I See You Building the Castle with One Hand

View from the Tate Museum of Modern Art in London, U.K

Music for the Day: Nujabes
Some of you may recognize the name or the beats from the show Samurai Champloo. Nujabes is a very lyrical, rhythm-based sound with piano tones. These tones are intertwined with drums and guitar strokes and even a bit of flute now and then. Check them out! Dance a little, or maybe bob your head to and fro.

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2sML2bq_WGw

The Final Day: Where Reflection Lives in London

It's easy to think that because this is my final day I should be out partying or making the most out of every second. This could be true. But I don't want to conclude this trip in that fashion. The Vagabond Project has been more than a vacation, a holiday, an assignment, or a process. It has been a challenge, physically and mentally. A hearty one at that. And you know what? I'm proud to say I have overcome everything that has been thrown at me. I'm proud to say that I have grown and adapted through life as a traveler. I am proud to say that I am a better person because of the people I have met and the sights I have seen along the way.

A "Secret Place": The Reservoir of Peckham Rye
I don't mean the famous sights like the Colosseum, Big Ben, or the Manneken Pis. They are great, sure (well, maybe not the Manneken Pis!). But I've been inspired much more by what lies off the path. These out of the way locations are the sights that I call Secret Places. Places like the King's Woods, the Paradise, and the Reservoir. But what is a "Secret Place" really?

Currently, I'm staying with a CouchSurfing (CS) host in London. His name is Duncan and he is a fantastic, cheerful, and interesting guy. He's been incredibly kind to let me stay here. Duncan advised me to stop by the Reservoir and gave me basic directions on a map to find it. I first visited it for a run and workout, but I returned to it this morning to really take it all in. It fits my idea of what a Secret Place is- which means that it is a location of mystery, beauty, and while not really known, it is a place that tends to be right in the middle of everything else.

To get to the Reservoir you have to follow this small footpath that looks like a dark alleyway. Notice the demon head sticker, and above, on the left-hand wall, graffiti marks the territory. Maybe a slight sense of danger is also an important inclusion to the definition of a Secret Place.

Graffiti! Nothing creative though. Just numbers and signatures.

So you eventually find a hole cut out in the fence. It's just big enough to slip through, so you do. You want to see what is on the other side, why a fence is there in the first place, and perhaps, more importantly, why someone would cut a hole in that said fence.

The other side of the hole in the fence. A hill, huh? You climb it. You notice the trash. The empty beer cans and condom wrappers. The additional graffiti on the reservoir caps.

You reach the top of the hill and follow a concrete outline across the plateau and to a littered staircase. When heading to a Secret Place, height and elevation are your friends. They somehow add a little extra to the location.

At the apex of the staircase, you're here! You're on top of this wonderful space of grass. The clouds are just above you and below you, houses and trees and farmyards expand into the distance. But then, you decide to turn around.

And you understand why this is a secret place. Why your jaw drops just slightly. Why you stand there an extra second or two and take in the entire skyline of London. Why you know, even when you take a picture, it isn't going to do it justice. Because Secret Places aren't meant to be experienced by photographs- they are meant to be found and experienced in person. 

Informal Musings of a Changing Adult (me!)

As much as this trip has been about the homeless and travel experiences, it has also been about self-advancement, discovery, and development. I have changed and grown in these 84 days and I would like to register some of my changes in thought. This may end up sounding like one of those advice philosophy books. If it does, I apologize.

1) Find the "Pause" button. Hit it.

I move quickly, especially with a physical deadline ahead of me. I have a flight? Better stress and make sure to get there two hours ahead of schedule. I want to go see this museum? Better plan the next few things to do while walking there. That was the old me. It's weird, because I always thought I was a more "do it as you go" kind of guy. And while I am, I like to have things planned, too. But I've learned, through this trip and with the patience of Chris, that you can't plan and make everything perfect. Sometimes the best choice is to "Joe-Cool" it up and relax on the beach for three hours. It's really paramount to be able to find this "Pause" button and hit it. It lets you soak up the experience instead of seeing it in the distance.

