but quickly realized the limitations of self-study in hermit-like reclusion. That brings me to my next conclusion...
3) Living Alone Strengthens You, Maddens You, and Shows You What a Lazy Slob You Really Are - At least in my case... In the absence of friends, I grew stronger by reducing my dependency on others for happiness. A walk through town, smiling and chatting with the local villagers can overcome loneliness better than 2,000 peripheral Facebook friends and a dozen missed calls on your cellphone. But solitude also maddens you - I talked to myself more than I'd like to admit and often longed for company and conversation, which goes back to conclusion #1.
[On a quick aside, I actually lived next to an insane asylum last year so most of the people walking past my apartment had serious mental issues. This negatively affected me and a few times I thought I was going to lose it as well, so I conclude that living with crazy people makes you a little crazy as well.]
But above all, living alone forces you to come to terms with your most negative habits. If the kitchen is dirty, it's not because your roommate is a slob - it's because you are lazy. I have always relied on workout partners for fitness, roommates for cleaning the apartment, a buddy for cooking dinner et cetera. This year I was forced to do this all on my own.
4) Live in the Moment, Not the Future and Especially Not the Past
For the first time in my life, I disliked the present moment. All I wanted was to ride out the experience and move onto something else. I reminisced about my travels in Asia, I dreamt about my future travels, and I lost myself by surfing the internet. In this way, months slipped by as I distracted myself from my situation - that is, from my life. The future, the past, the internet - none of these are realities. The only thing that is real is this very moment, the room you are in the people you are talking to. Focusing on anything else is mere distraction.
5) Travel Towards Something, Never Away From Anything
Every long-term traveler will eventually have to confront this dilemma. I left home in search of certain truths, experiences and knowledge I could only find overseas. I was running towards something. I came to Spain to learn Spanish, to explore Western Europe, to spend time reading and writing. But I so disliked my present reality that I began traveling every weekend merely to escape my village. By mid-February I was burnt out from incessant travel, wondering why I found so little pleasure in something that had previously defined my life. I took a break from traveling, reassessed my priorities and by the end of the year I resumed running towards my travel goals.
6) Busyness Beats Leisure After One Week
Ferris BuellerBueller's Day Off, not his Decade Off. Too much play and not enough work makes Jack a dull boy. Without the toil of work, leisure becomes boring and after a year of working 12 hours a week, I have had more free time than I knew what to do with. Next year I will fill my schedule up to the brim. I'll join sports teams, organize social events, learn how to sail, surf more, sign up for French lessons and continue practicing my Spanish. I'll have less time to write, but it will be more compressed and therefore more efficiently utilized time.
7) You Gotta Run Your Own Race
I was one of the only foreigners in Arevalo and my values and lifestyle differed substantially from my neighbors - especially my love of travel. My town was not far from the Portuguese border, yet many people had never left Spain and some thought I was crazy for traveling so much. I saw the proximity of such contrasting cultures made it impossible not to explore Europe, but I began playing down my travel experiences in order not to provoke misunderstanding or jealousy. I ultimately realized that I could not hide my great adventures, denying their existence was denying a part of my own identity. I was a nomad amongst sedentary villagers, but I can't be ashamed of who I am or what I've done.
8) Life is Short - You Must Take Control of Your Own Destiny
This one is huge. When I first arrived in Arevalo, I had tried to move to a bigger city but I was unable to commute to work so I abandoned all attempts to improve my situation and resigned myself to a having a somewhat shitty year. Life is too short to spend even a day living in an unpleasant way. I realized this only months later, when springtime came and I found that we cannot change the hand we're dealt, only the way we react to it. Eventually I simply decided to be happy. I came up with a list of small things that brought joy to my unpleasant living situation. Running in the morning, walking in the wheat fields outside of town, dressing up smartly even if no one would see me, making my bed and tidying an apartment that no one would ever see et cetera. I learned the daily habits that made me feel happy, productive, and worthwhile and I've repeated them every day since.
9) Make Peace with What You Can't Change
But there were some things I could not change. I couldn't switch towns, I couldn't become fluent in Spanish overnight, I couldn't write the Great American Novel at age 23 - but that's okay. As the year came to a close, I learned to appreciate the town's beauty, serenity, and lovely people. I made peace with my gradual progression towards my goals, finding joy in the process of improving rather than the anxiously demanding the fruits of my labor. In short, I made the best of my situation and stopped trying to change what's beyond my control.
10) Experience is the Best Teacher of All
I thought I already knew this, but it wasn't until I spent a year in Arevalo and read Zorba the Greek that it really hit home. Zorba, the hero of this excellent 20th century classic, teaches the protagonist how to live life to the fullest. The protagonist is obsessed with books, studying the Buddhist scriptures for happiness and wisdom, but Zorba shows him that by spending one's life cocooned in books prevents you from having the experiences (and mistakes) that ultimately teach you the most. In my desire to improve my situation, I read many philosophy books, in my desire to learn Spanish I studied many grammatical books. But nothing taught me more than simply closing my books and getting out there in the world. (PS - read Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis!!! Highly recommended!)
11) Everyone Gets Lost Occasionally
At the end of the year, I didn't really know what I was doing anymore or why I was doing it. My original intentions of continuing my free-spirited travels, learning from the open book of the world and practicing writing had led me to a year of stagnation in Arevalo. I was lost, as happens to us all at one point or another. I had to find my way again, and so I chose to follow The Way of St. James - that is, El Camino de Santiago.
Next Post: My travels on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela - One month walk across 500+ miles of France and Spain.
