My body is currently locked in the time-distortion sickness of jet lag. It was an extremely long flight but I am glad to have arrived in Frankfurt, Germany. On the plane ride I flirted with my young, attractive hostess (as one often does when given the opportunity) and she in-turn returned my flirtations with gratuitous amounts of bottled airline wine. By the time I arrived in Germany I was feeling pretty good. I grabbed my bag which seemed strange. As I looked at my bag I realized that the waist straps and pads of the bag were missing. Now, I HOPE what happened is that they were torn off/damaged during the flight. It would be absurd if someone actually stole JUST the straps of my bag, especially while juxtaposed with the camera on the inside of the bag. Whatever, I'll run and cry to REI in August when I get back, for now I'll just work on getting really buff shoulders.
After I had "collected myself" (which is a term I find visually delightful), I made my way to the Hooters restaurant in the Frankfurt airport to meet up with my friend Mani who is the owner. Mani is a 27-year-old, good-looking, well-traveled German guy who used to live with my uncle and aunt in California. I ate and drank a couple beers while I waited for Mani to finish his work at the restaurant. He took care of my meal and offered me a ride to where I am staying now. We pulled up to a house in a nice suburb on the outside of Frankfurt and the neighbor Stefan gave me the key (I felt bad that I had woken him up at 11:30pm). I could tell Stefan was tired so I said a quick thank you and shuffled off into the night. The house here is great. It is owned by a friend of my father's named Kai. On the table of Kai's house was blankets, a pillow, and a note that basically read (and I'm paraphrasing): "Welcome to Germany, choose whichever bed you like, raid the fridge to your pleasure, and here is also some drinking beer money so you can really enjoy your time in Frankfurt." Honestly, I'm blessed to have these people in my life and to be lucky enough to be constantly meeting new people with equally kind-hearts. However, I feel like Goldilocks right now (which of course is a German folktale); eating, drinking, sleeping in another's house. Although, I suppose the bears at least invited me.
I woke up at 1pm today to the doorbell. I had a small panic-attack of "Should I open somebody else's door? Who would be looking for me?" My better judgement said that I should answer the door and if it was someone who only spoke German I had decided to just play my part as the ignorant non-German speaking American who shakes his head in confusion until the situation resolves itself. It was Stefan, my current neighbor, who had come to see how I was getting on. Stefan is a 50-year-old man (who looks late-30s, early 40s) and has two kids. He is a fascinating character. As we spoke he shook his head in open disdain for any adrenaline-prone adventure I brought up. "Skydiving? It is not for me, I don't see the point," he said as he took a drag from his cigarette. We went across the street to a small cafe and had coffee as we talked more. Stefan told me about his youth: He had grown up in many places around the world. He had actually been living in Egypt during the 6-days War. He remembers planes flying extremely low over the school as he studied Egyptian. I hope to have many more conversations with Stefan while I am here. We both agreed to meet up on Sunday and go into the city and then parted ways; Stefan refused to let me pay for the coffee.
The hospitality is amazing, I didn't know an entire group of people could be so kind to a foreigner. Especially someone with my profile: an American (not generally enjoyed by the world), young, scruffy, and ignorant of the language. Yet here I am: my first meal free, beers bought by a friend, a free ride to an open house of a person I've never met (who left me food AND beer money), and a coffee bought for me by the neighbor of a man who I've never met before. As you can tell I am in awe, and I've made a promise to myself that I will emulate this open-armed hospitality whenever I have the chance; my own German hospitality.
Tonight I am doing a Frankfurt pub-crawl. I will take pictures and post what I can tomorrow. I would have posted some pics in this post, but it felt extremely invasive to take pictures of someone's house without their permission. So, imagine a three-story German house in the countryside with green ferns and large coniferous trees in the backyard.
