John Around the World

The Galapagos.....2.0

2017-07-02T19:57:00.004-07:00

In 2004, my father and I took a trip to the Galapagos, on the back of a larger trip to Ecuador. I had been in mainland Ecuador, just a few months earlier for the span of 6 weeks, while doing a teaching program in Cuenca, and was so enthralled with the culture, that I asked if he'd go back with me just a few months later. During our trip, we went to the somewhat rugged port city of Guayaquil and found a vessel that would take us for 5 days around the islands. The boat was basic, and at times smelled of sewage. The wildlife however, was prolific and memorizing, with each island offering an experience better than the next. I also got to do this with my dad, which was a hell of an experience and a rooted and fond memory.

13 years later, after following the winding tributaries of life that have taken unexpected turn after turn, I found myself back in the Galapagos aboard a not so smelly vessel, but this time for work. Good fortune allowed me the opportunity to see the islands once more, but from an adjusted perspective, and while earning a paycheck. I recognize this fortune and celebrate the ability to do so, by pounding the pavement, passport in hand at every and any opportunity.

When you're in my industry, talking about and seeing the Galapagos is part of the gig. And when something is part of daily job, it can sometimes lose its polish or shine, just by the simple nature that you spend hours a day talking or thinking about it. This happens to us all in one way or another. Daily interactions often remove the enigma of a topic, but in the travel industry, it does not actually make the destination or the experience any less remarkable. Stepping foot back in the Galapagos after 13 years of absence, confirmed this for me fully.

Clearly the greatest draw to the islands would be the remarkable wildlife sightings, often within a foot or two away. Blue and red footed boobies litter the landscape. Sea lions display playful barrel rolls a foot below you while snorkeling. Sea turtles move in methodical motion through murky water, with little interest in you movement or distance. Marble rays thrust themselves through and above the water's surface, completing extraordinary flips in carnival like behavior. Dolphins run parallel to the vessel, breaching in full to eagerly demonstrate their agility. A blue whale passed under the boat, offering its full and honest silhouette. What a way to start the day.

Life is on full display in the Galapagos, poignantly displayed with little fear. Evolution and a lack of predators, have allowed most species in the Galapagos to evolve in a way that much of the wildlife kingdom has not. While invasive species sometimes do find their way to the islands, locals and specialist work diligently to control the human impact, so that wildlife can continue to evolve with the least amount of interruption. The beauty of the Galapagos is its ability to systematically overwhelm you with wildlife encounters in a pristine environment, unlike no other place on the planet, and so the work to preserve this experience is long, arduous and very much a necessity.

While I'd love to regale you with wild stories, I was working, and so fully measured. The prudent thing to do is to stop writing and to share a few more pictures, which say everything you need to know and more.

Enjoy!

A Night on the Bridge

2017-04-14T14:24:00.001-07:00

The sun on her way down

The sun sets off the stern of the Australis. A perfect half-moon, fit for a children’s book, sits atop the starboard skyline. Icebergs pepper our 12 o’clock position, but create little worry, as the distance between them makes navigation effortless. The challenges ahead are an endurance game, resting on the shoulders of the captain and the first mate, who will split the evening and the following morning navigating throughout the night, in order to thwart a pressing storm from forcing us to hole up with cover and wait it out. All is calm now.

With tea in hand, post dinner digestion at its height and a telephoto lens attached to the front of my camera body, I step onto the stern of the ship to capture the evening’s alpen glo against the backdrop of distant snow walls. It’s roughly 10pm, the sun is still above the horizon and we, like the entirety of our journey, seem to be the only ship within a 15 mile radius. The air on the stern is cold, but crisp, with potent and rejuvenating properties. As the wind finds its way down the slopes of passing glaciers, it seems to filter with purity, the same way stream water purifies itself in resident moss. Glacial air quickly kisses the surface of the sea, before funneling its way to the nape of the neck, the highwater mark on the cheekbones or the gully between the shoulder and collarbone. The breath of the wind is nature’s brushstroke on a canvas-earth, and in the Antarctic, it momentarily paints your awareness. These are the moments when we find ourselves in a perfect state of contentment, like divine ordinance has laid out a path in this world for goodness to fall in place.

Glaciers the size of city blocks

Around 10:45 pm, the sun began to fade, and we ventured into a period of dusk that would hold firm for a few hours. I took my camera inside the bridge of the ship and posted up to watch for icebergs with the captain of the Australis. Out of indulgent generosity, he allowed me to steer the ship for close to an hour in open water, making slight adjustments here or there to avoid icebergs. He left the bridge a few separate times, leaving me at the helm of the yacht, that while calculated, still left room for human error. To hit an iceberg in open water of this type, requires a special skill of stupidity - and no one has less belief in the self than the self. There is something quite revealing about the lack of faith we have in ourselves, no matter how accomplished we may feel.

For a brief period of time, I was able to sidestep my fear of crashing the vessel and creating a newsworthy incident, to just sit back, and soak up the brilliant isolation of the passing icebergs with their pinkish hues and deep blue crystals. I stood alone with my thoughts, in one of the world's most isolated environments with nowhere to hide from who I am as a person. A part of me took refuge in both the solace and vulnerability of the moment.

When the captain returned to the bridge, we meandered into some personal conversation, of the type that typically happens only with those friends that you’ve know for a lifetime. The evening opened up to us as we peered out of the wheelhouse windows, passed the mast, beyond the anchor and into the waves. The open waters are like a laboratory for the experiment of getting lost in thought; the weather, the waves and the infinite spectrum of nothingness that laid ahead were like a petri dish for human introspection.

This night though, we circulated the questions of existence and the challenges of life; peering into the consequences of our behavior that have brought each of us to our stations in the world.

Economical sentences absent of platitudes, served the purpose of anchoring the conversation. The environment crafted only organic conversation, that was both candid and appropriately garrulous; the kind of discussion that can only happen 10,000 miles from home.

As the nighttime unravelled, the silence grew longer, and each mind becomes once again, relegated to the unique circumstances of its own existence. There was as much said in the silence as there was in our stories and recountings to each other. As the horizon began to thickened and the clock struck 1:00 am, I knew it was my time to step away and let him continue with his duties, before the first mate pulled up to take the second shift.

I soon wandered below deck, walking cautiously down the stairs, along the hallway and to my cabin to fall gently asleep. Before closing my eyes, I took a moment to remember the events of the evening, and to recognize that while the eventides of this type will happen again in the future, they will most likely be relegated to instances, few and far between.

On to the next day, and, it’s time to forfeit this evening to the icy waters of Antarctica.

Antarctica

2017-03-31T08:34:00.004-07:00

The Calm Before the Storm

From time to time, and in the rarest of circumstances, we have the chance to stand in between two windowpanes of existence. We have the opportunity to occupy a space, firmly planted between reality and a "pseudo reality" that we generally inhabit. Our lives are packed in comfy little containers most of the time, like a spice rack on your kitchen counter - this little part over here; this little function over there. But when we exfoliate the film of normality from our skin, we're capable of discovering another dimension; that place where we feel genuinely awake in an honest reality. This is where filters no longer apply to the air you breathe or the space you inhabit. It evokes something special in us - something not to be ignored.

Crossing the Drake - In calm waters

Standing on the ice of the Antarctica continent has brought on a new sensation. I’m pinned between the sublime and the magnificent, forced to reconsider everything I thought I knew about scale and grandeur. My eyes are wide open here, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like a newborn; immersed in a Petri dish of naturalist discover, awaiting the moment for reality to take hold, or to thrust me into a moment I cannot explain.

The view from my tent

Concoct any definition of travel you’d like. Maybe you’re of the heady type and chose to attach its lore to the metaphysical underpinnings of your existence. On the other hand, maybe travel is simply a form of escapism for you. The gamut and spectrum between our reason and consequences are enormous, and rightfully so. There are, at times however, brilliant unifying factors that apply to us all. The white continent - the last continent, has brought this to the fore, and, with a slight bit of unfounded assurance in my voice, I feel confident when I eek out the word "awe".

I arrived in Ushuaia after two days of travel from Denver, via Buenos Aires. I was joining our Sailing Antarctica: The Ultimate Polar Expedition (Sail/Fly) starting in Ushuaia and sailing to Antarctica, before then flying to Punta Arenas at the end of the journey. Upon arrival, I was promptly met by our team and taken to our hotel Alto Andino in the center of the city to relax and freshen up. After having a great wander around the city, our group met and had an excellent welcome dinner and orientation at one of the best restaurants in town.

The following day, we drove out to Estancia de las Hijas in the Tierra del Fuego and spent the day learning about the various practices of sheep herding, farming and wool collection. Touring the gorgeous property consumed out interest, before enjoying a typical parrilla (bbq) of lamb, and then traveling the scenic highway back to Ushuaia. The following day would begin the heart of our adventure and, so apply described, an adventure it was.

NHA presently offers three styles of journey for this trip: sail/fly, fly/sail, fly/fly. Our approach was to sail the mighty Drake Passage for a 3 day crossing on our 75 foot motorized yacht, before reaching the Antarctica Peninsula, wherein we would spend the remainder of the expedition exploring the nooks and crannies of the archipelago and continent. On our iteration, we had allocated 3 days to cross the Drake Passage, one of the most formidable bodies of water on the planet. Seas converge in the Drake with their unbridled winds, which makes the Drake a pinch point, creating epic swells and substantial weather. Our 3 crew members however, were time-hardened sailors that have made this passage several times and know exactly when to go and when to wait it out.

3 days on the Drake aboard a yacht is a unique experience that calls out to the intrepid traveler, looking for a raw and riveting experience. Safety is surefooted throughout, however, there is a strong sense of discovery of the unknown as you pass through the Drake. Sections can be considered uncharted and turbulent and more often than not, many passengers find themselves battling the challenges of time at sea in an unpredictable body of water.

Gentoo Penguins

Our days in the Drake were spent reading, writing, listening to audio-books/podcasts, or talking to your fellow travelers about the mysteries that abound on the continent. While these are necessary days, they prime the internal pump with marked anticipation for what is to come. Upon crossing the 60 degree parallel, the energy once again ratchets up and a film of excitement falls like a warm cloak over the edges of the vessel. Everyone is excited and eager, and lingers on the verge of earning the privilege to visit this majestic continent. Crossing the Drake is a just punishment. But as eyes gather on the deck and first put sight to land, there is a moment where the veritable feeling of awe overwhelms the senses, inspires the explorer and perches our excitement above an unprecedented tier.

Kayaks are placed into the water, Zodiacs are pulled from the rigging and the exploration begins. Massive snow walls punctuate the distance on an unfathomable scale, while glacial terrain looms above the shoulders of the continent. There is no other place on the planet like it. Lazy cliches apply, as it truly feels otherworldly.

As each day unfolds in the morning, we find ourselves piling into our Feathercraft kayaks, paddling through ice floats of seal, Gentoo and Chinstrap penguin colonies and from time to time, in the presence of a humpback whale family. The hidden life of Antarctica explodes before our very eyes, as it breaches the surface of an unknown sea. Fur seals playfully approach our paddles, while doing barrel rolls and porpoising like oblong figures, showing off like catwalk models. Crab-eater seals steal the sun for hours on end, but posting up on sea ice in a lethargic display of natural purpose. Weddell seals wiggle their way onto the shores edge to tan the day away, as if they had found their way to an exotic beach. Even the fearsome leopard seals finds his way into the brilliance of the Antarctic sun.

The afternoons are often punctuated with Zodiac rides, specifically for wildlife watching that may be sea or land based. Most landings offered us the incredible experience of walking with 15 feet or so of massive penguin colonies, often numbering in the thousands. As these charismatic critters poke and prod each other, they put on an excellent show with their strangely anthropomorphic behavior. It is sweet, it is charming and slightly absurd. We’d spend each landing with either Gentoo and chinstrap penguins, capturing beautiful images of chicks, communal behavior and their defensive techniques against the dreaded skua (bird), all while the massive fjords stood watch like sentries over the present landscape. It's simply remarkable.

While the continent draped us in surreal moments and absurd scale, the most incredible moment came as we were passing through Wilhemena Bay, on our way to the Gerlache Strait. The captain of the Australis observed a family of humpback whales bubble feeding in the distance. As we tacked the vessel to dive in their direction, we noticed an additional family of humpbacks bubble feeding off the port side of the yacht. Before we were able to process this moment, 2 additional families of whales came to the surface, protruding in epic fashion, with mouths perched, to collect unparalleled amounts of krill. With eyes wide open and our minds in a state of utter confusion, we found ourselves encircled by the convergent parties of nature, with nearly 20 - 25 humpback whales within our periphery.

As we enjoyed this orchestral arrangement of viewing, a pod of orcas was spotted in the distance, along with ice bound seal and leaping penguins. Our crew quickly suggested we jump in the zodiacs and head toward a humpback family for a closer look. With burning excitement and a sense of muddled disbelief, we barreled towards these massive creatures, as they brought a quarter of their bodies out of the water, only to slam back down, just a few simple feet from our small and somewhat insignificant life-raft. Barnacled lips protruded through the surface; eyes cracked and peered into the world above their home. We they live and were we live; well, the water’s surface is what we share.

I speak of this moment in particular, as it offers a narrative experience of the sublime. In the same voice, within the same window, in one culminated moment, I felt the wake of an awestruck tsunami wash over my mind. As each whale would rise and crash back into the water, the spray from their breath would wash over our faces, as if nature was baptizing us with its raw power. We, for a moment, sat in the 4th dimension of space; that place in between the reality of the observer and the action itself, taking in the exalted moment that nearly all adventure travelers attempt to envision. We were a part of nature, in it’s purest form and our proximity to it, was an ample reminder of its irrepressible strength. We were reintroduced to the ecosystem.

For an hour’s time, the experience that I am unable to properly convey unfolded like a ballet of amazement before our eyes. For the remainder of my days, I will share that experience in its undiluted form with the other travelers aboard the zodiac, and no one else. It is our hidden secret; our step into the unknown.

While the explorers of yesteryear lived in moments of massive discomfort, in order to experience the brilliance of “The White Continent”, we are able to bypass their challenges, due to the beautiful advancements in navigation, vessel construction and the modern comforts that we have at our fingertips. But what we do share with those early explorers, the men who courageously traversed an unknown land with it’s caustic edge, are the moments in between our perceived reality that we cannot expect; the opportunity to feel the spray of a humpback whale upon my upper cheek, during a moment, hidden to the rest of the world. Antarctica offers us a chance to revisit our existence from an elevated stance, where the function of isolation is fully intoxicating. To sit outside ourselves and recognize your literal position on the planet, knowing that many humans before you have dreamt of this land, provides an everlasting sense of fortune, that you unlike most, have had the chance to do something remarkable. Getting there by a motorized sailing yacht? Well, that only helps the cause for the sensational.

