I have been in the Frankfurt international airport for the last twelve hours…and I don’t even have a ticket.

More about that later, but for now, here are this weeks links.

David DeFranza at Wisebread gives us “5 Easy Recipes Perfect for the Traveling Chef“. Aside from the obviously common batch of noodles, I haven’t actually made any of these things. I have been going for homemade vegetable soup, and a jalapeno/sausage delecacy I am calling “Josages”.

The new york times really shows us what NOT to do for our vacation. This concept of moving your personal hotel room into the wilderness is frankly a stupid one. Leave it to the American corperate world to instigate this mess. Anyways, check out this profile of “Canvas Chic” on the NYTimes

A man is walking around the world. Not a new concept, but he’s got some good ideas. One of his ideas which I have been eternally thankful for the opportunity to emulate is making sun-tea as your primary drink (cold water + tea bag + sun) instead of plain old water, and/or soda. Check him out at http://www.walkingman.org

Warning: if you are a romantic like me, this article is very depressing. A survey conducte by Sheraton Hotels has shown that 35% of those surveyed would pick their blackberry cell-phone over their spouce. 35%!!! That either means people don’t love each other, or the crack in the crackberry isn’t fictional after all. Read the depressing details here.

Well that’s it for this week…my battery will die in about 45 seconds so I’m going to hit publish. I’ll post more soon!

The thing is, if wild camping is mixed in with stay overs at hostels (say, every 3 days) then it becomes more practical (and accommodation costs are still down to nearly a third).

The way to handle the stuff intermittently would be:

Teeth - Bring in enough water to brush your teeth and “swish” afterward. This isn’t really a problem. If ultra eco-conscious, use Tom’s of Maine or other natural toothpaste (even make your own) or collect your “swish” water in a separate container for dumping and washing later on.

B.O. - Unavoidable, but if in a dryer climate this is less than an issue than say, in the Philippines. Possibly a basic small sponge that can be doused in drinking water and used to cleanse the more odoriferous areas. Washing the sponge obviously necessary every few days. I also recommend basic speed-stick deodorant for long-lasting coverage.

Clothes - I usually wear my Icebreaker shirts two or three times EACH before washing, so this isn’t really that much of an issue. They don’t begin to smell until the fourth time or so. If you MUST wash in between I could see filling a plastic garbage bag with water, laundry soap, and clothes, tying the end off, and kicking it around a bit.

So really, mixed in with hostel stays, I’m a lot less likely to end up getting a seat to myself on the train

In other news, I’m heading to Witzenhauzen tomorrow to visit two friends I met in a Hostel in Cologne (Imke and Jenni). I’ll be there for a couple days enjoying some local festivities and the room they are so graciously providing for me (though it looks like a good town to stealth in) and will move on after that to London where I will be joined by my mother on the 24th.

Though I would prefer to be “stealthing” full-time at this point, my mother isn’t quite as adventurous (in that way) as I so we will most-likely be staying in hostels and hotels. In a month, though, I will be back in Germany and stealthing like crazy.

I will be a wealth of knowledge then.

I was tired of paying a premium for a place to sleep and wanted to enjoy nature without paying for (or dealing with the other users of) a campground spot.

I began to research stealth camping online. The amount of information available is next to nothing aside from some random forum posts and bicycle tourist diaries.

I went to the “Globetrotter” (a HUGE German outdooring store with four levels and a huge pool in the middle) in Cologne to check out my gear options. The smallest “tent” was a single-person bivy sack.

Some suggest using a hammoch when “stealthing” as you do not have to concern yourself with the terrain below. While this made sense, the amount of trees I had seen in Germany were nothing in comparison to all the sleepable bush areas in cities and towns, where one could be easily hidden by the overgrowth.

I was told it would be colder than I thought it was at night, and would only get colder, so I bought a sleeping bag rated for a maximum of -28 degrees celcius (that’s -18.4 fahrenheit).

The two pieces of gear I decided on were the Meru Large Let’s Move Cotton sleeping bag and a Vaude Bivy Sack. The one in the photo was a nice camo-green, perfect for hiding out. The one I received, however, which happened to be the last one in the store, was an unfortunate bright orange. All is not lost, it will just force me to be more aware and cautious.

I needed light. Not the Dynamo self-powered Lantern which I was tempted to get, but would have produced far too much light for my purpose, but something efficient and streamlined. Something small but powerful. The answer was a Fenix P2D.

This flashlight is VERY bright and water resistant. According to them, it can be dunked into the water and brought back out again without any trouble. It is extremely light.

Below is an account of my first ever night of stealth camping. I chose this night because I still had access to my room just 20 minutes walk away and could easily retreat if need be.

8:48 pm – I am at my room now, frightened and excited at the same time. It is to be my first night stealth-camping and I really have no idea what to expect.

I have been reading up on the subject, and though the amount of literature online is scant, I have assembled (in my mind, and now here) a pretty basic list of ground rules:

1. Pitch your tent (or bivy in my case) after the dark ascends, and before the dawn breaks.
2. Make as little noise as possible.
3. Don’t leave behind anything (and shovel your feces into a hole).

Those are the basics. I have yet to see for sure (as the circumstances could have changed since this afternoon) but I believe I have found a good spot near what looks like an RV park nearby. I have chosen to do my first round of stealthing today because I still have this room in Siegburg to come back to. If all goes to hell, I can just run back to my room with my tail between my legs. Having spent nearly $400 on gear though, it would have to be something pretty major to get me to back off at this point.

The only reason I am frightened is that on one of the websites I was reading it said to beware of wrappers or other signs of human life. It said that this could mean it is a frequented area by teenagers who like to party in the bush.

As I have been LOOKING for teenagers in Siegburg and found none, though, I sort of doubt this is the case. Still, I don’t want to be taking over some homeless person’s turf. I would happily move on, but they don’t know that.

Ah well…I suppose I’m just stalling at this point. In the words of our dearly beloved American president GWB, “Bring it on.”

10:38 pm - I have arrived and managed to set up my tent and sleeping bag without too much hassle. When I came in on the private road to get here and passed the RV/Camper park I was surprised to see no lights on at all. I wandered around a little bit until I found a nice flat spot and put my bag down.

I unpacked my little “tent” and laid it town long-ways on the grass. I am very glad I practiced setting the tent up before I left the house. I put the poles of the head-area together and staked two sides down, then I went to the other side and stretched it to give me some space inside, and staked it down.

To my surprise, upon returning to the other side, the stake was gone. I fished around in the dark but couldn’t find it. The string had just slipped off.

Finally I found it under a tuft of grass, and staked down the right side again, taking care to put enough tension on the frame so that the same thing would not happen again.

I proceeded to stake the bottom two points, and was about to stake the third when I realized I was missing a stake. Where the hell could it have gone? I decided I had left it back in the room and moved on without the stake.

Having set the tent up I unpacked the sleeping bag and laid it inside. I put my pack inside as well (a surprisingly good fit) so it would not be stolen in the night. I took my shirt and shoes off, and got inside.

I zipped up the tent and laid back. That was a relief. I heard nothing but the silence you hear only in nature. It is not true silence, as crickets and birds still make noises around you, but it is the closest I have come.

And so I am writing this journal. Soon I will turn off my flashlight (of which I am taking great care to defuse as much as possible, I don’t want anyone spotting me) and try to get to sleep.

11:34 pm - I have been hearing sounds that I thought might come from a nearby animal who has come to figure out what I am. The sounds are like a deep purring. Could it be a cat? I just hope its owner isn’t nearby. I have also heard reports of wild boars in this area, and I don’t want to be dealing with one of those. I have tried opening the little window of my bivy and pointing the flashlight at the darkness, but the slit is too narrow to see much. I will just hope it goes away.

11:38 pm - I finally realized where the “purring” was coming from. On the way in, I noticed some telephone polls making funny vibration noises as they transferred electric signals. I am so close to a telephone pole that it simple sounded like purring. Thank god that mystery is over!

Now my mind is at ease I can get back to trying to sleep.

5:26 am (next morning) - Woke up with only a slight amount of confusion as to where I was, but I soon remembered. The second thought I had this morning was that of amazement. I did not feel drowsy at all. I had only gotten roughly five hours of sleep, but they were good natural hours, and I feel as though my body enjoyed every minute of it.

Apparently I went undetected during the night, or at least, no one bothered me. My shoes were still there when I opened the zipper of the tent.

The night is still dark, and I could pack up now, but it is so comfortable in this sleeping bag, and in this tent, that I am going to try to dose a little more. I am quite undetectable in this position, especially in the dim light.

6:15 (next morning) - I have been lying here for long enough, and am starting to wake up mentally. I think I will pack up and head back home.

I am sure it is still dark enough that no one will see me.

7:50 am (next morning) - Back safe and sound and did not forget anything back at my “campsite”. I feel great, and had a smile on my face the whole walk back.

I feel truly independent now. What a great feeling to know that by taking up only a small patch of ground I can be free of all those accommodation costs, and I can enjoy top-rate views and mind shifting silence.

Even though I have my room to sleep in through the 19th, I think I’ll go and sleep out there again tonight. Maybe I’ll try to find another campsite.

I had my camera on me as I was walking back from the train station the other day and decided to start things off with a good old “hold the camera away from you as you’re walking and have no idea what to say” video.

Enjoy!

You can expect a “links” post every Monday!

To start things off, over at Wise Bread (the best personal finance blog around) Nora Dunn (who has her own blog at Life Happens) talks about getting international flights for FREE as an air courier. I have read about this topic in a number of different books, and each author seems to have a different opinion about this technique. This girl really has it together though, so I trust her judgement.

Another Wise Bread post, this time from David DeFranza, who I know far too little about, talks about websites related to couchsurfing. We all know CouchSurfing.com, but do you know about AirBedandBreakfast.com? See more at his post.

At Treehugger, which I’m sure most of you know, there was a post a while ago about the world’s only pocket-sized solar lighter. I had to read the title twice to figure out what they meant by that. Doesn’t look practical unless you’re planning on starting full-sized campfires, but it is an interesting concept.

And finally (for this week) recently Tynan, who has the fantastic travel blog (now on pause) LifeNomadic posted on his own blog about electricity in RVs. I personally could care less about having an RV, but the way he explained solar panels and watts/watt-hours/amps/etc in plain English helped me to understand solar systems in a much clearer sense.

Hope you enjoyed these links! Some will be more interesting, some will be less, and if you don’t enjoy visiting some of the posts I filter on a daily basis, skip these posts!

Swan near the riverbank in Siegburg, Germany   

Because I had this place for storage when I went to visit Braulio in Hamburg, I took with me in my pack even less than usual. I left the heavy things which were used rarely, and took only what I absolutely would need. This is supposed to have been what I had with me in the first place, but extra items slipped in along the way (people love to give gifts to people “passing through” for some reason, especially when their pack is light).

The items I took with me on my journey were:

1. My Lenovo Thinkpad X61 Laptop
   This guy is essential wherever I go. Keeping in contact via Skype, continuing my work (even if only monitoring work being done), writing. I’m not proud to say I can’t live without it, but in truth, I probably couldn’t.
2. My Canon G9 12.1mp Camera
   Not as essential as the laptop, but still pretty darn important. One time I forgot my bag at McDonalds, and as I was rushing back in a panic only one thought was in my mind: Oh dear god my camera. The idea of not having the opportunity to take photos of the amazing places I visit is a terrifying one.
3. My Packtowel
   I ended up not using this item, as my host Braulio had prepared a towel for me and I was only too eager to use it. Packtowels, while effective, can get a bit moldy and tiring when used frequently. Usually, it is a good idea to have this item on-hand as typically the way to impose the least amount on your host is to minimize the amount of laundry in-which they need to do following your visit.
4. My Chicobag
   This awesome little stuffable shopping bag must have seams of steel. I constantly pack it full of groceries when I visit the store (here in Germany there are no baggers to pack your things away, and no bags either). This item has proven consistently useful to me as a shopping bag, “overflow” bag for when you are transporting something (like surplus food) from one location to another, and more. I can’t recommend them enough.
5. My Sea to Summit Mummy Silk Travel Liner
   This I also didn’t end up using, as he had prepared a full bed for me. The night prior in Hagen, however, I did use it. I was sleeping on a leather couch and (this is the laundry principle again) didn’t need to bother my host about sheets or a blanket. I simply wrapped myself up in this, used my jacket as a pillow, and went to sleep. I have used this item on planes, trains, buses, etc to create a nice sleeping environment for my body. It works!
6. My typical clothes
   I’ll spare you the details, as it has all been covered before.
7. My Lonely Planet German Phrasebook
   I really should get rid of this. I haven’t used it EVER. I read it once on the plane-ride over, but at this point in my German languge skill, most of it is simply review (or antiquated and invalid to what the Germans actually SAY in the relevant situations). I’m gonna get rid of this. Its too slow to use.
8. My Passport
   In its typical waterproof casing, I always bring this with me if I’m going anywhere for a specific amount of time. If I am stopped on a border somewhere (they can be sort of indescript in Europe) I want to make sure I have my bases covered. They also help ALOT as a secondary ID.
9. My typical toiletries
   Including deoderant, travel toothbrush, full-size tube of toothpaste (the travel-sizes are such a waste of packaging), 8oz bottle of Dr. Bronners (half full at this point), and two hotel-shampoo bottles emptied and replaced with Head and Shoulders shampoo, and Garnie Fructis conditioner (I bought big bottles, and condense them into smaller ones. Much more economical this way). I also brought my drain plug for the sink, but Braulio’s sink came equipped with one already.
10. My leather jacket
    I use this jacket the most. It is still just getting to be the end of summer here, so it is still warm and, though the night air is quite brisk, I am usually walking when I’m outside, and warm up quite quickly despite the cold. I didn’t use my jacket once the entire time.
11. A CocaCola bottle filled with laundry detergent
    After a LONG struggle with piffling little plastic envelopes of “sink-sized” laundry detergents, I have tired of this game. I now simply purchase the largest container of detergent I can find (which isn’t that bag here in Germany, its MUCH less watered-down here) and then fill up as many empty soda bottles as I need to. Laundry detergent gets used quickly, and the economic savings (let alone the ability to use as much as you need without worrying about rationing) is worth the couple of days of extra weight. The soda-bottle packaging allows you to get rid of unused packaging quickly.
12. My pocket notebook
    Of course. I am always thinking and writing, and I have been known to remove my notebook in the middle of a conversation and begin writing while continuing a level stare with my peer.
13. My pocket watch
    A little bit of extravagance for me, this pocket watch was 48 euros and worth every penny. Not being one who likes to be late, I am at a constant battle with myself, for I just as passionately HATE time. This is a compromise, and lets me keep time in my pocket, instead of letting it rule my life.
14. My MP3 Player
    Long train rides (when there is no one to converse with, of course) are made surprisingly bearable by a well-read audiobook. I also use the radio function on my litle Sansa Express as a way to “tap into the local communications” as it were.

That’s it!

And it was quickly proven that that is all that was needed.

What I didn’t bring with me, and left in the apartment was:

1. My portable chinese-checkers playing set
   I LOVE Chinese checkers, and will play a game with anyone who can spare a moment. I searched high and low for a portable magnetic Chinese checkers set before coming across my current beauty in a tourist shop at Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco. I am really at a battle within myself with this one. The space it takes up is not so great, and the spectacular (though unfortunately rare) games of Chinese checkers really almost make this little guy worth it. What should I do? Should I keep it or not?
2. The two physical books I had with me
   I am a frequent reader, but more recently I have been moving into reading eBooks and RSS items instead of physical books. I didn’t miss these at all when they weren’t there, and are WAY too heavy to justify their weight. I am going to have to either ship these back or leave them with someone who will read them.
3. My now defunkt cellphone
   This thing is completely pointless for me now. The joys of being able to enjoy the present without the constant ringing of cellphones or vibrations on my thigh have convinced me many times over that my cell-phoning days are over. I don’t ever use this and would love to sell it, but am not sure how to do it in Europe (Craigslist is dead here). I suppose I’ll ship it to my parents or give it away.
4. My eagle creek shoulder-bag
   Grrr…I’m undecided about this one. I didn’t need it when I was with Braulio, and that says something. Usually, I use this shoulder bag as a “day bag”. When I was in the US I carried my laptop with me to use at Cafes with WiFi, etc. Here, WiFi in public places is FAR less prevalent and this is not a necessary or useful practice anymore.Furthermore, I’ve noticed that Cafes simply aren’t a good environment for me to work in. I love to examine the interactions of people and their personalities, and this study can keep me entertained for hours while I sip at a tea. This isn’t a particularly work-enhancing trait however. I find I do my best work at “home” wherever that is at the time, and shouldn’t be lugging a laptop around anyways.
5. My external CD/DVD player
   Another internal battle with this one. A recent client requires some DVDs to be ripped to be put on her website (its legal, they’re hers). This is the first time, however, that I have needed a DVD player since leaving Maui. Does this justify bringing one with me? My laptop (thankfully) does not have one integrated into it. This keeps the weight down signifigantly, and as the compact disc is a dying media, it is the “right” way to go. Unfortunately, this means I have to carry around an external (albeit small) DVD drive. I think I’m going to send this to my Dad who can really use it.
6. My Black Diamond Gloves
   These were a moment of weakness when I saw them in the clearance bin at REI in Santa Monica. I had thought about getting some gloves, and this rock-bottom price convinced me. I haven’t used them, and judging by the items which get cold first for me in my experience, I don’t think I’ll have any use for them in winter either. I suppose I should give these away.
7. My computer lock
   In the US, this was an imperative item. Theft is a trend in those big US cities. Here in Europe, however, I have seen laptops left unattended in trains, cafes, and more for more than AN HOUR with not even a slightly suspicious looking onlooker. I simply don’t need to be that paranoid in the rest of the world. This is getting trashed.
8. My laundry line
   I’ve used this thing maybe once since I’ve left Maui. It seems like a good idea, but is rarely practical as the chance of a “loopable” or “hookable” item to hang this up on being in the place where the sun is the most beating is next to nothing. Furthermore, the more its used, the more tangled and stretched out it gets. I’m getting rid of this one too.
9. My titanium rain jacket
   I don’t mind rain, and I never have. In fact their’s something wonderful about feeling the raindrops against the back of my neck, or my hair. Perhaps this is why I was a bit sceptical when my mother offered to buy me this bright red rain-repelling jacket. It has rained every day since I arrived in Siegburg, hard and light respectively, but I simply don’t use this jacket. When its raining, I wear my leather jacket out to repell the liquid (it does a great job, and doesn’t look like I’m trying to be rescued from the ocean) or nothing at all. All of my clothing is engineered to dry quickly and I don’t mind being wet in the least. I told my mom (who bought it for me) I would give it a fair try, but I have and its not worth its weight. I’m going to send this back.

And that’s that. I am tired of feeling like The Digital Freighthauler. When my backpack is light I feel impressive, limitless, confident. When my bag is heavy, all I can think about is getting to the next destination, and don’t give myself the chance to enjoy the wonderful scenery in-between.

I spent the last two days in Hagen, where I was scheduled to meet a new client, and catch up with the friends I had made in the weeks before.

After that, the plan was to continue up to Hamburg where I would meet an old friend from back at Ballet School (Idyllwild Arts Academy) named Braulio in Hamburg.

Here’s how it all happened:

I arrived at the train station in the late afternoon. Stephan Mock (an extremely friendly guy who was eager to work on his english skills) picked me up and brought me to his home. I had planned either to stay at the local Hostel, or take the train back to Siegburg for the night, but he was nice enough to offer his couch as a free alternative, and I leapt at the chance.

We spent a good part of the afternoon looking at his photos from various class trips. I enjoyed every minute of this, as he had funny stories about almost all of the characters in the photos. It was humorous, also, to see my newly acquainted friends in their less mature forms. We both howled in laughter as one particular photo showed an almost direct contrast in the appearance of one of the people I had met.

In time, the others joined, and we all convened at Michael “Michi” Timmerman’s house, the house I had spent a whole two weeks at earlier. It was so nice to see everyone again. I had only been away a short while, but the isolation that came from not speaking conversational German in Siegburg was a great burden to be rid of, and I was soon laughing and smiling along.

It could be assumed that I am simply faking my knowledge of the German language when I am seen smiling and laughing at a complex joke that I obviously didn’t understand. To some extent, I suppose that is true. But my constant desire to laugh, coupled with the general human ability to sense the emotion of others without verbal assistance is what drives my enjoyment. I don’t always have to understand it.

And so is the way of timeless friendship.

Soon we were pulling up at the “Roadstop” bar and grill (I don’t know what the German name was, but in America, it would have been called a bar and grill). They had said that they served American food, and styled the resteraunt to seem American.

As I stepped into the crowded building, it was like stepping over the border back into Anywhere USA. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on the situation. These were German people, with German waitresses, German beer, and we were IN Germany. Finally, I understood.

Everything was so BIG.

The restaurant was bigger (and the ceiling higher) than any German restaurant I have eaten in. The tables were large and circular, with high-stools flanking their circumfrence. The portions were gigantic (though in the US, they would be considered typical). TVs everywhere were showing American football (it looked like it might be reruns, though I don’t know much about that sort of thing).

I had forgotten what it was like in the US. I sure remembered now.

I began to feel uncomfortable. Slowly, the feeling of being in an oversized corporate society was taking over. “What could these German people be feeling in this environment?” I wondered.

“They don’t have any room for us” Michi said. I breathed a breath of relief. I was eager to return to the European air, and the world I had escaped to. This “back to the homeland” feeling was stifling.

We moved on to the second choice. This was either the “Bluebird” or “Bluejay” (or something like that) restaraunt. I can’t actually remember the name.

I quite liked the decor of this place. Modern interior design, mixed with traditional European “pub”-like elements made it a really fun place to be, and look around in.

I ordered a plate of “bufallo chicken wings”. I was houngry. The last place I had eaten chicken wings (the “Buttercup bistro” in Oakland, California) had resulted in a terrible experience. I thought I’d give the Germans a chance.

Soon the food arrived. The wings were indeed good. The buffallo sauce was not draped over the wings in the typical “Dennies” American fashion, but instead the sauce was placed in a bowl to the side. This was nice, as I could adjust the taste and spiciness to my liking.