JC
Friday, June 24, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Travel Theory
I leave the country again tomorrow. My one thought is about "home" as I take my next step as a world traveler. "Home" is something we think about as the place we grew up in, but as we refine ourselves in our march towards maturation we find that "home" is a term that means so much more. As I sit here and think about "home" I realize that it means my family: My dad who works tirelessly for my family, basking in the few moments he gets to spend with his daughter and sons; hoping that we take to heart any of the wisdom he is able to pass onto us. My mother, who excessively worries about her children in far away places, missing their humor as she bravely endeavors with her own mission to make the world a better place. I think of my brothers and sister who have their own lives, full of the own hopes and difficulties; a family detached by geography but attached by a synchronized heartbeat. I think of my friends struggling through the difficult jobs they've endured in hopes of a better life someday. I think of their faltered and fortified romances that I both abhor and cherish from afar. A friend says tepidly. "You have to have a great time, I'm living vicariously through you." I think of their hopes and dreams and I want desperately to make them come true; the sandy beaches, the clouded mountains, the statues of cultures long ago. I think of their children, young and beautiful faces still allowed the naivety of youth. I see her face, but I know my feet still have more miles.
Why does my mind focus this way?
Most people don't understand when I tell them this, but I'll try once more now: Traveling is the greatest thing in the world. It's absurd to NOT go anywhere when so many beautiful things exist on this planet; our mission as humans should be to observe and try to understand it all. However, as I travel there are three things I have learned: 1) "Wanderlust" (a term I use to speak of travel addiction) is a compounding process; the more you travel, the more you will desire/need to travel. 2) Many times we focus on what is to gain during travel, completely forgetting what is given up. We think, "I will be away from work," "I will see the world," but thoughts such as "I'll miss you" and "I love sleeping in real beds" get forgotten (perhaps this is just me). 3) Our hearts, as humans, are like a piece of paper. When we dedicate ourselves to travel we go around the globe in search of new people, places, and experiences; writing their names all across our hearts. What we don't realize is that when we leave those people and places we tear a piece of ourselves away. As travelers our hearts are a single piece of paper, spread across the globe like confetti.
As you can tell, I embark on this next journey, not with a heart of caution and regret, but a heart which understands that I'm leaving a piece of myself behind; a curious heart spread across the world in search of something not yet found. Tomorrow I head to Europe with a travelers heart, a heart in search of ANYTHING.
-JC
Why does my mind focus this way?
Most people don't understand when I tell them this, but I'll try once more now: Traveling is the greatest thing in the world. It's absurd to NOT go anywhere when so many beautiful things exist on this planet; our mission as humans should be to observe and try to understand it all. However, as I travel there are three things I have learned: 1) "Wanderlust" (a term I use to speak of travel addiction) is a compounding process; the more you travel, the more you will desire/need to travel. 2) Many times we focus on what is to gain during travel, completely forgetting what is given up. We think, "I will be away from work," "I will see the world," but thoughts such as "I'll miss you" and "I love sleeping in real beds" get forgotten (perhaps this is just me). 3) Our hearts, as humans, are like a piece of paper. When we dedicate ourselves to travel we go around the globe in search of new people, places, and experiences; writing their names all across our hearts. What we don't realize is that when we leave those people and places we tear a piece of ourselves away. As travelers our hearts are a single piece of paper, spread across the globe like confetti.
As you can tell, I embark on this next journey, not with a heart of caution and regret, but a heart which understands that I'm leaving a piece of myself behind; a curious heart spread across the world in search of something not yet found. Tomorrow I head to Europe with a travelers heart, a heart in search of ANYTHING.
-JC
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Consistently Inconsistent
Dear friends and family,
I deeply apologize for not updating this blog more often during the trip through Central America. The trip has come and gone and now as I sit on the white sofa of living room of my parent's house I reflect, and in this reflection I can now recount to you everything that has become relegated to the past.