The Countdown to Antarctica

2017-01-01T17:14:00.000-08:00

Here we are again. I have somehow managed to stumble into a fortunate caliber of existence, that will allow me the chance to explore Antarctica on a 10 person sailing vessel for the next 3 weeks. Say what you will about expended effort producing fortuitous benefits. While there may be a kernel of truth buried in there somewhere, this belief buckles under the conditions of my accident of birth, and the fact that, well, I truly am an idiot most of the time. How many children born in the slums of Mumbai have this opportunity, regardless of how well deserved it may be? Hell, how many Americans that work their asses off day in and day out are given this chance? Very few I suspect. This is the nature of existence. Randomness, circumstance, timing, and opportunity; and when it all comes together, sometimes you find yourself sailing to Antarctica.

In just 1 day, I'll be flying south to Buenos Aires for a quick overnight, before hopping a plane down to Ushuaia, known as the southern most city in the world (measured by latitude). I'll kick around the Tierra del Fuego for a few days: hiking, playing with my camera and tasting the air of the southern hemisphere for the first time since 2011. We'll then board the Australis, our 76 foot sailing ketch, that will act as our home for the next 14 days, as we traverse the various nooks of the antarctic peninsula. Hiking, camping, kayaking, icebergs, wildlife and the final continent are all within reach. The dream will be realized.

From what I've been told, the Drake passage is a real son of a bitch in a large vessel, let alone in a tiny sail boat. People often report tossing their cookies over the side of the vessel due to the incredible thrashing of the waves, driven by the weather patterns affecting both the Pacific and the Atlantic. Barriers are put up around the beds, so one does not get thrown out in the middle of the night. 3 days crossing the Drake passage. Adventure abounds.

While on the vessel and the peninsula, I'll clearly be out of contact for a few weeks. But I hope, upon my return, to share this adventure with those of you that have chosen to follow along. And as always.....I won't promise any superb writing. But it will be honest, and it will be genuine. Travel is my conduit to a deeper layer of consciousness. I don't mean this in some silly, spiritual, or even metaphysical sense. Travel is the intention that I invoke, to remove the dogma from my outlook; it is the clearing out of the shrapnel that the world projects into our mind space. Travel is my clarity, and I hope once more, that I can find some truth to share with you.

Cheers from the road friends.....

A Traveler at Home

2016-11-28T15:44:00.000-08:00

Moab

I now live in a world that I have no explanation for. I exist in an environment that that I cease to recognize. The air is stirring, yet stagnant. The earth seems to shake, yet continues its orbit. The noise I hear is deafening, yet nothing seems to be communicated. I am the embodiment of confusion and remain in a sphere of stasis. The "yets" are what seem to get me.

Our nation made a decision on November 8 to uphold the time honored tradition and archaic system of the electoral college, which in turn, will elect a morally reprehensible character and a populist demagogue on January 6th. My feeling on this are clear. On character alone, Trump is indubitably ill-considered to be president. His persona and behavior have been embryonic in nature, and he lacks not only the temperament, diplomacy and constitution to hold the highest office in the land, but it is nearly laughable that he was ever a consideration at all. He maintains no qualified candor to hold court with our nation (without the use of fear mongering and churlishness), let alone our trading partners, NATO allies, geopolitical partnerships and our potential antagonists of the world. As citizens, we have next to no actual, functional policy guidelines that he has worked to structure for himself. Rather, we have undeniable evidence of his populist rhetoric surfacing at the actual moment of discussion, sporadically, rather than being carefully considered with a team of balanced individuals. More concerning to me are the "sound bite" policies that we do have, such as (building a wall, banning Muslims from entering the country, etc.), which have incited an inflammatory air of belligerence, used to influence the misinformed populous. This concerns me most, as it has given a voice to the malice and rancor that the civil rights movement in this nation worked so hard to overthrow. In addition, with virtually no other clarified policy, these are the issues he was elected on as they were the only discernible and consistent themes throughout his candidacy.

I've grown to expect those tactics of deceit from a recorded populist and huckster. What I haven't grown to expect or understand is how his transient policies garnered the support of over 50 million people. He ran a campaign of purported nationalism, with a non-interventionist position in regards to international affairs. As a traveler, I am acutely aware of what a globalist world we exist in to date, and, to rest on the laurels of nationalism, built specifically on trenchant fear and codified misinformation, gravely concerns me. As John Donne so poignantly quoted from Devotions Upon Emergent Occasions back in 1624:

No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;

The piece continues on to speak of the diminished values of our lives, should a clod of Europe (our world) be washed into the sea, or the death of a friend be felt. None of us are an island that can exist in isolation and, to run the parallel, neither is our nation. To assume so is an assurance of ignorance; a presumption of some silly chicanery.

I, like many of my colleagues and friends, have had the great fortune to step outside of the blinding gauge of spirited nationalism, to taste and touch the world of temporal value. It is to that end that I write these words. I will many times more, venture out into the unknown to me, parts of our planet, crossing political boundaries, encountering denizens of varied faiths and political positions. With fortune, I will exist as another human being to them, taking the time and exerting the effort to touch their earth, eat their food and listen to their customs and stories. To many others, I suspect that I will be regarded as a synthesized conjuring of who our nation has come to be, and now, stand for. Whether I choose to our not, you and I are both branded with the identity of counterfeit nationalism. America has decided this position for us by electing a snake oil salesman.

Having traveled extensively throughout the George W. Bush presidency, as well as the Obama years, I have measured markedly different airs of reception from the international community. My attempts while abroad, were always to engage interlocutors in heartfelt conversation and to find a greater understanding of their worldview, not only for my own growth, but also to carry the messages I learned and received along the way to those at home that have cared to listen. Sometimes this was met with success, and at others, I'm sure I became a carrier pigeon of misinformation. Let me be clear; my time abroad was never an altruistic attempt to act as some sort of emissary for truth. It was rather, my way to engage with the planet we call home, for reasons of cultural exploration, experiential adventure or escapism. But I always attempted to do so with open ears, discerning thought and careful consideration for the rational vs emotional.

I've mentioned here before that I have witnessed extremely clear cut versions of misinformation while traveling in Palestine, Iran, Lebanon, Colombia and several other nations that were at one time or another held in contention with the United States, or its regional allies. I have listened to the CNNs, the MSNBCs and the Fox News of the world, watching as they plaster sound bites and peddle sophistry to the general public. Yes, the format is flawed. Yes, they are doing their best to grab ratings and capture greater sources of revenue. Yes, the are fighting a battle against twitter, bloggers and in-country reports on social media, that act as alternative forms of information - who do not necessarily fall in line with their existent reporting structure. My friends, the age of Edward Murrow is no more. We are a click bait society now, and our media sources are working to cash in on this position.

I bring this to the forefront of my thoughts as on numerous occasions, I have spoken to dear friends that have an impression formed by their media exposure at home, that is disastrously divergent with my first hand, flavor-filled experience on the ground in said nation. This was beyond evident during my last trip to Iran. To have a reasonable person ask me if I was going to bring a gun with me (as if that would be A-OK for me to do while entering another sovereign nation with specific weapons laws for transportation of firearms) - opened my eyes to the lack of awareness that we as a nation have in regards to the international community, what realistically takes place and how informed many 1st world nations abroad are in comparison to ours. If this comes as a surprise to you, then I too am surprised. Consider some of you most recent conversations that you have had with people you love, people you trust and people you expect to be at least slightly, more informed. If you are anything like me, than you have noticed with abundance that even those close to you will grasp at information that is largely suspect, highly unsubstantiated, or laden with confirmation bias to support their immediate worldview. This is a dire problem for us because we believe each other and lean on one another to continue crafting an outlook. To be misinformed is not a crime. To spread misinformation however, as an obstinate truth is. Viruses can take many forms and more often than not, they are transmitted through direct contact with another that is close to us. Information spreads through communities this way as well. Remember playing the game of "telephone" as a child?

Under the second Bush administration, I spent a significant amount of time on the road. Several trips to Europe, multiple trips to South America, extended time in Asia and Oceania and nearly two passports worth of stamps in less than an 8 year period. Under the Obama administration, I have traveled to an equal amount of destinations, with some slightly more unstable nations of note. In sum, under the two presidents, I have spent time in 65+ countries total. Those are my only credentials.

But I can distinctly recall being received in most nations with a careful eye of suspicion under the Bush II administration. Without fail, a new hostel, destination, conversation or interaction would undoubtedly manifest a conversation about if I supported Bush or not, and how terrified the rest of the world was of his cabinet's actions. Interactions would rarely be casual until I had navigated the barrage of disdain that nearly everyone had felt for the standing president and our government's decisions to invade two nations under the guise of police actions. Were they wrong?

Under the Obama Administration, the air of fear appeared to dissipate. There seemed to be an immediate response of restoration to the global balance, where-in an outreached hand to the Muslim community fostered confidence that America was not just a "you're either with us, or against us nation". Diplomacy helped to mend the fragile relationships we had with contentious nations such as Iran and Cuba, while our allies that were put under exceptional amounts of stress by deploying troops for our war efforts, have managed to peel back their ground forces substantially. The Obama administration carries faults and errors that they have made, but attempted diplomacy was not one of them.

We now must be prepared for a potential rollback of this diplomacy. The Trump campaign has done nothing but act with malevolence toward the many nations of the world that we need to work with in conjunction. He claimed that his anger is directed at policy makers in the U.S., that are incompetent for letting the exploitation of America take place, and, not the nations themselves. First, this is false, as he has directed vindictive language towards Mexico's president, Iran's government, and the members of our NATO alliance, if they were not paid in full on their debts. Secondly, he has systematically exploited the tax law and Chapter 11 bankruptcy laws of his own nation; and has done so as a braggadocio. So while China takes advantage of a currency loophole to devalue it's currency to behoove its exports, Trump takes advantage of Chapter 11 laws to protect his vested interests. He however, seems to ignore the similarities.

I have nothing more than a few political science classes under my belt, along with a fuck-ton of reading. So my ability to breakdown the misgivings of this election are elementary at best and realistically, should be taken for only the value that you feel can be substantiated. I have however, traveled. It is my love, my passion and my muse. I have lost relationships over this love, have complicated friendships immeasurably and have given a good chunk of my adult life to living the existence of a traveler. This is not an armchair hobby for me. It is my burning compulsion, my profession, my art form. I've watched the crinkles of the canvas flatten out over the last 8 years with Obama, allowing the wanderers of the world to once again put their paintbrushes in action to create the murals and frescos that diplomacy gifts us. They knew that their collective representatives were extending their hand to honor the dignity of sovereign nations far and wide. While we've yet to see what actually transpires under a Trump presidency, his foreign policy is clearly a cause for concern. As a traveler at home before my next journey, I will be watching with baited breath.

The Real Iran

2016-07-22T10:57:00.002-07:00

This title is deceptive and cannot be trusted. I would never dare to claim to know the real Iran in good conscience. I've spent only two weeks there on a tour that while brilliant, was still an interpretive understanding, pressed and formulated through the eyes of the few accommodating locals. My sample size was small, my exposure limited and my assessment? Formative. I recognize my shortcomings entirely and ask that you do not ignore them. Rather, my hope is that you'll embrace the considerable gaps, take my words for merely the surface, and if your interest allows, fill in your perspective with some form of truth you're willing to sniff out. The only thing I'm selling here is one man's thoughts, collected via my conversations with the Iranian people that helped color in my perceptions. If you want the true Iran, find an Iranian that will baptize you in the honesty of their world; not the sensationalized nonsense that is smeared throughout your news feed. I asked the Iranians for their candor, and I believe that's what they gave me.

Our relations with Iran are fairly fucked. Sure, we have small pinholes of light that are poking through the anti-diplomatic facade from time to time, and giving the impression that things are not completely hopeless. In reality, we are locked into the middle of a 37 year old pissing contest with no approaching closure. The U.S. and Iran are standing on the world's chess board, both believing they are the white knights of the game.

The Iranian Revolution took place in 1979 when the U.S. backed Mohammad Reza-Shah, was overthrown by a general revolution lead by the public; along with many secular and religious students heading the charge. The revolution brought forth a new theocratic-republican constitution, ushered in under the guidance of the previously exiled religious leader, Ayatollah Khomeini. Under his guidance, the nation became an Islamic Republic on April 1, 1979. Until his death in 1989, he held the highest office in the land with the gratuitous title of "Supreme Leader."

The details of the last 37 years, along with the CIA lead coupe that took place in 1953 can be found anywhere one chooses to research. Therefore, I won't waste your time here rehashing the facts of history. Rather, I'd like to share the voice of the collective population that I personally met, while traveling across 3000 kilometers of Iran.

IMPORTANT NOTE: The thoughts and ideas listed here are all my own and are a compilation of what I heard while discussing politics, religion and regional skirmishes with the youth of Iran throughout my journey. No one person is responsible for these ideas except myself. In addition, no Iranian is to be held responsible for my perceptions and to suppose otherwise, would simply be false.

The land is scorched beneath your feet. The air is hot and dehydrated. The smell of the desert crusts over the upper part of your lip. You're here in the land of the forbidden. The days of Iranian "wine and roses" are no more.

With sincerity, I had no idea what to believe when encountering the equivalent of my generation of Iranians. I hoped my experiences and interactions would be met with the kindness of those experienced by Jared Cohen in his 2007 non-fiction piece entitled Children of Jihad. With little else to base my partisan notions on, I traveled to Iran with a defiant attitude, believing I had the edge over all of those around me that said I was sideways for wanting to go. I had little evidence to prove my position, but carried tons of belief and wishful thinking that pushed me in a distinct direction. This was one of the few moments in my life when I threw myself behind a form of faith, which is generally a word that rarely enters my vocabulary or consciousness.

I did expect a slight bit of hostility in some form or another, as my nation, along with a few others, are primarily responsible for the sanctions that have all but crippled the Iranian economy and its people. Sure, one can argue that the behavior of the Iranian government warrants sanctions, due to the aggressive posturing they have displayed toward our nation's regional allies. But in reality, sanctions punish the population of individuals that are scraping by in the day to day, not necessarily government bodies or officials. Yes, government officials may have their overseas assets frozen or the travel privileges revoked to certain areas of the world, but these are secondary punishments, compared to those who are suffering to feed their families. Sanctions are not just a word we hear in the news; they create real and unbridled economic disaster.