The night was very enjoyable, with much laughing and fooling around. I got a chance to practice some of my German (heartily encouraged by Carole who had spent time in the US and Australia. Carole has a friendly demeanor and is always readily to patiently explain a German phrase to me).

After the restaurant, we paid a visit to another friend of theirs. His house was huge, and I jokingly speculated that it must have been a hotel in a past life. No one contradicted me.

The night continued onward, and during the time, I was not bored for a single minute. When my head fell against the pillow, I felt nothing but contentment and a feeling of thankfulness. It really touched me to be a part of this group. In some ways, it was the first time I had really felt that I had peers. So “danke meine Freunde!”

The next morning came quicker than I would have liked, and I soon found myself on the doorstep of my newest web-client, Martina. We had organized a meet time in Hagen (where she lives) and here I was.

Before I had removed my finger from the doorbell, a resonating series of barks arose from inside the house. I love dogs nearly more than I love humans, and this one was no exception, though this dog’s constant jumping and barking, teeth bared, into my face was making him a challenge to pet.

In time, it seemed he began to trust me, and within a few minutes, he was resting his head on my foot as I exchanged pleasantries with his master.

We talked of many things. I expounded on my opinions of the world, and she seemed to agree with me. Her command of the English language was very good, and she communicated quite effortlessly about what she did for a living:

“I am a video producer, I make videos independantly and for television”.

“Awesome” I thought to myself, “I’m in.”

We discussed many things, her new website included, and before I had a chance to check my pocket-watch, it was 2:30pm.

“I must be going.” I said “I have most of the details now, and the rest you can email me”.

The walk down to the “Bahnhoff” (train station) was much easier than I had expected.

I bought my train ticket, and called Braulio to let him know the time.

“OK, I’ll be there!” I heard from the earpiece of the payphone.

I don’t have a cellphone anymore. Frankly, I’ve learned to detest mobile phones. Home phones are ok, though it seems any device that has the capability to shatter your thoughts into a million pieces when, at some arbitrary moment, it decides to ring, is not such a good idea.

I have been using payphones and skype-out. This seems to work quite well.

My train was scheduled to depart in 10 minutes, and I walked confidently to the platform. The LCD showing the arrivals of the trains said nothing of mine, but sometimes these sorts of computer errors happen, even in highly organized systems such as this one, so I didn’t think much of it.

30 minutes later, I was thinking of nothing else. Almost hopping up and down with anxiety, I realized I would have to try to get another ticket, and hope that Braulio could bend his plans to meet me.

It turns out the train never came. I was quickly given a schedule for another route, this one direct (and faster) though still arriving later into Hamburg. I was hungry, and anxious, and I gazed hungrily in at a bag of chips in the platform vending machine. My hand automatically reached into my pocket, and clutched upon 50 cents. When I inserted the coins and pressed the corresponding number however, my meal was halted in mid-fall. It seems the corners of the packaging had caugh on one of the shelves as it was falling.

Not one to waste good money, I realized I would have to buy another bag of chips to get this one to fall. Ah well, I was pretty hungry.

The second bag of chips got stuck further up.

With just 50 cents left in change, and nothing in my stomach, I feverishly pushed the number of the chips compartment once more. To my relief, the third bag was the charm, and it knocked the others to the bottom of the compartment. I retrieved them and hungrily tore into one.

Unfortunately, they were terrible.

I don’t like wasting food, however, and finished off each of the bags.

The train soon arrived, and with a sigh of relief I sunk into a window seat. Just a three hour ride away from meeting up with Braulio and, hopefully, eating some real food.

Fate wasn’t finished with me for the evening though, and as the train began to move, a little German man walked up to me and pointed anxiously as he said something in German. I didn’t understand him and told him so. He said in broken english “Das ist…mi…seat”.

Realization flooded through me. I had never quite been able to figure out which seats were reserved, and which weren’t on these trains. I had bought the cheaper “unreserved” seat ticket, and thus was required to find a seat that WASN’T reserved.

I moved one seat over, and let him sit down in my previously occupied space by the window. He seemed appeased, and so I assumed the seat I occupied was not reserved.

“mein Deutsch ist nicht sehr gut, aber ich verstehe, wenn Sie langsam sprechen” I informed him. In English, this basically means “My German isn’t very good, but I can understand if you speak slowly”. This is true, for the most part. The intention of the words mixed with the parts I understand usually provide enough evidence for me to figure out the meaning.

“Its the same with my english” he told me, “But I need to work on it for the job”.

I noticed that he had not stopped smiling since he had sat down. I decided that if he wanted to learn english, than I was darn well going to do my part and let him practice.

We talked of many things. He told me he was an “IT specialist” and worked with Deutch Telecom (the biggest telecommunications company in the country). I told him I had also worked in IT, but was a computer programmer and journalist by trade. He seemed excited by this, and many nods and winks were substituted for verbal communication when the topic of Google’s new browser “Chrome” came up.

With this friendly German man for company, the train ride seemed to whiz by, and we were arriving in Hamburg. I bade him goodbye and looked around for Braulio.

Hmmm…he was nowhere to be seen.

I went to a payphone and called him.

“I’m here, where are you?” He said.

“Erm…I don’t really know. Where are you?”

“I’m looking at you.” I heard as the phone went dead.

Soon we were embrassing the way two friends do after not having seen each other for a long time. A very nice french girl who was also a dancer was with him. She doesn’t seem to speak much english, or German. In fact, throughout the evening, I kept speaking German to her without realizing that the accent I was hearing was of a different type.

We rode the S-Bahn to the neighborhood where they are staying (they happen to be roomates, with one other American dancer named “Nick”) and made our way up the stairs of his apartment building into their “place”.

Its quite nice, with a different room for each of them, and a communal kitchen and bathroom.

Braulio had been thoughtful enough to purchase my favorite chai tea during the afternoon, and I nearly swooned at this gesture. We drank a cup, and discussed - with much tossing back of heads to laugh - the exploits and experiences we had had for my short time at Idyllwild Arts Academy nearly 2 1/2 years ago.

The night was certainly another one of the best, with much commiserating and laughter.

As I write this, it is the next morning. I am waiting for Braulio to return from Dance rehearsals to guide me around the city of Hamburg. I have some work to do, but wanted to fill you all in on the past few days.

Until I post again, make sure (ALERT: corny cliche ahead) to follow your bliss.

The way I got here is not an extremely interesting story, but what is interesting, is that I’m here to stay.

Here to stay has a different meaning to me than it does (probably) for most of you. Seeing as the average time I spend in a single location is about 2 days, a week is considered a major move.

I’m here in Siegburg for 10 days sort of a month. I’ll be here until the 20th.

I’m mostly here to work, and get some “money” stuff done. For those who are contemplating trying your own hand at traveling with your business, I would urge you to build in “pauses” and rests into your long-term travel. When I first started out, I thought I would be able to “go, go, go”. Lack of infrastructure (for internet, etc) in Europe has caused me to need to create some more permanence, so I have the chance to create an environment that is productive for me.

Amongst the many things I have been experiencing recently, are a few select things I would like to highlight. Here they are:

1. Siegburg’s “Stadtfest”
   This was very cool, and completely by fluke. I happened to arrive in Siegburg on the same day (the 29th) as the starting of their local “Stadtfest”. For those who don’t know, each town has a local “Stadtfest”, and it happens just once a year for a select set of days. During “Stadtfest”, the city’s main market streets are closed off to vehicles, and taken over by little booths.Local businesses, local restaurants, carnival games, ice cream stands, all create booths that collectively create a representation of the spirit of the town.This was my first, and will certainly be my most memorable. My most memorable experience of Stadtfest was witnessing a show put on on the sidewalk of a group of young German people dancing in perfect synchronicity to remixed traditional German folksongs.
2. Joseph Campbell’s: The power of Myth
   My friend Richard Cray suggested this video series. At the time, I poo pooed the suggestion, as religion and spirituality for me have always been almost painful to hear about. This are a truly wonderful series of episodes, however, as Joseph Campbell’s views on the world show ultimate acceptance and tolerance, and his words create bonds between religions, rather than proving any one point.Even if you’re not a religious person (in fact, especially if you aren’t) these would be well worth a watch if you can track them down.
3. Michel Thomas Basic German Learning CDs
   Timothy Ferris recommended them, my new friend Bleicke recommended them, and all of the Amazon reviews strike this series as a nearly perfect 10. Michel Thomas, who grew up in Poland, was sent of to school in Germany, lived in France along the way, and ended up in the US knows his stuff when he talks about language. In these courses, he really guides you along and removes all of the typical angsiety surrounding language learning.If you need to learn a language quickly, you can’t get better than this.

So that’s the latest.

In 20 days or so, I’ll be heading off to London to meet up with my mother for a two-week-long jaunt accross Britain.

There are yet more interesting things in the works regarding my future destinations, but I’ll keep that a mystery until its fully shaped.

I’ll try to be more eloquent (and constant) in future posts…but for now, I’ve got work to do!

I have been hoping to take some photos worthy of showcasing on this blog. While these are not masterpieces, I feel they reflect some of the town’s charm and specialties. I’ve included with them, a little comment, description, or story to help you place the photo in the map of your mind.

We’ll start with the Timmerman’s house. The top-left window (third level, way up in the attic) is where I have been sleeping at night. If I leave the window open during the night, I can be awoken by the church bells ringing to signal the hour. This is a wonderful way to wake up.

Turning around and walking down “Christian-Rohlfs” street on the way to town brings a blanket of green into view. Beautiful swaying trees all around protect me from any wind as I walk.

Along the side of the road, dozens of “Smart Cars” and other small European cars flank the roadside. My heart becomes stronger when it sees that somewhere in the world, people are putting the needs of the environment even slightly above the needs of their own.

Stop and wait at the stoplight while fuel efficient electric buses pass, right on time. Pass your hand over the infrared “walk” sensor, that tells the light to let you cross some time soon.

When you have, swing on to Domberg street and continue on towards “Downtown” Hagen.

As you walk, pass the “Hagen Graveyard”, a beautiful monument of history. An honor to those who loved Hagen before us.

Walk the long way around the town, and you will pass the “Bahnhoff” (train station) before turning to go to downtown.

Reward your eyes by looking up and feasting on the site of an age-old tower, standing straight and strong above the “Bahnhoff”.

All of this walking has made me hungry. Lets turn back and see what we can find to eat.

I’m tempted to visit the “Tanzschule” (Dance School) to see what they might be doing. Knowing my knee couldn’t take dancing, I cannot join in.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a “Doner” stand. In Germany, Turkish people are very common. They go to their own schools, eat their own food, and even speak their own language. Sometimes, Turkish children raised in Germany are not even allowed to learn or speak German. One mode of income for the Turkish families, is to make “Doner” stands or shops.

I pay 3 euros, and go sit down at the tables and chairs beside the stand. Biting in, my mouth is showered in flavor. The taste of salty, spicy meat, mixed with cabbage, lettuce, and a mysterious white sauce haunts my mouth for many hours after the Doner has disappeared.

I’m full now, and its getting dark. I think we should head back home. This time, we’ll head back through the park. As I go, I’ll stop and look at things I find beautiful or interesting, or play at the playground.

This is a beautiful town, with a beautiful culture. Part of me wishes I could share its wonderful air and feeling with the world. The more I think about it, however, the more I am sure that Hagen…without many tourists…is just the way it should be.

I am downright exhausted, you see, and the way I see it, I should not be awake right now at all. I must explain to you the source of such feelings:

Last night, a group of young German’s, all friends of the family, us to “Fun Park”. Strangely enough, “Fun Park” is not an outdated theme attraction, but a discotheque and bar. This is the only disco (or “club” as we now call them in the US) within the reaches of the town of Hagen, and is spoken of by the town’s younger inhabitants as if it were a shrine. Mention merely the name of the place in a group, and far away expressions accompanied by guilty grins will soon show themselves all around.

We arrived at the place at 11:15 pm. I was foolish enough to have had misgivings about my communication ability within such a group, and as I felt for my wallet to purchase a drink my hand rested briefly on Lonely Planet’s “German Phrasebook”. I would not need such a tool tonight. The music was very loud, and it didn’t seem to matter which language was spoken, it couldn’t be understood by anyone.

Drinks were purchased and passed freely throughout our little group. I allowed a serene, contented smile to crease my face as I took inventory of the various people I had met.

There was Michael (pronounced Mish-ka-el).

Caroline (only part of this was said, and was pronounced Ka-roll) an outgoing, boisterous girl who apparently works with children.

Anna, another girl whose face was framed with dark, lavishly curled ringlets of hair.

There were two more guys, who I cannot remember the name of. Not by coincidence, these are the two who spoke the least English, and though many nods and smiles were shared between myself and them, it was a challenge to connect much more.

The stage was set and the players were warming up. With a sidelong glance through an overlooking window, the dance floor was visible only through tiny cracks in the masses of heads, arms, and pelvises, all flailing about to the rhythm of house music. I wanted to get down there.

My wish would soon be granted, for the group quickly tired of screaming at each other, and conceded to give the dance floor a go.

I had been slightly apprehensive of this activity since earlier in the evening, as I had sustained a debilitating knee injury in the previous month, and had been having trouble walking (let alone dancing) since. My concerns were quickly dispelled by the alcohol fumes and rhythmic “boom boom” of the bass.

Our tiny group made our way to the edge of the floor and we all began to make insecure movements with our arms and hips, bobbing up and down, matching our movements to those around us.

What shocked me upon my first look around the dance floor, was that no one else was dancing any better or more flamboyantly than I was. My movements were quite tame and typical of a teenage boy at a high-school dance, yet no one seemed to have any better ideas.

At first, I thought that everyone was simply a bad dancer. Then I realized something: The boys in our group, and the people I had seen standing in line at the restroom hardly seemed like the type who would volunteer to get up and “shake it”, yet here they all were. They were all giving it a go, and taking it in their stride. No, they were not all smooth and slick, but the beauty of their dance was in the fact that they completely lacked reserve. They flung their arms about, and stomped their feet, reflecting (and encouraging) their own enjoyment, and were obviously not simply pacifying the appetites of others.

With this idea in my brain, I began to think back to my days studying to be a ballet dancer, and started integrating more challenging steps into my movements. People smiled, and some even had glasses in their hands. They gave me space. They did not jeer, they did not shoot each other disparaging glances, they watched and clapped their hands.

As the evening wore on, and the alcohol content in the bloodstream of the place became a higher number, the movements of the dancers became less calculated and more grand, using more and more space. It was a good thing, I realized, that people were beginning to drop out and head home for the night, as the space required for each person was becoming more and more expansive.

Each time I thought the night might be beginning to wind down for our little group, more drinks were brought in and circulated and, everyone feeling refreshed, the dancing would continue.

Finally, the beads of sweat were replaced by wrinkles as faces yawned all around. Someone said something in German, and before I knew it I was being whisked off the floor and back out into the crisp, cold night air.

Feeling much warmer and closer to each other than we had at the beginning of the evening, we shook hands, hugged each other, and made mumbled promises to get together again. Michael, Julie, Caroline, and I all made our way over the cobbles of the marketplace and through the winding streets leading back to the house.

It had been a wonderful night, full of camaraderie, exercise, and new experiences. I couldn’t help but picture the prostrate bodies I had seen slumped over each other on the dance floors of clubs in the US. I generally try not to compare different cultures, for each has its positives and negatives, but on this occasion I couldn’t help but think to myself “This could have never happened in America”, and I knew I was right.

So…we know what I had in my pack at the beginning of this wild adventure, but if you’ve been looking closely at the photos I’ve been posting, you’ll have realized that certain items have been switched out, some have been removed, and a few (eek) have been added.

As my “what’s in my pack” post has been the most popular on this blog by almost 90% (meaning that post alone has brought in nearly all of my traffic), I figured those of you readers who might be about ready to unsubscribe to my feed would probably be ready for another injection of geeky travel gear tips.

Without wasting any more time…here’s the new, changed, and trashed list:

The above photo is an updated version of what is in my pack(s). The most major addition is the first on the list:

DISCLAIMER: All links to items are referral links. I get 4% of your purchase if you click my link and buy the item. If you feel like helping me out, this is a good way to do it. We both win. 

1. Eagle Creek Black Vagabonding bag
   Perfect for carrying my laptop, notebook, camera, and more wherever I go, this is my journalism “utility belt”. Each day before I leave the place I am staying, I strap my crucial electronics/supplies in, and leave the backpack behind.
2. Trader Bay Fleece Sweater
   This fleece is quite bulky, and I hadn’t decided I was going to keep it until the last minute before leaving. I have used it a VERY small amount on freezing, foggy San Francisco mornings, but mostly it is waiting for the winter days in Germany and Italy.
3. Sea to Summit Silk Mummy Sleeping Bag Liner
   The sleeping bag I had purchased ended up being too warm for my high-heat producing body, so I sold it to a bunk-mate in San Diego and purchased this blissfully small silk sleeping bag liner. I have used it many times already, and have washed it…erm…considerably less times. Feels great, packs great, is great.
4. Moleskine Squared Reporters Notebook
   I am a huge notebook fan, but this one and its ruled cousin are the coolest model I’ve come accross yet. I love flipping it open in a green-grassed park and jotting down the thoughts tumbling around in my head. I am sending them “home” to my parents so they may act as souvenirs of my journeys.
5. Targus Combination Laptop Lock
   This was recommended to me en-mass before I lef, but I wanted to see if I would get real-world use out of it before I filled up my bag with another needless item. I found it on sale at best buy and have been amazed at the amount I have used it. Coffee (the main course at internet cafes) is conducive to bladder relief and it seems to always come to my attention just when I am in the middle of a web-meeting or large project. It is a great luxury to be able to lock up the laptop and walk away for a moment - without losing my place at the table…or my laptop.
6. Lenovo Thinkpad X61
   I purchased this machine right after I posted the last article. It was purchased on a recommendation from Tynan of Life Nomadic, and I have been unexpectedly impressed with both Linux compatibility and durability. I accidentally poured water across the keyboard while reaching for a loose-lid water bottle and the machine didn’t lose a beat. Perfect for the “travel-warrior”.
7. 8oz Jar of Dr. Bronners Soap
   I’ve always loved Dr. Bronners, but this orange liquid soap really comes into its own when used at an airport shower between flights. With enough rubbing, this stuff will cleanse the body of any and all foreign bodies in no time.
8. Office Depot Coupon Book
   Technically, its a business card holder, but works perfectly as a small little coupon book. Since I have been on the road, I have discovered countless deals to be had by using coupons. When I first visit a new city, I will visit the more residtial neighborhoods and look for the “local rag” (a technique inspired by my friend Richard Cray), these are usually coupon feasts, and I clip and use every one of them.
9. Vibram Five Finger Shoes
   I’m not gonna lie, I went with the trend on these and got the exorbitantly priced Vibram Five Finger shoes. When staying at a hostel, I tend to use them alot as they work as a good fungus shield (as well as a conversation point for curious onlookers).
10. Logitech VX Nano Cordless Mouse
    I’ve had cordless mice before, and I’ve hated them all for one singular reason: The USB dongle that hangs off the side of the laptop like a broken pinky-toe and gets lost the second you remove it. This mouse solves that problem. Still using the shortwave radio technology of standard cordless mice, while avoiding the power-draining requirements of Bluetooth, the USB dongle is about an inch long and sticks just a half-inch out of the side of the laptop. I have left it in since I got it and never had a problem. Whenever I want to use the mouse, I take it out and turn it on. Easy as that. Comes with a slick, minimalist carrying case as well.

That’s pretty much all the new stuff! There are little things I may have missed, but that is the gist.

Now for the stuff that didn’t make the lightning round, here’s a photo to remind you of what I USED to have:

Here’s the difference:

1. Speedstick half-size deoderant
   This stuff sucked. It was liquid, and needlessly so. I fell for the gimmick, and ended up with a LOOONG shirtless wait for the stuff to dry. I’ve got a big boy gel stick now.
2. Chinook 16 oz. compressed mummy sleeping bag
   Too hot for me, and too bulky. Many hostels won’t let you in with a sleeping bag so what’s the point?
3. Emergency Checkbook
   Having this with me freaked me out. If identity theft is bad in the US, I wonder how it is in Eastern Europe…?
4. Linksys USB wireless receiver
   My laptop’s reception is fine. This was a pointless device.
   
5. Belkin Mini-Wifi detector
   Also pointless. Both my phone and laptop pick up wifi signals instantly (my phone doesn’t even need to boot up) and when searching for a cafe with free wifi, the usual best bet is a sign saying “Free Wifi” in the window.
6. Nokia cellphone/PC cable to use phone as backup modem
   Nope. Not useful enough to be of service. Starbucks is every few blocks in any metropolitan city (or suburban sprawl for that matter) of America, and in Europe I wouldn’t have cell-phone reception anyways.
7. Everex Stepnote 13.1″ (laptop) with Ubuntu 8.04
   Sold it to my father. It wasn’t a bad machine at all, but I needed something a little more robust with a little better Linux support. Replaced by the X61 tablet.

So that’s that! Hope you enjoyed this edition of TravelGeeks Magazine

Raw humanity in its most telling and exposed form painted a tapestry of color, of diversity, crackling noticeably in the morning air.

The human intention, the wants and goals of the citizens of this reality hung, like summer dresses, beautiful in their simplicity, and their materialism, out to dry.

The conversations and emotions of the passengers rocked, jerkily, in time with the movements of the streetcar…as if they too were being blown in the wind.

Every fare was overpaid. Just $50 cents was paid as a dollar. No one made exact change, for the savings simply was not worth their time.

Seniors stood, stumbling and leaning in the crowd, as youngsters who did not speak English sat, luxuriously flaunting their comfortable seated real-estate.

The driver answered a question for the twenty-seventh time that week, and sighed.

Children stared at me, wondering why this funny man happened to be standing so close. “What is this gathering for?” they must have thought in the rapidly maturing parts of their minds.

And what would my answer be? If I could speak to them using a developed vocabulary, I fancy I would tell them it is a celebration: A celebration of a fulfillment, a satisfaction, a healing of the “aching heart”.