Taking this to the next level, I've learned it is important not to rush life. I used to believe it was of the utmost importance to graduate in four years, to sprint to medical school, and to gain my final degree. But honestly, it isn't. Life is about what you make of it and how you enjoy it. This is very counter-intuitive at first to the goals I have set in the past, but I am learning to pursue what I love instead of force feed myself what I want to become. I'm not taking a sloth approach by any means, but I am doing my best to take the right and most favorable route in life.

We can always stick to our primary routes, sure. But then we'll never see what is off to the side of the road. If I didn't take the time to hit the "Pause" button, I never would have hit golf balls with a 6-iron in the middle of the mountains in Austria. I never would have danced a very clumsy waltz to the Fleet Foxes at an outdoor stadium late at night. And I never would have hitch-hiked in Norway.

Your road is always going to be there. A bulldozer isn't going to scream by and strip the asphalt from the earth. Take the time to hit the "Pause" button and explore what's out there. It's all beautiful, man.

2) Your life isn't set in stone, no matter how good of a sculptor you think you are.

When I was a really little kid, I wanted to be an author. I wanted to write fantasy books like Brian Jacques and Garth Nix and help little kids like me grow their imaginations. But I heard being an author was incredibly difficult and took a wild amount of luck. I didn't want to gamble with my life, so I changed the career that I wanted to pursue. I switched to an interest in architecture as I started to draw more and more. I would imagine wild building designs and sketch cities from films and pieces of structures that I thought were unique and powerful. But I started thinking more and more about what I wanted to do in my life and I realized that I wanted to work with and help people. I read the book, Mountains Beyond Mountains by Paul Farmer and I immediately urged to become a trauma surgeon and travel to third world countries. I wanted to be modern-day superman.

This was all before I turned 16. I was so confident in who and what I wanted to be. 

3) There are good people and bad people. But the good people are or so wonderful.

This is to be continued. I'm writing this as I get ready to leave to the airport, and frankly, I've run out of time!

I'm going to leave to fly home now! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!

I'll finish this later. I just wanted to get some thoughts out there. There is a new batch of pictures up, check 'em!

Here I come, Arizona!

Cheers!

-Sam

Airport Blues

Have you ever heard or read or watched anything by Dr. Seuss? The man is silly and wildly creative, yet through all of his abstract characters and rhyming lines, he makes very sound points about life and how to live it. As a kid, I read everything from "Red Fish Blue Fish" to "Green Eggs and Ham", but as an adult, I don't remember too much of what the good doctor had to say. Last night, I came across something I think is a real gem. It is a reading of "Oh the Places You'll Go" done in a musical fashion by a man named Tim Moore.

If you've ever thought about traveling or are thinking about going on any kind of adventure, listen to this with an open heart. I think it is really powerful.

"Oh the Places You'll Go"

Airport Blues

Note: I've uploaded more pictures (08/08)

Weight Changes:

Me: 162lbs -> 149lbs

My Bag: 24lbs -> 31lbs (somehow...)

Dublin, Ireland was great. We ended our trip by taking a twenty-minute train ride to a peninsula northeast of Dublin called Howth. It's rather small and it has several trails that you can follow to walk all over the island. Because we arrived at Howth late in the day, the sun began to set as we began to hike. It was, I think, one of the perfect last memories to have of Ireland- the cliffs, the green hills, and the orange sun beating down on the ocean.

Currently, I'm living out of the Oslo (Rygge) airport. I feel a little bit like Tom Hanks in the movie, The Terminal, but with just a bit less drama in my life. Did you know there is a blog dedicated to reviewing airports for how easy it is to sleep in them? There is: Link.

Today will be my third and final night here. It's been an interesting experience, but luckily Oslo (Rygge) airport is one of the better rated airports for sleeping and staying. It has free WiFi, fast WiFi at that, and access to wall outlets. At night, people pull out floor mats and sleeping bags and basically make camp on the first floor. I was pretty surprised when I saw this- I thought I would have to sleep in the shadows. I've managed to sleep on the second floor these past two nights and I pull a giant advertisement near the corner in which I sleep to block out the light. Luckily, I am able to sleep up here until around 06:30 to 07:00, whereas downstairs, I would have to deal with more traffic and people coming in and out of the airport.

What do I do to kill time?