Yes, the pressure that sanctions place on a nation's government is an international attempt to corner said nations into a behavioral pattern that is agreeable to the sanctioning body. In addition, the outside nations are most likely hoping that the damage done by those sanctions will pressure the population into growing discontent with the government, in order to create a rift between the rulers and their subjects. There may be some wild belief that this will lead to one of the 3 Rs: a resistance, revolution or revolt by the people against the government for the dire straits they have created. But in reality, this premise supposes the idea that the people have a fortified power to fight back and overthrow their government. As demonstrated by the attempt and failure of the Green Party movement in 2011, the possibility of this truly happening is astoundingly low.

On the other hand, international sanctioning bodies may use those sanctions to weaken the spirit of the government and nation alike. This may virtually squeeze a nation to the point of collapse, similar to the effects the embargo had on Cuba during the early 90's, after the collapse of the Soviet Union. But what we find here, regardless of the true intended aim of the U.S. led efforts and its UN backing, is that those who struggle the most from sanctions, the people who are deeply affected, are not policy makers or influence wielders. They are the voiceless masses of humanity that are subject to the rule of their government, with little to no hope for change. They are a disenfranchised population of individuals that have had their heads pushed down so many times by a theocratic regime, that most seem to believe there is little to nothing left they can do to attempt prosperity of self. Absent of leaving the country for a brighter future, they are wedged into a position of political dominance and battle fatigue, with no escape route in sight.

How can I suppose something so sweepingly comprehensive? I'm not quite sure. For me, the evidence lies in the statements of the country's youth, who work desperately to dissent in the tiniest bits everyday, in the hopes that it will affect some type of change in their lifetime.

So what we can assume, if you're still with me, is that sanctions have brought a heavy weight to both the Iranian government and its population. In addition, the youth feel shackled and tethered to a government that controls their society by employing tactics that are oppressive in nature and highly theocratic. One popular example of this is the Tehrani morality police, who scour the city inn search of primarily female offenders that may be pushing the boundaries on what the conservative theocrats believe is un-Islamic behavior. A recent NPR article from May 3rd, 2016 by Peter Kenyon, starts off with the following:

As the mercury rises in Iran, winter coats are back in the closet, flowers are popping up — and so are the so-called morality police. Despite objections from Iran's president, Hassan Rouhani, Tehran's police have announced up to 7,000 undercover officers will be on the lookout for those who don't follow conservative Islamic modes of dress and behavior.

The article continues to point out reasons for being harassed by the morality police include "allowing too much hair peaking out from under a headscarf, removing the scarf all together in a car, or taking a walk with a boyfriend." Having personally spoken to women that have been confronted with the "morality police", I can attest to the truth of these claims. And to simply editorialize - this type of policing is turgid bullshit. There is no cultural defense here that one can argue in favor of this oversight. Maybe 15 years ago, I would have attempted to reconcile this base law in an attempt to appear culturally progressive and sensitive. But with age comes instinct, and my gut, along with a tiny sliver of reason tells me that a woman showing too much hair from underneath her hijab is an absurd use of power that is fully bombastic and a form of incarcerative governance. Anything less than complete personal freedom for men and women equally, to wear what one wishes, is the framework of despotism. You may not care for one's wardrobe, but as evolved apes, policing someone for showing too much keratin is fucking ludicrous. Stop for a moment and think about that. I'd be hard-pressed to find a logic that can argue otherwise, or one that can give way to any credible reason. Claim divine law if you must, but again, I'm asking for logic, not the lazy guise of purported divinity.

Frankly, this law is an assassination of a women's rights to individuality, dominated by a male government that is making decisions on their behalf. Every person on this planet deserve the right to self-determination, as long as there is no harm to others. Showing too much hair, or dancing in public is not a harm to others. If you think it is, then you may need to see a psychologist. In addition, the pressing argument of quelling sexual temptation is equally silly, as we are choosing to ignore our biology as humans within a society, in favor of myth.

More than once, I was given not only the impression that the youth of Iran did not like their government, but that they utterly despised it. Yes, Rouhani is a step in the right direction, away from the dark days of Ahmadinejad, who seemingly poisoned the name of Iran internationally with his brash and brazen attempts to gain notoriety. But even with a slight shift to the left under Rouhani, his office finds itself in a consistent state of political castration, due to the fact that the theocracy can veto him, under the structure of an Islamic Republic. Therefore, regardless of whomever becomes the head of government, the county's youth feel the weight of status quo pressing a knee into their necks. Sooner or later, the airway shuts off and they go limp completely, or a surge of energy brings them into a position where they have a small, but necessary chance to fight. But the knee on their necks is so heavy, they are unable to raise a hand in defense.

I was told on multiple occasions that most young Iranians would love to move to the United States, where they would have the freedom to determine their identity as they see fit. They are exhausted with an environment that is governed by a policy that cripples their temperament, destroys their motivation and usurps any attempt at a hope for change. I've also been told that they feel voting can feel like an unavailing task, as the theocrats often interfere and meddle with the vote, in order to maintain power. And this is a theme I heard time and time again; the unremitting cycle of protecting their universal power.

In addition, people I've spoken to fear that any attempt to revision this power structure will ultimately lead to them being harassed, arrested, or disappearing. This is only uncommon, due to the infrequency of attempts made to sound off with any negative criticism. Imagine yourself in a recurrent state of impotence. This will eventually kick the shit out of your morale.

To add, adolescents are driven to subversive behavior as an outlet for the repression that presses against their collective chests. The rules are so tight, so thick and so authoritative that they first feel that their judgement is devalued - like they are somehow incompetent. So they hold underground parties where they drink, dance, take off their hijabs and flirt like they've spent their entire lives in a boarding school. They make homemade hooch, similar to a bathtub gin, they listen to a slew of western music and they dream of an existence where this type of behavior won't get them thrown in jail.

I've also be told on a few occasions that they are extremely concerned with what the world thinks of them as a nation. They are often embarrassed by the projected imagery their government exports and they are sadly correct. The western world often views Iran and its people as the Axis of Evil, the enemy of Israel and every other charge that can be lumped onto their shoulders. Again, does the government perpetuate this stereotype? Of course. But most of the folks I've spoken to there can separate the masses from the government of the U.S., so why is it so difficult for the western world to do the same?

When asking about Israel, the first thing I generally heard was that the Iranians are not antisemitic. Rather, they are anti-Zionist, which for discussion purposes, is an important distinction. While only a tiny sect remains, there are Persian Jews in Iran that have lived there for centuries. Do they face persecution? I don't know. As with any minority group, I imagine they have their challenges. In regards to Israel, it appears that their primary contention rests in two areas: the Palestinian diaspora after the fall of the Ottoman Empire and their perceived right to nuclear proliferation.

To address the first, like much of the Muslim world, there has been rage over the Palestinian land being simply taken from the present inhabitants of Palestine, in order to establish a Jewish state. With the mass segregation of Jews and Palestinians throughout the West Bank, along with the Gaza Strip and modern day Israel, the Iranian government is infuriated at the occupation of the Palestinian people by Israeli military. Muslim law requires practicing Muslims to take care of the poor and mistreated as part of their Koranic duty. Who has less wealth and is more poorly treated in the entirety of the middle east? The Palestinians. So the Shiite government of Iran employees the tactics of the Shiite Militia Hezbollah based in Lebanon, to fight against Israel for regional domination, in addition to providing the image that they are standing up for the disenfranchised Palestinians. Iran has not done a very good job of opening their borders to Palestinians, or using the funds sent to Hezbollah to help with resettlement costs for Palestinians that are willing to relocate to Persia. So is the posturing all a show?

Secondly, Israel is scared of the inflammatory remarks made primarily under the Akmadinejad era, wherein that fantastic asshole of a man, made claims of wanting to erase Israel from the map. This rhetoric was carried on and continues to be by the present Ayatollah as well. But as I understand, there will be no war between the two nations. Neither country wants this, but they cannot back down with their language, for fear of giving up political capital. The largest Iranian complaint I had heard against Israel was that they were the primary reason for their autonomous nation not being able to pursue nuclear energy for peaceful reasons. Is that why they are developing a nuclear program? Do I want them to have a nuclear weapon? No. But I also don't want Israel to have them either. Again, Iran is an autonomous nation.So why should Israel have nuclear capabilities (this is not proven, but widely believed worldwide) and Iran is not allowed to? For most Iranians, it's not that they want nuclear weapons or energy, but rather they want the fundamental right to make decisions on their own without other nations deciding what they can and can't do. That idea is not unique to Iran. Every nation on the planet wants the right to self-determination.Think of it this way; would you want Iran deciding if the U.S. was allowed to have nuclear energy and weapons? Should we not have the right to decide this for ourselves? The argument usually points to the idea that we are a stable society that will not nuke a regional neighbor, like Iran may with Israel. But let's not forget who the only nation to every use an atomic bomb in the history of humanity has been. Hiroshima? Nagasaki?

I'm not arguing in defense of the right for Iran to have nuclear power for weapons. Let me make that clear, I most certainly do not want Iran, or any other nation on the planet to have nuclear weapons, unless we are using them to shoot into space to destroy the asteroid that may one day wipe us out (Independence Day? Armageddon anyone?). What I'm questioning is the path of consistency, or the lack thereof. I wish the world was rid of nuclear weapons, but the implementation of policy is functioning poorly, due to the belief that Iran is a rouge state. They are not. They have allies, trading partners, peace accords, laws of governance and allow people to enter their borders without harassment, provided you operate within their boundaries of law. North Korea is a rouge state. Iran is simply a thorn in the side of Western ideology. Their youth embraces it, but their decision makers do not.

Lastly, I was told by two sources that the Iranian general public has no idea if they actually have been working on nuclear energy and weapons. They claimed to be equally as clueless and would love clarification themselves, but this is not something their government is willing to offer.

So in sum, do the Iranians hate Israel? Mixed reviews. It seems that Israel has been the primary regional member that has used equally provocative language which makes many Iranians enraged. So this battle of escalating rhetoric seems to continue on in perpetuity with no end in sight.

What I'm drawing down to is the mounting discontent that the new Iranain generation has towards to the ruling old guard. They too, like every other teenage or 20 and 30 something year old, want the opportunity to grow - to be an individual. They want the opportunity to say that they have determined their own path, rather than having to live within what an outdated theocracy determines is best.

What I ask of you, is simply to consider more than the headlines you hear or read in the media when a news report about Iran appears on CNN. Think of my friends in Iran; people like you and I that are simply doing their best to live a fruitful life. If you can do that, than we are on our way in the right direction.

Images of Lebanon

2016-07-02T15:16:00.002-07:00

Beirut Street Art

I've recently broken my ankle in a few spots and having just had surgery, I'm left with a residue of pain killers and ibuprofen that have soaked into the brain. This has created a hazing effect, that has made me less than capable of putting together coherent sentences. So here are some pictures taken along the way in Beirut, Tripoli, Baalbek and along the coast.

Latin; best I can do.

The afternoon sky in Baalbek

Old and new in Beirut

The infamous Holiday Inn (place of strategic importance during the civil war)

Bombed out building on a random city street in Beirut

Collection of taxi drivers from all parts of the middle east

The Byblos coastline

An archway in Byblos

Underground at Chateau Ksara

Mouth-watering hummus

The Propaganda of Tehran

2016-06-26T15:30:00.000-07:00

In front of the Den of Espionage (the former US embassy) in Tehran

Define propaganda however you see fit, but the underlying theory is that it is the spreading of an idea in order to promote a cause. It rarely matters if the information being spread is true or not, which in my eyes, is an immoral departure from the collective objective of a just society. More often than not, it's generally nationalist bullshit, aimed at uniting the masses with a common denominator, no matter how low or base it may be.

These photos are primarily found in Tehran and rarely in other parts of the nation. Please remember, I was welcomed to Iran with open arms and kind hearts, and there wasn't one person I spoke to that echoed this type of sentiment in any way.

Speaks for Itself

Anti U.S. and Israeli Sentiment

No Caption Necessary

Car Bomb in Beirut

2016-06-25T16:29:00.000-07:00

Sometimes the world tosses some wild curve balls in our direction when we least expect them. Let's face it, the anomaly of terrible events, whether stateside or abroad, is not much of an anomaly any longer. Every morning, we open our computers, turn on our TVs and see a slew of maddening atrocities that take place around the planet. Invasions, terrorism, death, destruction and shocking amounts of violence take place in every corner of our earth, and with our immediate access to the media and information from local broadcasting in far-flung destinations, we can watch the madness unfold in real time, like no other moment in history.

Being observant of the devastation the world is going through is not a unique concept. Just about everyone I've talked to in our neck of the woods, seems equally as baffled as I am by the stories that smack us in our frontal lobe every time we turn around. You can take the glass-is-half-full approach and follow the dogma that with 7+ billion people on the planet, the level of death and destruction is not even close to what it could be. Hell, the Mongols tore across the central Asian steppe 800 years ago and slaughtered full cultures of people indiscriminately. But as a lazy humanist (when it serves my purpose), I have to believe we have evolved passed the point that this is the best we can do. Seriously folks; this can't be our collective swan song.

Mass shootings, police brutality, government oppression; you name.........the world suffers from it. I'm by no means ignoring the beauty on this planet, but with an overwhelming influence, the negative outlook seems to dominate our worldview from every penetrable angle.

As my pictures suggest, my recent experiences in Beirut and Lebanon were interesting. First and foremost, a car bomb went off about a mile from my hotel and luckily, no one died. But structural devastation occurred, that was specifically targeted at a bank for what is believed by most locals and news reports, to be for political reasons. It seems more and more that the world is becoming a seether; just waiting to bubble over when some hot head snaps their shoelace. History supports the statement that part of the population views other parts of the population as in-disposable for whatever their fucked up reasons are. And frankly, I know of no remedy for this that's been tried and true for cleaning up our behavior. We're a vicious lot, and we've been killing one another from the moment we discovered we were capable of stealing each others food and women.

A backpack filled with explosives was tossed under a car in front of Blom Bank in the Hamra district of Beirut. It then exploded at an off hour when no one besides two very unlucky security guards were in the bank. The devastation to the surrounding vehicles, along with the shattered glass, tangled steel and structural framework of the building were splayed across the city block in an array of destruction. A message was sent loud and clear to the bank........or so I think. Apparently, Lebanese banks will have the contracts and first cracks at rebuilding Syria after the civil war, in partnership with the Assad regime (should they remain in power). Some very angry people are less than pleased with this "exploitation" and have decided to take matters into their own hands, which seems to be a consistent theme in this part of the world. So they blow up vehicles, banks, buildings and people.