In an outpouring of creative genius, “A Writer’s San Francisco”, the inspiring words of Eric Maisel simply states:

“An aching heart needs an ice cream cone in a new location, a change of flavors, a choice of picture postcards to send to loved ones to whom it never says “I love you” except when it is on vacation. The heart needs an oddity or two, something to make it smile.”

Eric’s words resonate when riding a streetcar, in the most tourism-oriented location in San Francisco.

His words provide not a justification, but a self-identifying reason for enjoying the view of the tapestry.

To say that trust is an important characteristic to nurture while working with a client online, would be an understatement. Building and maintaining a trusting relationship is paramount, and within the daily journey to the completion of your deadlines - a strong and mutually understanding work-relationship can do wonders for the enjoyment and sustainability in which your work employs.

So dramatic are the differences of a badly-matched client/contractor versus a well-matched one, I can draw you a chart of monetary appraisal, clearly showing the difference of a positive and negative work-relationship.

Over the course of the past two years of freelancing, I have harvested, and assembled, several strands of wisdom which are identified, in my brain, as the three golden rules of working with clients while freelancing:

Rule #1 - Trust your instincts.
Just like many of you, I wish this statement was not so avalanched towards truth that it could be considered a rule.  Many times when meeting with a potential client, whether online, on the phone, or in person, I will have an instant feeling of grave inevitability - as if I had found a message on the wall of a cave:

“This job is not right for me.”

I have thought this to myself whilst listening to the client’s request, and far too many times I have ignored the thought and agreed to take on the work in spite of the warnings.

This instinct, I believe, spawns from the mentality of a desk job. Early on, I carried many such instincts and values over from my work at my “day job”, and have had to painfully unlearn them throughout the many months since. Even in the smallest of design firms - the general mentality is that when more work comes in, as long as the client is willing to pay the desired amount, their work is taken on, with little regard for the standing workload of the staff.

This method, though irresponsible and stress-feeding, is a widely-accepted attitude in the corporate and non-profit world, and is accepted silently and submissively - with pursed, tense lips, longing for an evening of relaxation and alcohol consumption - by the company’s crispy employees.

The desired attitude for a freelancer, is a discerning - strategic one. Though conceivable in theory, the practical application of this discernment and evaluation process begins to fall apart when the freelancer’s wallet gets thin and the work begins, seemingly, to dry up. These “droughts” and in-between periods are hotbeds for stress-causing badly-fitted work-contracts.

My trick for avoiding these bad situations? I actually haven’t really found one. I simply try to follow the above rule as much as I can, NEVER do something just because the money is good (it is never worth it, as jobs you don’t care about, or share morals with, are ALWAYS the hardest, and most troublesome to complete), and try to be as honest as possible with the client when meeting - so as not to create false expectations.

Rule #2 - Good friendships DO NOT necessarily make good working relationships
“I actually just got out of a really bad experience with my business partner and ex-best-friend, so I could really use some work…” the Portland-based graphics designer was telling me. He was begging for any work I could throw at him as he had committed one of the most commonly-known, yet least yielded laws of business: Don’t get involved in business with your friend (or your spouse/significant other for that matter).

Now, please do not get an impression that my opinion is that work-relationships with friends or spouses are impossible, for I simply do not believe that. I do know from experience, however, that they are the hardest to cultivate for any extended period of time - as resentment and defensiveness quickly follows on either side.

Apart from the odd hobby photo-essay project with my fiance (an accomplished photographer), I stay away from combining the worlds of work and friendship.

Relatives, like friends, are easy to evolve into clients or work-partners because of the perceived value from fellow family members:

They see someone they can trust - who will probably give them a discount on your service.

You see someone who is conveniently close as a client, a good way to get another project on your resume, and someone who will probably tip your work well.

Can you see how the above two statements would conflict?

Rule #3 - Always send an email
Some would challenge this as a hard and fast rule, but I swear by it:

Each Monday and Friday, I meet online (via instant message) with one of my longer-term programming clients. During each of these adjective-ripe meetings, we discuss new changes, features that need to be implemented, and more.

At the end of our meeting, one of us (usually the client) will go through the items we had discussed and puts them into the to-do tracking system we use. This system automatically emails each of the to-do items to me in turn, and I archive these emails as I complete the items.

The system works quite well, and from that day forward, I always have an archived digital copy of the client’s request, with a time stamp attached to the email. Though I have never had to use these records within any sort of legal situation with my clients, I have, on select occasions, been tasked with sifting through my archives to find the email which confirms a client’s request. When confronted with a time stamp and record - in their words - of their request, a client will nearly always back off.

Tools of the Trade: My two favorite tools for working with clients online…

While these tools are somewhat oriented towards programmers/workers in the web field, nearly all of them can be adapted to fit any freelance duty:

PayPal
I am sure someone will have something to say about PayPal in the comments. Reports of bad experiences with PayPal are available for anyone who would like to read them online with a quick Google search. In all of my experiences with working with them for two years, I have not had a single problem.

Paypal is my bank, my credit (well…actually debit) card, my invoice system, my accounts-payable manager, and much, much more.

Paypal is a company who’s most prominent, marketable feature is the ability to send money - using credit cards, or checks, to anyone in the world - in any currency in the world - instantly. For a 3% commission, they will transfer any monetary amount (actually…there is a limit, though I will probably never hit it) to any email address (it helps if they are signed up with PayPal) for you the instant you click “Submit”.

I have a PayPal debit card which I use for nearly every purchase, every day. This integrated system keeps my bookkeeping simple, and I have not yet had a problem.

Basecamp: Web-Based Project Management Software
Basecamp is a project management software which, at one time, simply rocked my socks.

Since I have started to write more, and program less, the program has lost effectiveness for me, but my longest-standing client and I still use it, religiously, to keep track of changes and to-be-done items.

The system is web-based, hosted (meaning you can’t put it on your own server), and charges a monthly service fee ranging from $10-40 depending on your needs for access to the system.

A free account is available, if you just need to manage a specific process. Give the system a try before you buy, and see if it revolutionizes your work flow!

I’ve got my client, now what?
The next step, theoretically, is what you should be best at: Actually doing the work. This wasn’t the case for me, especially when I started out. I only half-knew web-programming at the beginning of my career (I’ve come along way in two years), and still don’t know everything. These situations are a great way to learn new skills quickly, though even now sometimes I will find myself needing to steer the project in the directions my skill sets compliment. For better or for worse: This seems to work.

But I say that needing to skirt and redirect everyone once in a while is ok. In nearly every situation I have worked in, the least comfortable yet most effective technique is the one which rings the most true:

Honesty really is the best policy when it comes to interacting with clients and setting deadlines. Setting too-soon deadlines, and missing them, is usually far worse for the client’s opinion of you than setting fair and moderate deadlines, and delivering early.

I hope this article has helped a little bit with those getting started, or those who just needed an injection of new ideas and/or validation. If you already knew all this stuff, I apologize.

Look out in the next few days for my next article in my “Working on the Road” series:

Part Three:  Being Suddenly Productive

The bus was filled with a typical set of passengers: An array of ex-convicts, single mothers, and families of immigrants. We were the odd-people out, joined by a Norwegian woman who was making her way across the world spending just $25 per day. Considering the bus ride cost $32.00 per ticket, there probably wasn’t much left in her budget for food that week.

Halfway through the bus-ride (at about 2:30am) we stopped for 20 minutes at a typical rest stop town. To call these places towns is an exaggeration, they can be more accurately described as corporate hot springs. During the gas-infused 1960’s, Burger Kings, McDonalds, Best Westerns, and Seven-Elevens sprouted up all over the US along the freeway routes. Some of these name-brand oasis’s evolved into larger versions of the same – but they all focus around select demographics, namely : Truckers, ground bus passengers, and lost tourists.

A quote by Charles Kuralt always comes to mind whenever I find myself barreling down one of these twelve lane public race-tracks: “Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel from coast to coast without seeing anything”. Unless taking the 101 or other considerably slower, older highways, this is, sadly, very much the truth.

At 5:25am, the bus rolled into Oakland and three quarters of the bus deboarded. A quick chat with a local outside told me that, even though many people live in the city, a walk to the BART station was faster than taking the greyhound across the bridge. This made sense, and as we are staying in Oakland, I was tempted to do the same thing. However, all of my directions and maps were based starting from within the city, and I had paid for a ticket to San Francisco. Instead of deboarding, we relocated to a previously occupied seat – offering significantly more leg room (a deficiency of our seat we had carelessly overlooked when boarding).

When we did arrive in San Francisco, it didn’t take me long to realize I was, in fact, lost. My maps and directions – I began to understand, with increasingly flushed cheeks - were based off of the location of the Greyhound corporate offices, not the Greyhound station. Thanks Google Maps.

A quick exchange with a local (who looked to be just the sort of local one would expect to be walking around at 5:45 in the morning) of the city, revealed a BART station just two blocks away. The station was indescript and marked only by a small sign with the word “Metro” printed on it. An escalator offered a way up, but not down. Under normal circumstances, we would have been glad for the encouraged opportunity to walk – but in this strange and un-restful world, this was an irritating obstacle.

The ticket-purchasing kiosk was utterly baffling. I am a firm believer in daily, weekly, and monthly passes for public transit. As a heavy user of buses and subway systems, I typically save a lot of money with such passes. The blue and white digital display before me offered no option resembling “unlimited” anything. Everything was based on amounts. Different fares were available for different distances. Dazed and confused, I submitted and purchased two tickets for $20 each. This scared me a little. I didn’t have this sort of money to spend on a simple “ticket”.

Within a few moments, I understood. The gate requires a scan of your “ticket” card upon entering and exiting. If a card is scanned through the “in” slot at “Embarcadaro” station (the station we started at), and scanned through the “out” slot at the “Rockridge” station (the station we ended up), it will deduct $3.20 [<CHECK PRICE] from the card’s amount. I assume the bus sytem is slightly different, though I have not yet tried it.

My God-sister (yes…God-sister…no that doesn’t mean a nun) picked us up at Rockridge. We were irritable and zombie-brained, but I managed to generate some halfway decent conversation subjects as her Toyota Prius hurtled town the freeway. The air had been cold and crisp outside. This temperature, coupled with our body’s diminished, sleep-starved heat generating power, resulted in a lot of shivering, and it was nice to be inside a warm and compact space. Enjoying being in any sort of vehicle is an extreme rarity for me.

My God-sister’s place was as cold as the air outside, and Julie and I walked around passively – keeping our jackets on – as we were shown the intricacies of the kitchen, alarm system, and (most importantly) the internet connection. As soon as we were dismissed, we fell into bed. I was asleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

Six hours later, we awoke. Somehow, our bodies are attuned so that if one of us wakes, even with no movement, the other one will wake as well. I crawled out of bed to do some work, and Julie went back to sleep. It was already 3:00pm and I had a full day of writing ahead.

Rebeccah, my god-sister, has set her internet connection set up in a loft above the rest of the house. Aside from the unfortunately-placed sloping ceiling beams (the position of which have resulted in about a hundred smacks on the head, even after only one day) the loft is extremely cool. A sharp-cornered desk is embedded into the wall, and once the heat from the sun is evacuated via the skylight, a day of work can be passed quite pleasantly within the white-walled space.

Around 7:00pm, I heard stumbling footsteps on the stairs leading up to the loft. I turned my trance music down and a hairy head appeared around the corner. Julie was up.

We decided to go grocery shopping at the Safeway down the road. I picked up a savings booklet full of two-for-one deals. An hour later we emerged with six shopping bags each. Using bulk-deals and coupons I had saved a collective $30 on a whole three-weeks worth of groceries. One of the things I enjoy about staying a specific location for longer than a week is that the bulk purchases of preserved food ads up very quickly to major savings.

We had managed to stuff the fridge by bed-time, and I for one was looking forward to reaping the rewards of my carefully planned two-for-one ice-cream purchase.

While falling asleep for the second time in less than twelve hours, and feeling the warmth of my sleeping partner beside me, I thought to myself with a hint of a smile, “Life is so wonderful now”.

In any case, here is the photo of the week:

The photo below was taken on May 7th, 2007:

When I look at this photo, I am at awe at how young I looked, and how much I have changed since - both physically and emotionally.

When this photo was taken, a lot hadn’t happened yet:

1. I was still working a “desk job” at the local TV station.
2. I still had my apartment, and paid rent.
3. I commuted by bike exclusively (as illustrated in the photo).
4. I wasn’t happy…at all.

This photo was taken last week on the Santa Monica pier:

I don’t know about you guys, but I notice quite a difference. Try facial hair for one, and perhaps a more prepared, engaged facial expression?

In just this past short year I have:

1. Cut my weekly work hours to a quarter of what they were.
2. Moved off of Maui and started traveling and fulfilling my dreams.
3. And much much more…

So call it narcissism, or call it self-reflection. I just wanted to acknowledge the universe for doing what it does to make this all possible. And I wanted to acknowledge you guys for giving me the inspiration required to make all these things happen for myself.

You guys are very appreciated

Richard has been someone I look up to since the 6th grade. In our production of Phantom at the Maui Arts and Cultural Center (the largest theater on Maui), he played the Phantom of the Opera, and I played Young Erik, the phantom as a youth. Out of the need for unification of mannerisms and speech came a connection with Richard, which helped shape much of who I was, and some of what I have become.

Greg, the best friend, was traveling with Richard at the time. He served as a built-in media expert. As a visionary and expert in the field of 3D modeling and performance animation, he had much to offer both as a promotions tool for Richard, and as a technological mentor for myself.

Flashing forward five years: My head rests against the window of the subway car as I read the “Travel” section of The New York Times. The ride takes over an hour, but is still faster than driving. The $1.40 price tag is also an attractive feature, in the face of gasoline prices soaring near 5 dollars per gallon.

As the gradual over-rotation of the train’s 24 wheels lightly propel my water bottle back and forth, rolling on the seat next to me, I think back to the last time the curtain had gone down on Phantom. I remember the surge of relief, simultaneous with a feeling of let-down and sadness. At the time, I wasn’t convinced the lead and I would ever be crossing paths again. I was excited to be able to talk about what had happened between the last time I had seen them, and now.

We picked off right where we left off. Talking about what had happened to each of us, what we were doing now, all seemed easy and natural. Greg soon joined us and we continued on to our next activity.

The next activity, my stomach was happy to hear, was a meal at a Bouchee’s Bistro, a hip restaurant specializing in hamburgers and tapa-style entrees. A hamburger ordered here is not slathered in a typical array of condiments, however. The available toppings for these hunks of protein are exotic and well-seasoned.

The system works like this: First, pick your meat. Second, your sauce. Third, your cheese. Sit back and relax and enjoy as they prepare homemade bread framing an organic meat, with a freshly made sauce adding excitement.

After the great-tasting meal, not a face among us lacked a look of satisfaction. We were well fed, and ready to move on.

Next item on the list: Segways. That’s right, Segways…our own…for two hours.

For those who may not have heard the term before, or really truly have no idea what a Segway is: A Segway is an electric, gyroscopically self-balancing electric vehicle - or “people mover” as my sister calls them. Two wheels, minimal in diameter, support the standing platform of the device. Two feet are placed on the platform, and the hands grip the vertically-extending handlebar.

Our to-be-magical Segway experience was supplied by Segway of Long Beach. Rental of Segways are possible for $45 per hour, or $100 for the entire day. For those who seek optimum Segway-riding conditions, renting one for a day - or even an hour - is well worth it at the pike at Long Beach.

Movement on the Segway is prompted by providing it with signals, as you would a horse. Leaning forward slightly indicates you would like to move forward, and leaning backwards creates the reverse. To move side to side (including a 360 degree standing rotation) the handlebars are pushed slightly to the right or left, depending on the intended direction. Segway says these movements are intended to be intuitive.

Each of us had initial spills or accidents. I confused my Segway as my body attempted to stabilize itself, while creating random movements and weight shifts, and ultimately stepping off out of necessity. Richard ran over uneven ground - causing the gyroscope inside his Segway to commit counter-effective corrective actions. Greg smacked his head on an overhead pavilion. This being said, we picked up the technique very quickly.

Within a few minutes of riding,  it became apparent how optimal of a location Segway of Long Beach has in relation to good riding spots. Just across the street, a spiraling cement walkway becomes a popular boardwalk by the beach. The wide cement in this area allows traffic to flow freely and efficiently. These wide walkways cannot be found in similar Los Angeles beach areas such as Venice Beach and Manhattan Beach.

After an hour and a half, we stopped for a refreshments at a grocery store. After a somewhat confused process of parking our Segways, Richard remarked on an unexpected result of Segway riding. “I feel like I’ve been walking all that way” he says, looking slightly weary. The ride had been extremely fun, and the body did feel as though it was getting a workout. This was not what I had expected.

My theory: The constant re balancing of the Segway causes the muscles to tense and release at a very frequent rate while riding. This exercises them, and almost fatigues them. Greg contributed that he felt alot less jarring in his legs when he bent his knees, this did seem to help slightly.

Feeling as though I had just stepped off a magic carpet, I couldn’t help feeling a mix of giddiness mixed in with my exhaustion. I had enjoyed that. Silently, I committed to purchasing one of those whizzing pieces of advanced technology. The price tag of the standard-level Segway is currently resting at about $5,000. Hopefully, by the time I have a static location again, the price will be cut in half. We all can dream!

On the recommendation of my sister, I decided to visit the Japanese American History Museum in Little Tokyo. This town was an abrupt shift after rounding the corner of what seemed like the industrial center of the city. When walking down Alameda Street from Union Station, the grey walls of the “detention center” can provide a convincing guise for this cultural hotspot, providing a filter for the less-than-well-researched tourists.

In Little Tokyo I discovered a very cool little Sushi place named Sushi & Teri. The restaurant had a title befitting a utilitarian restaurant with typical Japanese convention. The pricing is the best attribute of the restaurant, followed by the portions.

The typical (and usually overpriced) dinner of Sushi is often made up of standard Japanese portions, which to the American, are miniaturized. The typical “American owned” response to typical Japanese foods are to make large Sushi rolls, packed with the least healthy ingredient, white rice. The portions in this meal were more median.

For eleven US Dollars, I was able to purchase a spectacularly flavorful bowl of freshly made Miso Soup, a plate of well-seasoned teriaki chicken (prepared the correct way, not over saturated with sauce and sodium), two pieces of fried zucchini, an almost-fresh garden salad, a medium-sized drink, and four rolls of typical California Roll. Fantastic. Free food always tastes better to me.

After the long awaited meal of sushi, I was ready for some museum action. I wandered across the street and stepped inside the museum lobby.

Cold air surged through my clothing and fought to remove the warm pockets of air from my wool shirt. I shivered. It was a warm day, and the cold was very welcome.

I paid my dues ($4) and entered the museum. While making my way to the first exhibit, I tried to lecture myself “You don’t have all day here, the museum is closing in a couple of hours…you don’t need to read EVERYTHING!”. My premeditated mantra was forgotten instantly, however, when I spotted the “Audio Tour by Cell Phone” sign.

A brilliant invention, this simple idea blew me away. I was impressed. The museum had created various audio tracks, corresponding with the exhibit numbers, and made them available to anyone with a cell phone by dialing a number and entering a three-digit number.

The first exhibit, Living Flowers was created using live flowers and plants. Because of this, the displays are switched out on the Monday morning of each week. This means that anyone who visited the museum last week, would not have seen the same lovely flower arrangement I encountered.

I thought the exhibit was very well done, considering the subject matter. Not typically being one for plants, I focused my attention on various canvas art pieces which had been painted of plants and flower arrangements. My favorite of the canvased paintings was a piece called “Explosion”. In it, a beautiful explosion (literally) of roses and various flower pieces are bursting from the center of the piece. In my opinion, this painting is worth the $4 entry fee on its own.

Stepping solemnly up to the upper level of the museum, a shift is felt. The style switches from artistic flower arranging, to visual records and illustrations of the oppresive and inhumane actions of the US government during Pearl Harbor.

Artifacts and photos from the time are placed carefully on window-displays along the walls of the museum. Through a heavy glass door, faces of Japanese children and teenagers stare out at me in black and white, waiting, with hopeful smiles, in the rooms of concentration camps.

My favorite piece in the museum was a wooden replica of a Stereoscope. Stereoscopes were wooden platforms with wooden handles. On one side, built atop the platform, two magnifying lenses are placed within proximity of each other, designed to match the eyes when held to the face. On the other side is an affixed mount, designed to hold specially printed cards. When a card is placed on the stereoscope and peered at through the glass lenses, the images printed on the cards blend to create one three-dimensional images. These devices were taken quite seriously during the time before a television in every home.

Unfortunately, my mantra had failed to impact my actions, and by the time I was halfway through the museum, it was beginning to close.

I managed to see enough to get a decent understanding of the exhibits, but wish I could have stayed longer. A truly interesting museum with a perfect setting.

While I love the Gmail interface (and have gotten very used to the key commands, threaded view, etc) it does not work offline.

As I am traveling around, I have lots of time to work on emails, etc. while offline. As I use Gmail, I can’t work during these times. If I were to use a computer-based email software (like outlook, thunderbird, etc) I could write and save emails, send them to the outbox, and when I arrived at a hotspot it would automatically send them all.

So. I am really unsure. Should I stay with Gmail’s web based interface for its ease of use, familiarity, and efficiency? Or should I use an offline client so I can use downtime to read and respond to emails?

If you don’t mind, please click on the link below to complete the poll, I would really appreciate the help:

http://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?key=p1ry4omPErSQ29FJjyvL1dg&email=true

After checking out the well-arranged Japanese American History Museum today in Little Tokyo I decided take a walk down the street to find a cafe to do some writing. As I walk past lines of sushi places with dusty signs advertizing sake brands and all-you-can eat deals, I begin to silently loose hope. This is Little Tokyo afterall. I suppose I should be thankful for the lack of Coffee Beans and Starbucks in this area. It is a rarity in this city.

To my right, a blast of color invades my feild of vision. A cafe with colorfully-painted walls is there, the sign on the outside reads “I Love Boba”.

Not sure what to expect, I decide to take a look. As I enter, a small group of Japanese teenagers stir at the far end of the counter.