I've realized that when you're on your own and without a home, this can be very difficult. Having a laptop and the ability to charge it is a big deal. I've listened to a lot of music, done a bit of writing, browsed reddit a bit too much, and taken trips down nostalgia lane to watch my fair share of Johnny Bravo episodes (Whoa, mama!). A lot of my time at the airport has been spent researching future plans and organizing my schedule and how I am going to handle school next semester. It's been a nice break  as well, and I even spent some time learning French and trying to meditate in the lobby of the parking garage.

Don't people ask you to leave?

Surprisingly, no. I haven't been bothered once or told to move, or even really been talked to. But, when you think about it, it kind of makes sense. I don't think I've seen the same person two days in a row (granted I've only been here for three days). Everyone coming in and out of the airport is a fresh face. People fly in, they leave. People wait for a friend's plane to land or drop a family member off so they can make their flight. No one stays, no one comes back for the shopping mall or the restaurant (there aren't any, but just for example's sake). To them, I'm just another dude in the terminal waiting to catch his flight.

What do I eat?
On our last day in Ireland, I bought two loaves of bread for a total of 1600g of food. This cost me 1.5 Euro. I haven't spent any money in Norway, instead, I've only eaten this bread. I refill my water bottle using the bathroom sink, and when we arrived in the airport, they gave us some free chocolate. I eat that, too. Oh, and blueberries from the nearby bushes.

You must get sick of the airport, right?

Heck yes I do. I don't just sit here next to the outlet on my computer. The first day I spent most of my time exploring what was in a three kilometer radius around the airport. I debated about jumping a fence that said "No Access Allowed" for a little too long, found some wild blueberries and chowed down, and made a valiant effort to help a lady call her family using my computer (I failed, sadly!). I felt that it was very important to get a strong feel and understanding of the area so I could be extra safe.

The second day, I woke up to the sound of people moving through security and curled out from my spare sheet like a grizzly bear waking from hibernation. I had a crook in my back from the way I slept, but I shouldered my backpack, ate a two-slice-of-bread breakfast, and did some final research before heading out of the airport on foot toward the city of Moss. It took me about three hours to walk there. I chose not to hitchhike because I needed the exercise and I stopped off every now and then to try and take the perfect photo. I eventually came to this wonderful bench at the edge of a lake. I was pretty beat. I put my backpack on one side, curled up against it, and took a nice snooze in the sun.

I hitchhiked home, though. This was my first time hitchhiking and it went smoothly! It took me about thirty minutes to get picked up and when I did, it was by this funny Norwegian dude in his early-thirties. He was already retired, had really rusty English, and spoke more in grunts than words. He was very nice though, and when he dropped me off at the airport he offered his blessings and the best of luck to me. I couldn't be happier with how it went.

What is next?

I'll meet up with Chris and Laura again later today. They took a bus into Oslo and explored the city while I chose to make base-camp here. We'll all sleep this final night in the airport. Tomorrow, at 07:00 Norway time, we will fly to Poznan, Poland. Here, the Homeless World Cup will begin on August 11th. Hopefully we can help with any remaining set-up they have to do and get a strong idea of how things are going to work in the next day or two before it all starts.

I'm really looking forward to it, but at the same time, I'm sad I won't be able to experience the entire week of the HWC event. However, I'm going to get to see many friends that Chris and I made previously in the trip, so it is going to be so wonderful from that alone.

Guess what? 

We fly home in 9 days! That's countable on your fingers, folks! Thanks to all y'all that I've talked to, even just a little bit these past few days! It's nice to chat with someone when boredom starts to creep in at the airport!

Best wishes,

-Sam

Inward Thinking

Taken in the Netherlands, near Eindhoven

Hello there. How are you doing? I hope you're wonderful. Oh, and thanks for stopping by to give this little blog a read. Listen to some music while you browse the page. Try Zaz, a French artist that is a fresh mix of jazz, soul, and acoustic.

Let's try and do this post slightly differently. I have a topic I want to write about but I also want to toss out some updates. Chris and I have moved through Brussels and the Netherlands and now we are in Dublin. Lot's to say!

Ah, I posted a bunch of new pictures, too. I think fifty or so, maybe more. Some videos as well.

