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

Madrid, Madrid- A Somewhat Lengthy Update on the Beginning

Madrid, Madrid- A Somewhat Lengthy Update on the Beginning

Early Saturday morning, we hit the airport. Ed, Chris’s friend, drove us as we jammed to the new Daft Punk album, cruising with our fingers crossed for two things- that Ed’s beat-up Nissan wouldn’t explode and that our first international flight went smoothly.

It did, more or less.

Our plane descended into Madrid at 6:50am. Peering through the little window near the wing, the clouds looked like the waves of a curling ocean. A few of us pulled out our cameras and awkwardly tried to get pictures, and we all laughed. It was a long flight and nice to be rewarded with such a pretty sunrise as we landed. The Modest Mouse song, “Talking Shit about a Pretty Sunset” came to mind, and I thought to myself that not a single bad thing could be said watching the sun rise at eye-level with the clouds.

Chris and I were in a daze as we walked through the airport. His head was only two inches from crawling along the ceiling and I kept focusing on the advertisements and trying to translate the Spanish announcements as they echoed across the tile floor. I nervously approached the clerk at the customs line, deciding on how I should open the conversation.  Would a simple “Hola” suffice or should I break out “como estas?” as well? I opted for the second option and received a stern glance and my first rectangular stamp in my passport. If I had Instagram, I think that would have been one of the few times I would have wanted to use it. The stamp just felt so official. I guess it was. After all, without it, I wasn’t allowed to enter the country.

Three options hummed for getting to the center of the city hummed in the air as we stepped outside. Walk, taxi, or bus. The walk, we realized, was too far. So we tried the taxi. With our bags in the trunk, the cab driver told us it would be 35 euros. Whoa. No deal. Thus, the bus. It took about ten minutes for the right one to arrive, but that wasn’t an issue. The weather outside was fantastic, clean, and a steady sixty-six degrees.

Madrid, as a city, opened up with graffiti-ridden walls and a mix of modern and old, stone-based architecture. Rolling hills that screamed something like a Tuscan backdrop surrounded the airport, but as we closed into the center of the city they were exchanged for apartment and governmental buildings. Parks, fountains, and monuments seemed as plentiful as Madrid’s roundabouts, which, as we found out quickly enough, were quite common and confusing.

This place called Hotel de Las Letras (Hotel of the Letters) ended up saving us. With no WiFi and little understanding of the maps and streets, we needed to get some kind of GPS reference to our location. We almost didn’t try the hotel. It looked glamorous: complete with red carpets and high ceilings, ornate walls of marble and those white, shining pillars that are only in glowing ballrooms. But the people inside were kind and helpful and willing to be patient with my rusty Spanish. With access to WiFi and an outlet adapter, we found a hostel to stay in and get our bags in one place. CouchSurfing, sadly, didn’t pull through and we didn’t want to be worried about finding a bed when the sun was setting.

But first, we urged to explore some more. With big packs and booming voices, we put off the vibe of two buffoons piling our way through the streets of the city and certainly had large nametags that said, “American.” This one guy caught on. He was wearing a blue hoodie and worn jeans and had that shady aura licking his shadow. Chris and I were lumbering around with our map out and he casually stepped into our conversation, directing us toward an alleyway. Initially, we trusted his direction, crossing the street and heading that way. He followed at a short distance, emphasizing his stroll as a stroll- nothing more. That’s when I noticed three guys, wearing similar clothes, leaning against the side of an adjacent building and giving us the stare down. It wasn’t the, “Those look like two cool dudes” stare. Nah, it was the “We want to take your money” stare. So I pulled Chris off to a nearby table, dropped our bags down, and waited for our tail to pass. We got so excited about being in Madrid that we forgot to be cautious and it almost cost us. I felt like a patsy for getting marked so quickly.

The hostel. Located on Calle de Barbieri, it had pretty much everything going for it. Beds. Hot showers. Clean bathroom, clean kitchen with pots and pans, staffed 24/7 with free printing, an additional computer, and WiFi. The only real drag was that my computer seemed to be unable to come to an agreement with the hostel’s internet- it refused to connect. But it wasn’t the hostel that had the problem with its temperament, it was my little netbook. All in all, I can only say great things about this place.

My first real Spanish conversation happened at the hostel. I started casually talking to the maid, trying to remember verbs and tenses and any noun that I needed. It was a struggle at initially, but as we chatted about favorite places, the weather, and her family, I began to realize that my Spanish wasn’t so bad. We discussed Spain in general for a while and it was refreshing to hear how much she loved her country- from vacations she took to Barcelona as a kid to Madrid, where she had lived for over fifty years, the passion she had for her city was tangible. And her favorite place? The worn street of Calle de Barbieri, where she lived and worked. I thanked her for the conversation before we left.

Alright, so even though CouchSurfing didn’t work out in Madrid, I still wanted to be an active member. On Madrid’s page, I was able to find some people in the city and we got in touch with a girl from Philadelphia. After dinner, we went out to a bar called El Tigre to meet her for a drink and chat about travel and our experiences. We got there early and ordered a beer each, without realizing one wonderful thing about some Spanish bars- with drinks come tapas. Tapas are these little sandwiches built from a slice of a bagette and a slice of meat (jamon, chorizo, carne). They are delicious and greasy. But when you order a drink, the bartender smiles, hands it to you, and then gives you THREE plates full of tapas. So Chris and I each bought a drink and walked off to a table with six plates of miniature sandwiches. Awesome, except for the fact that we were already stuffed. We ate anyways, as we didn’t want to look bad for accepting the complimentary food and not doing anything with it.

Shavana, the girl from CouchSurfing, arrived shortly. She hung out while we finished our drinks and then together we walked to another bar to meet her friends from her hostel. It was a group of five or so people, two girls from India and a guy who lived and worked in Madrid. It was actually really cool, sitting and chatting with these people we’d never met. We’d share stories, each one of us adding on experiences- be them from India or Philly or Spain or somewhere any of us had traveled, the conversations were full of excitement and interesting aspects. I can see myself really liking the CS (CouchSurfing) program. It just pulls all sorts of different people together for good times.

As we walked home, the clouds broke above us and it started to rain, very gently. It was relaxing and welcoming, and a good way to end the day.

As I am getting ready to close my laptop, a group across the street is howling and singing “Feliz cumpleanos a ti”, ecstatic and excited. I can’t help but think that their emotion, that pure happiness and enthusiasm, is how I’ll remember Madrid. The people are loving, caring, and willing to help. The streets are easy to learn, once you find out that the street signs are on the sides of buildings, and the weather is like a sunny day in Hawaii with a spicier flavor.

I’ll get a post out on our second day when I can. It was great though- free museums, the botanical garden, and a lot more use of Spanish. I also want to do some reflection. But for now, I need rest. We have to catch a bus tomorrow and it takes an hour to walk to the station, so we are waking up at five to get there on time. 

For now, all I can say is adiois. To the blog, to Madrid, and to this great hostel. It’s been great and I can’t wait to return.