“Do you have wifi?” I ask, the suspected answer already in my mind.

“Yes we do” a tall lanky boy says to me in a nearly perfect american accent.

Surprised, I look for the next item on my mental checklist: Outlets. I see one unoccupied, and a table near enough to stretch my laptop’s power cord between.

“Okay…I’ll take…ummm…” this is where I do the “classic starbucks stare”. This stare (as coined by yours truly) is what a barista at starbucks is forced to look at ALL DAY. When performing this stare, the customer tilts their head upward to view the menu above while creating an utteral “ummm…” sound in their throat. “I’ll have a Cherry Boba smoothie” I finish, without really having any idea what I was ordering.

It did say smoothie, so it must be some derivative of what I am used to - I think.

I set up my laptop and get settled. Within a few moments, my drink is delivered to the “pick up” counter by a quiet girl, who shakes it as she hands me the drink. Little pieces of…something float around inside a bright-pink icy liquid. The top is sealed by a vaccum-tight round piece of plastic, matching the circumference of the container’s top.

I marvel for a moment at this unique touch (or so I think), and begin peeling the plastic seal from the cup.

Two minutes later, I have gotten nowhere. The top is still on the cup, and doesn’t appear to be planning on letting go. I have tried tugging, pushing, peeling, and using my teeth - to no avail. What the hell…

Another customer receives his smoothy, as he rounds the corner of the counter I see he has a straw sticking into the cup, piercing THROUGH the plastic covering. Recognition dawns and I jump up to retreive a straw.

I return to my table and eagerly attempt to peirce the plastic with the rounded edge of the straw…again to no avail.

Hmm…

I push harder…nothing…harder…*CRACK*

I feel a sudden feeling of wetness in my crotch: the cup had completely exploded from the pressure.

Shocked and embarrased, I look around and marvel at the fact no one has even noticed or looked his way since hearing the crack. This is good, gives me a time to think before the looks of symphathetic “glad it isn’t me”ism begin.

I rise from the table and notice that the bright pink, sticky liquid has covered the floor around my feet. I feel cold as wet smoothie-juice penetrate the ultralight fabrics of my clothing.

I grab a napkin and begin to wipe my chair off. I half-whisper to the lanky wifi boy that the cup had broken and, though it was entirely my fault, was covering everything I had touched in the past ten minutes.

With a goodnatured look, he tells me its ok and begins to mop up the sticky liquid, spreading quickoy on the floorboards. He even makes me another one…I am assuming he wanted me to feel better (or maybe he just wanted to have a chance to educate me on the proper procedure).

This time, he demonstrated the insertion of the straw VERY carefully. He illustrates the benefits of a “light tap” technique versus an intensley pressured one.

Humbly…I sit back down and begin my work. No harm done…I don’t think.

With my laptop being powered-on and plugged into outlets in a different countries almost monthly, how can I possibly be sure one of the data-loss/power-surge/theft/etc catastrophes doesn’t ruin my entire business, and, as a result, my stream of income? I’ve developed a system I think could work for any programmer (someone who deals with mostly text-based files and a few web-graphics) that keeps my data safe securely and cheaply.

CSS, HTML, and PHP files
Almost all of my programming/development is based in one of these three languages:

• HTML - The basics of the basics of web programming. This is what ultimately decides what is displayed on the page. If your HTML isn’t formatted correctly, nor will anything else.
• CSS - This is what makes most of the web look how it does. Having a stylesheet for a web project creates a consistency of look in each section.
• PHP - This is what outputs HTML (when needed). These files are server-side so all you see when you access them is the output. The output is usually Javascript or HTML. PHP lets you generate these pages dynamically.

Unless I am working on a specific part or function of a web project, I keep all of my code on an offsite server (mine happens to be in California). I edit all files LIVE on the server. I do not use revision control (not an automated system anyways).

I test (live) after each edit, if I am building a file from scratch, I will simply download the file onto my local drive, rename the current one on the server with a “.back-CURRENT TIME” extension, make my edits locally, and upload the file with its original name for testing. This way, if my testing proves I have committed an error I simply can’t find, I can replace the file, and start over.

Many shared and dedicated hosting providers offer snapshot backups (mine offers hourly, nightly, weekly, and monthly automated snapshots).

Writing

Google Docs is the order of the day when I need to write and save documents in a secure place. Some advise keeping a separate copy of each file away from Google’s servers, I do not do this: I’d trust the Google servers with my life.

With Google Docs and Google Gears (a Firefox extension allowing select Google Apps to run offline while storing data in a temp file) I can work on the file and save it offline. Next time I connect to a wifi or ethernet connection, Google Doc’s will automatically synchronize itself with the online version.

Of course, all of this is in beta, but I have used all of it for over a year without any trouble.

If I am writing for a specific blog/company, I will typically use whatever interface they provide (usually wordpress) to save what I have done, even if it has not been completed. They don’t care what it looks like until the deadline, and with this method, if one company’s server/tool goes down, everything else of mine doesn’t go down in the flamed at the same time.

If the writing is to be submitted by email and Google Docs isn’t the right option, I will create an email to myself and include the attachment when I save. This way, each draft of the document will always be available via my email in chronological, searchable format.

Photos

A single word can be used to describe the system that powers my amazing photo archiving superpowers: Flickr!

I have been a diehard flickr fan since before they were owned by Yahoo. They do everything right, their servers have the fastest throughput rates I’ve ever transferred data to, and they even log my photo’s metadata (how far extended the zoom was when you took the photo, whether the camera was on auto or manual setting, etc) which is a very cool feature for “looking back” later on and figuring out what you did right (or wrong).

Flickr uses redundant storage, so you don’t need to worry about a crash. They archive the original size of the photo (WHATEVER IT IS) as well as make sizes to be used easily in blogs (like this one) or email.

All of my photo hosting comes from flickr.

One note: Investment in the pro account for $24.95 per year is COMPLETELY worth it. This gives you UNLIMITED storage versus the 2.0gb monthly limit they impose with the free accounts. Be cheap about something else, go for pro.

So seriously…is there any other sort of file you need to worry about saving?

I don’t deal with video files. I keep a double copy of my music (one on my MP3 player and one on my laptop) so it’s redundant (by definition at least).

I know some may be more paranoid than me regarding their precious data. I’ve been using these techniques for over three years, and haven’t had anything bad happen. I’ve never had to redo anything based on theft or data loss. I’ll let you know when something does happen.

“How much was it!?” she exclaimed with the typical “glad it wasn’t me” look most strangers give others when they hear of such things.

“Um…about 12 bucks…”

Suddenly the look of realization is visible in her eyes “Oh you mean an actual NOTEBOOK! I thought you were talking about a laptop!”.

The notebook of a writer is often as ironic as what is written inside of it. The level of control and manipulative abilities the state of any of my notebooks can have over my mind is spooky. The pages of a notebook, when blank, can be inspiring or terrifying.

Before a looming deadline, for instance, the purchase of a new notebook can act as a last stand - an almost-hopeful act of defiance against the feeling of crumbling doom and lack of inspiration envelopes the self-proclaimed author.

The purchase of a new notebook out of necessity, however, following the satisfying tap of its cover to its pages as the last line is filled, can be a reassuring act of challenging oneself to write even more.

Similarly, a newly-hired writer purchasing a notebook on their way home from their successful job interview, and choosing the leather-covered model over the metal-spiraled one, saying softly - with an air of excitement and pride: “I can afford you now. I am a writer” is a demonstration of inspiration. Of hope.

My experience today was none of the above. My motivation for purchase of a new notebook was not particularly specifically inspired, nor was it guild-ridden. No, I bought a new notebook because I lost the previous one. I left it at a Starbucks in Downtown Los Angeles near to the Town Hall.

Some of you may STILL be thinking “oh no!” (while others simply doubt the value of reading this post at all). Well, not to fear, everything from the notebook is in my head. I do feel guilty, however, for not filling up the empty pages before leaving it to the mercy city. I simply hope someone who will use it as well or better than I was able to find it.

My old notebook, a large reporter’s style notebook (13×21cm) was too large to fit in my pocket, thus I had to store it in the back-pocket of my daybag. It turned out to be quite a task to pull it out, open it up, and write what I needed down (which is only usually one to two lines).

The effort expended to achieve this simple task, was almost not worth writing things down in the first place. Somehow, I feel my subconscious may have sabotaged my conscious and forgotten the notebook on purpose. Maybe it was tired of dealing with its large-ness too.

My NEW notebook, is a smaller, pocket sized (9×14cm) black model. It, like all other Moleskines has a expandable inner pocket with which I can store brochures from various attractions (for transferring data into my computer later) as well as receipts or ticket-stubs for pricing documentation.

And it turns out that when I purchased my new notebook, I felt inspired. Upon exiting the store, I perched myself on a particularly flat window ledge and began to write.

I’ll make sure to be on time next week.

This empty cup is his ticket stub, his proof-of-entitlement to use the oh-so familiar Starbucks facilities and wifi signal.

Often times he finds himself in this position, feeling only slightly guilty about having spent a collective five hours in various starbucks locations throughout the day, and wishing his money was going to a less corperate entity…or even better, not leaving his wallet at all.

On this occasion, it happened that a group of Germans took seats next to him. He sits silently for a long time, wondering whether to say hello. Finally, a confused outburst of frustration was heard from one of them. Obviously startled and concerned, a Starbucks employee runs over to see what could be the matter.

“I don’t know what is this VuiFui?”

The employee looks confused. The young man sitting on his laptop speaks up: “I know a little German, perhaps I can help?”

To his surprise, he is able to help. With his minimal knowledge of the German language, he manages (with a few made-up words he was simply making stabbing guesses at) to explain to them how the system works. Within minutes they are up and running. The young man returns to his work.

Three lines and fifteen minutes later on the brown-backed clock on the wall, the Starbucks employee returns, but this time, speaks to the young man.

“Thank you for helping me, I wanted you to have this…”

It was, at first glance not what he would have expected someone to hand him in an act of grattitude.

“A cup should never be half-empty.” is printed on its front.

Upon opening it, more pleasant words are found:

“The next time we see you, please enjoy a beverage, on us.”

“SWEET! Free frappucino!” he thinks, smiling greatfully at the Starbucks employee/angel.

“Thank you. This means alot to me.”

“The COOLEST MUSEUM in San Diego!” I was touting, loudly, matter-of-factly around the hostel.

I had just returned from a five-hour journey through the USS Midway Museum in San Diego, California and was genuinely excited about hearing the reaction of others after recommending them to do the same.

The USS Midway is a decommissioned aircraft carrier which served as a major military tool for over 47 years. It was a crown-jewel of the US Navy, capable of porting an entire military division overseas and into enemy waters.

The museum’s entrance is straightforward. Tickets are purchased and the guest is directed to walk up the ramp to the museum’s lobby. Once aboard, FREE audio-tour devices are hung around the guest’s neck, and earphones placed on their ears.

For those traveling to this museum alone, an audio tour can be both relieving and entertaining: Walking through catacombs of museum displays can be ruthlessly boring without some backstory, and those who are attending alone tend to rush through.

For those visiting the museum with a friend, I recommend synchronising your audio-playback at each checkpoint: “Hmm”s and “Wow!”s are then experienced together, and each person can comment on what they just heard. Do not pass up this audio tour, it is amazingly useful and informative. If something is boring you, move on and press “pause”, your bound to find something you like.

Sharp-turning hallways create an authentic experience inside the ship. It takes only minutes to sink into an understanding of the systems used on and how they felt to be a part of.

As your electronic friend guides you through the sleeping quarters of the officers. Take a moment and have a lie-down (if your bodily condition will allow) in a typical navy bed. Staring up at the top of the next bunk just three inches from your nose is, for some, a humilitous experience. The scent of sweat is still poignant in the air of these dorms. Take it in.

What I found to be most interesting in the museum was the laundry system. Not being a particularly war-oriented person, I found solace for my conscience in focusing on the systems: How they worked, how they were assembled, how many pieces needed to be in check in order for the system to succeed and be effective.

Countless audio-clips and displays are available to pause at and fully experience in this floating city of nearly three miles length. The three minutes of flight simulation in the lobby costs over $20 and is not worth the price, considering similar graphics can be experienced on a typical home videogame-system. I would avoid these attractions at all cost.

While walking around the ship, take care to save some energy for the “flight deck” the huge deck forming the top of the ship. This deck creates an enormous, spacious staging ground for the takeoff and landing of warplanes. The affixed “aircraft elevator” can lift a plane from the hanger to the flight deck in under 15 seconds. Considering this is at least 100 feet in distance, I was impressed. Unfortunately, the elevators operation is not on display on the museum…no matter how much you beg to see it!

The USS Midway costs only $12 for an adult ticket, and $9 for a student ticket. Considering the expansive and well-prepared displays, as well as the included top-notch audio tour, any guest to this museum should consider admission quite a deal.

Definitely recommended. I should add: Each of the people I recommended to see the ship and actually did so reported very highly on the quality of the museum. Trust me on this one.

Check out their site here.

The question du jour: Does the city live up to its hype? Is it worth giving of yourself and falling in love with the city with the hope of being fallen for in return? My answer is out of character, unexpected, and may shock readers comfortable with my standard reiteration:

I say it is.

Los Angeles surpassed its hype. I came expecting little, and have been mirrored gifts beyond what I will admit to in person.

First, a little story:

Two years ago, at the dawn of my struggle for financial independance, I was working thirteen-hour days at a cable access television station on Maui, Hawaii. Though the organization was small, and its duties even smaller, the staff and its producers never ceased to act as though it were a subsidiary of Universal Pictures or Paramount.

The game of overinflated egomaniacism soon became so integrated into who we were, we would work hours we didn’t have to; worry about ratings that didn’t exist, and create overall drama for ourselves as a group.

Paralleling this phenomenon, was a show traveling across the airwaves of NBC and iTunes called Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. Written primarily by Aaron Sorkin.

“Studio 60″ as it was lovingly referred to around the station was a suculent addition to our mental syringe of ego boosts.

The show followed the cast and crew of a variety show guiltily similar to Saturday Night Life or “SNL” (a now 33-season hit variety show also created by NBC) behind its stages and through its wings. The quick-witted dialogue of the lead characters always seemed a notch too smart to be human, even for a movie producer on speed (which was the well-played character of Mathew Perry, coincidentally paralleling his real-life drug addictions).

The show was ours. Many of the conflicts and communication mishaps which occured mirrored similar situations occuring in our office. It was a weekly, hour-long passive ego-stroke. We each pretended, in our minds, we were the cast-members, spouting out quick-witted snarky remarks which left our coworkers speechless.

It was a dream, but a real one nonetheless. It was something we all cared about and enjoyed. It was a bonding point for our staff. Wednesday mornings, after the show’s airing the night prior, we would all discuss (while pretending to work) the events of the show.

Before we knew what was happening, the show was slated to be cancelled. The show was lacking in popularity in the southern states. Its highest-enumerated demographic was the West-coast. Coincidentally, this is also the demographic with the least amount of regular television viewers.

Following NBC’s announcement, an uprise formed online. SaveStudio60.Com was formed as an online petition, trying desperately to communicate with the executives in charge. Their efforts were to no avail, however, and the show was cancelled.

This brings us back to the current day: What is the dramatic event responsible for turning my soured, bitter opinion of Los Angeles around?

Last night, I agreed to see a “reading”, performed by a friend of my sister. Her name, Amy Turner, was one I was familiar with only vaguly. Even as my sister’s best friend, we hadn’t met before.

The show was in a hipster dramatic-arts facility with a miniature stage and 40 seats set up for viewing. As the lights dimmed in the theater I queried my sister with a whispered “What does Amy do for a living?”.

“She is a writer. She used to write for Studio 60.”

…what now? My brain had stopped. I had only in my dreams considered the thought of meeting so much as a facility janitor on the payroll of Studio 60, let alone a writer who had trudged through the “trenches” of the writer’s room, stuck through late-night cast-parties, shaken the surpisingly-small hands of Aaron Sorkin. This had not been on my agenda for the night.

I sat through the show, watching various performers, thinking about what my sister had mentioned so offhandedly.

Is this the way people felt when they saw Johnny Depp buying an ice cream? Or Mary-Kate Ashley at Starbucks?

Is it possible to be starstruck when the person you’re meeting isn’t classified as a star?

Can I simply classify it as an inspiring point of contact? My pop-culture loathing, alt side would feel better that way.

This was LA for me. Going out for drinks and “tapas” with a writer for a prominent magazine (who just returned from a comissioned wine-tasting expedition in France), my awesome sister, and a lead writer who had served time on the books of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip . This placed the city in a new perspective for me.

This city is hard to navigate, the pollution clogs the lungs with an unejectable cloud of tar, and people are, as a whole, are mean to each other - BUT: The inspiration acheived from a concentration of dreams; a city in a state of constant transience, a common goal for productivity can provide a boost for even the most self-stimulating among us.

My impressions of Los Angeles continue to shift and mutate: But the entirely down-to-earth experience of dinner, with an entirely unassuming set of talent has created an indelible impression sure not to fade.

Excuse me!? Nobody told me the Amtrak has 120 volt electrical outlets for every seat! This is nuts! I’m in travel writer heaven! I can write for as long as I’m on the train with no battery budgeting, no turning off my various devices (wifi, usb, etc) to save a measley percentage of power. I can look out the window and write about what I see…I can use the passing surroundings as inspiration for more writings. It is such a fantastic experience to sit in the Amtrak with a word document open, and no fear of losing poewr.

YES!

Getting on with the midway review: Amtrak impressions so far are fantastic. Though we haven’t yet left the station yet, I have a feeling we will be departing on time (scheduled to depart at 10:50 am.

The boarding was tame and orderly. I was slightly confused and dissoriented when I entered the train, and decided to follow the gentleman trooping ahead in front of me up the stairs. This turned out to be a good thing, as I later learned: The bottom floor is reserved for seniors and disabled passengers only. Fair enough.

Just a quick update. While I was writing the last paragraph, the Amtrak left the station. It is now 10:53 am, the Amtrak car left the station at EXACTLY 10:50am. I LOVE it when things are on time.

Well. I’m going to write a review, and sit back to enjoy my paradise.

See you after the jump!

I did indeed make it to Los Angeles.

After a brief mixup about the arranged meeting place, my sister and I were united. We drove to her workplace and chilled out for about three hours.

I wrote three reviews and napped for an hour.

I’m at her house now, and tired as heck (didn’t sleep the night before) so I’m going to go…sleep. Will be wandering around a bit later, and should be able to post some pictures/updates about the city.

USA Hostels (available all around the US) aren’t the best hostels, that’s for sure. But sometimes, when they’re the only option (or the cheapest option) they are necessary.

I recently stayed at one and completed a survey for them. When you finish the survey you are taken to this page which gives you $2 off your “next stay” at USA Hostels. What does this mean? As their systems aren’t connected, it means you can use this coupon over and over as many times as you stay.

Obviously this trick won’t work for multiple nights.

To use the coupon, just save and print the image below and cut it to size. In 10 stays you’ll have gotten one free night!

Enjoy:

What comes to mind when attempting an overhead perspective of the aquarium is the world “manageable”. The aquarium itself is quite small, with what I estimate to be around 25-30 tanks and window displays, its rivals beat it by miles.

As your focus shifts from point to point throughout the dark, neon-decorated hallway of exhibits, what is noticeable is not the variety of aquatic species housed there (for the variety is not wide). What is noticeable is the common denominator of the collection: a common proximity to San Diego and its surrounding bodies of water.

From Leapord Sharks (what appears to be a small toy shark that moves) to Moon Jellies (small, harmless jellyfish which expand to create a disc-like profile), they can all be found in the bays and beaches surrounding San Diego.

This aspect to the aquarium makes for an engaging look at the aquatic profile of the city. Knowing you may have brushed up against a Manta Ray or Dragonfish while taking a dip at Mission Beach creates a far more engaging aspect than looking at a fish thats only to be found in South Africa.

Affixed to the aquarium is a second exhibit. Though it is not exclusively about the ocean, the correlation is direct enough to justify housing both exhibits in one location. This second exhibit explores global warming, greenhouse gasses, and their effect on the ocean reef.

The display does a decent job of keeping even children engaged in the information featured. The displays do have their overdone moments: The paint-the-octopuss videogame and rearrange-the-sharks wall struck me as crossing the line of proper fund allocation. This is a hardly noticeable offense, however, and is not a disqualifier.

The price of admission for adults is $12, and for students is only $7.50, if you have the funds, go ahead and check it out!

———

PS: For those who read Tynan’s blog, you’ll probably remember this post. The photo below is dedicated to him and the infamous indoor ghetto pool:

My expectations weren’t high for the area or the Hostel, and both still underwhelmed me.

Early Wednesday morning, I rolled out of bed and realized I needed to pack. I had been at the Hostelling International downtown for two weeks!

Packing took a very short amount of time, and showering took even less. I had a very light and fast breakfast of pancakes, uploaded a video to blip.tv, and checked out of the hostel.

I was ready to move on, for sure, and was looking forward to the change in scenery.

A quick consultation with Google Earth told me to take the 932 bus in the Ocean Beach direction (pretty straightforward) and I would be there in a matter of minutes.

It took a half-hour to drive across town to the Ocean Beach area, but I enjoyed it. It felt nice to have my stuff packed withint their 28 liter confines again. I felt more free, and less stressed.

I managed to get off at the wrong stop. I can’t deny that it was slightly intentional, however, as the had a pretty cool-looking dog-accessory store I wanted to see. After looking around, I opted against trying to catch another bus. The hostel was only a few more miles down Cable St. and I needed a good walk.

During my walk, two backpackers crossed the opposite way, heading towards the Point Loma hostel. As I saw them, hunched over and weighed down by gravity, I felt quite blessed to only have 20 pounds of stuff on my back. Judging by the size and weight, I would say each of theirs were at least 50 or 60 pounds.

My arrival at Newport Avenue was unceremonious. I walked past it, actually. I was talking on the phone to Julie and it took a few moments that I had already passed my destination. I bid her a farewell, explaining to her I had to get checked-in.