Kindness

Okay, so, onto the topic. I recently read the transcript for George Saunders speech at Syracuse's 2013 graduation. Here is the link to the speech. It's worth a read. 

This is George.

It got me thinking. Most graduation speeches have this purpose at their core- to make students that are no longer students contemplate their lives and how they can improve them and live with quality in the future. The focus of George's speech was his understanding of what he thought is most important in life- kindness. While this fits with the general theme of the graduation speech, it is unique in it's simplicity.

The core of George's speech revolves around an anecdote he tells. When he was back in school, there was a girl in his class that was made fun of. He didn't take part in the jibes, but he didn't stop them or go out of his way to say hello either. Then, one day, the girl moved. Out of everything in his life, this was one of George's biggest regrets. Why?

Because it is so easy but so difficult to be kind to others. Naturally, we only look out for ourselves. We don't push past the invisible barrier that surrounds us so that we can make another's life better- not initially, at least. But once we start to realize how nice it feels to make someone's day, well shit. We get addicted. Okay, not right away.At first, we are so shy. We poke, and prod, and gradually step outside of our boxes.

This is important, critical, I think. It's what I like most about George's speech. He doesn't tell the audience how to make money, how to be successful, or how he became who he was. He gives what he considers to be the best advice possible: to be kind, or to keep being kind.

Why is this important to me? Maybe it is because of my recent work with the homeless and how I've taken a greater interest in those that are struggling to make a living. Maybe it is because people have been so kind to Chris and I on this trip, that they've shared their lives with us as if we are part of their family. I'm not sure of the exact reason, but I just wanted to make a note of it.

Trip Recaps

The Netherlands

Rental car! Not the best idea inside Amsterdam, but for getting around the country, it was awesome. Chris rented the car with his card, so technically, he was supposed to be our driver. So, we go into the garage, next to that "We try harder" sign in the picture. This guy gets our car and we all do a walk around, looking for any dents or scratches that aren't listed on the contract. After checking, the guy leaves and it is just me, Chris, and our rented motor vehicle. I can see Chris getting a little nervous. I had been asking him if he was going to be able to drive stick or not, or if he needed advice, for about a week at this point. He was always cocky. But with the keys in his hands, finally, the man starts to crack.

Avis in Amsterdam

We throw our bags in the backseat of this diesel, four door, brown, eco-machine and I hop in the passenger seat while Chris gets behind the wheel. We take a minute to admire how nice it i, and then Chris turns the ignition and lights up the engine. Then he tries to go forward.

We stall.

I ask if he needs any help and he's laughing. He tries three or four more times, and the guy that gave us the car comes over to check on us. We're both laughing. "It's his first time driving stick in years," I say. "He's a little rusty."

The guy gives us a nervous smile and walks away and Chris and I make the wise decision to swap seats. I put the car in gear and we zip out of that garage and into the bike-infested city of Amsterdam.

But how was the Netherlands?

Fantastic. I have to say that it may be the prettiest country we have visited. Everything is so lush, so green. Driving on the highway and through the small towns and cities, and walking along the beaches at Zandvoort and Noordwijk was something else. Oh, and thank you, Cassie. Without you teaching me how to drive a manual car, we would have been pushing the vehicle around the country.

It's the kind of place where I can't believe that this is my picture. But it is. I took that. I was there. It's just. Wow.

One memory that I don't think I'll forget was our last night in the Netherlands. We had driven, music blaring, windows down, from Noordwijk to Amsterdam, then Amsterdam to Eindhoven, and found a place to park the car so we could sleep in it overnight. This place was something out of a film. On the fringes of the airport there is this small lot where cars can park next to a chain-link fence. People drive here to take a break, to relax, and to talk about life. They get out of their cars, sit on their hoods or on a nearby bench, and watch planes fly just over their heads and land on the tarmac. So the last night, Chris and I parked here. We ate the last of our bread and peanut butter and we just sat, listening to music, seats reclined, car doors open to maximize airflow, watching the planes fly in and the sun fall down.

It was one of those secret places.