We shouldn't be surprised by this; the Lebanese don't seem to be. As I walked around the wreckage, leaning into the car that exploded and walking into the entrance of the building that was the target, the Lebanese continued about their days, walking passed the block with fleeting curiosity, and then strolled on their merry ways into the next quadrant of their day. There was no caution tape, no police barricades and no authoritative presence that was keeping us back from the wreckage. Just a few reporters and some construction workers, with a few people taking photos on their cell phones.

I haven't much more to say about this, as I'm unsure what to think. I do know that I wasn't particularly surprised by this when a taxi driver mentioned it to me. And I should be. We live in a world filled with the good, the bad and the ugly. It's our job to contribute to the good, reduce the bad and give a face lift to the ugly. Lord knows, we can't just bury our heads in the sand like a goddamn ostrich and expect someone else to fix it. It's you and I......the deciders of the future.

It doesn't need to be your life's goal, but there should be a little section of your universe that is dedicated to making this absurd planet - spinning in the void of the greater unknown - a little better than the way you found it. Today is as good as any to try to spruce things up. So grab your metaphorical broom and get out there.

The Inner Search in Tripoli

2016-06-16T16:02:00.001-07:00

Every man's life is his Magnum Opus, so it's best to begin composing right away.

This came to me as I sat and watched an old man struggle for his breath, while continuing to smoke as if he were a 20 year old with an iron lung. We have choices to make in this life and sometimes the cloudiness of the day to day, make it so those choices get put on the back burner, for a more practical approach to life.

A man tries to find himself in the most peculiar ways. The indifference of this world, paired with the randomness of the universe should cause every person to look inward at times in their lives to inspect the quality and heartiness of their soul. I'm speaking within the crude terms of introspection, that I’ve been stewing on lately, while wandering around the middles east aimlessly. There is no high science here, nor any moment of capture and clarity. In this life, we are constantly in search of something more, whether it be intrinsic to our nature or outside of the skin. For each person, it is something completely unique, yet our overlap in DNA makes our pursuits parallel to each other in more ways than one. We're all individual snowflakes; but we are snowflakes, and that binds our behavior to each other whether we like it or not. We all want growth, peace of mind, health, love and strength. How we chose to find those things, manifests itself in a perfectly still way, that is yours and yours alone to deal with.

Method is a form of practice we employ, due to its effectiveness in helping us negotiate the overflow of minutia in our lives. And within the sifting of that minutia, we search for flakes and nuggets of gold that offer us a direction, or a hope to look towards. At times when we sift, we find nothing but dirt, sand and grime. Our fingers begin to crack and bleed from the constant strain and pressure of the activity. The search may feel like your knuckles are being dragged across sandpaper, with nothing in sight to calm the pain. This is part of the task; part of the load to carry as a human being.

We were born into this life with no road map. Our parents guide us while we are young, while friends and family push and pull us lovingly in the directions they feel are best for our outcome. But there comes a day, when we confront our own existence, in isolation from what we know in this world, and are forced to consider the trajectory our lives will take.

I awoke with the thought of visiting Tripoli today, one of the northern most cities in Lebanon. Signs for Syria dot the highway, showing paths and directions on how to get to the border. The distance to the border is a mere 20 miles, forcing Tripoli to become a city that has absorbed heaps of Syrian refugees due to its largely Sunni population. I've yet to see another tourist of any nationality during my time here, which is a first for me in 6 years, since my visit to Nablus, Palestine. This is exciting and concerning in the same breath. Where have they all gone? Has the crisis created an environment that has kept people away? Sure, the state department has a high risk warning for traveling here, as do a few other nations. But as we all know, government bodies are unnecessarily tight-assed when it comes to touchy destinations. They have to be. Most would say this is because these areas are particularly dangerous and the state is concerned for its citizens. I would say, its their way of saying “we told you, so don’t blame us if shit goes wrong”; like a carte blanche indemnity waiver of sorts.

This morning, I walked out to the main highway in Beirut as instructed by locals and waved down a passing bus. This is the equivalent of trying to catch a ride along interstate 95, but it’s how things are done here. Sure enough, one screeches to a halt as I yell out Tripoli. 2 hours and 2 bucks later, I'm standing in a hectic square where horns are blaring, and everything has converted back to Arabic. Time to get sorted. Where are people eating? There's a good line at a greasy shwarma shop across the street, so I dodge a few cars and head for the stand. After the last bites of some fatty meat and pickled vegetables, I search for tea, hoping that I can find a local that speaks a little English and will give me the skinny on where to go. There are still some rather fucked up parts of Tripoli, so I do want to keep my wits about me. I order a tea out of the back of a truck on the street. Local men chain smoke and stare. There are no other travelers in sight. Not one. Here I am again, all alone in a foreign universe.

I watch the eyes of each man as they glaze past me. Suspicion? Curiosity? Am I a threat? And there he is….one man with a soft smile and approachable eyes, looking at me with curiosity. I ask if he speaks English and he does. He had spent some time in Germany as an Arabic translator and is eager to talk. We lean against a tree and share stories over his coffee and my tea. He asks the usual questions of why I am here. We go over my reasons for visiting. I ask about Syria, and how it's affecting his town. He says they have more people than they can handle, noting the infrastructure is overflowing with refugees. He tells me I will see them in the streets, in the souk and in every corner of the city. A new Lebanon is arising and it is bursting at the seams. It is not the same land he once knew.

We talk about my visit to Baalbek yesterday and how it is firmly a Hezbollah stronghold. He inquires if I told them I was American, to which I told him no. I said I was Spanish, as instructed by locals in Beirut.”I think this was smart of you,” he says.

We talked of the mortar fire I heard and how close the border is. I asked if he had fear about the situation becoming worse in Lebanon because of the crisis. “I'm not sure what will happen, but I will go back to Germany with the first chance I get. This country is starting to boil again.”

We shake hands and he wishes me luck before we part ways. I wish him good tidings for his family and he gives a small nod with a hand over his heart. Then I turn back into the madness and head for the souk to explore the innards of Tripoli.

I wander the endless alleyways of the souk, past spice shops, clothing vendors, copper smiths, furniture stores, shouting fruits purveyors and the bloodied butcher shops, where huge carcasses and rib cages hang freely in the market. There are absolutely no other travelers to see. Not one. I am alone. Eyes ignore me, as if I don't exist. Faces move forward with their business. The lanes are packed like a cattle pen and we are moving through at a shuffle. Why am I so comfortable here? Anxiety takes hold of me at home from time to time but for some reason, I am completely calm in this environment. I take turns into dark and dirty alleys where no one walks. I peer into the homes with doors open. They are dim, Spartan and crunched. Life here is different. People watch from doorways and windows as I walk through their alleys. I must look like a purple unicorn to them.

The heat of the days takes me to the front of a dim storefront with the windows covered. Two men sit outside with coffees in hands talking about their world in a harsher tone of Arabic. I decide to peak my head in. The room is sparse, with offensive neon lights and oscillating ceiling fans. I can hear the hacking up of lungs, along with the bubbling of shisha smoke. The is their club - their spot. This is the room of old men: no music, flickering lights, smoke soaked walls and the most basic furniture money can buy. This room could exist in central America, eastern Europe or remote parts of China. They don’t spit on the floor here, but if they did, no one would bat an eye.

I walk in and sit down at an open table without waiting. No time for eyes to be pulled away from their card games and clouds of smoke. I order tea, shisha and water - all in Arabic as they are the few words I know. I sit down and a new layer of life begins.

Men flip beads and yell at each other about contentious moves in their card games. No forced ambiance exists here: just the click of the cards, the smack of the beads, the bubble of the shisha and the nonstop blaring of the horns outside. And now I sit, puffing away and drinking tea in a back alley in Tripoli, wondering about the next step of my life. The next big move. The attempts at healing. The attempts at growth. How did I get here again? Somehow, I always end up pondering my existence in places that are remarkably similar to opium dens.

I'm on a search to find something and my journey of thought is best sparked on the road. I wish I could craft more ideas at home to interrupt my routine, they way I can while I'm pounding the pavement abroad. But I struggle with this. I've ruined relationships, created heartbreak, have lost friendships and hurt many people close to me, as I continue on this search. I feel like a bulldozer with no breaks, plowing through everything beautiful in my life, in order to reach that something that I'm looking for. And the hell if I know what it is, or if I’ll recognize it when I see it. Worst of all, maybe there will be no “it”. I want to be on a path of improvement to make life a little better for myself and the people I care about each day. I just wish there weren’t so many casualties along the way.

Finesse is needed to achieve the balance I am looking for and luckily, the desire for that balance has never been stronger in my life than it is right now. Through all the time away, all the wild nights, all the foreign faces, and all the solitude, I know the most important thing in this world is to love and to be guided by love, once we peel back our animal instincts. So I strive for that emotion to be my beacon each day, to help me find the direction that my life will take.

I don’t know why I feel compelled to write like this today, be it that I’m typing this on my phone in a back alley shisha house in Tripoli. And they say the first draft of anything is pure shit, but right now, I feel liberated by blasting this first draft out into the ether, without much editing, to let my soul breathe a little. The existential world has tackled me again....and it's time once more to find my footing.

The First 24 Hours in Lebanon

2016-06-14T16:53:00.000-07:00

I’m in love with Lebanon. While the concept of love at first sight has never made sense to me, I do think it may be true in regards to a relationship with a country. Call it infatuation, call it romance, but goddamn, Lebanon has me wrapped around its little finger in less than a day’s time.

Upon arrival, I was told that my checked bag was still in Dubai. Who cares. The rush to be in this country is way more important than my dirty socks and a few shirts. There is a Persian rug in my bag that costs a week’s pay, but it'll surface eventually.

I started my day by hopping in a collective cab that pulled up when I hit the street. He asked where I was headed. “Take me to the Cola intersection, where I can find the micro-buses for Baalbek.” “No problem, but it’s dangerous” says the driver. “Where are you from” he asks. When I say America, he yells out “America??!! And you want to go to Baalbek?” “Yes” I say. “Is this a problem?” “It can be the most dangerous for Americans” he says. Do you speak any other languages? Can you pretend to be Italian or Brazilian?” “Why” I ask him. “It is really that dangerous for Americans?” “Yes” he says. “They may try to kidnap you and ask for ransom. Please, do not tell them you are American!” “It can't be that dangerous, as I've read that no one has been kidnapped there in awhile, except the Czech hikers, but that was in a slightly different area. What are you saying?” I ask. “You can go and it is very beautiful,” he said. “But do not tell anyone that you are American. Can you speak any other languages?” he says. “I speak some Spanish,” I told him “and I can breakup my accent.” “That is good. Pretend you are from Spain. Take care of your passport and don't talk too much, or at all if you can avoid it.”

Shit. I did my homework and everything looked safe. Was I headed into a tight spot that I couldn't account for? No. I did the research and all looks good. Just be cautious about what taxis you take and stay toward the main sites, don't speak about politics, don't say the word Hezbollah out loud and all will be fine.

The driver then told me that he would talk to the minivan driver, to tell him he knows his face, should anything happen to me. The minivan driver made a swearing motion with his hand in the air that he would take me right to Baalbek with no issues. The three of us agreed on a price and I jumped in. I took a deep breath and knew I was in for any interesting afternoon.

On the way to Baalbek, we saw three accidents on the road, one of which we were involved in. It sounded like more than a fender bender, but wasn't too substantial as no one was hurt. But our driver got out and yelled at the other, while the other driver reciprocated by yelling back and pushing each other's hands away from each other. In the states, this would have been an all out fist fight, but eventually, they both jumped back in their respective vehicles and took off as if nothing happened. Mind you, we did not slow down one bit, but rather sped up to compensate for time lost. And so it is.

When I got to Baalbek unharmed, I went into the ruins and wandered for two hours in nerdy, archaeological bliss. I walked through the archways, marveled at the columns still standing from Roman times and ran my fingers along the grooves of time on each stone. In the background, it was easy to see the anti-Lebanese mountains, separating Lebanon from the border with Syria and along with this frontier, mortar shells could be heard exploding in the distance. This is real; all very real. While protected by the Lebanese Army and Hezbollah, save for a few weak spots in the border, Lebanon is fairly safe from Isis at the moment, but still does have nearly 2 million Syrian refugees alone that have made their way into its borders. Lebanon is still listed as one of the most dangerous countries on the planet and while a car bomb exploded about a mile from my hotel yesterday, you wouldn’t really know of the dangers, unless you went to the deepest, darkest corners of the country. And even then, it is nothing like Afghanistan, South Sudan, Somalia, Iraq or Pakistan. That being said, it's no Disneyland. But there is no reason to inflate the danger here. Some places are shady and you need to keep your wits about you, but for the most part, this is a relative moment of peace for much of the country. Might as well thrust yourself into any corner you can, while you're able. As the world knows, things can change her on a dime.

After exploring the ruins of Baalbek and having them nearly to myself (save for the few French tourists there as well), I decided to wander the alleys and streets, following the narrow passages and twisting roads to who knows where. After a few minutes of walking, I surfaced near a barbershop filled with some men and boys chatting near the door. As I approached, they smiled and asked where I was from in their best English. I thought for a second first, as I have never said anything but “America” when people would ask me that question; even during the days of George W. Bush, when the world hated our guts and all the nervous Americans started sewing Canadian flags on their backpacks. I'm certainly not symbol minded like Carlin would say, so I never bought into this pretending to be a Canadian bullshit. But I'm also not a crazed flag waving nationalist as well, so more often than not, there is no need to worry. Demur character allows one to fly under the radar. But in Hezbollah country?????? Hell no, I’m not from America. So I say, “I'm from Espain.” They say “welcome, welcome. Real Madrid!” and invite me in. Who knew Hezbollah supports were Real Madrid fans.

I then mimicked the motion for a straight razor shave. “Why not” I thought. My blood is pumping, I can hear the mortar shells in the distance and I'm seeing the faces of these men smiling and relaxing as madness happens a few miles away. Embrace the moment and relax. The human response of terror has dissipated due to the constant exposure to the mortar shells in the background. This is life here now and they have adjusted. So I feel like I should too.

So I sit down expecting a lather and hot towel prep. Instead, the old man hands the razor to a young apprentice of maybe 15 years old, that does a decent, but scrapingly dry job. I take the straight razor from him and touch up a few missed spots, haggle like hell over the price and head back out into the street. I then stopped by an outdoor espresso machine, common to Arab culture and had a quick shot, before flagging down a micro-bus, headed toward Zahle.