My impression of the hostel, at first glance, was that it was a social place. A faded-blue wooden porch appended the front of the building. At least five people were sprawled on various warn pieces of furniture, talking, laughing, and smoking. I was interested and looking forward to meeting some of the people there. When I walked in, however, the office window was closed shut, and I had to yell through the glass to get the attention of the woman inside.

When I told her I wanted to check in (it was well past noon, and Hostelling International hadchecked me in at 11:30am) she did not look up from the paper she was writing on. She did not open the window, either. She simply yelled back “check-in is at two”.

That was that.

I walked out the door, passing the same group of people. One of the women watched me leave as she exhaled a long stream of smoke. So much for a friendly atmosphere.

Instinctively, I headed towards the ocean. It was smoggy (I’ve since heard it is pretty much always that way), but I could just make out a beach about a hundred yards away. I glanced into the window-fronts of stores and resteraunts as I walked. It seemed to be a standard array of beachy, young shops. There were smoke shops, hookah bars, hair salons, jewelry shops, and a Starbucks.

I reached the beach surprisingly quickly. A cement wall was seperating the asphalt from the beginning of the beach. I took a seat on it and laid down my stuff. It felt good to get even my small pack off of my shoulders.

I had taken the minimal amount of groceries I had not eaten at the last hostel with me in a plastic grocery bag, and was getting sick of carrying it, so I decided to eat something.

A couple slices of bread and cheese quickly satiated my hunger for “grocery” food, and I realized I would have to supplement them with something more if I was going to keep exploring.

Deciding where to go, however, was another matter entirely.

Should I go to the beach-side bar? No…too many overpriced entree’s. Should I go to the sadly convenient McDonalds? Uh uh. Not happening. Deep in thought, I gaze out at the ocean, my eyes following the length of the pier until reaching the end.

A word swims into view…a word I wouldn’t have expected to see thirty yards out in the ocean: “Cafe”.

Eh? A Cafe out there at the end of that smog-covered pier? I had to investigate.

When I reached the end of the pier, my curiosities were answered: Yup. It was a Cafe. Affixed to the cafe was a small candy and souvenir shop. Most interesting.

I took a glance at the menu, and decided that eating lunch while hovering twenty feet above the water was not at all unnapealing. I took a seat and ordered some nachos (the kind with lots of vegetables and spices on top) and the signature “Pier Fries”. The food came quickly and I scarfed it down. It was very good. The nachos were…nachos. The fries were amazing. Home-cut and cooked potatoes with some form of vinegar seasoning. Yum.

I glanced at my watch after paying for the meal. It was 2:15pm, time to check in!

I sidled back, feeling the comforting weight of my backpack pressing into my back.

The lobby of the hostel was packed with people checking in. I managed to squeeze into a fairly decent place in line, and was checked in within minutes. There was someone new behind the window, and she was much nicer.

The room was small, but not cramped. Three large wooden bunkbeds lined each wall. Every bed had already been “claimed” but the one right in front of the window, it was a bottom bunk.

Happily, I set down my pack. Why didn’t anyone want this bed? I LOVE air when I sleep, so it couldn’t have been a better location for me.

I wanted to get some work done, had read of free wifi at the hostel. Sure enough, there it was. I logged on and started writing a blog post.

A couple minutes in, a guy walked in (I’d guess he was about 24 years old).

“G’day!” he said.

“Australia?” I responded, evaluating his idiom and taking a stab at his nationality.

“Wales…actually.” he said. “But I’ve just been to Australia”.

That explained it. I know from experience that Australian’s idiosyncrasies are quite easy to integrate into your own way of speech, even without thinking about it.

We chatted for a little while, and throughout the course of the conversation, I was becoming acutely aware of all the work I had yet to do. I politely excused myself and went in search of a less social environment to do my work in.

Unfortunately, Starbucks was the only one with an internet connection, and I grudgingly ordered a drink and sat down.

Their connection was absolute crap. I pay money for their internet access on a monthly basis, and this is supposed to allow me unlimited access at all kinkos, borders, and starbucks locations. The unfortunate part, is that each location is subject to the location’s overall connection quality. This one stunk.

I turned off my computer, and took a sip of my chai. It was watery and brought back, once again, the feeling of being ripped off by a big company.

Outside, some form of festival seemed to be forming. The main street had been blocked off and musicians and vendors were setting up on the sidewalk. Curious, I walked outside.

Two hours later, I emerged from the crowed taking refuge on the “guests only” hostel porch. Apparently, it was a street fare which happens each week on Wednesdays. Someone had told me it was supposed to go until 8pm, but it was well passed that, and it was still going strong.

The fare was made up of a typical set of crafts, exotic foods, new products fighting their way into the market, jewelry makers, and farmers selling goods.

During my crowd-fighting I had purchased two gifts, a turkish kabob, and a plastic-bag full of cherries. I had also been suckered into becoming a “member” of GreenPeace, and signing up to give them $20 every month by a fast-talking acitivist girl. This was a special occasion - I told myself. Of course…every day seems to be a special occasion now.

Feeling a little unproductive, I walked up the stairs to my room. I flopped down on my bed, turned on some trance music, and got to work.

Five hours later, I looked up from my computer screen. Out the window, the sky was dark. Light still emanated from the oh-so-conveniently-placed bar next door. Unmistakeably American-loud laughter echoed from the back of the bar. I guess it was time for bed.

1. Booking airline tickets
2. Booking/checking in to hostel/hotel rooms
3. Joining clubs or membership programs for savings

Most of the time, I had no problem getting these things done anyways, using a combination of the tips below, my mature-looking face/body, and my natural charm.

If you are a minor and you find yourself in a situation like the above, try the techniques outlined below:

1. Ask for a lighter
   It is sad but true, cigarettes still make people perceive you as an older person. It is a subconscious switch in their head that tells them that you would need to be at least 18 to obtain them, and be open about smoking them.I am not recommending smoking. As a non-smoker, you can still use this technique to your advantage: Ask for a lighter (usually they will say no, especially if they are working).

   If they say yes, reach into your pockets (not too eagerly) and tell them you forgot your cigarettes in your pack or you just ran out, tell them thanks anyways.

   If they offer you one of theirs, look at the brand and tell them you smoke a different brand and politely decline.

2. Speak professionally and correctly
   Though it isn’t what most want to hear, it still very much rings true. A large portion of the adults in the US and many other westernized countries base a large portion of their opinions of a person into grammar and spelling.Look at yourself objectively and ask yourself if you are truly speaking proper/professional/mature English (or whatever your country’s language may be). If not, go to the library and pick up a grammar book or watch old American television shows and movies like “Father Knows Best” or “The Music Man”. Observe and imitate the grammar and speech patterns.

   You’ll be amazed at how differently someone treats you when you speak and write like a conscious, mature person.

3. Speak only when spoken to
   Ok the heading above is sort of cliche-sounding. If booking a reservation, checking into a hotel room, etc. the best policy is to keep your trap shut. If standing in line, observe those who go before you: Your goal is to be exactly like them. You must NOT stand out from the pack or you are sunk.If they ask for an ID, give it to them. Don’t try to justify the birthdate. If you remain calm and keep a level, consistent stare, they will often dismiss their initial age calculations as a fault of their own.
4. Order as much as you can online
   Few ticket-sellers or otherwise will question an online reservation. Most of these online systems require credit cards for booking and as you would have used your Paypal Debit Card, Visa Gift Card or Bank Card, you have gotten past the test. From this point forward, they will rarely look at anything other than the name on your ID.This is an especially important step for hotels and hostels. Many hostel employees just don’t care as long as you have your ducks in a row, and the hotel employees are trained to get you moved on and into your room as soon as possible.
5. Make a mistake on your form
   When filling out a blockbuster membership application, or signing up for an adults-only website like couchsurfing.com. Unless it is stated explicitly, you are not signing a legal document. Thus, the law is in your favor if your finger slips and you accidentally write or type a year or two before you were born. Just food for thought, I will take no responsibility for the result of these actions.

Let me know how these tips work for you!

And please, don’t do anything stupid with them and get yourself arrested or something. Its not at ALL worth it.

Just over six blocks away on Broadway, a small but organized protest formed and started marching on the sidewalk. The protestors were soon joined by police-car excorts, and four on-foot policemen, with a goal of “keeping the peace”.

Though the protestors were quite dissatisfied due to the lack of media coverage, the protest ended and disbanded peacefully with no arrests after marching nearly thirty blocks.

I snapped a 0:28 second video clip with my camera, shown below:

It is very rare that I will devote an entire post to a specific store or restaurant…but this place is worthy.

Knowing I had a full day of work ahead of me today, I got up early and stumbled into the dining room area of the Hostelling International San Diego, opened up my laptop, and began to type.

*BAM* a crash against the wall rattled the windows all around the room. They were doing maintenance.

Don’t get me wrong, I am all for fixing things up, and am not so snobbish as to be offended by their timing. Hammering, drilling, and tinny radio sounds emanating from a DeWalt construction radio don’t create a particularly good focus environment for someone like me.

I decided it was finally time to check out a cafe.

So…I went on Jiwire and typed in the Hostel’s zip code, looking for something close. I had work to do after all, and wasn’t ready for a big adventure.

After a number of less than promising looking results, I came across a listing called Curio’s Cafe. What attracted me to it? Mostly the fact that they didn’t use a chain wifi provider like Starbucks’ T-Mobile/ATT partnership.

With a quick ride on the bus, I was there. The cafe is right on the corner of Laurel and 5th Avenue and was very easy to find.

I walked in and was stricken by the heat inside the small but well-decorated room. Somehow, the girl behind the counter knew this and said “Do you think its hot in here? I’ll turn on the AC!”. She had a cheery voice, and seemed delighted to see me. This had nothing to do with the lack of customers, however, as the available seating was almost completely full.

I ordered an Italian soda and sat down in one of the two areas with access to an electrical outlet. As I opened up my computer, another girl behind the counter started chatting with me enthusiastically, asking me about myself and what I did.

After this quick exchange, she let me on with my work.

After 15 minutes, a thought struck me. I asked “Do you make Italian cream sodas too?”. “Sure” was the response, and instantly she started making another drink. She handed me an italian cream soda with whip cream on top: No charge.

Incredible.

These sort of places, with this sort of people, restore my faith in the human populace, and in small business everywhere.

Curio’s Cafe is, in my opinion, the best cafe I’ve been to so far. Incredible service and incredible value. I couldn’t be more pleased.

Check out their website here.

The San Diego Zoo was an attraction I knew I would have mixed feelings about. By nature, the idea of taking animals and creating a synthetic environment for them is not one that I can easily accept. Keeping this in mind, I will try to be as unprejudiced as possible, and to keep my comments subjective.

During my day at the zoo, the time seemed to go by very quickly. By the time I was needing to head home, I had seen only a few exhibits. These included: The flamingos, the reptiles, the zebras, the polar bears, the birds, the monkeys, and the sea lion show.

Considering the amount of ground which must be covered to get from one exhibit to the next, it should not be expected that one would see much more than what I did.

The first attraction we saw, was the flamingos. These are probably the only birds I can find truly interesting. The most pronounced feature about them, for me, was the habit of standing on one leg. Though the sign near the birds did not explain the curious ritual, it did highlight a number of interesting things about the natural habitat of the pink-plumed bird.

I next visited the reptile building. This was a post-office-sized building with outward-facing glass window displays. Inside the displays were mini-habitats, set up to comfortably house their tenants.

Some displays were created to emulate the desert, complete with an unrealistically round tumbleweed resting comfortably against the wall. Some displays were adorned with green leaves, kept alive by a drip-line-sprinkler system.

At each display, I would pause to take a look at the contents of the display. Invariably, my eyes would take a moment to adjust, and I would give a little twitch of surprise each time a slightly-moving scaly creature would focus into my vision.

I found the variety of snakes to be quite extensive, though some seemed to be nearly alike, and one had to look quite closely to see the differences. The boa constrictor was the largest of the bunch, and at first appeared as a swaying, thick rope. The most disillusioning aspect of this display, was that it was not wrapped tightly around a tree-branch or small rodent; Instead, it was drooped, as if haphazardly thrown, against the wall.

As I rounded the final row of lizards and came in contact, once again, with the brisk San Diego air, I felt a kind of relief: I was ready for something else…I wanted to see something furry.

Built into the ticket price (I had paid slightly extra) was a ride on the  “sky-tram”. This sky tram was, in fact, not unlike an unraveled Ferris wheel. Each group of four people would be herded into a small cart, and following a brief pause, would be hoisted into the air. The cart then travels at 20 miles per hour, across and over the grounds. It sets you down at the opposite end of the zoo, where there was said to be a “polar bear plunge” exhibit, as well as zebras, monkeys, and more. I was excited.

I’m not going to lie: The polar bear plunge was pretty cool. The polar bears are quite theatrical. They jump, play, swim, and lean their half-ton weight against the class, all for some enthusiastic screams from the children on the other side.

While there are many animals of note, which you pass as you continue along the paths to the more “high-profile” displays, only a few caught my attention. Among these were: Speke’s Gazelle, the Bornean Bearded pig, and the Okapi. While many of the names create descriptions for themselves, I do want to highlight the Okapi:

This animal appears as half-zebra, half horse. It has the legs of a zebra, and the head of a horse. It is difficult to describe the animal, so a photo will have to suffice.

The other main exhibit I visited was the Panda Bears: These little bears were quite cute, but the viewing is somewhat limited by a slow-moving line in and out of the display. It seems to be regulated only by the people’s attention span and politeness. In the exhibit were three bears in total: The father panda, kept separate from the other two (while I was there he was seen happily munching a piece of bamboo), the mother panda, and a cute little baby panda. They are every bit as cute as in the national geographic films…actually, a bit cuter. I just wish the display traffic was handled a little better.

As I was getting ready to exit the park (believe it or not, even doing a small amount can tire you out when walking around the whole time) I took another look at the brochure: A Sea Lion show was happening just to my right in no less than five minutes. I took a few moments to think it over, then turned right.

The Sea Lion show was a spectacle. I thought the Sea Lions themselves were fairly impressive, though the arctic wolf who came out, was not so. I find canines to be absolutely fascinating…but this dog was being paraded around with a short leash. Not my idea of an uplifting show. As the final Sea Lion waved goodbye and stood on its head for the final time, I stood up and walked off. It was impressive, but depressing.

All in all I would say the San Diego Zoo is…well…a zoo. I have been to a few others, and, while there were double the species in this one, I didn’t find it much more impressive.

If you run out of other things to do, or your kid is dying to see the aminals (that was an intentional mis-spelling), feel free to check it out. If you are an independent backpacker who can find adventure on your own, skip the zoo.

A short walk from University Avenue, in Hillcrest, San Diego places it as the hot spot for activities to help San Diego residents unwind. On a given weekend, casual sports, family picnics, and dog-walking can all be witnessed from the clean, well-hoofed pathway that runs throughout the park.

Across the Cabrillo bridge, a rich cluster of culture and tourism exists. This area is commonly called El Prado. Museums and cultural exhibits are visible in every direction. Among these is the Old Globe Theater, a replica of the original Globe Theater built in London, England. Just like its inspired ancestor, it has hosted many shows for the public to see for a price, Shakespearean or otherwise.

Another large attraction is the huge Balboa Amphitheater. This amphitheater houses one of the largest organs in the world, and the unique music can be heard at designated times at different intervals during the weekend.

Just a few yards away from the amphitheater is the Japanese Friendship Garden museum. Outside the entrance to the garden, a tea house is located, selling Japanese teas, foods, and goods to the hungry clientele. The tea and food available are good, but at $4 per entry, the garden itself is an underwhelming ripoff. Skip it and visit an interesting and free garden like the Alcazar Garden, located on the far south end of the park.

My favorite museum in the Prado area, also happens to be free of charge and open to everyone each day of the week. This marvelously classy building is called the Timken Museum of Art. It can be found mirroring the San Diego Museum of Art, across the main street.

The Timken is, essentially, a perfectly-sized art gallery. It features two wings, each wing with a drastically different style of art. The reason for this, is that the art collected in each of the wings, was provided by two families: One family (the left wing) was the Timkens, and the other (the right wing) was the Putnams.

Though I do not like the Putnam’s collection very much, the Timken’s taste in art, is drastically similar to my own. Within the left wing of the museum can be seen works by famous artists such as Eastman Johnson (who is quickly becoming a favorite of mine), Peter Paul Rubens (who I do not care for much, but other people seem to), and even Petrus Christus.

My favorite painting in the Timken is called The Cranberry Harvest. The painting portraits a feild of reds and yellows, with men, women, and children picking cranberries clinging to bushes underfoot. The painting is set on the island of Nantucket in the year 1874 and was  painted from life. I admire the artists use of reds throughout the painting to create a temperate look for the painting. Please, do yourself a favor and DO NOT look this painting up online. Please visit the painting in its original splendor at the Temkin museum at Balboa park, it is worth it.

Slightly north and across the street, the Museum of Photographic Arts can be found. The Museum of Photographic Arts (or MOPA) is worth the price of admission ($6 per entry or completely free on the second Tuesday of each month) and has a stellar display of DNA photography, as well as a show of some art taken in rural India. Photography buff or otherwise, an average visitor to this museum will walk away feeling like they got their money’s worth.

Heading north and sidling up the main walkway a bit will bring you to the Science Museum. Considering the $9 admission price, this place is fairly disappointing. The museum features an IMAX theater, showing (for an extra $3) historical and scientific films. The exhibits in the main portion of the museum look more like an over-polished middle school art/science collaboration project than anything else.

The one cool feature of the museum was a booth set up with aging software. A machine will take a visitor’s photo, and try to accurately render its prediction of how they will look in a set amount of years. The results from this machine can be frighteningly detailed and, during the course of my observation, caused several middle-aged women to eject themselves hurriedly from the seat and walk away, muttering to themselves.

If in the mood, Hosteling International members (or people who SAY they are Hosteling International members…*wink*) can rent a bicycle from the bike shop at 509, 5th Avenue in the Gaslamp District at only $10 for the entire day. From the shop, Balboa park is a pleasant (though somewhat physically exhertive) sloping 20 minute ride. This can be a great way to experience the park.

While I did not visit every exhibit and facility at Balboa park, I did spend over three days there. The well-kept landscape, cultural exhibits, and jam-packed museums make it a must-visit place in San Diego. A concentration of attractions where both tourists and locals can be found, backpackers will find a visit to Balboa park time-efficient and exciting.

On friday, I had the privilege of visiting the Gaslamp Historical Foundation Museum, which also happens to be the old house of William Heath Davis. The house the museum is located within, is said to be the first house ever built in San Diego.

I must admit, when I saw the size of the house, I figured it was a bit of a sham. “How could they charge me $4 to walk around a house that size?” I thought.

As I started up the stairs into the “old” part of the house, however, the atmosphere around me completely changed:

As the house was built in the 1800’s, it is fair to say it has developed a “lived in” quality. The energy, and even scents of the past residents are still poignant in the air. The emmersive style of the exhibits within the house (which include original items from the owners, complete with drugs for treating sickness, a full vintage cutlery set, an “old style” toilet, and more) create a convincing and engaging time-capsule, porting you back to the time it was used and lived in.

The deep richness of the wooden flooring and furniture in the old house create a flavor of grandeur which is lacking in today’s homes. It features over ten rooms in total, each with its own set of furniture and props.

For those who have visited Victorian-style museum building-restoration projects in the past, the items may not be anything new. What may be interesting to the visitor, in this case, is the information provided about the Gaslamp Quarter.

As this is a small museum, I won’t write much more, in fear of creating a lack of interest in the museum by taking out the mystery of what’s inside. I will mention my favorite piece, which is actually located in the courtyard just outside the historical building:

“Bum” the official San Diego Dog
In the courtyard of the Gaslamp Historical Foundation Museum, is a bronze statue of a dog. A placard rests beside the statue which tells the story of “Bum” the official San Diego dog.

Throughout the story, you learn of the trecherous tale of a fight with another dog. In this fight, he lost a foreleg and part of his tail, but he kept on trucking.

It says “He belonged to everyone, and no one. He was so beloved by the town, that when he died, the children collected pennies to pay for a proper funeral.”

I really liked this story. It serves as yet another reason why, if in the neighborhood, checking out the Gaslamp Historical Foundation Museum is very worth your while.

Thank you to:

• Scott Holmes of Helping People to Help Themselves
• Ashley Campbell of Aqueous Transmission
• Tim from MoxieLifestyle

Now all I need to do is find the time to actually do the things you’ve sponsored!
For those of you just tuning in…a few times a month, I create a list of items I haven’t quite fit into my budget, and I provide an opportunity for you (the reader) to sponsor them.

In return, I write a detailed review report of my experience of the item/event sponsored, and put an introduction about who you are and a link to your website at the beginning of the review.

What do you get out of it? You get the satisfaction of knowing you helped create an even cooler experience for me while I’m traveling around the world. You also get very cheap advertising on a blog with ever-increasing traffic.

As all of the previous posted sponsorship items have been successfully sponsored, I thought I’d make up a new list of things I’d like to do before I head out of San Diego. As they each get sponsored, I will put a message letting everyone know who sponsored it, so I don’t get sponsored for the same thing twice.

Here are the new items:

1. Six Flags Magic Mountain (outside San Diego) with Julie - $31 (canceled due to heat)
2. USS Midway Museum - $10 (SPONSORED by Ryan Miller from 14Giants)
3. Monsiur Chopin the Musical at the Old Globe Theater - $61 (click here to sponsor)
4. San Diego Museum of Man - $7 (click here to sponsor)

If I come across any new ones, I’ll be sure to add them to this post (rather than post a new one) so as to not clutter up your inbox/rss reader.

Thank you so much for your willingness to sponsor these experiences for me. I can’t express to you the joy and amazement that comes over me when one of you chooses to sponsor me.

Outside my window a tree sways and uncountably small leaves rustle in the wind.

Outside my window shadows of dark-grey are cast by beige decade-standing buildings.

Outside my window overweight Americans are rolling strollers and yelling into tiny mobile voice-machines.

Outside my window busses run…predictable…carrying thirty-two people to work.

Outside my window a dark-green can stands empty, with scraps of paper resting beside it.