I was alone with very few friends in a stagnating village, unable to change my scholarship, unable to move to another city and unwilling to give up and come home. The conclusions I have drawn in the last year may seem obvious to most, but I assure you they are all borne from deep experience. So here they are, in no particular order - except for the first ; )
Mark's Seemingly Obvious, Painfully Realized Conclusions from One Year in Spain
1) Friends and family are vital - When someone moves abroad, he temporarily gives up his friendships back home because he assumes he will make new friends in his new home. But I miscalculated this one. As I've previously described, there were only a handful of people my age in the town, all genuinely good people but none able to replace my friends I'd left in California. Arevalo was a small town with no university, very little economy, and few prospects for ambitious young people so most people between 18-30 years of age left the town. My four roommates dwindled to one, then none and I suddenly found myself all alone in the middle of rural Spain, praying to be reunited with my friends as soon as possible.
I constantly thought back to my time at UCLA, when I was constantly surrounded by friends and even made Social Chairman of my fraternity. But because I had 30,000 students around me, each individual person's significance can be diluted by the sheer number of other people. You meet a great girl at a party, but lose her in the crowd five minutes later but it doesn't matter because there are many fish in the sea. Arevalo was a small pond with few fish. Living in a 6,000 person town with a half dozen friends showed me how valuable every person is, that we should never treat people like they are disposable or replaceable. We must bring small-town-style friendships to the crowds of our biggest cities.
2) Your Environment is Everything - I didn't realize this until I'd moved into a negative environment. All my life I have lived amongst successful people, from my family to my high school friends to my classmates at UCLA. Being around successful, motivated and intelligent people encourages you to reach your best and provides you with stimulation. In Arevalo, my sole roommate was so lazy he could hardly get off the couch to defrost his frozen dinner, the nearest intellectual conversations I could find were at my friends' apartment an hour away, and, for lack of options I was forced to - eh-hem - stimulate myself. Intellectually, that is. I read a lot, studied Spanish a lot, but quickly realized the limitations of self-study in hermit-like reclusion. That brings me to my next conclusion...
3) Living Alone Strengthens You, Maddens You, and Shows You What a Lazy Slob You Really Are - At least in my case... In the absence of friends, I grew stronger by reducing my dependency on others for happiness. A walk through town, smiling and chatting with the local villagers can overcome loneliness better than 2,000 peripheral Facebook friends and a dozen missed calls on your cellphone. But solitude also maddens you - I talked to myself more than I'd like to admit and often longed for company and conversation, which goes back to conclusion #1.
[On a quick aside, I actually lived next to an insane asylum last year so most of the people walking past my apartment had serious mental issues. This negatively affected me and a few times I thought I was going to lose it as well, so I conclude that living with crazy people makes you a little crazy as well.]
But above all, living alone forces you to come to terms with your most negative habits. If the kitchen is dirty, it's not because your roommate is a slob - it's because you are lazy. I have always relied on workout partners for fitness, roommates for cleaning the apartment, a buddy for cooking dinner et cetera. This year I was forced to do this all on my own.
4) Live in the Moment, Not the Future and Especially Not the Past
For the first time in my life, I disliked the present moment. All I wanted was to ride out the experience and move onto something else. I reminisced about my travels in Asia, I dreamt about my future travels, and I lost myself by surfing the internet. In this way, months slipped by as I distracted myself from my situation - that is, from my life. The future, the past, the internet - none of these are realities. The only thing that is real is this very moment, the room you are in the people you are talking to. Focusing on anything else is mere distraction.
5) Travel Towards Something, Never Away From Anything
Every long-term traveler will eventually have to confront this dilemma. I left home in search of certain truths, experiences and knowledge I could only find overseas. I was running towards something. I came to Spain to learn Spanish, to explore Western Europe, to spend time reading and writing. But I so disliked my present reality that I began traveling every weekend merely to escape my village. By mid-February I was burnt out from incessant travel, wondering why I found so little pleasure in something that had previously defined my life. I took a break from traveling, reassessed my priorities and by the end of the year I resumed running towards my travel goals.
6) Busyness Beats Leisure After One Week
Ferris BuellerBueller's Day Off, not his Decade Off. Too much play and not enough work makes Jack a dull boy. Without the toil of work, leisure becomes boring and after a year of working 12 hours a week, I have had more free time than I knew what to do with. Next year I will fill my schedule up to the brim. I'll join sports teams, organize social events, learn how to sail, surf more, sign up for French lessons and continue practicing my Spanish. I'll have less time to write, but it will be more compressed and therefore more efficiently utilized time.
7) You Gotta Run Your Own Race
I was one of the only foreigners in Arevalo and my values and lifestyle differed substantially from my neighbors - especially my love of travel. My town was not far from the Portuguese border, yet many people had never left Spain and some thought I was crazy for traveling so much. I saw the proximity of such contrasting cultures made it impossible not to explore Europe, but I began playing down my travel experiences in order not to provoke misunderstanding or jealousy. I ultimately realized that I could not hide my great adventures, denying their existence was denying a part of my own identity. I was a nomad amongst sedentary villagers, but I can't be ashamed of who I am or what I've done.
8) Life is Short - You Must Take Control of Your Own Destiny
This one is huge. When I first arrived in Arevalo, I had tried to move to a bigger city but I was unable to commute to work so I abandoned all attempts to improve my situation and resigned myself to a having a somewhat shitty year. Life is too short to spend even a day living in an unpleasant way. I realized this only months later, when springtime came and I found that we cannot change the hand we're dealt, only the way we react to it. Eventually I simply decided to be happy. I came up with a list of small things that brought joy to my unpleasant living situation. Running in the morning, walking in the wheat fields outside of town, dressing up smartly even if no one would see me, making my bed and tidying an apartment that no one would ever see et cetera. I learned the daily habits that made me feel happy, productive, and worthwhile and I've repeated them every day since.
9) Make Peace with What You Can't Change
But there were some things I could not change. I couldn't switch towns, I couldn't become fluent in Spanish overnight, I couldn't write the Great American Novel at age 23 - but that's okay. As the year came to a close, I learned to appreciate the town's beauty, serenity, and lovely people. I made peace with my gradual progression towards my goals, finding joy in the process of improving rather than the anxiously demanding the fruits of my labor. In short, I made the best of my situation and stopped trying to change what's beyond my control.