I told the driver I was headed to Chateau Ksara, Lebanon's oldest winery, situated beneath the picturesque hills of the Bekaa Valley. He drops me off on the side of the road about a half mile away. As I wander to the entrance, the cool air touches the back of my neck when I enter the shade. Time for wine.

We tour the underground caves where the wine is stored for aging. This is Lebanon's oldest winery and the scenery is stunning.

Upon finding a micro bus back to Beirut, I quickly shower and hit the Gemmayze neighborhood where I down a few overdue local beers after taking some shisha first. With all of Iran's beauty and grandeur, being told you can't have a beer for two weeks makes the desire for a beer nearly intolerable. So I had one. Then another. Then another. And one more. And then one after that. And then one last one, before the last one I had before leaving. Luckily, I was talking to people throughout, so it was a charming time, rather than a depressing moment.

The day was a success. Although, it left me wanting for more. Something different. So I woke up the next morning and decided to go to Tripoli.

Iranian Food

2016-06-12T22:36:00.000-07:00

Chicken kebab platter

The smell of saffron topped rice wafts through the air as the first plate arrives. The flavor of juicy grilled lamb, topped with locally made yogurt and a spritz of lemon litters the taste-buds. Green olives, bathed in a pomegranate walnut sauce are slid to the middle of the table. Roasted tomatoes, fresh mint and pickled cabbage garnish the edges of every plate.

Feast of eggplant, chicken, lamb, herbs, bread, yogurt, tea and sweets

Food is important to me in the sense that I “eat to live”. I’m not of the “live to eat” persuasion, but I do value the use of spices, flavors and the care that goes into each dish that’s put in front of me. I love to travel with my stomach acting as a guide, but it’s the secondary or even tertiary reason for being abroad in my world. That said, it still holds a special place on my travel agenda. As we know, food tells us a tremendous amount about a culture and its people. Eating abroad is less about the actual food being consumed, but rather the magic of the experience of eating within the customs and identity of another culture.

Iranian chicken wings with lamb kebob

How much bread do you take? Wait, bread and rice? 2 large kebabs? This is up to you, but prepare for a feeding. Try it all, but don’t be afraid to be indulgent in the flavors that make you senses pop. In Iran, it’s so clearly the meat.

Lamb kebab here is sublime. In fact, the best I’ve ever had. It’s soft, grilled to perfection and offers a juicy flavor that comes only from being cooked to perfection. The lamb-chops I’ve had here are also the best I’ve ever tasted. Tender, packed with flavor and complimented with a mint and herb medley, the chops here will make your goddamn head spin.

Quail kebab

Bread is a staple at every meal. It’s typically flat, unleavened and has small pockets of tasteful char on it’s outer crust. Sometimes, it outer crust will have a rock or two packed into it, as rocks are used to create small air-holes in the baking process. Be sure to look before you bite down. This bread which is stacked nearly a foot high at times, can be used with mint, feta or a creamy labneh cheese, makes for a great snack while you await a succulent lamb shank, kebab or quail kebab to arrive before you. Salad as a starter and barley soup are common, with the later sometimes being replaced with a lentil soup instead.

Chicken kebab with bread

Tea is robust and plentiful, often being flavored with saffron or cardamom. Tea houses may offer shisha pipe as well, where one sits back with a water pipe filled with apple or orange mint flavored tobacco and blows smoke until the stress in the shoulders drops, the tea takes hold, the eyes calm themselves, and the beautiful effects of true relaxation sets in. This is what it’s all about. Wandering into a back alley tea-house where the record screeches to a halt and the eyes turn towards your entrance when you walk in. After a few minutes of blowing smoke rings and drinking cup after cup of tea, the smiles begin from across the room and the warmth of the place and its inhabitants can be felt. No one wants you to leave, but visitors are so uncommon in places like this that their curiosity is at it’s peak when a lumbering american walks into their intimate universe. The air has a welcoming quality, filled with the taste of fruit filled smoke and aromatic blends of Persian consumption. I’m very comfortable here.

Dizi - traditional stew with crumbled bread

The sweets are sweet and the pistachios taste like pistachios. The dates are delicious, as are the dried figs. The size of each meal is abundant and you rarely leave the table wanting for more.

The general cost of a meal at a decent restaurant hovers between $6-$10 U.S., with the works creeping upwards towards $15 U.S. Alcohol is completely forbidden, so in lieu, they serve non-alcoholic beer, which tastes like either cream soda or malted something. A caloric waste in my estimation, but to each his own.

Regardless of what you find on the menu, it warrants a try as there are brilliant flavors to be had, regional dishes to be tried and a slight difference to even the most traditional dishes available. Give it all a shot; don’t be shy.

Images of Iran

2016-06-12T13:34:00.000-07:00

You can taste the desert, the dust, the dirt and grit. Your neck collects the relentless heat, your eyes conquer the jagged mountains and you body feels the chill of the snow capped peaks. The explosions of turquoise, black, purple and brown light up the eyes like a kaleidoscope. Lamb, chicken, pomegranate and cardamon tickle your taste buds. These are just a few of the defining characteristics of the Persian landscape, but offer nothing more than a glimpse of the surface. The beauty of this culture lies deep…...somewhere I’m unable to discover within just a small visit of 14 days. Persia is a lifetime endeavor; a hidden bag of tricks. Enigma and suppression, mixed with hope and ingenuity concocts a superb stew of confusion.

Whatever you thought you’d see here is most likely wrong. Bold statement? Yes it is. This is not a slight against your judgement, but rather, an illumination to the ignorance of two cultures and the manipulation of its people, through their mutual strong handed policies and practices. The Iranian religious authority pumps out bullshit political propaganda on billboards, newspapers and in the state controlled news. They block several websites, including most social media pages and forums, along with many worldwide media outlets, including CBS, Fox, the BBC and several daily periodicals. Reddit, Facebook, YouTube, Netflix, HBO, you name it - they block it. But I have been able to access the NY Times, The Washington Post and some local affiliate stations in the states. Maybe you’ll ask, “what about the information we receive on Iran from our government elected officials and media”? Well, they’re full of shit as well. In fact, they're spoon feeding it to us at an alarming rate. Once you’ve been here, it’s much easier to identify the flavor.

Modern Iran

2016-06-11T10:13:00.001-07:00

So what is Iran really like? That’s a fair question. I’ve been here for no more than 5 days, so what I’m about to share are fantastically simplistic observations from an optimistic traveler. The collective ideology of the state is the most prominent export of Iran for Americans, but that rarely tells us what’s happening here in the day to day. That said, here’s what I have seen thus far.

Iran is very calm. Persian culture does not seem, in anyway, remotely close to the functionally chaotic areas I’ve traveled to in the Middle East in the past. Arab and Persian culture are distinctly different, and while Persian culture has adopted Arabic words and beliefs, through the adaptation of Islam and Koranic verse that came with invasion, these two cultures should not be confused; maybe not even compared.

Streets are orderly and clean, as are stores and restaurants. Most places seem well organized and laid out with intention. Order and cleanliness appear important here, but not in an obsessive way. Systems are in place just like anywhere in Western Europe or the U.S. Hotel rooms look the same, being covered in benign artwork, along with shitty TV and key-cards that electronically open your doors.

Traffic appears to be the main outlier here as it is self serving and rules are more suggestions, than laws followed. Sure, blinkers are avoided, unless they are turned on by accident, wherein they signal a left turn for 2 miles. Motorcycles and pedestrians appear to be on a constant collision course, which miraculously seems to rarely happen.

Woman in Tehran where hijabs, along with jeans and brightly colored clothes. Men wear long pants and button downs, with the occasional man wearing a t-shirt, or golf shirt. Not many hats or sunglasses are used, with the exception of the women, who tuck their shades stylishly into their hijabs. Outside of Tehran in Yazd, a much more conservative city, women wear chador (means tent in Arabic), which is the long, black flowing veil/gown that goes over their hijab and extends to their ankles. Their faces are uncovered here for the vast majority of the population, even with the more conservative religious folks choosing not to wear burkas. Burkas are more commonly found on the Arabian peninsula, along with other parts of the middle east, where conservative values are much more celebrated by slightly more religiously modest societies, from my understanding. Although I may be wrong, as I’m completely editorializing.

For those interested, the hijab was an edict that was never penned in the Koran, but rather a verbal decree given by Mohammed, supposedly in order to offer women a way to protect their values from the aggressive behavior of men. In addition, the chador, at least in Iran, functions as a 3 piece system, according to the locals:

It again protects the values of women from the behavior of us nasty boys, as it is in no way transparent. This is noted as a more pious approach to dress.
It is black to offer a slimming look, in addition to be considered the most conservative color.
It is considered the color of love in Persian culture.

Women are not required to wear this, but rather choose to, based on their religious commitment and beliefs. In Tehran, women are pushing the boundaries of fashion in their own respective way, by exposing more hair from underneath their hijab, fashionable shoes, colorful outfits and makeup.

The division between men and women is quite clear, with boys and girls being mostly separated until they reach their university years. Heading to college is generally the best and first way to meet a partner, due to mixed gender integration in their studies. They may also meet at underground parties, online, or through family arrangement. Depending on the city and its conservative values, small displays of affection may be shown in public, such as hands touching of being held, or legs pressed against each other while sitting and having a meal or a shisha pipe. This is generally not done on display, but in a discreet and inconspicuous manner. Kissing does not take place in public, but rather behind closed doors, like a Charlie Rich song.

I know this is coming off as a string of statements which are not necessarily tied together with an elegant bow, but these are simply some surface observations that I’m collecting along the way. And they’re important. We know very little about Iranian culture as outsiders, as damn near everything we see is covered in a mist of contentious politics. The day to day, mundane existence of the people is the most fascinating subject to me at this time, because it clearly displays their normal and expected humanity, which was completely unexpected before I arrived. If that makes sense.

While much of the country is conservative in their Shiite belief system, there are non-practicing Muslims here, many of which are part of the younger generations. Historically, Iran has been made up of 90% Shia, 8% Sunnis and 2% minority religions, such as Zoroastrian, Christianity, Judaism, Dervish mysticism and any others I may be forgetting. This is changing slightly, with minute fractions of the population peeling away from prayer and mosque attendance. They may maintain their belief, but daily practice may fall to the wayside for some. Some do not believe at all, but do not openly say this in public, for fear of top down persecution.

Consider the fact that to the east, Iran is bordered by Afghanistan and Pakistan. To the north, the country is bordered by Turkmenistan, Azerbaijan and Armenia. To the west, it borders Iraq and Turkey. To the south, across the Straight of Hormuz and the Persian Gulf, lies the Arabian Peninsula. This is a hell of a location to get bogged down in regional politics. But as safety is concerned, it is by and large, safer for travel than all of its neighbors, including Turkey, the U.A.E and Oman. Crime is exceptionally low, incidents of terrorism in country are virtually non-existent and while freedom of the press, speech, equality and several other human rights issues are called into question on the regular, the biggest concern for most Iranians is the economy, followed by their desire for greater freedom from their government. Sanctions have doubled or tripled the price of most items, the Real has devalued substantially against foreign currencies, and the inability to purchase or sell items to foreign nations due to the sanctions, has all but crippled their job market. But this is all changing with the lifting of sanctions. Slowly, but changing.

Persian history, culture, family life and now a burgeoning sense of individuality, make up a chunk of the DNA that Iranians seem to carry in their blood. Peace, tranquility and the ideas of modernization pour forward from the lips of the country’s youth. Religious oversight, along with a manipulated government, that can be vetoed by the Supreme Leader and his theocratic council at anytime, creates the great divide that exists between the powerful and the powerless. This may be the greatest point I have noticed with my time on the ground. While the youth are hopeful for modernization and a greater opening to the world, they feel powerless under the stringent policy that has been placed on them. Their voices have been silenced, due to the fear of the repercussions that may occur, should they speak about policy. And so, they choose not to, except within the very tight corners of their circles. One more than one occasion, I’ve been told they want to have hope, but unless they leave the country for the United States, they feel hopeless.

I’ll have more to share as my experience evolves. Please note once more that all ideas shared here are born from my impressions of the country thus far, along with the stories of the random people I have spoken with along my journey. No one person is responsible for the thoughts listed above, and only I should be held accountable for the words on this page.

Arrival in Iran

2016-06-10T14:38:00.002-07:00

My eyelids slowly crack a third of the way open. 3 flights, two layovers and nearly 30 hours of uninterrupted travel have left a layer of rust around the edges of my sight. If music were playing, the record would be perpetually skipping right before the chorus kicks in.

When I boarded this flight, sleeves were rolled up, neck lines exposed and women’s hair parted and styled with several of today's latest fashion trends. Beer is being served, as is wine, and quite possibly the hard stuff too. As the wheels touch down on the tarmac of Khomeini International Airport, the hijabs go up, sleeves go down and the show begins. Welcome to Tehran.

85% of the plane’s passengers are men. Everyone is relaxed, with the exception of myself. I’m not quite nervous, but after sleeping upright in contorted positions, brushing my teeth in airport bathrooms and showering in a sink for the last two days, I’m tired and a little edgy. My senses are dull, my eyes are drooping and I’m covered in a film of sorts that only exists in the airport atmosphere. I’m now headed through customs in a country where we have no diplomatic relations, one that refuses entry to anyone with an Israeli stamp in their passport, and well frankly, has bared the moniker of “axis of evil” for the last 15 years, if not longer. I’m not nervous, but I’m not myself. I’m exhausted.

Unfounded impressions are mostly smoke and mirrors. You collect an idea from your worldly exposure, and if your exposure is limited, or if the narration of that exposure is guided with a heavily biased influence, than your impressions are limited as well. Right?

My preformed impression of Iranian customs was that I’d most likely be taken in a room, worked over a bit for being an American, my bags thoroughly checked, my itinerary heavily scrutinized and my face stared at by several agents for long stretches of time in order to measure my level of suspicion. Not preferred, but I’m cool with this. I’ve had it happen upon entry into Cuba before, but as I have nothing of substance to hide, I know fearing actual, problematic issues is born from unnecessary paranoia. I’ve barely done anything wrong, so I have little reason to worry. This is part of our struggling, diplomatic song and dance. No real danger to be had.

I’m the second one off the plane in economy class, being seated up front next to the screaming babies. I line up in the customs queue for foreigners and get called up by a benign looking agent. My passport is taken; my visa explored. Pages are flipped with curiosity. Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda and Rwanda are the only stamps/visas that populate my pages thus far. It’s a new passport, so not much to show for. Iranian visa in order? Check. A subtle, yet edgy smile creeps across my face. No good; get ride of that thing. You look like a goon.