Outside my window a flag with stars of white sways in the wind…representing a place which no longer exists.

Outside my window.

Let me start this review off by saying that there is no better place (that I have experienced so far) to people-watch than from the sidewalk seating of the Ghiridelli chocolate shop on 5th Avenue, San Diego.

The atmosphere is perfect, and the light rays of sun that beam down through the gaps between the buildings around the sidewalk-seating outside make the temperature perfect as well.

As you first walk into the Ghiridelli building, you will likely immediately be offered a sample. I think this is an interesting, and possibly counter-effective tactic. I figure, if you’re walking into a chocolate shop, you’re looking to buy chocolate. The tactic must work, though, as Krispy Kreme as well.

In any case, I refused the sample, as I was looking for a “World-Famous Chocolate Fudge Sunday”, and nothing else.

I stepped up to the counter proudly and ordered my hot-fudge sunday.

I was given a number to put on the table I chose. I like this scheme, it allows you to pay for your meal before you get it (which prevents surprises at the end of the meal) and still choose your seat.

I chose a seat outside. My seat wasn’t particularly well-placed in the sun-area, so I was a bit chilly. It was still quite pleasant.

I had just opened up my notebook to begin writing a note when the sunday was delivered. It was HUGE.

The top layer was mostly whip cream, the middle layer vanilla ice cream (with a good bit of melted hot fudge dripped over the scoops of ice cream), and the bottom was mostly the overflowed chocolate fudge.

As I started eating the whip-cream, layer by layer, I began to get a sensation I hadn’t felt in a week, it was tasting something sweetened by refined sugar.

Something was different this time, though. Where I used to feel a jolt of excitement, taste-buds dancing happily, I felt, instead, a sort of nausea.

I tried the ice-cream. It was surprisingly watery, again, the more I ate, the more nauseous I felt. What was going on?

It took me a while, but I finally began to realize what was going on.

As I have spent the last two weeks on a “new” diet. No refined sugar products (this means: fruit juices, sodas,  pastries, candy, ice cream, etc. are out of the picture) have entered my body all week. I am taking Saturday off, which is the “anything goes” day, and that was the day I got my sunday.

The natural affect of this sort of diet, is that once sugar exits your body completely (just like crack or alcohol) you never crave it again. A memory of things you may have experienced WHILE enjoying, say a sunday with your Mother in San Francisco, or something, do stick. These are what create false-cravings later on, even after the drug has excited your body.

I no longer craved, or enjoyed sugar, I realized with something akin to panic.

Nevertheless, I tried my hardest to look at the sunday objectively from a “sugar-eater’s” point of view. I can imagine the ice cream tasting fantastic combined with some hot fudge, especially after a long day of walking and exploring the city.

The experience of Ghiridelli’s is one no serious ice-cream lover should pass up. I might recommend trying the Banana Split if you like fruity tastes, and the Gold Rush if you are particularly into chocolate.

Thank you Ashley for sponsoring the review of this sunday. Even if it mostly made me realize that sugar no longer is a necessary in my diet.

I didn’t know quite what I was in for when I walked down to the harbor area (only about a 25 minute walk from the 5th & Market (currently serving as my home base), but I was determined to enjoy it, and take whatever opportunities came along.

I purchased my ticket, boarded, and was immediately stricken by the amount of bicycles on the boat. I began to regret not doing the same thing, but I am planning to do a bike ride in the gaslamp district soon, and didn’t want to spoil the “biking in San Diego” experience.

I took a seat on the top deck, and waited for departure. The view was nice, but not breathetaking. The Coronado Bridge, in all its 11,000 feet of length, stood out against the landscape of the San Diego bay, with little cars and buses running accross creating a scurry of movement just above the rim of the bridge.

Boats moved all around, some coming in to dock, some departing, and some just drifting with the water. With the Midway Ocean Liner looming in the distance, it is a pleasant, but all to industrial view of the San Diego harbor.

A man looking to be in his early fifties sat down next to me as we pulled away from the dock, he said he was a social worker working with terminally ill patients with advanced stages of HIV. He told me about his weekly trip to Coronado Island to ride his bike around the nice neighborhoods. Once again, I regretted not renting and bringing a bicycle of my own.

Our arrival on the island was greeted with a long line of more tourists, waiting to board. I deboarded with the rest, and watched the direction people were going. I saw they were heading towards the touristy shop/resteraunt area, I went the other way.

I walked away from the harbor, and tried to get a grasp of what the local experience of Coronado might be. I had heard it was made up of mansions and tourist stores. It certainly looked that way.

I was just about to stop and look inside a bike rental shop for rates, when I saw a noticed a bus, door open, about to depart. It was an MTS bus, just like in San Diego on the “main island”. I looked at the LCD screen on the side of the bus, I didn’t recognize the name, but had nothing else to do, so I flashed my MTS monthly pass (yes!!!) and hopped on.

The bus seemed to be heading down the main road, towards the opposite direction of the harbor. We passed neighborhoods of fancy houses, and playgrounds with well-off-looking kids.

We passed by a building called the “Coronado Library”, I decided to get off the bus and check it out.

I was immediately stricken with a sense of quality as I stepped inside the peacefull library. In one corner of the “entrance hall” as I named it in my head, there was an information/check-in/check-out desk, standard to libraries. In the other corner of the room stood a statue. I didn’t stop to see who the statue was of, as I wanted to get a look at the collection of books.

My suspicions were confirmed as I strolled down the hall, glancing at the labels on the shelves as I passed. They had every genre, and every specialized genre. This was a well-stocked library.

There were desks at the back, with data/power ports, where one could plug in their laptop to work or study.

I stopped at the magazine rack, and took a quick glance at “Backpacker Magazine”. I could have read the whole issue, but I had to remind myself what I was there for: To visit the place.

After stopping for a moment to refill my water bottle, I stepped back outside. Accross the street, kids were screaming at a playground. It was not an unpleasant screaming, like on an airplane. It was a screaming of enjoyment and excitement.

I began to wander up the street a bit more. I passed a quaint little pet shop, a resteraunt with a life-sized plaster rendition of Elvis set up outside, and a postcard shop. When I came to a store labeled “Bay Books”, I went inside.

This quaint little bookstore was laid out like any other, but it had one unique feature. On many of the shelves, there were reviews hand-written and placed near/under books. These reviews were written by staff members themselves. I thought that was quite a nice/impressive feature. I had never seen anything like it.

After spending an hour reading random segments of “Into the Wild” (I love the book, as well as the film) I decided it was a good idea to start thinking about heading back to the other side of the bridge.

I stepped outside and found the nearest bus stop: It was for stop 901, perfect.

There are only two bus’s along the main strip of coronado Island. There is one which travels up and down the main street, coming from the harbor (the first route I rode on) and there is another which travels between San Diego and Coronado.

I had already decided I was going to skip the second part of the round-trip ferry ride, and was looking forward to riding the bus over the Coronado bridge.

It was a nice, but again not at all breathetaking view while riding accross on the Coronado Bridge. The bridge is quite well-constructed, and seeing it up-close is possibly the most interesting thing about riding accross it or near it.

All in all, the experience in Coronado was a good one. I liked the library best of all.

I wouldn’t call it a must-do in San Diego, though, by any means.

That’s all for now, I’ve got to do some work. I’m getting a little behind in telling about the things I’ve done, and there will be some posts a bit out of order coming up soon (about my Sunday at Ghiridelli’s, and my visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art.

Stay tuned!

1. On an air conditioner.
2. On a television (inside a locked, yet sunny window).
3. On a ceiling fan (in fact, I’ve broken a few fans doing this. You can’t beat it for quick air-drying action).
4. On a bike stand (at a mall on Maui, Hawaii. I had to wash and dry a shirt using the restroom sink and the bike-stand outside).
5. Hung in front of a data server (where I used to work, we had a room where we kept all of the data servers. The fans in each of these servers collectively blowing air made a great place to quickly dry items of clothing. Sometimes I could go into the engineering office and use the heatguns to do ultra-quick sock drying as well).
6. Hung on a bedpost.
7. Hung on a metalic “eco-friendly” Christmas tree.

I’m sure there will be more, but this is all I’ve used to far.

Do you have any unusual places you’ve dried your clothes out of desperation? Let me know in the comments.

View from my window at Hostelling International San Diego

Quitting your job, starting a business, or fleeing the country (all of which I have successfully done) all require “leaps of faith”, or gambles, that threaten to upheave your entire life. Statistics and popular culture tell us that being unemployed can render you homeless; most small-businesses fail within the first five years of being in business; and leaving the country will render you penniless in a less-than-hygenic foreign jail.

Life has told me different. I know that if I am truly committed to making something work, barring the interference of higher forces, it will invariably work out.

It is not that there is no positive reinforcement to counter the reports of doom and gloom, quite the opposite. We have Tim Ferris on TV, giving us a blueprint for success. We have Stephen Covey giving us justification to become the effective people who rule the business world. The self-help section is filled with positive messages of how you can do it…

So why isn’t it being done? Why aren’t the office buildings empty, deserted by entrepreneurial employees? Why aren’t the hotels and hostels filled to the brim with travelers seeing the world?

The leap is too daunting to justify. The mental distance we are required to span to achieve our independent intelligence is greater than our minds are trained to map out.

My experiences of the effects of these situational frustrations, when presented with them, is total peralysis: The employee’s will and reasons for leaving are put aside after a particularly stressful meeting with a passive aggressive manager. The business plans are put aside completely when a friend or family member starts pointing out its flaws. Dreams of a trip are put off until an ambiguous date in the future after a bomb explodes in a socially unstable country. In one single blow, all of the motivations are deflated…

I experienced these frustrations firsthand. I was intimidated by bosses, talked out of quitting jobs by coworkers, and told by many how my plans were unrealistic. So I posed the question: How can we break out of these habits of cowardness and justification and allow enough space in our heads to actually complete a plan we’ve laid out so carefully?

I wish there was a quick-fix discovery to share with you, or a two-week system I could lay out for you in an audiobook, but alas I have not yet found one. I do, however have some words of wisdom (as many words of wisdom as one can gather by their seventeenth year in the world) that hopefully will encourage those who have not yet made their leap, to pick up the bat and swing.

To illustrate my most important point, I would like to tell you a tale from before I left my home town, and before I began doing what I love to support myself…
When I was living in Pukalani on the island of Maui, at the age of fifteen, I made the decision to move out of my parent’s home and find my own apartment.
I was already working at a television station, had a stable paycheck (the only stable paycheck I’ve ever had), and was feeling very grown-up and adult. I knew I had to do it some time, and though I could have milked my parent’s generosity for a few more years, I was ready to become fully independent.

After letting a few key people know what I was looking for, I was, within a few days, offered an affordable apartment up in a neighborhood called “Wailuku Heights”.

I need to specify, at this juncture, that I did not own a car. In fact, I didn’t even have a driver’s license. I was fifteen years old and spent much of my time receiving transportation from others, and/or walking to my destination.

My work was in Kahului, about a fifteen mile distance from “Wailuku Heights”. It was a bit of a stretch, as I wasn’t used to walking those distances each day. What made the situation worse, was the slant of the climb to the neighborhood. The angle of the hill looked to be killer on the calves, and impossible in the heat.

After a quick drive-by of the apartment, I declined. There was no way I would ever be able to live in this neighborhood if I was going to stay car-free. The hill looked impossible to take on without a good pair of motorized wheels. That was that.

I ended up finding another place, with half the space, at double the price…but it was closer to work. I spent over a year in that apartment, and stayed even after I vacated employment at the television station.
Soon, destiny took hold and I met the love of my life, her name was Julie. She inspired me like nothing or no one had before, and it was not long after meeting her that I decided to take my trip around the world.

I eventually gave my notice at my long-time apartment, and we decided I would move into her apartment until our departure date. Her apartment was in a beautiful neighborhood known as…wouldn’t you know…”Wailuku Heights”. Once again I was faced with the daunting hill and sloping assfault. Once again I was rendered immobile, unable to take on the challenge.

One day…my fiance was at the apartment when I wasn’t. I was seventeen by now, but still had no car, and no plans to get one. I was faced with a choice: Hike up the frighteningly steep hill, or stay where I was and possibly sleep in the park across the street.
I decided to go for it.

I grudgingly purchased a bottle of water from the last convenience store on the road before the sloping of the hill begins to form, and put my headphones in my ears. “This is going to be the worst hour of my life”, I mutter to myself.

By the time I reach Julie’s apartment, I am dripping. Sweat covers my shorts, my tank top, even my shoes have somehow gotten soaked. She comes out to meet me, a loving expression on her face. “You made it!” she says encouragingly. I am smiling from ear to ear, it was the best I had felt in a long time.

Though the road was long, and the sun was hot, and it had all been worth it.
The day before I left on my whirlewind adventure, I took another walk down and up the hill. This obstacle had, at one time, intimidated me to the point of displacing my schedule. I chuckled to myself as I reached the top again. The entire trip had been enjoyable and quick. It took a mere thirty minutes to reach the bottom, and another thirty to climb to the top again.

The time spent doing the task was the same, but the perceived speed and effort was different. Each time I had made the climb back up the hill, it seemed a little shorter than the last. It seemed a little easier than the trip before it. Each time I made the journey, I discovered new ways of making the trip more enjoyable.

The underlying principle of that experience, serves as a scalable encouragment device. It sounds cliché, but wit this in my toolox, each time I come across one of the bigger leaps, it helps to compare it to my smaller choices and efforts that have ended up positive, and they are never as difficult as the brain initially calculates them to be.

The second principle I learned from this experience, is the general idea that the more times I take the leap, the more positive outcomes I can use to motivate myself to the next step, and therefore the more likely I am to take that frightening leap and, ultimately, succeed.

This article is not meant to provide answers regarding the ways to handle success, or, respectively, failure. It is only meant to act as a nudge of encouragement and to provide a starting point on the way to taking that first leap, and making that challenging decision.

My hope is that it encourages the reader to take a look at the more daunting situations in their life (like the ones mentioned in the beginning) and compare them to smaller, already completed tasks, to realize that the fundemental fears are the same. And remember, once you’ve made your decision…don’t look back.

I got some work done with my clients, got a bunch of writing done for an upcoming Digital Backpacker project (I’m going to keep it under wraps for another day or so), and caught up on my rss feeds.

I spent some time talking to a nice canadian guy in my hostel room named Jason. And talked online to an old friend I hadn’t heard from for a long time.

After reading Tynan’s updated gear post on LifeNomadic, I decided that his new Vibram Five Finger shoes were exactly what I’d been looking for for using indoors at hostels, as shower shoes to avoid foot funguses from around the world, and as alternative shoes when my solomons give me blisters.

I looked up the nearest dealer of Vibram shoes, and found a cool looking one in San Diego called Adventure 16. I dawdelled around for another few hours, trying to decide whether to make the trip out or not. When I finally decided to go, I began to worry it was too late. It was nearly 7:00pm already and the store closed at 9:00pm. Google had mapped out a public transit route (Google maps is incredible) and said it would take 54 minutes. I hoped this was true, and that I wouldn’t miss any stops.

I ended up deviating from the google route quickly, as it seemed that the 20 bus was only going to the Fashion Valley Transit center on weekends. I decided to take the 120, which was getting there a little bit later than the 20. After arriving at the fashion valley transit center, I made my way up to the trolley station. I love these stations that are suspended in mid-air: The idea that thousands of people fly by in little zooming cars all day is an idea that fascinates me.

I took the Sansee bound trolley to Grandeville station and got off. Hmmm. I was confused.

There didn’t seem to be an exit from the trolley station, and after finally finding it, and wandering around on the street for five minutes with my cell-phone in hand, trying to find the streets listed on Google Maps, something caught my eye.

It was a tent, a huge tent on the top of a building’s roof. I had found Adventure 16! Yes! And, it was only 8:03pm!

As I entered the medium-sized adventure shop, my mouth instantly began to salivate. I LOVE adventure/camping/backpacking gear, and am always at risk of buying everything in the store and justifying it by vowing: “I won’t eat for the next two months”.

They had nearly everything I was looking for, including the Vibrams. I bought a pair of Vibram Classics, a Sea to Summit silk liner to replace my sleeping bag (that thing is so damn big), and some AWESOME Icebreaker long underwear.

What they did NOT have, which I was somewhat bummed out about, was the Kiva compressable keychain backpack. After spending some time in San Diego with pockets filled to the brim with bus passes, maps, and water bottles, I am longing for one of those awesome little buggers. Ah well, I’ll try another adventure store around San Diego.

As I made my way back to my hostel after returning from my trip, I was stricken by the sheer volume of people shoving their way through the sidewalk. There were tourists, locals, homeless people, teenagers, all trying to get an action of the CRAZY downtown nightlife. Music blared from a thousand nightclubs, and pedicabs (little bicycles with carts strapped to them) rolled around, hawking overpriced rides to anyone who met their gaze.

The hostel was quite, however, and I was able to get a little bit of writing done, before falling asleep.

This morning, however, is going to be a very important and flavorful day. My long-lost friend Ashley sponsored a “World Famous Ghirideli Sunday” for me today, and I am going to take full advantage and post the review later on. Thank you so much Ashley!

Well…keep the comments coming, and thanks for reading, I’ll have some more updates soon!

Its not the wifi access that’s the problem (it seems like I can’t get AWAY from wifi connectivity in this city), nor is it a lack of things to write about (very much the opposite). It is, I have realized, the sudden lack of downtime.

Believe me folks, this is a wonderful problem to have. Every night when my head hits the pillow, I fall asleep almost immediately. This is a welcomed change from the usual 1-3 hours it used to take to fall asleep. I am just doing SO MUCH.

Between working, taking trips around the city, taking my recent trip to Mexico (I’ll tell you more later in the post), and visiting new local resteraunts for reviewing, I am exhausted by the end of the day.

I am up on my feet (yes! I love walking and being able to do it makes me very happy) almost the WHOLE DAY, maneuvering my way around the city.

I have figured out the bus/rail system to a very usable point so far, and am putting my transit pass to use. That thing is worth it. If you’re under 18 you can get it for only $32. If you’re over 18 I believe it is $64. Either way, it is like paying for your own private tour bus. The busses are fantastic, and the trolleys are smooth. Fantastic.

On my first day here (after I posted the previous report) I met a very nice German guy named Armin. We hit it off and decided to go check out Old Town together (the attraction was a major disappointment, but the friendship wasn’t). We met up again today and checked out Tijuana (the stories about that are coming later, just hold on for a few more paragraphs), and later on today we’re going to an independant film at the Hillcrest Cinema.

It is very nice to have someone to do this stuff with, and he says he appreciates the company as well.

OK, now for the Tijuana story:

We had decided the previous day that we would meet up at noon at the Hostelling International Hostel and take the “tour” that was advertised on the bulletin board in the elevator of the Hostel. We arrived on schedule and…no one there. We waited for another 15 minutes, still no one there.

Finally we decided to do our own tour, and just head down there. We tromped over to the trolley station (a very modern looking building with little machines selling one way, round-trip, and day-long tickets) and waited.

The San Ysidro bound trolley came after only five minutes of waiting, and we hopped on.

San Ysidro is town on the US side of the border. It acts as a buffer zone between Mexico and the US, quite similar to how Tijuana works for Mexico. Its inhabitance are almost all Mexican, and the predominant language in the town is Mexican. It is not necessarily somewhere I would hang out in unless out of necessity. This was…I suppose…a necessity.

As we rode the trolley through the outskirts of San Diego, we both began to make comments about the landscape. The general expression of amazement on both of our faces was due to the drastic landscape change between the “inskirts” and the “outskirts” of the big city. There were trailor parks crammed to their fences with semi-perminant mobile homes. Dust and dried-out brush made up almost the entire landscape. What were we getting into - we wondered?

After forty-five minutes or so, we arrived at the border. Policemen and US military personal were scattered at checkpoints like cockroaches. Entering the border from LA does not require any checking of documentation, so we simply walked over the bridge that connects the two countries.

“You like some Sunglasses? Cuban Cigars? Steroids? Viagra?” we were instantly hit with a barad of sales pitches. I have spent time in South East Asia, and was used to this sort of thing. I wasn’t used to the persistance!

In the Philippines, when you walk down a busy street, you do sometimes get a few sales pitches, but after you reject one or two, they begin to get the idea and stop. This wasn’t how it was in Tijuana.

Armin and I knew the tourist-oriented nature of the city from things people had told us. We are both naturally wary of touristy places, and prefer to get onto the backroads as soon as possible. This proved very difficult, as we hadn’t a clue where we were going.

The cab drivers must have noticed our look of half-hidden confusion, as they began pitching rides to Tijuana to us. We declined at first, but eventually, after being told we were going the “wrong way” by probably twenty of them, we caved.

“Five dollars for both of you” he offered.

“Well, we are splitting it anyways, why not take a taxi?” I said with a defeated look. I knew it was a pretty sad justification, but we really were confused.

After a mixed-up ride of turns and bends, we were finally (after about ten minutes in the car) taken to Tijuana. More specifically, we were taken to a resteraunt named “La Placita” in Tijuana. The driver told us we should eat there, and then tell the weighter to call “Huan”. They would know him, they said.

We may have been conquered once, but there was no way we were going to let it happen again. We were resolute in our efforts to keep away from the tourist traps. We began trying different sidestreets - the shadier-looking the better.

The city of Tijuana is actually quite clean. As far as I can tell, the Mexican government is pouring all of its funds on Tijuana, trying to boost the tourism market. There are street-lights, wide sidewalks, and pampered trees growing in need little holes on the side of the road. We avoided these roads.

Finally, after a good hour of walking, talking, jokingly talking about the idea of going to a strip club (I am happily engaged, and he had no interest…it was pure melarchy), and staring into shop windows, we found a resteraunt we deemed greasy enough to be our dining experience.

It was a taco stand with dried pig-skins in display cases. We were shown a menu, it was ALL in Spanish…SCORE! Our criterea for the resteraunt was essentially:

1. A resteraunt no self-obsessive “tourist” would ever be found dead at.
2. A restaurant that catered to locals (with locals visibly eating there).
3. A resteraunt that served at least one item we recognized as edible.