10) Experience is the Best Teacher of All
I thought I already knew this, but it wasn't until I spent a year in Arevalo and read Zorba the Greek that it really hit home. Zorba, the hero of this excellent 20th century classic, teaches the protagonist how to live life to the fullest. The protagonist is obsessed with books, studying the Buddhist scriptures for happiness and wisdom, but Zorba shows him that by spending one's life cocooned in books prevents you from having the experiences (and mistakes) that ultimately teach you the most. In my desire to improve my situation, I read many philosophy books, in my desire to learn Spanish I studied many grammatical books. But nothing taught me more than simply closing my books and getting out there in the world. (PS - read Zorba the Greek by Nikos Kazantzakis!!! Highly recommended!)
11) Everyone Gets Lost Occasionally
At the end of the year, I didn't really know what I was doing anymore or why I was doing it. My original intentions of continuing my free-spirited travels, learning from the open book of the world and practicing writing had led me to a year of stagnation in Arevalo. I was lost, as happens to us all at one point or another. I had to find my way again, and so I chose to follow The Way of St. James - that is, El Camino de Santiago.
Next Post: My travels on the Camino de Santiago de Compostela - One month walk across 500+ miles of France and Spain.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
It's been too long...
Hello everyone!
I am ashamed to admit it, but almost a half year has passed since my last post. I'm back in California right now for a brief one-month visit to my hometown before returning back to Europe and a lot of things have happened in the previous few months since I have written. So what explains the long gap since my last post?
In some ways it's because someone can either live his life or write stories, and if you live life to the fullest you have little time left over for writing - and I've certainly been doing that. Since my last post I've traveled quite a bit. In early April I spent two weeks traveling across the Basque Country with my UCLA friend Andrew Fleming, going from Bilbao to San Sebastian, to Bayone, to Biarritz, to Getara, Guernika, Mundaka, Bermeo and finally to Zumaya and back home to Arevalo.
In late May I wrapped up my job in Spain and spent one month walking a 500 mile section of El Camino de Santiago de Compostela, a Catholic pilgrimage that meanders west across all of Europe to the north-western corner of Spain, where St. James (Santiago) is said to be interred. But I'm not Catholic nor did I do it for religious purporses, but I'll explain all that in a bit...
After the month-long pilgrimage I took a train to Madrid and then a plane to Paris and I spent the month of July taking creative writing courses, learning some French and enjoying my favorite city in the world. I studied at the Paris American Academy, where I learned non-fiction from travel writer Rolf Potts and fiction from John Biguenet and Lauren Grodstein. It was the first time I'd ever studied writing in my life and it gave me some invaluable lessons and direction for pursuing my passion of writing.
And now I'm back in California, soaking up the summer sun, touching my SoCal roots, and renewing my visa for Spain. I should be here until the middle of September, when I move to San Sebastian, Spain to continue teaching English, learning Spanish, and following my quest for world knowledge.
So that, in a few brief paragraphs, is what I have been up to. But there's a lot more to write about, to talk about, to share. But I must make a few confessions apropos my blog...
Firstly, I've been distracted. Yes, I traveled a lot, but I also wrote for a travel magazine, tried writing short stories, slam poetry, and even a few stabs a novels. By diverting my time to these pursuits, I neglected my blog for five months.
Secondly, I've become too obsessed with perfection. I have written many blogs in the last few months only to scrap them for their perceived flaws instead of sharing my stories with the world. This must end. This (imperfect) blog entry is the first step to overcoming my perfectionism.
Lastly, I wasn't in the mood to blog. Last year, alone in my little village, I was more depressed than I have ever been in my life and I frankly didn't want to write negative woe-is-me blog posts about how depressing my situation was. Now I can look back and laugh at the absurdity of my situation but at the time I just wanted to escape.
These are my excuses for for not blogging, and I promise not to make any more excuses in the future - it's time to get back to writing. Let's get down to the stories.
I am ashamed to admit it, but almost a half year has passed since my last post. I'm back in California right now for a brief one-month visit to my hometown before returning back to Europe and a lot of things have happened in the previous few months since I have written. So what explains the long gap since my last post?
In some ways it's because someone can either live his life or write stories, and if you live life to the fullest you have little time left over for writing - and I've certainly been doing that. Since my last post I've traveled quite a bit. In early April I spent two weeks traveling across the Basque Country with my UCLA friend Andrew Fleming, going from Bilbao to San Sebastian, to Bayone, to Biarritz, to Getara, Guernika, Mundaka, Bermeo and finally to Zumaya and back home to Arevalo.
In late May I wrapped up my job in Spain and spent one month walking a 500 mile section of El Camino de Santiago de Compostela, a Catholic pilgrimage that meanders west across all of Europe to the north-western corner of Spain, where St. James (Santiago) is said to be interred. But I'm not Catholic nor did I do it for religious purporses, but I'll explain all that in a bit...
After the month-long pilgrimage I took a train to Madrid and then a plane to Paris and I spent the month of July taking creative writing courses, learning some French and enjoying my favorite city in the world. I studied at the Paris American Academy, where I learned non-fiction from travel writer Rolf Potts and fiction from John Biguenet and Lauren Grodstein. It was the first time I'd ever studied writing in my life and it gave me some invaluable lessons and direction for pursuing my passion of writing.
And now I'm back in California, soaking up the summer sun, touching my SoCal roots, and renewing my visa for Spain. I should be here until the middle of September, when I move to San Sebastian, Spain to continue teaching English, learning Spanish, and following my quest for world knowledge.
So that, in a few brief paragraphs, is what I have been up to. But there's a lot more to write about, to talk about, to share. But I must make a few confessions apropos my blog...