But it’s taking longer than expected. He keeps going back and forth. The agent looks up across his thick, bushy mustache several times to measure my face against the photos in my passport. Yes, I lost some weight. Yes, I have a beard now. But it’s me…..all me, in my sloth-like, unkempt glory. If my passport were a scratch and sniff, the photo displayed and my present state wouldn’t match each other either.

The people behind me start filtering into another line. The customs officials open another row for passage. People are moving through the windows, with an average time of 45 seconds with each agent. When you are standing there watching everyone on your flight pass you by, you begin counting. Yep, 45 seconds seems to be the magic number. At least 15 to 18 people have passed. I’m still standing here after nearly 15 minutes. Why is he going back and forth? What is the disconnect that you are searching for?

Then the agent abruptly rises, walks out of the door while offering me a small smile and motions that he’ll be back with my passport momentarily. He disappears. The lines are now empty. The whole flight has moved through this area and is on to the baggage claim. I’m standing alone in the customs section, with two other agents sitting 20 feet away at their posts. They’re not looking at me, nor do they give a shit in any capacity about the situation. Probably because there was no situation, save for the one I was constructing in my own mind.

1000 years seem to pass before the guard returns with my passport and motions me to another customs agent. He asks what I do for a living. “Sales” I say. No need to add in adventure travel, international travel or anything else that might suppose I am here for work. Your best bet if you work in travel from my experience, for entering any country without interruption is to claim tourism and to be as vague as possible about your job. “Saaa-lays?” the agent says back. “Sales” I repeat. “Saaa-lays” he retorts. Then he hands me a pen and paper and makes a writing motion. I write it down. “Saaa-lays” he says again. “Yes”, I say. “Saaa-lays.”

The other agent looks down, reads it back and says something in Farsi that sounds like vendor. “Yes,” I say, “vendor”. “Ok, Ok” he says. Then he disappears with my passport again. We’re closing in on 20 some minutes at this point.

My heart begins to calm, as there is nothing I can do, being literally stuck with no passport in my possession on the Iranian border. Have they found out that I’ve been to Israel? Do they know I keep a blog? They can’t think I’m a journalist or a media writer of any stature……..my syntax is awful and only a handful of people read what I write. Plus, all I write is goofy stream-of-consciousness nonsense, that at best, can be considered editorial content.

Time begins to slow and my breathing becomes drawn in a calming way. My mind's playing tricks on me and I know it. I’m aware. I laugh to myself in a way a person standing on their own should not, especially, while multiple surveillance cameras are pointed in your general direction. This is the type of cackle and behavior that a full blown lunatic displays during a maniacal moment. Come on man, just give me my goddamn passport and let me roll on.

I’m finally passed off to another agent that takes me into a back room and closes the door. He pulls up a chair and sits across from me at his computer. He doesn’t say a word, but rather hums a light tune at the lowest possible level. He taps away at the keyboard, almost pretending as if I’m not there.

He reaches down and grabs my hand and then begins to fingerprint me. I’m thinking……does Iran work with Interpol? Have I committed any international crimes that are worth noting? Why wasn’t anyone else on the goddamn airplane, goddamn fingerprinted?!! I can hear myself starting to sound like Holden Caulfield with all the “god-damns” and “phonies” piling up in my mind. I’m almost to the point where I’m ready to ask, but then remember, I’m the only American with no Iranian heritage that came off of this plane today, I believe.

When both hands are finished, he hands me my passport, stands up and walks out, saying nothing. So in turn, I stand up and walk out. And that’s all.

I walked down through the declarations area, past the last line of security, and right out to a man with a sign listing my name. We shake hands, exchange pleasantries and saunter out into the dry heat of the desert, en route to his car. I want to slap myself for the mental gymnastics I have just put myself through. I’m falling victim to the same fears that I know not to be true. Paranoia is the father of suspicion and I’m acting like I’m guilty of something. This was much to do about nothing, and I bought it.

When I arrived at the hotel, I met another American that had arrived that day as well on a separate flight and he mentioned that while they took a little longer than usual with his passport, the did not fingerprint him, or take him out of public sight. A little odd, but I’m guessing it’s no big deal.

Why am I wasting your time with a small story about walking through customs? I guess the best answer is born from some needed humility here. I’ve spent the last two months telling people that I was coming to Iran because I refuse to believe the media I’ve heard about an entire country and its people, amongst my other interests of history and culture. I knew from my brief investigations online, through non-fiction pieces and from talking to Iranians in my past travels, that there is no way an entire country can represent the fierce images I have heard about in the media as far back as I can remember. But herein lies the problem. I fell victim to my own rejections of thought. The big bad wolf had me on its border and I drank the kool-aid. I felt ridiculous as I walked out. I let the belief of the absurd get its tempestuous fingers around the grip of my shoulders and shake me for what felt like a lifetime. And although it was just a moment, I should’ve known better. I’ve been extorted for bribes, had things stolen from me, followed through the streets, chased by a pack of angry men in Marseilles, had a knife pulled and shown to me with intent to harm in France, been ripped off, strong armed and generally have ended up in more precarious positions than I care to admit. But this was goddamn customs in a sovereign nation. Pull it together man.

So, it’s my intention from here on out to hang my preexisting beliefs on the coat-hanger near Iran’s front door. I’m a little more exposed to the elements of the new, without the trench coat of ideas that I arrived with. But I must treat those as a blockade here, rather than a shield. I am in a land that I do not understand, among a people that do not choose to be enigmatic, and within a culture that I know to be tremendously hospitable. I must think more clearly in these little moments of doubt. I cannot allow myself to buy the bullshit that has been broadcast out into the airwaves of the world. We know better than this, right?

But thankfully, I’ll grow here; in this place, in this time and will hopefully learn my lesson once more - that the world is rarely as it seems on the surface and I’ll need to excavate the layers of culture to find some actual facts about Iran, that will lead my understanding and impressions towards a greater truth. To do otherwise, would be to choose ignorance. Considering the opportunity I have to be here, when so few people from my world have been, makes it all the more important. Forget the propaganda, forget the maelstrom of the media. Pay no mind to the blanket, headline statements made by the leaders of the each nation. Rather, pay attention to the expressions of the locals, the way their brow furrows as you approach thier line of sight, or the way the crease of their lips turn upwards as a smile starts to crack on a weather worn face. Iran is a prime example of the unique and it’s time to stop falling into this quicksand of nonsense. It starts right now.

Fostering Personal Growth Through Travel

2016-05-16T17:58:00.000-07:00

We wake up each morning with a plan to start our day. We begin with a general direction on how things will go, based on the plot points of our previous trajectory: coffee/tea, work, exercise, errands, dinner plans/social event, home, sleep. The next morning, we wake up and do it all over again. And this seemingly, can go on in perpetuity if we don't stop from time to time to inject something foreign into our lives.

Routine is something that seems highly integral to the human psyche, from the time of our childhood, until at least from my personal perspective, into your mid thirties. But the better part of my imagination believes that it follows through the rest of your life, creating tracks that lead us in hopefully, a healthy and productive direction. We like this. It allows us to feel comfortable in a chaotic system of existence, specifically as we negotiate one that is about little more than survival and procreation, but has now evolved into a spectacular blunder of complexity. Even with all the comfort and control the routines of life offer us, it's important to disturb your own personal peace, under conditions that may enhance your growth. This may take place by introducing elements of life and the universe that will grant you potentially stark realizations and realistic awakenings. I'm not talking about some far flung cosmic bullshit; quite the opposite. I'm thinking in terms of blunt exposure to ideas, tastes and flavors that are void in your everyday existence. Think in terms of diet. If you are eating the same things day in and day out for years and years, you may not be adding in other essential nutrients that will foster growth. New ideas for your brain and consciousness are like introducing leafy greens into your digestive system; they're really fucking good for you.

Travel is an elegant form of injection. It is the perfect vehicle to mainline the truth of humanity directly into your bloodstream, with no process of purification standing in between. Travel allows the raw, unfiltered, dirty existence of this planet and its inhabitants, to pump directly into the thick of your veins and coarse through your ventricles to the center of your heart. Impurities, unwanted microbes and potential bacterium, along with harmful viruses can find their way in, and start attacking the immune system. But the immune system gathers strength by doing the action of its namesake: encountering, fighting and developing immunity, provided it is nurtured to be stronger than its moments of weakness. And upon healing, it grows stronger and stronger, until the next round of foreign substances are introduced. Growth can be painful at times. Growth can cause heightened discomfort. In other instances, it may be so subtle that it seems nearly unidentifiable.

The point is, growth takes place around us every day in minute fashions. But the golden block of growth, the moments where the epiphanies occur and the beauty is found, are during those unforeseen moments that blindside you with no warning. These can feel like a devastating hand full of horseshit smacking you in the side of the face. At other times, it may feel more like a kiss from a modern day Helen of Troy. Either way, your attention is lodged in the careless grip of the collective consciousness until you swallow the truth of the world around you. Sometimes it's a jagged pill the size of your thumbnail and at others, it's the best breathe mint that has ever dissolved on the tip of your tongue. I've had both.

I travel because I cannot bear the feeling of being isolated from the rest of the world, specifically when I interrogate my mind and its stagnant belief structure. To know there are multiple mentalities, cultural practices, creatures that inhabit every corner of the planet and people that want to kill you because of where you are from, is enough to seduce the curious man into lacing up his shoes and grabbing his passport, in order to hit the first exit door from this world and finding entry into the greater human experience. That unbridled curiosity creates a human Petri dish for growth, where new ideas and concepts that were acquired from distant lands, find the prime host, temperature and moisture to foster developmental proliferation at breakneck speed.

The greatest education I've ever received has been my time on the road. In certain moments, travel is a crash course in the anthropological madness that exists in this wacky world. During other moments, travel is the decompression of the anxiety that builds in our shoulders. It is the crick in your neck and the release when you crack it, all in the same breath. Travel is a speculum, used to force your eyes open until they both water and dry out; it is our chance to bathe ourselves in the the purity of truth, and to scrape off the dirt and grim of bigotry and ignorance. In this essence, I love the following quote by America's finest satirist, speaking to one of travel's greatest accomplishments:

"Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's lifetime." - Mark Twain

Fatal to prejudice and bigotry........there is a man who has seen the other side of life and has fostered his own personal growth through travel.

Bound for the Middle East: Iran and Lebanon

2016-05-08T12:04:00.002-07:00

My Iran Itinerary - copyright G Adventures

Whatever it is you believe, be it that biological evolution got us here or divine inspiration laid the tracks, we are all given one crack at this life, and that is all. I've said this here a hundred times before, but it's beyond important to remind ourselves that regardless of what comes next, we're all finite and limited, and need to squeeze the lemon of life completely dry. This isn't a polite suggestion for humanity; it's an imperative. The years will pass us by at an alarming rate we can't predict and we damn sure need to find our cloud, make our music, spread our love and take the ride that gives us the greatest fulfillment, in between all the really difficult living we have to do the rest of the time. Whether that is raising your children, owning a coffee shop, digging ditches or being an engineer, it's so important to be aware of the moments you have now. Celebrate the birth of a new child, the landmark birthday of your grandmother, the extra time you peeled off of your last race, or the gumption it took to go talk to that complete stranger with the gorgeous green eyes in the corner. If your glass of life still has fluid, then drink it up and don't waste a drop.

I've kept this next entry under wraps for quite sometime, as the visa process can be a real headache for Americans. We have no formal, diplomatic relations with Iran, so I've had to apply for an authorization number, before being granted the opportunity to apply for a visa to get into the country. Be it that there is no Iranian embassy in the U.S., my passport needed to be sent to the Iranian Interest Section, which is organized through the Pakistani embassy in D.C. This is the same process of sorts for entry into Cuba, although Iran is far more stringent with their regulations. They require your resume, personal information and a decent chunk of details in regards to your plans and itinerary while you're there. Only 1400 Americans travel to Iran each year in total. With nearly 323 million people in this country, 1400 barely moves the needle. In sum, that's less than .005% of the U.S. population, total. THESE are my people. They are the ones chasing the desire to see the world for what it truly is, in person with no filter, no matter what borders they're told they shouldn't cross. These people want the raw history of life and the empirical interactions, rather than formulating their ideas through a foreign lens, or someone else's notepad. Let me be clear, I'm not engaging in fashionable media bashing here, but my trust in CNN's ability to provide the true feel and essence of a nation, is, well, something I'm afraid their format is unable to convey.

So the plan is, you hopefully get your visa, pack the bare essentials, dust off your travel kicks, throw your bag over your should, grab your money, passport, toothbrush and favorite sunglasses. Then you hit the road and don't look back. If you've forgotten anything, let it go. Whatever else you need can be picked up along the way. The journey must begin somewhere and there is no better time than now. Tomorrow is coming whether you want it to or not, so you move forward; at breakneck speed or a turtle's pace. You move forward. I received my visa. I'm headed to Iran. I'm moving forward.

I have an impression of what Iran will be like when my feet finally touch its earth, but I'm sure I'll most likely be wrong. Image and reality differ so greatly in their frameworks of truth, and when the image starts to become your reality, it's time to do something different to realign your belief structure. The dissection of image and reality acts as a Petri dish for the birth of misconceptions. Misconceptions can often manifest themselves as racism, cultural misunderstandings, ethnic hatred and unintentional ignorance. No culture is bulletproof against this outlook. It's the seeking members of a culture that make the choice to explore their personal unknown, and to return with the truth they've discovered. Sure, you'll still be getting your story second hand, but hopefully, there is enough authenticity in the experience, that you can tug your image in a more realistic direction. Or maybe, those seekers will share the truth of what they saw and your image and perception evolve to include a perspective that never stood a chance before.

Go explore reality: taste it, touch it, smell it's air. Shake the hands of it's people, cast smiles in their direction, and open your mind to the way they are thinking. You don't have to believe their thoughts or way of life, but you should listen first hand with clarity and sincerity, before you dismiss their position. I know this seems blatantly obvious, but how many of us truly practice this? I struggle with the patience towards the belief of others everyday, due to the comfortable existence and bubble of belief I've crafted for myself. If the truth is violent, hostile or true to the image you had before traveling, then so be it. At least you tried a piece of the pie, rather than asking someone else about the ingredients and flavor, and then trying to guess what it tastes like.

If possible, stop for 10 seconds and think about your image of Iran. While you're at it, think about your image of the middle east.