This one met all the criteria, and more. We were sold. We slapped down our $3.50 each for two tacos (mine pork, his beef), an assorted plate of various entrees (onion, boiled cactus, and pork skins), and some “water” which wasn’t really water at all, but a rice-drink substance. They were all fantastic.

A good half-hour later, we were stuffed and satisfied. The owner had been very kind and given us extra foods to try. We tried to give him more money for the items, but he refused. It even proved difficult to give him a tip!

Satisfied, we walked back through the town, and through the border once again.

Short but sweet. A good escape from the “proper” cleanliness and attitude of America. All around a good experience.

So…without much time left, I’m off to eat at Chipotle in Hillcrest and watch a film at the Hillcrest Cinema. I’ll post more soon!

I am looking for sponsorship for activities so that I can review them. I would love to admit that I am selfless enough to only have this purpose in mind. I also want to do them…but don’t necessarily have the funds for them worked into my budget.

If you would like to sponsor an item/event below know that I will thank you on the review post and put a link to whatever you would like (your site or email hopefully) in the introduction of the review. With my daily rising traffic stats, think of it as cheap advertizing, and a way to see a review and photos of the digital backpacker doing what he dreams of doing!

Check them out below:

Gorge myself on a “World Famous” sunday at the Ghirardelli Chocolate Shop in the Gaslamp District (next Saturday only, because of my diet) - $9 (SPONSORED by Ashley Campbell)

Rent a bicycle and ride through the Gaslamp district -  $11 (SPONSORED by Scott Holmes of Helping People to Help Themselves)

Check out the San Diego Zoo -$38 (SPONSORED by Scott Holmes of Helping People to Help Themselves)

Gaslamp Quarter Historical Foundation Museum - $4 (SPONSORED by Tim from MoxieLifestyle)

That’s it for now. I may be adding some along the way as I discover their availability. I’ll add them directly to this post, so you won’t get pestered by more of them if you’re not interested.

I will take down the item as it becomes sponsored (so I don’t end up having to buy 2 sundays…although that wouldn’t be so bad) 

Thanks for everything guys. I appreciate your reading, and your considering sponsoring one of my inexpensive activities. It really helps.

I am here in San Diego with a nice cool breeze at my back and an adventurous spirit in my heart. I am amazed…AMAZED at what a good bit of travel has done in the last 24 hours to bump up my life to the next level.

We touched down in San Diego at approximately 9:30 last night (California time). Julie and her mom were taxed, but I was still indeflateably giddy. As we stepped off the plane and into the gate, the same thought was running through my mind: “I never have to go back to Maui again”.

Those of you who have a particular interest in Maui or Hawaii as a travel destination (and in fact, I hope you do, as I have a number of articles to post about finding your way around on Maui) don’t be offended. It is simply that Maui is like a small hometown to me. Everone must leave sometime. The feeling of stepping away from my hometown, and, for the first time in my life, not needing to go back, is like steroids from the mind.

The actual “arrival” was somewhat anticlimactic (as many are when you arrive at night). It was dark, and in general, we were fatigued. We loaded our MANY bags into Julie’s Mother’s friend’s vehicle (my singular 28 liter backpack…and their 8 suitecases) and rode to the friend’s apartment.

The apartment was small, but homey. The only uncomfortable factor was the inpenetrable scent of tobacco. There was a little dog running around with long shaggy hair, he had a ponytail atop his head, evidentally to keep the excess hair out of his eyes, secured by a hairband. I forget his name.

After a quick, very brisk walk to Jack in the Box and back, I unstuffed my sleeping bag, layed down on the couch, and that was that.

I awoke at roughly (apparently I don’t think to look at clocks when I’m so excited) 5:3am. The house was quiet. As my brain came to conciousness, I remembered: I have a mission. The mission, in short, was to get up, pack my sleeping bag back into my pack, and walk out the door.

Julie had pointed out the bus stop I should go to to get me started the night before…and I blearily made my way there. I probably looked a bit like a lost puppy this morning, stumbling and tripping on cracks in the sidewalk, looking around with a general awe.

It is not that I hadn’t seen a city before. I’d spent time in many. I am, at heart, a city boy. It was the thought that I could stay here…spend all my time here…make use of the efficient transit systems. This is such a new concept for me.

Back to my story…

While I was tripping, and staring, moving my way quickly down the sidewalk…I remembered that the bus fare probably wasn’t $1 like all the bus’s are in Maui (which is what I had in my wallet at the time). This predicament was quickly remedied by a stop in to 7Eleven’s ATM. I also (not knowing what the prices would be like “downtown”) purchased a Turkey sandwhich (the premade kind) and a bottle of water (armed with this, drinking fountains are my personal water dispensers).

I made my way to the bus stop and sat down.

As I sat there, the weight of what I have done with my life came to me. This was incredible. It is incredible-I thought- that I could be sitting in San Diego right now, with a nearly full day of play ahead of me. I smiled the widest smile I have ever smiled. I finally felt free.

The sidewalk seemed to crackle with life beneath my feet. The air was making wooshing sounds…but not like it did back in Hawaii. That was wind, or breeze, that (in my gel wearing days) used to mess up my hair and blow my homework away. This was energy…life flowing through the air.

The bus arrived and I got on. When asked about monthly bus passes, I was told to go “downtown” to purchase one. This seemed to be all the information the driver felt comfortable volunteering. I thought about pressing the issue-but at the end, I opted against it, deciding I’d just figure it out on my own.

I must have stayed on the bus for about an hour, staring wide-eyed at the sights outside. They were normal city sights - Skyscrapers, homeless people, pizza shops, internet cafes. They had new meaning for me now.

When I got to broadway (the street I assumed to be “downtown”) I got off. I wandered for a considerable amount of time, enjoying the walk.

As I turned the corner, my eyes focused on the sign I was staring at: “The Transit Store” it read. “Bus Passes, Monthly Passes, Weekly Passess…” I had found “downtown”!

By this time, it was about 7:15am. The shop was closed, and wasn’t opening until 9:00am. I figured I’d go look for the hostel.

I still hadn’t looked at a map since arriving, and wasn’t about to either. My will for adventure seeking and my mind had been arguing over taking the cellphone out and looking at google earth or not. Thankfully, princible won out, and I skipped the digital assistance.

After a good half-hour of walking around, an unbelieable image appeared in front of my eyes. It was a gaslamp. I had…through my own wanderings through “downtown”, found the gaslamp district.

This was, apparently, where the hostel was.

Once again, I fought the impulse to call google 411 for the address. I did some more wandering.

After about 4 blocks, the word “Hostel” came into view. My heart did a few thuds, but I quickly realized that this was USA Hostel. This was not the hostel I was staying at, but was close (according to a map I had looked at before I left). I was looking for “Hostel International” and after another couple of blocks, I found it.

I decided, even though it was early, to walk in.

I was helped at the door, and, though my room wasn’t ready, I could pay for it. I decided to pay so I wouldn’t have to worry about it later. She said I could go hang out upstairs as much as I wanted until the check-in time in the afternoon. I had plans to head over to The Transit Store for my bus pass soon, but decided to walk upstairs to check it all out just the same.

My review so far, would be great. The paint-job is the most striking thing. Purples, oranges, and white make you feel as though you are in a friendly and fun environment. A TV room, a kitchen/dining room area (where I happen to be sitting, writing this post), and some stuff I haven’t even checked out yet. Lots of young, friendly people so far, smiling and talking cheerfully.

I am going to enjoy myself for the next year…I can feel it.

I am going to wrap this up, and head over to The Transit Store. The next post will probably be tomorrow. Hope you are enjoying my updates. Feel free to post any comments you have!

Talk to you all later!

I am not disillusioned to the point of thinking I’ll never be bored or feel less-than-enthrawled with my surroundings, as even the most positive and culture-emersed traveler can feel a momentary spurt of laziness or depression. I am simply looking as hopefully as I can to the future, as I have worked hard to acheive it. It feels like when you need to go to the bathroom. you walk around for hours in discomfort, and you finally see the toilet and almost lose it.

I am almost about to lose it, and pee my pants…figuratively.

You see…I have always craved freedom. Even when I get it, I want more of it. I want all bonds to break free and allow full movement through the world and all it has to offer. This doesn’t mean I don’t value pain, challenge, and the lessons we learn from these situations. I would just prefer for my pain to be self-inflicted. Or my challenge to be a natural one, me against the world, versus one someone specific is creating for me.

This trip will be the ultimate expression of that craving. The ultimate implementation. I am living the dream, for god sake.

So yes…this post is a little bit of bragging, and a little self serving. It is serving as an outlet, a way to channel my pulsating energy into something (somewhat) constructive. I feel as if all of my years spent thus far FINALLY have a part to play in the big picture of my life.

My bag is packed…Julie’s house is finally empty…and I am spending my time at Krispy Kreme…stealing wifi while sipping milk (no sugar until Saturday) to make sure I finish up my most critical stuff, so that I can relax for these next few days on the road (to be more specific: in the air). I’m ready for the world…and…for the first time…the world is ready for me.

I’d like to take these last few minutes of typing time while on Maui to thank all the recent commenters. You have made me feel like I am truly writing for someone, and this encourages me more than I can tell you with words. Thank you thank you thank you.

Thanks to you, in particular, dear reader: For letting me brain-vomit onto this page, and into your brain. Thanks for reading. Wish me luck.

There are many other ways than mine to sleep on a plane, and you should, by all means, experiment. You may just find one better than mine. If you do, post it in the comments!

Materials Needed:

1. A 28 liter or above backpack with a light-enough frame that will allow it to sit comfortably on your lap. I use the Deuter Futura 28.
2. A paktowel or light sweater (not wool) that will not irritate the skin on your face, and will dry quickly if drooled on. I use the packtowel.
3. A small MP3 player loaded with relaxing chill music and a comfortable set of in-ear earbuds. I use the Sansa Express.
   

Step 1 – Preparing your pack

The idea of this technique is to allow your head free movement, while giving it a platform to rest on.

If your pack is on the shorter side (vertically), fill it with items (preferably soft) stacked up inside to give it more height than the frame supports. If your pack tends to be longer (vertically) try taking some items out of the top pockets and transfiring them to the lower pockets (and while they’re out of your pack, I’d suggest taking a hard look at each of them and asking if you really need such a big pack)

Once you have arranged your pack so that the harder and edged items are on the bottom, and the soft items are on the top: Continue to step 2.

Step 2 – Placing your pack comfortably on your lap

At the beginning, this can be the most challenging step. Finding the perfect place to brace your pack on your legs/lap is the most important step to allowing comfortable extended sleep on moving vehicles.

Make sure when you place your pack on your legs, that each end of the frame is evenly distributed between them. This will prevent one leg from falling asleep (and the subsequent limping down the hall to the bathroom with an apparent peg-leg). Also make sure that you choose a place with lots of meat. In theory, most of the weight should be redirected to the seatback in front of you…but not all of it. Your legs will still need to support at least 30% of the weight.

The beauty of using your backpack to support your upper body is that the frame of the pack will act as a shock absorber, stabalizing the motions of the vehicle you’re contained in.

My general rule of thumb when positioning my pack on my lap, is this: I take my arms and wrap them around the circumfrence of the pack and clasp my hands together on the other side (preferably between the frame and rest of the pack, this can make theft while you are unconcious nearly impossible). If my shoulders feel strained, I move the pack’s base towards me. If I feel my neck being compressed as my head rests on the shoulderblades (instead of on the pack, where it should be) I move it forward.

Play around with it until you find what’s comforatble for you.

Step 3 – Create the perfect pillow with your packtowl (or article of clothing)

Each of these steps is important, but this may be the most vital: We all have preferences when we are at “home” (wherever that may be) about the firmness of our pillows. The amount of pressure our head feels when lying sideways on an object can drastically affect how much (if any) sleep we get. Try the following to customize your “pillow” for maximum comfort:

The rule is this: The more folds you make, the more padding you’ll have.

If you like having a padded surface for your head (or you have a major aversion to the surface of your backpack) you will want to fold the paktowel (other items vary) three or four times before you reach the comfort you are searching. If you (like me) prefer to have just a hint of padding (usually this corresponds with liking a firm pillow on your bed at home) between you and your backpack, one or two folds will suffice. You can’t fold more than 4-5 times, as the postage-stamp-sized piece of material left won’t be big enough for your priority-mail-envelope-sized head.

Now place this newly “customized pillow” between your head and the backpack and allow your full weight to be distributed by the backpacks frame between your lap and the seat in front of you. Start up your MP3 player. Enjoy a supported, comfortable, and less-bumpy nights sleep.

I’m generally an alert guy when online. I look at the “from” field on emails, and double-check URL’s before entering my password into them. But on this particular day, (May 20th, to be exact) I foolishly let my guard down.

First the backstory: As I am just days away from departing on the biggest trip of my life, I have been making preperations by discarding of and/or selling the items I have been replacing in my backpack (newer items are a higher quality laptop, more travel-oriented socks, etc). One of the items in the “to sell” list on my backpack account, is my old Everex Stepnote 13.1″ laptop.

Under normal circumstances, I would circulate the news of my selling this machine throughout my family and friends, and wait for someone to express some interest in purchasing it. I would give them a fair (yet, slightly less than what I would truly like) price, and we would both be happy, having each received what we wanted.

The problem with that plan this time, is that the computer in question has Ubuntu 8.04 installed (for the non-geeks, that’s an alternative linux operating system that is mostly used by programmers and…well…geeks), not the traditional Windows XP or Vista most would expect to come with the computer. This posed a definate problem as I do not have many programmer friends near me, and did not have a whole lot of time to wait for “the right person” to come along.

My solution? I decided to put the machine on Craigslist.

In under 5 minutes I had a well done, standard cragslist ad for the public to scrutinize. You can still find the original posting here (don’t know how long this link will stay up): http://honolulu.craigslist.org/mau/sys/687158593.html. As I looked, satisfied, at the computer screen, taking a final look before I clicked “Publish”, I had a vision of a happy programmer from Kahului (the town over from my home in Wailuku) meeting me at starbucks, a wod of cash in hand, taking my computer and nodding approvingly. I sat back and waited for the replys to flood my inbox.

No such thing happened. In fact, the replies had been SO sparce, I was overjoyed when I saw an email from “Sarah Dotson” in my inbox, asking if I still had the laptop, letting me know she wants to purchase it. I eagerly shoot her a reply, asking her if she is on island.

Her reply indicates that she is out of down, but would be able to pay me online via paypal if I can ship the laptop to her little brother in Nigeria via USPS Express Mail. I ponder it for a second (I haven’t had too much experience with Snail Mail before, and overall it confuses me) and decide that this would probably be easier than meeting with someone in person anyways, so I send her my paypal email address to send it to.

Sure enough, with in a few minutes I receive an email, it says I’ve received an instant payment from Sarah Dotson. Yay! Just like that my computer is sold! It has an address to which I am to send the computer, and then I am to reply with the tracking number so that paypal can release my money (as it protects its buyers). All seems fine.

After a very confusing hour or so at the post office, trying to understand just how this “USPS Express Mail” thing works, I have my package sent, a tracking number in hand.

I go home, and eagerly reply with the tracking number. Paypal sends me a confirmation, letting me know they received the tracking information and would be putting the money into my account as soon as it was confirmed.

Days went by…a week went by…I assumed Paypal simply had a long, draconian process, and that all would work itself out soon.

On May 28th, I get a phone call. It is a woman named Sandra from the USPS Express Mail department. She says she noticed I was sending my package to Nigeria, and that they had had some fraudulent reports from people sending their items to Nigeria. I thought for a moment, and then got a chill. I realized, all in moment, that I had been duped. I frantically checked the “from address” on the emails I had received. The from name had been “service” first name, and “@paypal.com” last name. Thus together creating “service @paypal.com”, the actual from address was pay.pa@usa.com.

NOOOOO! My brain begins to hurt. I NEVER fall for things like this, how could this happen?

The answer is simple misdirection. I learned it when I was studying magic. The magician points to his left hand, where the big red ball is resting, while his right retreives a bigger red ball to swap it with. Simple misdirection.

The story has a somewhat happy ending. Sandra from USPS Express Mail says she was holding on to the package until I confirmed my paypal payment, and says she can send the laptop back to me for no extra charge (but I will lose my expensive postal fee). I reported the emails I’d received by sending them to spoof@paypal.com, knowing this wouldn’t matter much.

As Tynan from Better Than Your Boyfriend says on this post, it is better to look at these sort of occurances as good experiences, allowing you to learn and gain knowledge from them. I gained humility, a bruise on my forhead from pounding my it against the table, and a great story to write on my digital backpacker blog, so that others may not fall victim to the same trap. I hope you enjoyed it.

I have always (since I was 7 or 8 years old) wanted to call into a talk radio show. The earliest radio show I remember listening to was a show called “Online Tonight” with David Lawrence.

Even as a kid, I was geeky, and this show provided great “drive home” music late at night. My father and I used to crank up the audio as David announced the hour’s “Geek Speak”, a segment where he would identify an up-and-coming geeky phrase (this is where I first heard the definition of the word “linux”) and would soon after tell you what it meant.

Though I haven’t listened to this show in over five years (someone did tell me recently it’s still on the air), my inclination towards listening to “talk radio” as I work has remained. But, until today, I was never brave enough to interact with the hosts.

Today, it was different.

For over two weeks now I have been listening religiously to “The World of T.J. McCormack”. This guy is HILAROIUS. I found his show after someone sent me a link to BBS Talk Radio (an awesome online radio station, for which I have considered hosting my own show). No one before has ever been able to hold my attention with their own voice, for two whole hours. This guy does it EVERY DAY.

Today, T.J. was talking (well…actually I think he was singing into the microphone) about a seemingly random assortment of topics. I was listening, riveted. Hanging on every word, until he did something he doesn’t usually (at least not within the past couple of weeks) do…he mentioned his email address.

So, knowing he was on the air, and wanting to give him encouragement for all his good work, I sent him an email. I told him I was from Hawaii and was a freelancer, that’s just about it.

Before I knew it, he was referencing my email on the air, and inviting me to write more! This was quite a development! I had never had my name read on the radio before, and my heart was beginning to pound excitedly.

I wrote back with an offer to call in after finishing what I was working on, and he accepted it on the air! My heart pounded faster. My voice was actually going to be on the air…and I was going to be making conversation with none other than T.J. Mcormick! I was psyched.

10 minutes later…my palms were sweating. I pressed the “call” button on Skype…and…was immediately greeted by a less-delayed version of TJ’s show, coupled with the livestream (slightly delayed) blasting in my ears. I hurriedly closed the stream, just in time for TJ to welcome me to the show. There was my cue…

What followed is a blur. I have to listen to the archive to even know what I said this morning…what I do know, was that it felt like I was onstage again.

This feeling was fantastic! I loved every minute of it!

Through the course of those minutes (I’m not sure exactly how long…it could have been seconds, it could have been minutes…I lost track) I discussed (with T.J.’s witty commentary, and thought-provoking questions accompanying my words) my current plans for travel, my blog (the one you’re reading right now) and even a little of my past. In those few moments in time, I fell back in love with speaking with the ears of hundreds listening.

T.J. was fantastic as always, and invited me both to come in for a “proper” interview in the Studio when I get to LA (a “done deal” as he said, in a couple months) as well as to be an “on-the-road” roving reporter, checking in with T.J. on the show via Skype as I’m trotting around the globe.

This idea sounded awesome.

The archive is available below as a download (or, if you’re subscribing with a podcast aggregation, it is the media file attached). This file belongs to BBS Talk Radio and is hosted on their servers, I am simply linking to it. I am in the last few minutes so either listen to T.J.’s awesome show, or fast forward about an hour and 50 minutes.

This leads me to a question for you guys (answer in the comments):

Do you think it would be a good idea for me to do a show of my own on BBS Talk Radio? Checking in bi-weekly/weekly from around the globe, talking about travel tips and my experiences? Or am I better off to write and call in to other shows?

Let me know what you think.

Although I am, in many respects, treating it as a travel destination for the remainder of my stay (just  22 more days), it does happen to have been my home for much of my life. My mother lives in Kula, on the slopes of “Haleakala” a dorment volcano which hasn’t erupted since the seventeenth century.

For mother’s day, we decided to  spend the day together, and venture farther up the volcano to the summit.

For those who haven’t been to Maui before, and haven’t made the climb up to the 10,000 foot-high summit of Haleakala, you’re in for a surprise. While the island tends to hover around 75-85 degrees fahrenheit (depending on the day/your elevation), when we reached the summit, the thermometer read 50 degrees. This is the one place to get relief from the heat on the island.

Being somewhat of a polar bear myself, I decided to continue on with wearing my Icebreaker t-shirt and zipped the legs of my pants. The cold, noticeably crisper air was a wonderful feeling after the tropical, pounding heat for the months past.

As we walked up the short hill to the “summit of the summit” (the highest structure on the island: a glass-windowed structure for people to enter and look down at everything around them. There were informational cards/plaques hugging the walls, allowing you to read descriptions of what you were seeing.

We skipped the inside of the “viewing hut” and walked the outer-circumference instead. Inside, we could hear the murmor of tourists, and the rehearsed-yet friendly voice of the park ranger chatting about the specifications of the volcano.

We strolled back down to the car, and, after a short drive, found ourselves at the “summit visitor’s center”. We had seen another such visitor’s center on the long drive up, and had opted against looking at photos and videos of what we could see in front of our eyes.

Inside the visitor’s center was a scaled model of the volcano. The cool thing about examining this model, was that the real thing was only feet away, and once could look between the two and get a firm idea of the angles/lava-flows of the crater. My mother got in a sudo-fight with the park ranger about their items for sale.

My mother (who’s name is Julie) claimed that they should sell Haleakala-branded chocolate bars. The park ranger specified that the reason they didn’t sell food and beverage was because they didn’t want invasive species to have a reason to climb higher up the volcano. My mother was unconvinced. After a number of “what about…” “what if you just…” she had gotten no-where (having heard the canned response a number of times) and gave up.