Firstly, I've been distracted. Yes, I traveled a lot, but I also wrote for a travel magazine, tried writing short stories, slam poetry, and even a few stabs a novels. By diverting my time to these pursuits, I neglected my blog for five months.
Secondly, I've become too obsessed with perfection. I have written many blogs in the last few months only to scrap them for their perceived flaws instead of sharing my stories with the world. This must end. This (imperfect) blog entry is the first step to overcoming my perfectionism.
Lastly, I wasn't in the mood to blog. Last year, alone in my little village, I was more depressed than I have ever been in my life and I frankly didn't want to write negative woe-is-me blog posts about how depressing my situation was. Now I can look back and laugh at the absurdity of my situation but at the time I just wanted to escape.
These are my excuses for for not blogging, and I promise not to make any more excuses in the future - it's time to get back to writing. Let's get down to the stories.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
#15 - Missing Post - Vietnam 2009 (Mark Ponders Zen and Motorbikes)
Zen.
What is Zen? We use the word constantly in an abstract manner, but do we even know what it is? We define it more by what it is not, than by what it is – we think Zen is anything that is not stressful. We name trendy coffee shops Zen This, ambient chill-out music Zen That, Volume CCCCXX, and, most relevant to my situation, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. But what is it? I still cannot define Zen, but on Day Four on the Road, I came a little closer.
I found traces of Zen everywhere on Day Four. Oddly enough, I found Zen amongst the most frustrating circumstances, in the midst of rain, mud, and motor oil. I found it within the folds of my own mind, using only a few simple alterations of perspective. It is easy enough to find peace of mind while sipping Singapore Slings on a beach in southern Thailand, but this is simply escapism.
No, the most rewarding tranquility comes when everything around you is going wrong, when your clothes are soaking wet, your bike won’t start, your back hurts, you are stuck in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country and no one speaks enough English to understand your bitching.
It rained all day. I woke up early, determined to complete my journey before the afternoon rains started. But the afternoon rains from the previous day had not yet abated. I sipped my coffee in silence and looked out into the early morning rain. Remember the first tenant of Buddhism, I thought, life is suffering; accept your suffering and do not complain about it. Yes, it would rain all day.
Everything I owned would probably be soaked. I could not alter my situation, only how I reacted to it. I wrapped my valuables in a plastic bag, saddled up the bike, and pushed off into the rain.
I was a mess. And I still had hours to go.
I was uncomfortable, but how could I let that distract me when I was traveling through such a beautiful land, and by motorbike no less??? Dalat had been crowded with tour buses and honeymooning Vietnamese, but only twenty kilometers beyond the city limits and I was alone in the forest.
I slipped the bike into neutral, turned off the engine, let go of the handle bars and drifted downhill with my arms raised to my side. It was completely silent. I floated through the pine trees, through the wisps of clouds that hung motionless in the folds of the valley, down, down, down, to the streams below. I felt like I was flying. I had found the first traces of Zen.
It was a relatively trouble-free day; my entire exhaust pipe detached from the engine and fell onto the highway, but I managed to rejoin it to the bike using only a screwdriver and a wrench. I thought of that 16-year old boy who knew my bike inside-out, and I smiled at my modest accomplishment. I still had far to go, but I was learning something about motorcycle maintenance.
The climate had changed again. The Mekong Delta was the land of rice paddies, the southern Central Highlands around Dalat were covered in lumber farms, and now I was surrounded by coffee farms. Hill upon hill, from the valley bottoms to the ridgelines above, were blanketed in coffee bushes. I passed through small villages, honking and waving at villagers and children. They waved back and smiled at me, the novelty that I was, and I felt more welcome then than I have throughout my time in Asia.
As the sun came down over the mountains to the west, I finally approached the town of Dak Lak. My clothes were totally soaked, and my jeans were weakened by the rain and had begun to tear at the thighs. I was a mess, and the villagers all took turns laughing at me.
The village consisted entirely of traditional longhouses where extended families life together under one roof. Some people started renting out space to tourists, but most of the villagers continue their traditional lives as fishermen and paid little attention to me as I passed through. But in my opinion, staying in a longhouse is just an expensive way to sleep in a wooden dorm room!
At night I ate dinner at the only restaurant in town, managed by a motherly older woman. She took one look at me in my soaked clothes, took pity on me, hugged me, showed me to a hot shower, and fed me until I could eat no more. Then they pulled out a plastic bottle of brown rice whiskey. Whew! I had trouble finding my way back home, considering that every single longhouse was identical to the next. It took me about an hour, but I finally found my spot, curled up in a ball and fell asleep.
The morals of the story? First, the beauty of life can be found everywhere and at any time, you just have to know where to look. And secondly, never drink rice whiskey in a village of longhouses – you may never find your way home!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
#14 - Mark Gets Suspected of Terrorism
“It’s that damn beard of yours, Marko,” reasoned my mom over the phone, “That’s exactly why you were supsected of being a terrorist. I mean, what do you expect? Walking around with a backpack and a guitar case like a dirty hippy...you just stick out like a sore thumb. It’s time you cleaned up before you get any more problems.”
I couldn’t argue with her. I do stick out a bit in Arévalo. Despite my best efforts to fit in – wearing more European clothes and hanging out in cafeterías reading El País, sipping café con leche and eating tortilla – I obviously hadn’t quite blended in yet.
I thought about how I must appear to the locals. In one word: peculiar. Dashing here and there with my notepad in hand, jotting down thoughts and ideas for articles. Speaking in a foreign tongue. Saying “Hola” to complete strangers on the street (God forbid). Typing away furiously on my laptop in smoky cafeterias (the closest thing Spain has to coffee-shop in the American-sense). All the men smoking cigarettes and taking the daily 2 PM shot of aguardiente before retiring for lunch and their siesta.
Meanwhile, this strange bearded man with the only laptop in Arévalo is asking for a coffee and something called “WiFi.” The bartender is confused. I resort to pantomime and tweak my pronunciation to mimic that of the Spaniards – eeennnteerrnet.