Brussels, Dublin, and Next Steps:
I'm not going to write down any stories from Brussels or Dublin in this post, but let it be known that Brussels was wonderful and Dublin has been treating us great so far. Chris has enjoyed the chance to drink his favorite beer, Guinness, at its source, and we've had our fair share of adventures. Laura, a friend of Chris's, has joined Chris and I for the remainder of our journey- so we are now a lovely trio!

On Tuesday at around 06:00, we will fly to Norway. I'm going to be spending my time there in the airport, as funds are a little to low to afford a place to stay in the city for three nights. So camping it is. It will be an interesting bit of the trip, that's for sure.

We have just thirteen days until we head back to Arizona. My gossshshhhhshshshshshshsh.

<3

Sam

Vignettes in France

Vignettes in France

I sit on the edge of a beaten up bed, pressing my bare feet against the dusty wooden floorboards. My legs are sore from wading through the weeds and fields of the farm and my pants have more and more holes from the thick spines on the more dastardly plant stems. On the edge of the wooden frame is a comic and I read it over and over. It’s in French but I love the characters. The boy with his sword, the dancing elephant, the worried girl driving her car. I feel like a kid making up stories in a picture book.

Maybe that’s all I am. A kid thinking up different stories for everything I see, hear, and touch.

The horse rears and pulls hard to the right. I’m shocked, at first, and I let it drag me against my saddle until I realize to grab the reigns and regain control. I laugh to myself and rub the neck of the animal, scratching with my fingernails. Over and over, in French, I say that it’s okay, that it’s good, it’s good. I look ahead and see Chris smiling. He hasn’t stopped smiling since he got on his horse, err, pony. And he thought he was going to crush it. I guide the horse back to the line, readjust my helmet, and go back to daydreaming about galloping through the farmlands that surround us.

Sebastian prepares the lamb meat for the fire outside.

Dominique runs into the kitchen, Sebastian close behind. He has a worried expression on his face and I ask what is wrong. In Spanish, he replies that a sheep, a young sheep, just drowned in the river near the rest of the herd. I watch him grab a long kitchen knife and the whetting stone. He starts sharpening it. We have to get the meat, he says. Well. Shoot.

I approach her restaurant and pause to straighten my shirt. For the final time, I check to make sure the bouquet looks perfect and the flowers are in order. I move an orange berry closer to the center. I decide to step forward. I move past the final set of tables and look ahead. There she is, fifteen feet away, taking the plates from a pair of customers. I take the last few steps and touch her on the shoulder and gently spin my fingers through the ends of her hair. I can’t hide my smile and as she turns around, she’s beaming, too, just beaming. She doesn’t know what to do with the plate or what words to say and she mutters in French and English and I foolishly hand her the small bouquet of flowers I collected earlier in the day, even though her hands are completely full. We look like a pair of goofs, standing there with these big, fat smiles on our faces. We don’t care, either, and I feel so darn happy.

Chris and I stare at our flight papers in disbelief. We fly tomorrow, not today. Whoops. We stand in the middle of the airport remarking at how bad we are, how we are nooblets at traveling and that we should just go home. We aren’t mad, though, we think it is just so funny and embarrassing. We laugh at how silly we look to ourselves, to our good friend that was so kind to drive us to the airport, and to the clerk that just found out we came to the terminal twenty-five hours in advance.

We make the decision to drive to the ocean- it is only a mere forty minutes away. We load our bags in the trunk and eat some banana chips. We get in the car. We cruise with the windows down and soak up the Bordeaux sun that we thought we were leaving for good. I’m in the front seat and we spin through another round-about. A truck is in front of us. In the other lane, a car swerves, just slightly. Boom. I’m yelling, “Holy fuck. Shit. Shit. Jesus.” as our friend slams on the breaks and pulls to the side of the road. The car hasn’t stopped yet, but Chris and I burst out of the doors and sprint toward the sedan. Oil drenches the asphalt. Debris, dead car parts, are scattered everywhere. We reach the car and see an old man. His scalp is torn and sliced, his eyes are lifeless. He’s pinned, hard, into the heated metal of the car and the plastic of his steering wheel. He’s bleeding. Shit. Shit. Chris reaches for his pulse and I bolt toward the other vehicle, the truck that drove off the side of the road.