Shortly after we left Lago Atitlan we made our way towards Honduras. We were under the naive impression that the journey would be short and simple...and we could not have been more wrong. The journey was a living puzzle of chicken buses, less-than-desirable public vans, and some very opportunistic cab drivers. I will start this conspiracy theory: There is a collaboration of drivers in Central America who eagerly move slowly in their approach to the borders. Why would they do this you ask? Well, when we finally arrived at midnight we were politely asked for a bribe to be taken across the border. Saying "no" would have only resulted in being left in an extremely unwelcoming and potentially dangerous border town until morning. So, we "paid the ferryman" and headed across. Luckily, this was the most dangerous part of our trip and it had passed. The next day was another rewarding day of slow travel. When we arrived in La Ceiba we had missed the last boat to Utila by about 20 minutes. Serendipity struck and we happened to be there during the annual "Festivale." Dancers crowded the streets, live musicians played to the eager fans standing on the confetti-filled streets, and fire dancers lit up any remaining dark corners of main street.
We finally arrived in Utila (with one more person in tow: a German named Daniel) and were quickly picked up by our new friends of Parrots Dive Center. Mark, a Dive Instructor showed us around the city and offered us the dive options. We signed up for the courses, put our stuff in the room, and went snorkeling at the main beach. As we were snorkeling, we saw an eagle ray. As its tail whipped through the water and it disappeared into the light blue water, we all decided that we were going to stay in Utila for the remainder of the trip. That eagle ray was the end of our thoughts on continuing to Belize. As I got out of the water I realized that I no longer had my underwater camera. Somehow it had slipped away from me while we were swimming. Back at the dive shop convinced me to head back out into the water and search until the sun goes down. I took this absurd challenge to heart and went back out. I swam for two hours until I, by divine providence, found my camera. Unfortunately, I was unable to repair the damage it had sustained from being bounced underwater for hours...thus the lack of pictures on this blog (I will try to correct this on my travels through Europe). So, without the photos I will try to describe Utila:
Utila is a small island off the coast of Honduras which is about 5 football fields in length (as football fields are my measuring tool of choice). The islanders speak a pigeon English which is extremely close to Jamaican. The vowels are drawn out and there are no spaces between the words. Everyone moves at a slow pace on the island, not that I would do it any differently if I lived there. The beaches are soft,fine, white sand that extends itself far into the light turquoise water, allowing you to walk out 60 ft before you even need to begin swimming. The food is excellent and the air is warm. A typical day on the island goes as follows: wake up, find food/coffee, swim/snorkel/dive, drink heavily (and smoke weed if that's your thing) from 4pm til you stumble home...rinse/repeat. The island is a utopia for those who wish to dive and party. Well, perhaps utopia is the wrong word as it implies that nothing bad occurs on the island. The invisible habitats of the island, the sand flies, conduct their assassination in small itchy agonizing bites. By the time I left the island, I had a conservative count of 125 bites on my body. Also, one of the nights on the island a card game went sour at the islands casino and a gun was fired, missing its target and finding its mark instead in the elbow and a woman not involved with the conflict. So, I suppose I should say this, "Utila is paradise, but not every paradise is a utopia."
The next two weeks were spent diving under the tutelage of our Darbisher-friend, Mark. We were also extremely fortunate that our Canadian friends we met in Guatemala, Erika and Paul, joined us in Utila; our small travel group had formed. The open water courses were easy and quickly passed. Then the Advance Open Water courses began. Our days were spent studying in the morning, diving in the early afternoons, and (of course) drinking at night. The dives were great. We did a wreck dive (at the "Hallibourton"), a navigation dive (compass and natural navigation), a night dive (don't forget your flash light), a deep dive (get narked!), and a peak performance buoyancy dive (PPB). My personal favorites were the PPB and the Deep dive. During the PPB, Mark taught us how to use our breathing to control our buoyancy underwater. After a few drills and some practice we were able to balance ourselves underwater, swim backwards and upside-down, and conserve our oxygen by making our movements more controlled. In that one dive we went from awkward ocean baby-steps to seasoned aquatic acrobats. The deep dive was just pure fun. At 30 meters a funny thing happens, the pressure causes the oxygen molecules in your tank to compress and so you end up sucking in much more nitrogen. The nitrogen causes you to get high and then you are under the spell of "Nitrogen Narcosis." We were asked to do some number tests underwater which were suddenly funnier than they should have been. 30ft underwater acts exactly like outer-space, and it is definitely the closest I will ever get. Mark brought down some raw eggs and when he cracked them open, the yoke hovered like a small ping-pong ball in the colorless depth. When were able to throw the egg yoke between us and let it hover around us like an electron around a nucleus. It was a completely different and exciting world down there, but our greedy lungs feast quicker on the oxygen and we hastened to the surface (making our safety stop of course to avoid getting "The Bends," or Decompression Sickness).