“Ahhhh!” he proclaims, “WeeeeeFeeee.” I nod my head. He shakes his. “No, we don’t have it.”
How the hell am I supposed to write travel articles for a foreign magazine from a town where the Internet is regarded with a skepticism not seen since the Luddites?
Unfortunately, the Internet in my apartment doesn’t cut it. When I first arrived in Arévalo, I unknowingly broke a few social mores by walking around my apartment complex asking my neighbors if they would want to split WiFi. There were a few signals in the building, I explained, and since my roommates somehow didn’t need the Internet, I’d love to split it with someone. Instead of the passwords to their networks, all I received was a half-dozen perplexed looks from my neighbors. Unwilling to pay for an entire line for myself, I bought a 3G USB card.
Little did I realize that the Internet in Spain works fewer hours per week than the average Spaniard. My expectations were still at American levels: 24/7/365 Customer-Is-King-Blistering-Fast-Internet. Instead I was stuck with 3G – chances are it’s faster to load this page on your iPhone than on my computer.
But I am digressing. This rant about the Internet has distracted us from the topic at hand – how my peculiar behavior in Arévalo made me a suspected terrorist in the eyes of our local police force.
“Local police force” is not an accurate description. I was fingered by the Guardia Civil, Spain’s equivalent of sheriffs for the rural parts of Spain. They were originally formed by Queen Isabella II to dismantle any revolutionary sentiment amongst the rural peasantry – especially in the Basque Country. The Guardia Civil have been a constant irritant between the Basques and the Spaniards ever since. The Basque struggle for independence from the Spanish goes back centuries, but unfortunately it is now best known for its radical extremists, the terrorist group ETA. ETA has made several recent bombing attacks within Spain and France, including a car bombing in Madrid’s international airport.
I first met our local Guardia Civil officers last week under rather unusual circumstances. I was walking to Arévalo’s train station with my backpack and my guitar. Nothing out of the ordinary – just my routine escape from the unbearable stagnation of Arévalo. I was going to hang with some friends in nearby Avila, and I was hustling to catch the last train of the night.
A Guardia Civil truck passed me slowly. Two officers were eyeing me as I crossed the bridge that separates Arévalo from our lonely hilltop train station. I’d become accustomed to getting strange looks from my neighbors, so I thought nothing of it. Then, de repente, the car flipped a u-turn and blocked my path 100 meters ahead. Two officers came out, stood aside their truck, and waited.
They approached me as I neared their blockade. They greeted me politely, asked for my registration papers, and motioned me to follow them to their truck. Confused as I was, I handed them my Spanish identification card and followed their instructions.
One officer got on the horn and began radioing my information to headquarters. The other pulled out a notepad and started asking me questions.
Who are you? Where are you from and what are you doing in Arévalo? How long have you been here? Why haven’t we seen you before?
I didn’t know where to start. Who am I? Well, after an extended stint of traveling and soul searching, I still can’t say I’ve got that one down. But who does? So for now, just write down “English teacher.”
What am I doing in Arévalo? I ask myself that question every night. Why, lord, why? Is it a cosmic joke for a globe-trotter to be stuck in the least cosmopolitan town in Spain? Fate? Why have you placed me in this small town, so close to the action in Madrid and yet so far away from where I want to be?
The first officer got off the radio and asked if he could look through my bag. I agreed, and I continued answering questions as they inspected all the pockets in my backpack.
How long have I been here? I had to think for a moment. I felt like Tom Cruise in the final scenes of Castaway. I’d have to go back to my cave and count the marks I’ve tallied on the walls. Half a year? Maybe more? My mind floated off, amazed at how much time I’d spent in this town.
Why haven’t you seen me before? Maybe because I bounce out of this place every chance I get?
Then, all of a sudden, a third man popped out of the shadows. He was dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask. I could only see his squinty eyes and his frowning brow. He got in my face and started his own interrogation. He right to the chase:
Where were you two weeks ago on Monday morning, at nine fifty in the morning?
I had to think. I told him I was probably teaching.
No! You were standing in front of the Guardia Civil station taking notes on our activities from across the street!
WTF?!?!? What could they be talking about? Then it clicked – they were right. I had been in front of their station taking notes – because their station is directly across from Arévalo’s only Internet café and I had been waiting for it to open so I could use their Internet to research an article I was writing for OffTrackPlanet. I had been brainstorming as I waited and writing down my thoughts for the article. I told them all this and I explained that I wrote for a travel magazine.
The three of them looked at each other confusedly. A travel writer? Here in Arévalo? They asked to see my notebook, and I handed it to them. They skimmed through it and stared blankly at the pages of English-language notes. One of them scratched his head.
They looked to each other, then to me. You’re free to go. I asked them why they had stopped me, and they told me they had thought my suspicious behavior meant I was some sort of terrorist, planning an attack on their police station. We can’t be too careful these days, they said, with ETA and all.
Jesus. Me, a terrorist? As they hopped in their car and drove off into the night, the implications of what had happened set in. The man in the ski-mask lingered in my thoughts. They had been following me, and when they saw I was about to leave town they popped me. How long had they been trailing me? How had I not noticed them?
It seemed to me that it was my peculiar behavior that caused them to notice me. The individual in conflict with small-town Spanish society. As my mom said, maybe I should try to blend into the crowd better. But is conformity the best answer to avoiding problems with the government?
The terrorist problem that faces Spain is similar to that which faces western society as a whole. The difference in Spain is that the terrorists, a handful of radical Basques, look ethnically quite similar to the Spanish. This can trigger a paranoid fear that anyone in the crowd could be a threat to society.