It is wrapped around a fence.  The driver is dazed. There are cuts under his eyes and on his forehead, but he’s alright. He’s in shock, but he’s alright. A French man comes up with me and we try and pry the fence off his door. No luck, it’s melded onto the metal. We rush around to the passenger door, grip the chain-link hard in the palms of our hand, and yank it down with the power only adrenaline can grant. It’s off. We call to the driver inside and he confirms that he is alright. He gets on his radio and starts talking to an authority.

After the clean-up begins. The sedan, to the left of the man, the debris to his right.

I go back to the first car, jumping over metal chunks and letting my shoes slide on the slippery liquids. I turn to Chris. His shirt is off. There is a guy next to him, looking troubled. I look inside the car and see the old man again. Dead. Gone. Nothing left and certainly no pulse any more. Chris takes his shirt from his hand and puts it over the man’s head to hide his face, to offer him that slight courtesy of respect.

Shit. This isn’t like the movies or the news stories. There isn’t anything we can do. For the first time I watch a man’s life get ripped from his chest. The instant, that accident, feels so normal. Like toast coming out of the toaster kind of normal. But the aftermath is what is unreal. Seeing the nothingness on the man’s face, the panic in the truck driver’s expression, the will to help in the movements of those that came to the scene after Chris and I. I don’t think I’m scared of death, but I’m scared of my life getting torn away like that.

I hand the attendant my boarding pass and empty my pockets into the bucket for an x-ray check. I’m wondering how goodbyes are so hard and so easy and how you can leave people who have come to mean so much to you by just walking fifty steps in the other direction. I look through the glass panel and I suppress the urge to run back and grab her hand and sneak her through security and on the plane and find some way that she can join me. But, I put my bag on the conveyor belt. I tap my pockets one last time. I pass through the doorway of the metal-detector and fumble with the clove of garlic her sister gave me an hour ago as a present.

I’m at a desk on the third story of a brick building in Brussels. Again, I am sliding my bare feet against the wooden planks of the floor. These ones are clean and smooth. Music fills my ears from my worn headphones. Orange light, from the streets below, tries to make it to the edge of the window but it can’t quite make it inside. The breeze can, though, and it does.

Here is where I try to mix nostalgia and reality so they blend into just the right cocktail. These are just a few of the thoughts rolling across the meadows of my mind. The ingredients are all there, somewhere. I just need to figure out how to get my bartender’s license…

Au revoir.

Sam

PS: Pictures and videos are updated from 7/22 (July 23rd). Chris and I are in Brussels and all is very well. We will leave for Amsterdam by bus on Saturday, where we will rent a car and sleep in it for a few days as we explore the city and the countryside. We fly out for Ireland on the 30th from Eindhoven. 

Recollection

The Italian Lunch!

Hello!

I managed to do a long video update that catches up on most of the trip so far. It just hits the surface, but I am able to touch on many of the concepts and stories that have been sitting in my head and waiting to make their way to the blog.

The "Less than 30 Days" Update (YouTube Link)

Chris and I are in Brussels, Belgium now. We were welcomed by some great hosts and had a nice beer and a summer pasta dish before retiring to some comfortable beds. We're excited to press forward in our journey, but it had been sad leaving France.

Okay. I'll be writing up a blog post in the next few days, so look for that soon. For now, all I have are these videos. I've also updated the pictures section with a few more photos.

See you!

Sam

The Chris Cronin Experience

Waiting for a train, Chris decided to give a brief update on his time in Europe. Here it is.

The Chris Cronin Experience, YouTube Link

Also, Chris and I were able to experience the French National Day. Like the 4th of July, it represents a day of pride and patriotism for their country. We watched the fireworks near the river in a small city called Périgueux.

The French National Day, YouTube Link

That's it for now. I'm going to ride a horse.

Best,

-Sam

The Italian Lunch

Hey everyone!

I am currently in France, just east of Bordeaux for a WOOFing program. I am trying to catch up on topics that I have yet to write about, and I thought there would be no better way to do that than some videos. Here is the first of the series. It is longer than I intended, but I have not done a video in a long time and was quite nervous! Anyway, here it is!

The Italian Lunch, YouTube Link

Ciao!

-Sam