Where is that image born from? Do you trust those thoughts entirely? Does it really feel valid in your mind as a belief? Can you hold a conversation on Iran with any ideas that weren't given to you secondhand by the media, who, is in the business of selling stories that capture your attention? "If it bleeds, it leads" is not an uncommon mantra for news agencies. For all the good they do, they also report on stories that lure in the public for better ratings. They have to! But we don't have to allow this to be the only way we frame our personal reality. No. The power we have as individuals it to exact control of our own mind, our own belief and our own reality by seeking out the closest thing to the truth of reality that we can muster. Maybe it doesn't need to be your primal focus day in and day out, but searching for the truth in the world around you should not be an afterthought. By tasting the world hand-to-mouth, it becomes yours, just a little more each time. You're not just a visitor or a cosmic passerby. You are part of the human race, as wild and fucked up as it may be. You are an active participant. Maybe you have 85 years on this planet. Are you pleased with your participation thus far? I am not, and so therefore, it is time to push further into the void of ignorance to open my eyes more clearly. So when my expiration date finally comes, I can look back on a life of effort and growth. Not just a life filled with "close enough's".

I head to Iran in 19 days, via Denver to NYC, NYC to Istanbul, and Istanbul to Tehran. When I land, I imagine that immigration will be fairly challenging, be it that I am 1 maybe of 2 or 3 Americans entering the country on that day. But all is well. They have issued me a visa and I'm going with open eyes and a clear heart. That's all I need.

I don't know what to expect while I'm there, but I do know what I hope to accomplish. I want to see the raw, unedited Iran; the country that has been enigmatic in so many ways for most of the West and a large chunk of the world. I want to peer into the heart of the nation, by engaging with its people, tasting their air and absorbing their history. And I want to share that with you my friends. I want my time to act as not only a moment of clarity for me, but a vessel of clarity for anyone else that can stomach my writing and wants to push the boundaries of their understanding.

I'm tired of starting to believe the things I see in the media, because it is the only constant source of Iran that most of us have. I want to meet its people, taste it's food and gaze across the Persian landscape with awe and a new found understanding. I want just a bit more clarity; a bit more open-mindedness. This is the way I'll start finding my cloud and I hope this helps you think about how to find yours too.

Photos from Murchison Falls and the Nile River

2016-04-30T09:53:00.000-07:00

I'm running low on stories from Uganda and the last thing one ever wants to do, is make a story feel forced. So rather than penning something halfheartedly, I thought I'd share some photos from my time in the north of Uganda.

Murchison Falls is an incredible display of power that falls along the Nile river, south of the West Nile region. The area below the falls is filled with Nile crocodiles, hundreds of bird species, including the rare shoe-bill (pictured below), along with several pods of hippos, and fisherman casting nets to pull out Nile perch and catfish.

Murchison Falls along the Nile River

Fishermen casting nets for Nile perch

The rare shoe-bill

Cape Buffalo

Uganda's Culture: a few pictures, a few thoughts

2016-04-24T07:28:00.000-07:00

Sula passing out our lunches to some kiddos on the side of the road.

My recent blog posts and Instagram photos have primarily focused on the wildlife and landscapes of Uganda, and haven't paid much attention to beautiful culture that Uganda carries with pride throughout the country. A nation of curious stares, meets you at every turn, before their lips begin to migrate upward into a sincere smile. Uganda feels tight-nit, like one large community, where everyone talks to everyone, as if they all know each other, or at least went to high school together. It makes for fascinating interactions between strangers, including transactions, joking, curiosity and engagement. This is foreign to much of the west, as we are constantly wrapped up in our social constructs and norms, which pads us with a level of distance from each other for the most part.

Sula handing out juice boxes, snacks and sandwiches to some hungry youngsters during our travels

My photos here are just a few images from my time traveling between parks and were taken to color in the lines of this journey. I chose to limit the photos I took of people during this trip, as I really wanted to spend my time, looking, meeting eyes and exploring the interactions with those I met, without a camera lens between us. I don't mean to sound high and mighty, like you shouldn't be taking pictures of people along the way. Quite the opposite. But on this trip and at this time in my life, I needed to look men, women and children in the eye and connect with them on a very simple level. Whether it be their curiosity over my skin color, my reason for being in Uganda, and what my thoughts were about their country, I needed to connect with people once more, after living in a vacuum of sorts for the last few months. These were not deep connections, or even notable. They were simply two people from opposite sides of the planet, taking a moment to observe each other, maybe share a few words and a smile. Nothing more, nothing less. Sometimes, this is exactly what we need.

The typical method of carrying items, the Ugandan way

I'm asking myself to listen to the heartbeat of the world and to constantly take its pulse. I'm lost in my own world so much of the time that my mind has eclipsed the better part of everything that happens outside of my immediate existence. I can no long stay hidden under a rock or spend my days with my head buried in the sand. I have two working eyes, healthy legs, a strong heart and the beauty of love cast from the collective hearts of my friends and family. It's time to get back out there and thrust myself into this world, our world, my world and not just construct an existence that causes me the least amount of pain, but rather exposes me to the honest breathe of reality, as the world is and as the world continues to be.

Traditional healer in the remote regions of Bwindi

School children playing soccer with a ball made of plastic bags and covered in string

Banana beer, wine and banana gin made traditionally along the mountainside.

Batwa man (pygmy) showing us traditional medicines used in the forest

My ranger buddy with a chimp in the background

Batwa woman and child headed to do some washing in the local river

The best way to carry your chickens while biking around town

Ugandan drive through.

Photos from Tanzania and Uganda

2016-04-21T06:31:00.001-07:00

Here are a few pictures that I thought you might enjoy. Some are from Tanzania, with the rest being from Uganda. More to come and thanks for looking!

Uganda's Mountain Gorillas

2016-04-16T22:36:00.002-07:00

The ascent starts immediately. You stare up at the mountain side and know that the next few hours will be a strain and exertion on your legs and chest. The heat is bearing down, laying a thick blanket of humidity on the nape of your neck. The beads of sweat begin, first on your forehead, then on the small of your back. Your pack is loaded with water and food, but feels weightless due to the excitement.

You climb past the local school house, then onward through a small community embedded in the side of a hill. Goats, cows and chickens litter the landscape. Barefoot children stare out of their doors as you pass by, faces displaying a quizzical look, mixed with the purity of youth. The path begins to narrow as you climb and the forest begins to thicken with each step. The switchbacks soon enter the picture. This carries on for an hour, before the trail disintegrates into the forest and becomes an exercise in bushwhack, following the path of least resistance. Maybe an elephant has come by with the last few days and created a trail of downed trees and trampled bushes, that allows you to conserve energy and literally follow in its footsteps. Soon, your guide decides to redirect you, based on the calls from the trackers ahead, meaning you are now headed into the thick and dense bush, being opens seconds before you pass by with a swinging machete. The experience is unique; the feeling is wild.

Trekking to see the mountain gorillas of Bwindi Impenetrable Forest is not a choreographed experience. Trackers head out early in the morning in the direction of where the gorillas were last seen the day prior. Sometimes, they can be as close as 30 minutes away from your starting point. If the gorillas are feeling active, they can be as far as 6, or even 8 hours away. You won’t know until the trackers find them, which is then radioed down to your ranger that accompanies you on the trek. Our trek this morning took 2 hours from the time we departed until the time we heard the first calls of the gorillas while approaching the ridge of the mountain top. As there were only two of us in our group, they put us on the advanced path, reserved for those that the park considers the most fit. This trek is the most difficult that Bwindi has to offer, but the anticipation one builds along the way makes all the exertion a goddamn delight.

When our trackers radioed back that they had found the gorillas, we were within range to hear their calls. Our ranger put out mock gorilla call as well, signaling that we were en route and would be arriving shortly. When we finally came upon the gorillas, we dropped our packs, took our last sips of water, grabbed our cameras and set the clock. You are given 1 hour with the gorillas and they move fast and often. It’s important to be lightweight, mobile and nimble as there are no trails, no designed walkways and no particular path or patterns that the gorillas follow. They are in an extremely dense part of the mountain side and move wherever they want, however they want. The are wild gorillas that have been habituated, but they do not sit still and pose. They are wild animals, behaving like wild animals in a wild environment. The authenticity of the experience is unparalleled.

We quickly got right into the thicket and pulled down branches and leaves to clear a path to take photos. Your window of opportunity may last only a few seconds, before the gorillas start down the hillside, come rushing passed you or move to higher ground. As you follow them, you slide down embankments, get covered in spider webs and have bugs falling down on your shoulders and neck from the trees and bushes above. Your shirt gets caught on thorny nettles, your feet get tangled up in twisting vines and the sweat continues to build as you move.

It’s suggested that you keep a distance of 7 meters, in order for the gorillas to not feel threatened and to reduce the possibility of them charging. Commonly though, they will move right passed you, calling to one another and sometimes even pushing you as they move by. Gorillas are exceptionally strong, but their ability does not really register until the 500 pound silver-back saunters passed you, and then begins to sprint downward, pulling down small trees and tearing off limbs and branches as it goes. A silver-back at full speed sounds like a Ford Escort barreling down the side of a mountain, crashing into trees as it falls. It’s no joke.

As we moved with the gorillas from location to location, one becomes hyper aware of the situation you are in and how unique this opportunity is. You move at a rapid pace and contort yourself into positions that offer the most advantageous shots. You kneel, squat, lay, bend, slide, twist and stretch to find the right angle. Every moment of that hour is special, unique and sustained. The excitement never abates; it never quiets down. The thrill of being among mountain gorillas in their natural habitat is like no other. It is raw, it is visceral, it is awe-inspiring and it is an awakening.

There were several moments throughout the experience, where I found myself just a few feet away from these incredible creatures and had to put my camera down to study the folds of the skin on their face, the wrinkles on their fingers and the formation of their toes. We are worlds apart, but share some humbling characteristics. This reminded me very clearly of how we have evolved through millions of changes over the generations and how we didn’t climb out of the muck of the ocean as fully formed humans. We are part of something so large, so great and so unique. Humanity in its form, is a metaphorical miracle, and it registers deeply when you stand next to a creature that shares some of the same facial expressions and mannerisms that I do as well.

The silver-back was without a doubt the most fascinating of the group. His enormity, his control, and his effortless motion as he walked within 2 feet of me as he passed by kept me glued to him for much of the time. He was majestic, courageous and animated in his own way. And while I thought I’d feel nevous in his presence, I actually felt quite calm. Something about being within 5 feet of a creature that could tear my face off, but chose not to due to the habituation process, made me feel even keel and comfortable. My partner Catherine was nervous and several times, primarily when they would run passed or call out, I’d reach out to let her know it was ok, to remind her to breathe. In the end, she did wonderfully and I was delighted that she faced this experience with her head held high.

As our hour wound down, we bushwhacked through the thickest brush and plant life for the day, literally pushing the thicket down, trampling it and creating a path for those behind us. The gorillas had moved to an area so dense, we could only hear them, but as we got closer and closer, we managed to see the shaking of the plants, giving away their location. We started pulling the plants back, bending branches and opening up a small alleyway to take our final photos before departing. As we did this, one of the trackers reached in further than the gorilla cared for and the gorilla reach out and swatted at him, narrowly missing his arm. Standing next to him, I gave him a pat on the back and we both shared a nervous laugh. The silver-back then came down to join in the feeding and passed by me once more within a distance of 2 feet. Exhilarating!

The last of the gorillas came down with a baby on it’s back and playfully smacked the leg of one of the trackers as she passed by. This was our cue that our time with them was up, so we set to work with blazing down through the thicket once more to find the closest trail, in order to descend the mountain.

I’ve lived a fairly full life to date and can claim with confidence that I’ve taken some chances that have paid off. I’ve also take a few that have not. When it comes to wildlife viewing, this is the crown jewel in my experience and it was worth every chance I’ve taken to find a way to get here. I’ll do my damnedest to count my luck daily after today, because I’m fully aware of how extraordinary this experience has been. Any way to re-calibrate your existence is an exercise in growth and something that we should thrust ourselves into. Life is too short to allow growth to pass us by.

Uganda's Chimpanzees

2016-04-14T11:38:00.001-07:00

Most of us formulate impressions of a country before we get there. We read, research, talk to others, or plainly imagine what a foreign land holds for us. Sometimes we are dramatically wrong. At times, we’re right on the money. More often than not, we’re somewhere in between. That’s what I love; the mental limbo where we can still be surprised and find a sense of discovery in our world.

The idea of coming to Uganda had been of interest since watching the film, “The Last King of Scotland” a few years ago. For those of you that know me well, i’d like to leave very few stones un-turned before I leave this world, but not every place is on your radar from Day 1. When I got to Nathab, I began to recognize the importance of Uganda as a wildlife destination with good plains game, beautiful landscapes and a welcoming culture. But the true prize for wildlife lovers is the accessibility to the the concentrations of primates that exist here, specifically chimpanzees and mountain gorillas. The greatest concentration of both chimps and gorillas exist in Uganda, making visits to places like Kibale and Bwinda, a mecca for primate viewing.

Maybe you’re not so into wildlife. Maybe seeing mountain gorillas or chimps at the zoo is enough for you. Believe me, I get it. But if your life affords you the opportunity to see them in the wild, to be within 10 feet of a chimpanzee in its habitat, then I implore you to take advantage of that opportunity, because to watch a chimp in the wild is a revelation. It is a display of evolution, a display of society.

The start of my journey began in Entebbe, after a few days in Nairobi. Entebbe is a quaint city by Ugandan standards with some good restaurants, manicured properties, the Presidential Palace, the UN Headquarters for East Africa and a centralized airport. After a night of waxing philosophical over a bottle of red wine with my in-country contact, we hit the road the following day, headed north for Murchison National Park, to see Murchison Falls along the Nile River. I had been along the Nile while in Egypt 13 years ago, but had never imagined being much closer to it’s southern source.

Murchison Falls is a hell of a spot for hippos, birds and seeing the falls from a birds-eye view. If you take a boat ride on the Nile, you’ll find crocodiles, hippos, monitor lizards, birds of every type, including the rare Shoe-bill that is incredibly difficult to see.

After two days in Murchison, we ventured south through tiny towns, past thousands of people on foot, traveling with baskets, lumber, food, gasoline and a variety of other packages gracefully balanced on their head. The side of the road is a beautiful display of humanity, with children yelling and waving as we drove by. Many interested stares from the locals were cast our way as we poked our heads our the window while cruising through their tiny little towns, which for many, equaled the sum total of their human existence. The stare always migrated into a smile which is quite telling about the Ugandans. Perspective.

Hours passed as we lumbered through a variety of terrain, ecosystems, farming outlines and tea plantations; all of it green, lush, and perfectly beautiful. Uganda!