After being fingered as a terrorist, I started questioning whether this approach was the best way to combat violent extremism. Is the problem the man taking notes across the street from the police station? Not quite. Individual attacks are the symptoms of deeper problems, ones that these extremists feel can not be changed within the system. Terrorism is the desperate resort of those who are unwilling to engage in the political process. It is the responsibility of governments to engage with all members of society and to bring even the most extreme citizens of the world to the table.
I am no expert on the conflict between the Basques and the Spanish. I know there have been wrongs on both side of the long history. But I want to learn more about this conflict, and I hope that my neutral position as a foreigner can allow me to hear both sides equally.
As I mentioned in my last post, I am planning on moving to the Basque Country next year. Tomorrow I leave for the Basque Country to spend 10 days traveling throughout both the Spanish and French sides of the Basque Country.
I am currently reading a fascinating book, The Basque History of the World, by Mark Kurlansky, author of Cod. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in this oft-forgotten corner of Europe.
As the Guardia Civil found out, I am not a terrorist, though my friends in Arevalo jokingly call me el etarra (the ETA terrorist). I have not abandoned hope in resolving the all the world’s problems peacefully. Travel has shown me that none of the cultures around the world are too different to co-exist in peace. Hopefully we will all realize this soon enough, and one day all eccentric, bearded travel writers can take notes in front of police stations in peace. ; )
Pax Vobiscum, I’m off to the Basque Country – on a mission of peace!
I couldn’t argue with her. I do stick out a bit in Arévalo. Despite my best efforts to fit in – wearing more European clothes and hanging out in cafeterías reading El País, sipping café con leche and eating tortilla – I obviously hadn’t quite blended in yet.
I thought about how I must appear to the locals. In one word: peculiar. Dashing here and there with my notepad in hand, jotting down thoughts and ideas for articles. Speaking in a foreign tongue. Saying “Hola” to complete strangers on the street (God forbid). Typing away furiously on my laptop in smoky cafeterias (the closest thing Spain has to coffee-shop in the American-sense). All the men smoking cigarettes and taking the daily 2 PM shot of aguardiente before retiring for lunch and their siesta.
Meanwhile, this strange bearded man with the only laptop in Arévalo is asking for a coffee and something called “WiFi.” The bartender is confused. I resort to pantomime and tweak my pronunciation to mimic that of the Spaniards – eeennnteerrnet.
“Ahhhh!” he proclaims, “WeeeeeFeeee.” I nod my head. He shakes his. “No, we don’t have it.”
How the hell am I supposed to write travel articles for a foreign magazine from a town where the Internet is regarded with a skepticism not seen since the Luddites?
Unfortunately, the Internet in my apartment doesn’t cut it. When I first arrived in Arévalo, I unknowingly broke a few social mores by walking around my apartment complex asking my neighbors if they would want to split WiFi. There were a few signals in the building, I explained, and since my roommates somehow didn’t need the Internet, I’d love to split it with someone. Instead of the passwords to their networks, all I received was a half-dozen perplexed looks from my neighbors. Unwilling to pay for an entire line for myself, I bought a 3G USB card.
Little did I realize that the Internet in Spain works fewer hours per week than the average Spaniard. My expectations were still at American levels: 24/7/365 Customer-Is-King-Blistering-Fast-Internet. Instead I was stuck with 3G – chances are it’s faster to load this page on your iPhone than on my computer.
But I am digressing. This rant about the Internet has distracted us from the topic at hand – how my peculiar behavior in Arévalo made me a suspected terrorist in the eyes of our local police force.
“Local police force” is not an accurate description. I was fingered by the Guardia Civil, Spain’s equivalent of sheriffs for the rural parts of Spain. They were originally formed by Queen Isabella II to dismantle any revolutionary sentiment amongst the rural peasantry – especially in the Basque Country. The Guardia Civil have been a constant irritant between the Basques and the Spaniards ever since. The Basque struggle for independence from the Spanish goes back centuries, but unfortunately it is now best known for its radical extremists, the terrorist group ETA. ETA has made several recent bombing attacks within Spain and France, including a car bombing in Madrid’s international airport.
I first met our local Guardia Civil officers last week under rather unusual circumstances. I was walking to Arévalo’s train station with my backpack and my guitar. Nothing out of the ordinary – just my routine escape from the unbearable stagnation of Arévalo. I was going to hang with some friends in nearby Avila, and I was hustling to catch the last train of the night.
A Guardia Civil truck passed me slowly. Two officers were eyeing me as I crossed the bridge that separates Arévalo from our lonely hilltop train station. I’d become accustomed to getting strange looks from my neighbors, so I thought nothing of it. Then, de repente, the car flipped a u-turn and blocked my path 100 meters ahead. Two officers came out, stood aside their truck, and waited.
They approached me as I neared their blockade. They greeted me politely, asked for my registration papers, and motioned me to follow them to their truck. Confused as I was, I handed them my Spanish identification card and followed their instructions.
One officer got on the horn and began radioing my information to headquarters. The other pulled out a notepad and started asking me questions.
Who are you? Where are you from and what are you doing in Arévalo? How long have you been here? Why haven’t we seen you before?
I didn’t know where to start. Who am I? Well, after an extended stint of traveling and soul searching, I still can’t say I’ve got that one down. But who does? So for now, just write down “English teacher.”
What am I doing in Arévalo? I ask myself that question every night. Why, lord, why? Is it a cosmic joke for a globe-trotter to be stuck in the least cosmopolitan town in Spain? Fate? Why have you placed me in this small town, so close to the action in Madrid and yet so far away from where I want to be?
The first officer got off the radio and asked if he could look through my bag. I agreed, and I continued answering questions as they inspected all the pockets in my backpack.
How long have I been here? I had to think for a moment. I felt like Tom Cruise in the final scenes of Castaway. I’d have to go back to my cave and count the marks I’ve tallied on the walls. Half a year? Maybe more? My mind floated off, amazed at how much time I’d spent in this town.
Why haven’t you seen me before? Maybe because I bounce out of this place every chance I get?