I accidentally blinked one day and our time in Utila was over. The entire group of us (now at 7) left together: Paul and Erika (Canada), Charly (England), Camilla (Brazil), Daniel (Germany), Will and myself (USA). We all took the joyful auto-adventure to Copan Ruinas on the border of Honduras where we would spend the last two days of our trip. The ruins in Copan were made by the Mayans (as are most of the ruins throughout Central America) and are comprised of large Ziggauraut-esque (not quite big enough to be official) structures. The statues which line the large stone-structures are of jaguars and once-upon-a-time powerful rulers. We spent the next day relaxing and reading in small cafes and book shops.
Then we were in an airport on our way back to California. I went to Maui, Hawaii for a short week with my family and Will did something MUCH less fun. As I was swimming with turtles and soaking up the sun on sandy beaches, he was in a hospital room having his appendix removed. A narrow escape from disaster. I shiver to think what I would have done if something had happened while we were diving, but I am reminded that bad things can happen anywhere and am extremely thankful that we made it back and his surgery went well.
So, now we have 5 days before we head to Germany, which gives me time to apologize for not writing, write, and apologize again for not writing, and time for Will to recover. I'm looking forward to Germany and I promise there will be more frequent posts and a working camera on the next satiation of my "wanderlust."
-Jordan "Vagabond" Carver
I deeply apologize for not updating this blog more often during the trip through Central America. The trip has come and gone and now as I sit on the white sofa of living room of my parent's house I reflect, and in this reflection I can now recount to you everything that has become relegated to the past.
Shortly after we left Lago Atitlan we made our way towards Honduras. We were under the naive impression that the journey would be short and simple...and we could not have been more wrong. The journey was a living puzzle of chicken buses, less-than-desirable public vans, and some very opportunistic cab drivers. I will start this conspiracy theory: There is a collaboration of drivers in Central America who eagerly move slowly in their approach to the borders. Why would they do this you ask? Well, when we finally arrived at midnight we were politely asked for a bribe to be taken across the border. Saying "no" would have only resulted in being left in an extremely unwelcoming and potentially dangerous border town until morning. So, we "paid the ferryman" and headed across. Luckily, this was the most dangerous part of our trip and it had passed. The next day was another rewarding day of slow travel. When we arrived in La Ceiba we had missed the last boat to Utila by about 20 minutes. Serendipity struck and we happened to be there during the annual "Festivale." Dancers crowded the streets, live musicians played to the eager fans standing on the confetti-filled streets, and fire dancers lit up any remaining dark corners of main street.
We finally arrived in Utila (with one more person in tow: a German named Daniel) and were quickly picked up by our new friends of Parrots Dive Center. Mark, a Dive Instructor showed us around the city and offered us the dive options. We signed up for the courses, put our stuff in the room, and went snorkeling at the main beach. As we were snorkeling, we saw an eagle ray. As its tail whipped through the water and it disappeared into the light blue water, we all decided that we were going to stay in Utila for the remainder of the trip. That eagle ray was the end of our thoughts on continuing to Belize. As I got out of the water I realized that I no longer had my underwater camera. Somehow it had slipped away from me while we were swimming. Back at the dive shop convinced me to head back out into the water and search until the sun goes down. I took this absurd challenge to heart and went back out. I swam for two hours until I, by divine providence, found my camera. Unfortunately, I was unable to repair the damage it had sustained from being bounced underwater for hours...thus the lack of pictures on this blog (I will try to correct this on my travels through Europe). So, without the photos I will try to describe Utila:
Utila is a small island off the coast of Honduras which is about 5 football fields in length (as football fields are my measuring tool of choice). The islanders speak a pigeon English which is extremely close to Jamaican. The vowels are drawn out and there are no spaces between the words. Everyone moves at a slow pace on the island, not that I would do it any differently if I lived there. The beaches are soft,fine, white sand that extends itself far into the light turquoise water, allowing you to walk out 60 ft before you even need to begin swimming. The food is excellent and the air is warm. A typical day on the island goes as follows: wake up, find food/coffee, swim/snorkel/dive, drink heavily (and smoke weed if that's your thing) from 4pm til you stumble home...rinse/repeat. The island is a utopia for those who wish to dive and party. Well, perhaps utopia is the wrong word as it implies that nothing bad occurs on the island. The invisible habitats of the island, the sand flies, conduct their assassination in small itchy agonizing bites. By the time I left the island, I had a conservative count of 125 bites on my body. Also, one of the nights on the island a card game went sour at the islands casino and a gun was fired, missing its target and finding its mark instead in the elbow and a woman not involved with the conflict. So, I suppose I should say this, "Utila is paradise, but not every paradise is a utopia."