Our destination for the day was Fort Portal, just outside of Kibale National Park, which offers the best chimp trekking experience on the planet. To note, these are wild chimps in the jungle that you are looking for. They are semi habituated, meaning they’re used to people coming in to observe them in their natural habitat, but by no means are they captive at all. They are wild, they move where and when they want, which creates an exhilarating experience for those that are willing to make to the journey. After you go through the registration process and the briefing by the forest rangers, you guide grabs a rifle and you head out into the thick of the rain forest to begin exploring. You listen for the calls of the chimps to one another, to get an idea of where they are and which direction to begin traveling. At times, it can take nearly 2 hours before you track and find them. In our case, it took 15 minutes to find the first one that lead us to the others. Opportunity meets timing.

We came across him sitting in a very human-like position, almost comparable to Rhodan’s The Thinker. Whenever we got with 10 feet or so, he would get up and saunter over to another area and assume another position to keep some space. We would follow en suite, but would veer diagonally in one direction or another to offset the distance and make him feel comfortable.

After leading us close enough to the calls of the others, he quickly sprung up a tree and disappeared into the thicket of the canopy. At about this time, we heard a great rustling in the bush from a nearby forest elephant that was approaching in our direction. Seeing an elephant on foot is fascinating. But it can be very dangerous as well, specifically forest elephants that are known to charge. I snuck up with our guide to take a better look at the big guy before he made any sudden movements. There he was, a brownish mass of animal, knocking over branches and tearing off tree limbs to eat. When he caught sight of us, he made a small stampede and mock charge, that terrified my partner on the trip, who grabbed my hand and started dragging me back. Our guide cocked his weapon and positioned it to fire a warning shot into the air in order to scare the elephant off of its path. In the process of its charge, it diverted directions, allowing us to discontinue our retreat. I felt alive for the first time in many months. Catherine (my partner on the trip) was terrified and her heart nearly popped out of her chest. We had a little laugh about it and continued on. The larger group of chimps were in the distance and we had to keep moving.

After about 10 minutes of bushwhacking and hiking through narrow footpaths, we came upon three chimps seated on the ground. One laid down and stretched out like he had just finished a marathon. The other two, scratched themselves, stared up at the sky and looked around aimlessly.

As the got up to move, we walked with them, keeping a nonthreatening distance, but staying close enough to ensure we could observe their various behaviors. As we navigated to a slight clearing in the forest, one of the chimps began making a huffing sound, like he was puffing his chest up and working himself into a frenzy. Before we knew it, he took off and exploded toward a massive tree, leaped into the air and threw both feet against the side of the tree wall, making the sound of beating a drum. It demonstrated raw power and incredible behavior like I had never seen from a primate. He then tore off into the woods grabbing small trees and breaking them off with the pull of of the hand. Full grown chimps exert the strength 4 adult men, so they can be pretty impressive when they’re on the move.

The experience was exhilarating and while it lasted only two hours in total, it is a memory for a lifetime. Observing their mannerisms, behaviors and interactions is a fascinating experience and one that will be with me throughout my days. I would have killed to spend a few more hours there as it’s few and far between that you get to observe a chimpanzee in the wild. You’ve got to take those opportunities when they come your way. No time to waste!

Tanzania

2016-04-07T13:11:00.000-07:00

For the last several months, I've done everything possible to spend the least amount of time by myself, for reasons I'd rather not go into. Why note this? Well, the best writing comes from an honest and vulnerable state, and while I'm far from a good writer, that shouldn't stop me from striving for that archetype.

The Japanese author Haruki Murakami once said about his writing, "ascribing meaning to life is a piece of cake compared to actually living it". I find great honesty and virtue in this statement, as the true difficulties in life can be fiercely overwhelming. But not unconquerable. We must always push forward.

I'm back on the road for the first time in 7 months and the ride in between was turbulent. But the road is where I've always found peace, discovery and a point of vivid reevaluation of life's form and function. So here it goes.

When I think about a place like Tanzania, the vast expanses of the Serengeti are the first thing that come to mind. It’s size feels like infinite space, with the plains extending so far, they nearly eclipse the horizon. It a trick of perception, but a damn convincing one. The Serengeti reminds me of a flatter version of Nebraska or Kansas, with a generous approximation that it is at least a thousand times better than both.

I started my journey by flying into Arusha and spending the night at a beautiful hotel, staring out over the nearby hills that were dotted with the bright lights of the adjacent homes. I sat back thinking about the families that represented each light, one by one. What challenges are they encountering as a family day to day? Money? Health? Everyone has a story. It may not be very unique, but it’s still their story.

The next morning, one of our in-country guides picked me up and we set off for Tarangerie National Park. Tarangerie is know for spectacular elephant sightings, but as it’s the rainy season, much of the game, including it’s notable elephant population, has migrated to different locations. We caught a glimpse of a few along the way, but nothing to blog home about.

We did however spend a spectacular night at Oliver’s Camp, enjoying the delicious food, along with the wonderful company of the camp staff. We sat around the campfire, wet our lips with Kilimanjaro Beer and told stories of past travels. A good way to kick off an adventure in the bush.

On our way out of the park the following morning, we noticed two spooked giraffes, that gave off the impression of nearby predators. Sure enough, a few moments later, two female lions began climbing up a nearby tree to break free of the the clouds of tsetse flies. As they settled in to each branch, I flipped the roof hatch open, hopped up in the seat and starting shooting. It was the perfect way to start the morning.

After Tarangerie, my guide and I headed towards the Ngorongoro Crater to explore the rim of this natural phenomena. It’s depth and grandeur are a true sight, looking as though an asteroid landed with a direct hit, and there’s been just enough time for grass to grow over the indent. Obviously, that’s not the case, but it sure as hell appeared that way. After visiting a few work related properties, we made our way into the conservation area which borders the Serengeti. During our game drive, we saw 15 lions, 1 cheetah and thousands of wildebeest, along with zebra moving in their migration patterns. We also spotted several hyenas, giraffe, and warthogs. Typically, this area is overrun with vehicles and migration camps, but as it was so late in the season, we had the place completely to ourselves.

The following day, we ventured into the incredible expanses of the central Serengeti, en route to Namiri Plains. Wildebeest and zebra again littered the landscape for what seemed like miles. 3 quarters of our way through the drive, we rounded a muddy corner and slid into two deep ruts, along with a mess of soft soil, that forced us to sink nearly down to our axles. We spent the next half hour shoveling, digging, accelerating and rocking back and forth to get ourselves out of the nasty spot. When we finally broke lose, a sigh of relief broke free from our lungs and damn near fogged the windows.

After a few hours relaxing at camp, we headed back out to explore the Serengeti as the sun began to slowly lower itself down behind the horizon. Not 20 minutes into our drive, we found ourselves in an even more precarious position, with the Land Cruiser sliding sideways in the mud and lodging all four tires, along with our struts deep in the mud. This time around, we spent nearly and hour jacking up the truck, digging, prying and sticking the truck’s ladder under each tire for traction. We were covered in mud, not making any headway, and heard the call of two lions about a half mile away. After all the effort and attempts, we bailed on self sufficiency and call the camp to send help. A half hour later, low and behold, a good old John Deer tractor arrived from camp and yanked us out of the muck.

Upon arrival back in camp and covered in mud, I swallowed a quick beer, had an excellent dinner with the camp manager and spent the remainder of the evening having drinks with two other industry folks in camp, chatting about mutual acquaintances we all new from our previous travels in Africa a few thousand miles away. This world gets smaller and smaller every time I venture into its corners.

Conformity

2016-03-13T16:53:00.001-07:00

Fall in line. Take the safe route. Follow the signs to your destination and if you get turned around, stop for directions. The hell with it, just map out your entire existence while you're at it.

When it comes to conformity, I find myself ornery as all hell. I don't want chaos or disorder to rule the world by any means; quite the opposite. I value red lights, turn signals, lines at the grocery store and all the other mundane, but important functions that keep us for landsliding into a sea of chaos. I'm am however, a bit worried by the lack of risks we are taking in our lives these days when it comes to exploring uncharted territory. Stop reading for a second, and think about the last time you were actually lost. Like, really lost.

Right?

Directions and guidance are typically just a few clicks away and with the flick of a finger, you're back on the way to your predetermined plan for the day.

I love my phone. Shit, I'm fully addicted to it. Spotify, Instagram, the BBC News, google maps, texting - you name it. I check it 50 times a day, at least. I bet you do too. Whether or not this is a bad thing is completely up to you. Frankly, I love having the sum total of human knowledge in the palm of my hand, while texting with friends in South America and listening to a fantastic new playlist some acquaintance has put together. So what does this have to do with the idea of conformity? Patterns. Yep, patterns.

We create routines and patterns in our lives that become the way we do things: our route, our method. And that's great. We're insanely efficient, productive, focus driven and reliable, f. These are wonderful attributes. They are time savers, creative processes and defining characteristics of who we, in the existential sense, have become.

But life can hammer us with curve balls at times, that can rock you to the core and fuck up your method or routine beyond belief. What you thought was your perfectly manicured existence can shift without a moments notice and you find yourself wondering how all that you've mapped out is now obsolete. You conformed to what seems to be the most appropriate path in life and before you know it, that path or routine has been blown out, like the last bits of a flickering candle. This is life. It is random by nature, and we apply great order to categorize and make our existence more superficial. Our brains have evolved to this incredible place where we can map out damn near anything, except the unexpected. Cancer, divorce, death, losing your job; you name it.

How do you plan for the unexpected? Seems like quite the conundrum.

So what am I getting at? Honestly, I'm not quite sure. I really haven't mapped out this entry. But lately, I've been thinking about the rule breakers and the speeding bullets; those die hard SOBs pushing the boundaries of creativity in their craft because they recognize their existence doesn't need to fit into a happy little box that the collective human stomach can digest. I haven't read Kerouac or Burroughs in probably 10 years at this point, but I value their contributions to literature immensely, even if some of the stuff Burroughs put on paper was perverted horseshit. It was his verse. It was his prose. It challenged the establishment but pushing to the place of what the rest of us might consider the unknown, or damn near nonsensical. Kerouac wrote sentences that lasted for two pages, and paragraphs that would last an entire chapter. Hunter S. created Gonzo journalism which mixed fiction with reality, keeping the lines blurred just enough that you were forced to take the ride into the unknown. I know, I sound like a first year undergrad right now, trying to justify the mid 20th century counterculture movement. But that's not my intention. What I'm trying to say is that we need the nonconformist. We need the periphery dwellers and the boundary expanders. The ones that want to go to the edge, get a little lost and discover something new, whether it be in the terrestrial world, the edges of the mind. We need the nomads that decide to take a left at the crossroads, when everyone else says you should take a goddamn right. We hear it in experimental music, see it in abstract art and often chalk it up to something we can't identify with. But that's the point, right? To find something you don't identify with and see how you interact with it in an honest way.

Conformity has its well-trodden place in our world, and it's not going anywhere, nor do we need it to. But it need not be the umbrella that governs our every decision. I'm thinking of the old traveler adage taken from a poem by Tolkien, noting that "not all who wander are lost." Maybe we should all take a little time to wander away from the expected and get a little lost, just for the hell of it. Maybe we'll stumble upon something beautifully unexpected. Just a thought.

An Approaching Journey - Built on Luck

2016-02-18T15:49:00.000-08:00

Not my image. Uncredited. Taken from http://www.bwindiforestnationalpark.com/

The idea of luck is often identified in terms of when opportunity meets timing. It's not divinely inspired or bestowed upon us as a reward for our good karma. Maybe it's a byproduct of all the elbow grease you're willing to commit to a portion of your life? Interesting theory. Hard work may certainly bring you fortune, and that fortune may put you in the position to have greater opportunities that intersect with advantageous timing. But when luck is distilled down to its essence, to its purest form, it's my firm belief that only two key ingredients are what we have to thank for what we consider to be our stroke of luck: the intersection of opportunity and timing.

Travel is many things to many people. For some, it's an escape. For others, it's a passion or a way of life. Maybe it's just a beach vacation. Maybe it's your spiritual path. Maybe it's all of these things at chronologically different times in your life. Hell, maybe it's all of them at once. Maybe it's your muse, or your ailment. Maybe it's your addiction. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But whether it be you sickness, your remedy, your guiding light or the thing that causes destruction in your personal world, it's important to stop and consider ourselves lucky for the chance to travel. Preachy, I know. According to recent UN statistics, 2.8 billion people live on less than $2 a day. Additionally, 20% of the world's population lives on less than $1 a day. For most of those folks, the idea of flying across an ocean, traveling by rail across a continent or traversing half the planet by plane in less than 24 hours is probably comparable to our own ideas of traveling to the moon. Seems impossible, right? Well, if we adjust our framework and context for a moment, it's not too difficult to imagine how the idea of travel for leisure can seem unreachable to half the world's population. Again, opportunity meets timing.

Not my image. Uncredited. Taken from http://www.bwindiforestnationalpark.com/

The chance to travel back to Africa presented itself through my position at work and I'm delighted to say it all worked out. This April, I'll be on the road again, bound for Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania and Kenya. The mass of the trip will be spent in Uganda, in search of mountain gorillas in Bwindi Impenetrable National Park, along with Kibale National Park looking for wild chimpanzees. Travelers often report that time spent with mountain gorillas in the wild is truly a life changing event. I welcome the aforementioned change. I'll also have a chance to visit Kigali in Rwanda, Tarangire, Ngorongoro, Arusha, the Serengeti in Tanzania and Nairobi as well.

Travel is not defined in my mind by how far from home you may choose to go, or the style of trip you've undertaken. Travel is defined by your choice to explore something different or somewhere different from your day to day. Travel is the essence of finding something new; a sense of discovery that leaves an impression on your being, and causes you to see something new in yourself. It's an opportunity to change the fingerprints of your existence - to redefine your place in the universe. There is nothing more enlightening in my experience than the systematic dismantling of the barriers and constructs we create in our day to day lives. It's not that our framework is completely wrong or misguided. But it is lazy and heavily reliant on the reinforcement we allow it to buy into. The news media, the heinous bullshit we hear from the people around us, along with the nonsense and biases we chose to convince ourselves of, creates a framework that is in constant need of adjustment. While we may have many factors in life that help us self correct these ingredients of misalignment, travel affords us the opportunity to mainline the truth of the world, one foreign step at a time.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm lucky. I'm in need of a serious dose of truth and again, the world offers me an opportunity to see another of its corners. I'm excited to smell a new air, to taste the grit of a new land between my teeth and gaze upon new landscapes that were carved by the sculptor of time. My job afforded me the opportunity to explore a personally undiscovered section of the planet and the timing worked out perfectly. I'm calling that luck.