Then, all of a sudden, a third man popped out of the shadows. He was dressed in all black and wearing a ski mask. I could only see his squinty eyes and his frowning brow. He got in my face and started his own interrogation. He right to the chase:
Where were you two weeks ago on Monday morning, at nine fifty in the morning?
I had to think. I told him I was probably teaching.
No! You were standing in front of the Guardia Civil station taking notes on our activities from across the street!
WTF?!?!? What could they be talking about? Then it clicked – they were right. I had been in front of their station taking notes – because their station is directly across from Arévalo’s only Internet café and I had been waiting for it to open so I could use their Internet to research an article I was writing for OffTrackPlanet. I had been brainstorming as I waited and writing down my thoughts for the article. I told them all this and I explained that I wrote for a travel magazine.
The three of them looked at each other confusedly. A travel writer? Here in Arévalo? They asked to see my notebook, and I handed it to them. They skimmed through it and stared blankly at the pages of English-language notes. One of them scratched his head.
They looked to each other, then to me. You’re free to go. I asked them why they had stopped me, and they told me they had thought my suspicious behavior meant I was some sort of terrorist, planning an attack on their police station. We can’t be too careful these days, they said, with ETA and all.
Jesus. Me, a terrorist? As they hopped in their car and drove off into the night, the implications of what had happened set in. The man in the ski-mask lingered in my thoughts. They had been following me, and when they saw I was about to leave town they popped me. How long had they been trailing me? How had I not noticed them?
It seemed to me that it was my peculiar behavior that caused them to notice me. The individual in conflict with small-town Spanish society. As my mom said, maybe I should try to blend into the crowd better. But is conformity the best answer to avoiding problems with the government?
The terrorist problem that faces Spain is similar to that which faces western society as a whole. The difference in Spain is that the terrorists, a handful of radical Basques, look ethnically quite similar to the Spanish. This can trigger a paranoid fear that anyone in the crowd could be a threat to society.
After being fingered as a terrorist, I started questioning whether this approach was the best way to combat violent extremism. Is the problem the man taking notes across the street from the police station? Not quite. Individual attacks are the symptoms of deeper problems, ones that these extremists feel can not be changed within the system. Terrorism is the desperate resort of those who are unwilling to engage in the political process. It is the responsibility of governments to engage with all members of society and to bring even the most extreme citizens of the world to the table.
I am no expert on the conflict between the Basques and the Spanish. I know there have been wrongs on both side of the long history. But I want to learn more about this conflict, and I hope that my neutral position as a foreigner can allow me to hear both sides equally.
As I mentioned in my last post, I am planning on moving to the Basque Country next year. Tomorrow I leave for the Basque Country to spend 10 days traveling throughout both the Spanish and French sides of the Basque Country.
I am currently reading a fascinating book, The Basque History of the World, by Mark Kurlansky, author of Cod. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in this oft-forgotten corner of Europe.
As the Guardia Civil found out, I am not a terrorist, though my friends in Arevalo jokingly call me el etarra (the ETA terrorist). I have not abandoned hope in resolving the all the world’s problems peacefully. Travel has shown me that none of the cultures around the world are too different to co-exist in peace. Hopefully we will all realize this soon enough, and one day all eccentric, bearded travel writers can take notes in front of police stations in peace. ; )
Pax Vobiscum, I’m off to the Basque Country – on a mission of peace!
Thursday, March 25, 2010
#13 - Springtime Update
Hello everyone!
It’s been a while since I have written a post, perhaps a month or so. The truth is that a lot of things have happened since I went to Cadiz for Carnival – I’ve landed an internship writing for a travel website, made some tentative plans for my future, and been suspected by Arévalo’s local police of being a terrorist. But let me start at the beginning.
Getting the travel writing internship was the best piece of news I’d received in months. I was ripe for some good news after so many months of fruitless effort, for a break of any kind. One of my Canadian friends, Maria, read my blog and suggested I try writing for a new website called Off Track Planet. I liked what I read on the website, so I contacted them and soon enough I had an internship. That was a month ago, and I’ve been writing for the website ever since.
Each week I have to write an article on different travel-related topics. I’ve written one on how to find cheap flights in Europe, Top 10 Things to Do in Madrid, the best places to get a tattoo in Madrid and how to ride a motorbike across Vietnam. More are in the works…
I don’t know where the experience will lead, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction. After over a year of trying to break into writing I finally got my first break. Now I have an editor who helps me develop my style and pushes me to do better each week. Furthermore, having to research and write articles on a diverse range of topics will continually expose me to new aspects of traveling.
Definitely check out the website. It is oriented towards young American backpackers and its full of inspiring articles, tips, advice on working abroad, and practical information on planning the trip of a lifetime. I just got my first article published, but you should see more of my work appear on the site soon. I hope the articles will inspire you to embark on your own journeys. Of course, feel free to contact me with any travel-related questions you might have.
I will continue writing for Off Track Planet as I wrap up my English teaching job in Arévalo. God knows I need something to occupy my time in the pueblo. Though I originally shared my apartment with four other roommates, now only one remains. He is leaving tomorrow. Writing for the website is the only thing keeping me sane.
I am considering moving to nearby Ávila, a small medieval city that serves as the capital of our province. I have a few American friends there and they have offered for me to move in with them for the last month to avoid being stranded alone in Arévalo.
I have other plans as well, dreams that keep me going as I shuffle from my crumbling apartment to the high school where I work – moving to Paris this summer. I have discovered a writing program there that lasts the entire month of July and I am in the process of applying for it. If I am accepted into the program I’ll pass the summer in my favorite city while I practice my writing under the guidance of leading writers. I could learn French, soak up the culture of Paris and simply enjoy life.