The next two weeks were spent diving under the tutelage of our Darbisher-friend, Mark. We were also extremely fortunate that our Canadian friends we met in Guatemala, Erika and Paul, joined us in Utila; our small travel group had formed. The open water courses were easy and quickly passed. Then the Advance Open Water courses began. Our days were spent studying in the morning, diving in the early afternoons, and (of course) drinking at night. The dives were great. We did a wreck dive (at the "Hallibourton"), a navigation dive (compass and natural navigation), a night dive (don't forget your flash light), a deep dive (get narked!), and a peak performance buoyancy dive (PPB). My personal favorites were the PPB and the Deep dive. During the PPB, Mark taught us how to use our breathing to control our buoyancy underwater. After a few drills and some practice we were able to balance ourselves underwater, swim backwards and upside-down, and conserve our oxygen by making our movements more controlled. In that one dive we went from awkward ocean baby-steps to seasoned aquatic acrobats. The deep dive was just pure fun. At 30 meters a funny thing happens, the pressure causes the oxygen molecules in your tank to compress and so you end up sucking in much more nitrogen. The nitrogen causes you to get high and then you are under the spell of "Nitrogen Narcosis." We were asked to do some number tests underwater which were suddenly funnier than they should have been. 30ft underwater acts exactly like outer-space, and it is definitely the closest I will ever get. Mark brought down some raw eggs and when he cracked them open, the yoke hovered like a small ping-pong ball in the colorless depth. When were able to throw the egg yoke between us and let it hover around us like an electron around a nucleus. It was a completely different and exciting world down there, but our greedy lungs feast quicker on the oxygen and we hastened to the surface (making our safety stop of course to avoid getting "The Bends," or Decompression Sickness).
I accidentally blinked one day and our time in Utila was over. The entire group of us (now at 7) left together: Paul and Erika (Canada), Charly (England), Camilla (Brazil), Daniel (Germany), Will and myself (USA). We all took the joyful auto-adventure to Copan Ruinas on the border of Honduras where we would spend the last two days of our trip. The ruins in Copan were made by the Mayans (as are most of the ruins throughout Central America) and are comprised of large Ziggauraut-esque (not quite big enough to be official) structures. The statues which line the large stone-structures are of jaguars and once-upon-a-time powerful rulers. We spent the next day relaxing and reading in small cafes and book shops.
Then we were in an airport on our way back to California. I went to Maui, Hawaii for a short week with my family and Will did something MUCH less fun. As I was swimming with turtles and soaking up the sun on sandy beaches, he was in a hospital room having his appendix removed. A narrow escape from disaster. I shiver to think what I would have done if something had happened while we were diving, but I am reminded that bad things can happen anywhere and am extremely thankful that we made it back and his surgery went well.
So, now we have 5 days before we head to Germany, which gives me time to apologize for not writing, write, and apologize again for not writing, and time for Will to recover. I'm looking forward to Germany and I promise there will be more frequent posts and a working camera on the next satiation of my "wanderlust."
-Jordan "Vagabond" Carver
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