As important to me as the writing program is, I am most looking forward to the latter element – joie de vivre. After a spending a dark, lonely winter in small-town Spain, I am dying to live closer to the action. When I originally arrived in Arévalo I assumed that I could use the town as a base to explore the rest of Spain. The town was boring but, like a dorm bed in a hostel, it was just a place to sleep. I was quite close to Madrid, Salamanca and northern Spain and I could easily travel across Spain quite easily.
But after six months of traveling almost every weekend I am completely exhausted. I have discovered that where a person lives is one of the most important things in life. Where you live and who you live with defines your experience in many ways. In Arévalo I have lacked all the things I took for granted in California – being close to friends, to other young people, to places where things happen. I am a nomad, setting up camp across the globe as I wander through my youth. But I’ve learned my lesson – next time, I’m going to pitch my tent closer to the action.
Paris is first, then the Basque Country, (or, Euskal Herria in the Basque language). I have re-applied to my English teaching program for a second year, but this time I’m hoping to be place in or around a big city in the Basque Country. The seaside city of Bilbao would be ideal, as would San Sebastián.
I have a few reasons for continuing the program next year. Primarily, I have realized the importance of being patient and taking one’s time in life. My thirst for knowledge has driven me here to study Spanish, to learn the Spanish guitar, and to become a writer. I have progressed drastically on all fronts, but not to my satisfaction. I need more time. Another year here will cement my knowledge of Spanish and give me more time to work on my writing and traveling. Also, I want to begin studying French next year, and from the Basque Country I can travel to both Spain and France with equal ease.
Obviously, this means that I won’t be spending much time in California during 2010. I miss my friends and family, but I feel that right now it is important for me to continue down this path. Fortunately my brother has applied for the same English-teaching program and if all goes to plan we will be sharing a flat together in Bilbao and exploring the world-class surf breaks of the Basque Country on the weekends.
So to summarize, that means I will be in Arévalo until the end of May, then Paris for all of August, then to the Basque Country starting in October. I plan to fill in the gaps between those experiences as follows: in June I will walk El Camino de Santiago de Compostela, a pilgrimage walk from France to Galicia in the northwestern corner of Spain. The journey in its entirety takes six weeks, but I only have three. I will have to pick a section and do as much as I can, then return to finish it at another time. I’ll walk from when I finish my job until I have to move to Paris.
After Paris, I will probably to a bit of traveling out here before returning home to SD to enjoy the waning summer sun. Mellowing with my friends, lounging at the beach, going to Padres games, and eating burritos are in order. Then in late September I would return to Spain to get settled in Bilbao and prepare for the upcoming year.
All this, of course, assumes that I will actually be accepted into these various programs. I could easily be rejected from the Paris program or be assigned to teach English in some small town again. That would change things quite a bit. But let’s hope that doesn’t happen…
That leaves one last tidbit to mention – how I became suspected of being a terrorist. It all happened last Thursday…
It’s been a while since I have written a post, perhaps a month or so. The truth is that a lot of things have happened since I went to Cadiz for Carnival – I’ve landed an internship writing for a travel website, made some tentative plans for my future, and been suspected by Arévalo’s local police of being a terrorist. But let me start at the beginning.
I don’t know where the experience will lead, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction. After over a year of trying to break into writing I finally got my first break. Now I have an editor who helps me develop my style and pushes me to do better each week. Furthermore, having to research and write articles on a diverse range of topics will continually expose me to new aspects of traveling.
Definitely check out the website. It is oriented towards young American backpackers and its full of inspiring articles, tips, advice on working abroad, and practical information on planning the trip of a lifetime. I just got my first article published, but you should see more of my work appear on the site soon. I hope the articles will inspire you to embark on your own journeys. Of course, feel free to contact me with any travel-related questions you might have.
I will continue writing for Off Track Planet as I wrap up my English teaching job in Arévalo. God knows I need something to occupy my time in the pueblo. Though I originally shared my apartment with four other roommates, now only one remains. He is leaving tomorrow. Writing for the website is the only thing keeping me sane.
I am considering moving to nearby Ávila, a small medieval city that serves as the capital of our province. I have a few American friends there and they have offered for me to move in with them for the last month to avoid being stranded alone in Arévalo.
As important to me as the writing program is, I am most looking forward to the latter element – joie de vivre. After a spending a dark, lonely winter in small-town Spain, I am dying to live closer to the action. When I originally arrived in Arévalo I assumed that I could use the town as a base to explore the rest of Spain. The town was boring but, like a dorm bed in a hostel, it was just a place to sleep. I was quite close to Madrid, Salamanca and northern Spain and I could easily travel across Spain quite easily.
But after six months of traveling almost every weekend I am completely exhausted. I have discovered that where a person lives is one of the most important things in life. Where you live and who you live with defines your experience in many ways. In Arévalo I have lacked all the things I took for granted in California – being close to friends, to other young people, to places where things happen. I am a nomad, setting up camp across the globe as I wander through my youth. But I’ve learned my lesson – next time, I’m going to pitch my tent closer to the action.
I have a few reasons for continuing the program next year. Primarily, I have realized the importance of being patient and taking one’s time in life. My thirst for knowledge has driven me here to study Spanish, to learn the Spanish guitar, and to become a writer. I have progressed drastically on all fronts, but not to my satisfaction. I need more time. Another year here will cement my knowledge of Spanish and give me more time to work on my writing and traveling. Also, I want to begin studying French next year, and from the Basque Country I can travel to both Spain and France with equal ease.
After Paris, I will probably to a bit of traveling out here before returning home to SD to enjoy the waning summer sun. Mellowing with my friends, lounging at the beach, going to Padres games, and eating burritos are in order. Then in late September I would return to Spain to get settled in Bilbao and prepare for the upcoming year.
All this, of course, assumes that I will actually be accepted into these various programs. I could easily be rejected from the Paris program or be assigned to teach English in some small town again. That would change things quite a bit. But let’s hope that doesn’t happen…
That leaves one last tidbit to mention – how I became suspected of being a terrorist. It all happened last Thursday…
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