Our final activity while on the mountain (our heads were beginning to hurt slightly from dehydration and the fast elevation climb, we were almost ready to go) was a climb up a mini-hike to a hill so high, you could feel the biting wind start to beat around you. Once you reach the top of this hill, there’s nothing else to block the wind, you’re flying.

We sat and talked (and eavesdropped on the conversation a park-ranger was having with some tourists (doing our best to glean all the information we could without directly relating to a ranger) and eventually climbed back down.

As we left, I turned on the radio and “Jump” by the Pointer-sisters began. I have always loved this song for its ability to get the heart-rate going…I’m going to go listen to it right now actually. Be right back.

…okay I’m back. I love that song. Anyways, after we got a little farther down the mountain, we stopped at a campsite/trail called “Hosmer’s Grove”. We got out and took a look at the sign:

Hosmer’s Grove
No permit needed
3 days stay maximum

That wouldn’t be a problem. We just wanted a hike.

We hiked for a short while through pine trees and different variations of native as well as non-native trees. We eventually got to a cliffside with an illustrated sign detailing the different kinds of birds we could see. We saw them all, but only on the sign. The real-life version was nowhere to be seen. If we would have hung out all day, I’m sure we might have seen one.

We journeyed back to the car and drove down the hill, back to the heat, the people, and the ocean.

Not a bad mother’s day at all.

Maui Coffee Roasters - FREE WITH PURCHASE/OPEN
A nice little coffee shop with an active vibe almost all of the time. Their wifi network is fairly fast and consistent. The only issue I had (besides their pricing…a bit steep) was that they insist on serving coffee in styrofoam cups versus cardboard. I personally don’t like the idea of slightly-melted plastic slowly seeping its way into my coffee. Its your call. Seating is also rather cramped, so get there at an off-time if you plant to be there for a while. I didn’t see any outlets available.

Down to Earth - FREE/SURVEY
This is a cool little overpriced health-food store in Kahului right accross from McDonalds on Dairy Road. If you buy something (and even if you don’t) to eat you can venture upstairs to an outlet-less eating area overlooking the store. They have free wifi provided by Clearwire (a local wireless-internet-modem provider) that isn’t all that fast. To access any page, you need to connect to their hotspot and fill out a short survey (name, email address - so they can sell it, information about your home internet service) and submit it. You then get access for 23 minutes (if you leave the page they present you with open on your machine, it will auto-authenticate another 23 minutes for you when that time is up). No power here.

Ka’ahumanu Mall Food Court - FREE/SURVEY/POWER
This is another hotspot (well, 3 hotspots technically) provided by Clearwire. They require the same survey as all of their other hotspots demand you to fill out before allowing access. The only one (out of 3) that actually provided me with any connectivity once enabled was “Clearewire2″. The actual wireless routers are strategically placed around the food-court (upstairs). Use at your own risk. There 3 tables (two in the opposite farthest, most air-less corners out of the food court, and one next to “Quiznos”, often occupied by groups of senior citizens) with outlets provided.

Pizza in Paradise - FREE/OPEN
This local pizza shop doesn’t advertize their free and open wifi network, but the locals know to head there to get it. For some decent pizza and some light surfing, Pizza in Paradise in the Kahului industrial area could be your hangout. A few tables even have outlets!

Here is a photo of everything I have in my pack right now:

Alright. Now to answer all the “what the heck is that???” questions. Items are listed from top-left to bottom-right  in horizontal rows:

DISCLAIMER: All links to items are referral links. I get 4% of your purchase if you click my link and buy the item. If you feel like helping me out, this is a good way to do it. We both win.

1. Everex Stepnote 13.1″ laptop with Ubuntu 8.04 installed. I use it for many things: Programming (my source of income), non-verbal communication, DVD-watching, movie-listening, reservation-booking, etc.
2. Sansa Express 1gb MP3 player. I listen to music/podcasts/old radio shows every night as I fall asleep without disturbing my fellow dorm-mates in whatever hostel I am in at night. This awesome mini-mp3 player also features a built in microphone and allows you to make audio recordings as long as the built-in/external memory will allow. This is awesome for on-the-road sound-documenting as well as recording mp3’s to send to family back home. My absolute FAVORITE feature about this device is that it has a built in FM radio tuner. If you’re like me and you love to sample the radio in different countries/places, this is a feature that could sell you on the device.
3.  Nokia e61 quad-band cellphone. The coolest phone I’ve ever had (and I’ve had lots). Symbian OS operates worlds better than any other mobile operating system. The phone has wifi built in in-case your country’s prepaid provider has a crappy data network. A word of advice: Install Opera Mini on this phone (or any web-enabled phone for that matter) and your mobile-browsing will be brought to a new level.
4. Salomon XA Pro 3D XCR Trail-Running Shoes. Fancy name for a fancy shoe. The lacing system on these shoes alone make them worth the steep price tag. They have XCR  on the bottoms which means you can stand in 3″ of water (according to Tynan from Lifenomadic) and be confident that your feet will stay utterly dry. They are comfortable and high-quality.
5. Cloudveil Cool Convertable Pants. These pants are made of nylon (finely woven so they’re not loud and disco-dancer -like) and they dry quickly as a result. They work as a swimsuit when the legs are zipped off (I used them in the ocean once a day for a whole week on Maui last month) and when you get out, it takes about 10 minutes for the pants to be dry enough to go inside with again. I have yet to try these pants in colder environments. I may purchase a pair of light-weight long-underwear when I’m in Europe.
6. Deuter Futura 28 liter backpack. I could not ask for a better backpack. This is a perfect bag whether you’re taking a day-trip around Maui, Hawaii or traveling for 8 months in Europe. Fill it with everything you own, or just what you need. That’s what I do. This pack has a little laptop storage area (the designers intended it for a water bladder) that fits my laptop perfectly. There is a convertable middle area with a divider you can zip closed (this is what I do as I keep electronics in the top compartment and clothing in the bottom). This bag rocks.
7. Wired Magazine. I was…forced into a subscription to this magazine when my air-miles program send me a message saying “Use your almost-nothing-amount of points or lose them!” and the only option I was REMOTELY interested in was a subscription to Wired. It is a decent magazine if you’re a geek.
8. “The First Time Around the World” paperback book. This has been a fairly decent book. It is down-to-earth and has a number of tips for wander-lusters and travelers with a very good section on hitchhiking (on yachts that is). I keep one travel-related book in my pack to read at all times.
9. Toiletries. I keep my VERY basic toiletry kit in a plastic ziploc bag. They are easy to find (it seems every household/hostel has a pack lying around) and they compress to nothing, while keeping your backpack mouthwash-explosion-proof. I keep a mini-sized travel toothbrush (half the size of regular toothbrushes), a small stick of deoderant, a small tube of toothpaste (these are easy to find EVERWHERE IN THE WORLD) and a few q-tips. I also (on occasion) get a small bottle of mouthwash to carry around, though I find airport folks aren’t fans of even the small amounts. I only wash my hair about once a week (some say this is gross, I find it gives me nice texture) and, as a result, don’t need to carry around shampoo. I can either buy small packets on-the-road or borrow from whoever I’m staying with.
10. Eagle Creek Mini-Money Belt. This belt is a true-blue belt, with a little ziploc compartment to stuff hundreds into. It has a plastic belt buckle as well (which means no more looping into belt-loops in the airport security line). A good buy for the semi-security-concious traveler.
11. Tide Laundry Detergent sink-packets. These are mini-packets of “Tide”, you can find them in most grocery stores. If I had my way, I’d bring “Dr. Bronner’s” all-purpose soap/laundry detergent/etc. but the TSA isn’t a fan of liquids and these tend to just slip under the radar. They are fairly flat as well. I would recommend, however, if you’re staying anywhere for longer than 5 days, to just buy a mini-packet of detergent in a store. You can find miniature boxes (bigger than the ones in the picture) anywhere from London to the outer-regions of the Philippines and I find the more soap/hotter water/longer its washed for the cleaner your clothes get.
12. Flexoline Rubber Travel Clothesline. This is an awesome clothesline. Its made with surgical-tubing so it is durable as heck. It will loop onto anything (I mean anything. There are many ingenious ways to get this to work for you in any scenario) and it has little braids to slip socks and corners of clothing items into.
13. 2 Icebreaker Merino Wool T-Shirts. These shirts rock. I was turned on to them by the equally entheausiastic Tyanan from Life Nomadic. These shirts are a godsend. Their most attractive feature (for me) is that they hold virtually NO odor. I have worn one of these shirts for 5 days straight and had minimal to no odor afterwards. They dry very quickly, and feel comfortable in any temperature. They are made with Merino wool from New Zealand.
14. Medium MSR Packtowl. I love these towels and wouldn’t go anywhere without one. Even if there are no oceans where you’re heading to, they work great for drying wet clothes (if you wrap your wet laundry up in one of these for a few minutes, it will cut the drying time by 50%) and as a pillow on long flights (I prop the towl on top of my backpack, and my head on top of my towl for support). I keep one in the mesh side-pocket of my backpack to allow for on-the-road drying.
15. Chinook 16oz. Compressable Mummy Sleeping Bag.  I sleep in this bag every night. Whether I’m sleeping on a hardwood floor, or a king-sized bed, this sleeping bag has become home and is part of my sleep routine. When on the road, it compresses using its included compression sack to the size of a small football, and when expanded it can fit my 6′ body warmly and snuggly. I wouldn’t recommend this lightweight bag for camping in Norway, but for inside-sleeping and tropical climate camping, its absolutely perfect.
16. 2 Pairs of Smartwool Adrenaline Micro-Socks. These socks don’t dry as quickly as some nylon models, but they are 10 times more comfortable and durable. They keep my feet blister-free and can be worn 3-4 times before they’ll start to smell.
17. 2 Pairs of Exofficio Men’s Briefs. “17 countries, 6 weeks, 1 pair of underwear”. That’s what the ex-officio underwear’s packaging says. These underwear rock…I can’t recommend them enough. I have worn one of my two pairs for the last year every single day and they show almost no wear at ALL. These underwear are easy to clean, dry in minutes, and feel very comfortable. They are very light-weight and have a distinctly different feel than cotton underwear.
18. Black Ribbed Alfani Tank Top. The brand has very little to do with it. Having a tank-top can be a welcomed luxury when getting out of the water at a beach, or doing laundry in a hostel/laundromat on the road. Having no sleeves means there is no material to soak up your sweat. This allows percipitation to do its job, and for you to wear one of these many days in a row without needing to wash it.
19. Passport and Emergency Check Book. The passport is an obvious necessity. I keep this in the inner-most pocket of my backpack (except when in the airport, then its in my left-side leg-pocket). I use my checkbook when staying with friends and family, it is helpful to be able to pay for any costs they advanced (when my credit card doesn’t go through or they pay my way there) without going to an ATM. Having checks on-hand allows for you to settle disputes about larger amounts of money “right then and there”.
20. APC Universal Power Adapter. This adapter came highly recommended by many travelers. I must admit, it is pretty cool. Remeniscent of “Transformer” action figures, this little bugger can apparently adapt any plug in the world, to any plug in the world. I haven’t been able to test it very thoroughly yet (only in South East Asia) but it has worked flawlessly so far.
21. Linksys USB Wifi adapter. This usb device operates as backup for my laptop’s built-in card. Sometimes the external device picks up the elusive wifi network coming from the building-over. Not a necessity, but nice to have if your income depends on your connection to the net.
22. Belkin Keychain Wifi Finder. This is a lifesafer if you’ve got a laptop with a semi-slow boot sequence. Sometimes it leads me astray, telling me there’s an open wifi network around when, in fact, it is a proxied connection (where you must pay a certain amount per hour, etc) but it can rock if you’re searching an airport for a hotspot.
23. Nokia Power Charger and USB Cable. The charger is an obvious necessity, and, coupled with the power adapter, can power my phone anywhere in the world. The phone, being charged by this charger, only takes about an hour to reach “full battery” and lasts for about 3 days to a charge. The USB cable is what I use to connect to the internet while in the middle of nowhere. When properly configured, my laptop can connect to any data-provider-cell-network for the price of a cell-phone wap connection. This tends to be sketchy in some countries and takes some research as far as the settings go.
24. Black Leather Sharper Image Mini-Wallet. This wallet won’t hold more than a few bills of the local currency, but it does work well for my cards and keeps a low-profile. I keep my Hawaii state ID (some hostels won’t take passports), my Paypal Debit Card (this thing rocks) and my other various cards in it. I tend to keep my money in my pants-pockets.
25. Kiva Compressable Shopping Bag. Sometimes I use this as a laundry bag if I have enough laundry that I need to carry it in a small bag. Sometimes I use this when at the local market to shop with. It is an all-purpose bag that folds up into the size of a TSA approved mouthwash bottle.

That’s it! That’s the WHOLE kit. I was naked when I took this picture because THAT’S ALL I HAVE.

For the past year I have been living in a small studio in Wailuku, Hawaii. Last week, I began the laborious process of throwing away/selling EVERYTHING I OWNED that didn’t make the “backpack cut” so that I could clean, and walk out the door. I finally have.

Here’s the start of what will end up being many podcasts about the process of “going on the road” and reports from the places themselves. You don’t have to listen to it, as most of the content will be posted in text form as well, but if you’d like to hear sounds from the more interesting-sounding places and get a more personal feel for how things are going, take a listen.

PS: HERE’S WHAT’S LEFT OF MY PLACE AFTER TWO DAYS OF CLEANING:

Its snowing ash.

Kilauea volcano on the “Big Island” (the island named “Hawaii”) is still live and is blowing “elavated” levels of sulfur dioxide out of its mouth. All of the Hawaiian islands have been invaded by ash from the activity of the volcano, and I can tell you firsthand, its an intersting site.

Its easier than you might expect.

At the Wailea Marriot on Maui, there is an outdoor “luau” Monday through Saturday. A luau in the modern day is basically a big outdoor show with lots of food for the tourists to stuff their face with (the ACTUAL meaning of the word “luau” is of course, much different). The regular price to see this show is a whopping $85 per head (this includes children and seniors) and at that rate, I would call it a tourist trap at best.

However, you can see this show, and experience the breathtaking sunset for FREE. It takes no special arrangments, and there is no risk of being arrested. Heres how:

By law, no one is allowed to own a beach within the state of Hawaii. Any owner of oceanfront property must provide a public path to allow access to the beach.

This means any visitors or residents have total access to the beach, and its surrounding area, as long as it isn’t private property.

What this rule created for Maui and its resident hotels and resorts is a series of connecting facilities and pathways. As the hotels spread out and consume land, they must continue to provide a pathway to the ocean. These pathways are PUBLIC, and as long as you dont block people from going through, no one can tell you to leave.

A quiet group of people (a group which you are now part of) knows this loophole, and uses it to their full advantage.

The nightly Wailea Marriot Luau show is just one of the otherwise expensive attractions and facilities you can make use of by following the oceanfront paths in Wailea. Just make sure you stay away from the food and designated chairs and tables, and no one will bother you.

My arrival was made very positive by my beautiful fiance Julie who I got to spend the rest of the day with. Gosh I really missed her. I had gotten her a Nokia N76 as a gift while I was in Asia and gave it to her on the bus, she loved it.

I am currently in the process of selling/throwing away/giving away everything that is currently crammed into my soon-to-be-abandoned apartment. I knew it would be a bit of a crunch before I move out on the 30th, and it is. The days are going by very quickly and my window is closing.

Everything I actually care about is packed away in my backpack, carried with me everywhere, the rest of my place is a complete disaster.

My bed had bedbugs in it, so I’ve been sleeping in my tiny Chinook sleeping bag on the floor. This has been working surprisingly well.

So that’s the update. On the first I’ll be moving in with Julie and her mother for a month before the great San Diego/Los Angeles/San Francisco adventure begins.

I’ll post some more updates about all of THAT stuff in the next few days.

Basically, the US folks are assholes, the Asian ones weren’t.

The process in the Philippines is FAR more thorough than the US. We went through a total of seven security checkpoints in Manila, but at least they were reasonable about it.

We did not need to remove our shoes, belts, wallets, etc. as long as they didn’t set off the machine. They told us to put our cellphones in our bag (which I usually do anyways, but it was refreshing to see them not promoting the “put all your valuables in this little dish” method. I’m not a fan…at all.

They weren’t even that sensitive about water. They did stop us nearly every time to examine the tripod for the video camera (hey…if I saw something like that on my x-ray screen, I would too).

Once we got to Tokyo we were treated (as we were in our trip OVER) absolutely wonderfully. The security guards were respectful, non-invasive, they used their technology to its abilities. They were sticklers for water though, oddly enough. I found the whole experience of security in Japan to be very aerial, almost trance like. A very pleasant experience.

Enter Americans. We are greeted immediately with judgmental, overweight, and just plain mean employees (sorry for the bluntness, its true). They made us do unreasonable and just plane stupid things. They took EVERYTHING out and looked at it for most of us.

Now lets stop for a moment. Who wears the surgical masks in the airport for fear of getting a cold? The Japanese. If someone’s going to be paranoid, it would be them WAY before the US. As the US is in its oil induced “high alert”, they are paranoid, with a terrible implementation.

Forget everything I said about being in western culture on the previous blogs…as I listen to an ad broadcasted over the PA system of my flight from Honolulu to Maui, I come to the conclusion:

America sucks.

I am sitting at McDonalds in Manila, and six Indian gentleman just sat next to me a little while ago. I had seen them earlier in the Hotel (Nichol’s Airport Hotel). They were also there the last two times we were at the Nichol’s!

After the second time I saw them, I started trying to figure out what was going on. They were always on their laptops downstairs (where there is wifi). There was never more than one, but it seemed that at least one was ALWAYS there.

I happened to get a room on the third floor. During the night I heard them coming in and out, speaking…well…Indian. When I looked on my laptop for wifi that night, I saw a surprisingly strong “NETGEAR” broadcast coming in. I didn’t make the connection until later that this was their router.

The third trip, I figured it out.

In my profession, I often work with outsourcers in India, Argentina, etc. I rarely outsource myself, but I have worked with clients who do and put me in direct content with their outsourced contractors. These contractors usually work in teams, but keep their firms small to avoid their ridiculously low rates from being dispersed too many ways.

These guys are one of those teams, living in the Philippines.

They live in the Hotel, eat breakfast at McDonalds each morning, and work round-the-clock hours by taking shifts.

It was very cool to see it from the other side. In the morning, they sat in a meeting over breakfast planning the delegation of the day’s projects. In the afternoon, they worked like crazy. And in the evening, most of them went out and partied, while one of them (the one who drew the short straw, obviously) stayed up all night appeasing irritable clients on Skype.

Of course, then I thought to myself “GOSH you’re nosy!”

Talk to you guys later.

Reflections on the trip overall will be short, as I feel somewhat in-between. It was effective work-wise only in the last few days of travel, and the enjoyment of the trip was hampered quite a bit due to my intense feeling of loss without being with Julie.

I had also already been to the Philippines (and most of the locations we visited) a few times before, so it wasn’t like reading a “new page” in the book of the world.

All that said, it was nice to be able to visit a few old friends, and revisit some of my older favorite places.

I imagine this is probably my last trip to the Philippines for quite some time. I feel complete here, like I’ve seen what there is for me to see (obviously there are many things I haven’t seen, but without sharing them with Julie, more seems nearly pointless).

I am ready to continue on to California, and then Germany (and the rest of Europe).

I hate to admit it, but I’m very much looking forward to being in Western culture again. I can survive just fine in third-world scenarios, but I always look forward to returning to first and second worlds after a while.

Hope to continue postings on this blog even in the intermittent period in Hawaii…because this is basically a travel blog, it will probably be more travel features (featuring items and clothing) versus location-based posts.

Make sure to read in early June though, as things will start to spice up about then on “The Digital Backpacker”.

Will catch up on un-uploaded photos when I return, and try to insert them retroactively into posts that look fairly bare now.

I’m going to be changing my theme (for wordpress) quite soon (this is the way the site/blog looks and operates, content will remain the same) and make things more user-friendly so that commenting is easier.

The commenting process right now is quite difficult and I don’t expect you guys to comment until then.

Talk to you all soon…

Love,

Christian

My traveler’s soundtrack is simply the music on my MP3 player. I have a single gigabyte “Sansa Express” by Sandisk. The regular “Sansas” come with the usual 20-40gb of storage, this one is the “Express” which is smaller and more streamlined. What attracted me to it was the size, built in FM radio (for listening to local stuff), and USB plug built in (like a USB flash drive on steroids). It also features a built in voice recorder.

It goes without saying that with storage of under a gigabyte, one gets to be very selective with their music. This is (in my opinion) a good thing, as it causes the owner to not allow a deterioration of the quality of their library. This used to happen to me all the time on my old (old) 20gig 3rd generation iPod. I would never delete anything and it soon became hard to find the new stuff that I was really interested in at that time.

So, anything I store is top notch. That is what I am presenting to you today.

The music I discovered at the Art Café was recorded by an artist named Newton Faulkner, I don’t have too much information other than that he is from the UK, and has a very cool vocal/guitar blend style.

As soon as I was able, I downloaded the “Hand Built by Robots” album, this is an awesome album and may be his only work (anyone know?) so far.

I would call most of what he does soft rock…before you get scared, its not the kind of soft rock we have all learned to think of as boring and “folksie”. This stuff is much more eclectic, entertaining, invigorating, and original.

The album consists of seventeen tracks, a few of which are intros or “interlude” style. The song that hooked me and caused me to download the album is called “Gone in the Morning” and is track eight on the album. It is catchy and to me would be the perfect thing to dance to at the top of the Eiffel Tower, or throwing a mini-party with some friends at a hostel.

In my opinion, the “Hand Built by Robots” album is though-provoking and centering. I have used it to center and relax myself after a crazy airline experience from hell, and to fall asleep to on a restless night.

Of course I wouldn’t recommend listening to music while traveling on a plane/train/by foot unless there is absolutely NO alternative. If there is someone to talk to or a new sound to listen to, I would recommend avoiding headphones like the plague. You’ll thank yourself later.

Please let me know what you think of Newton Faulkner’s “Hand Built by Robots” album.

We got off the flight I had written the previous blog post on with only minutes to spare until we needed to be at the gate of our connection. Upon purchasing the tickets, Scott had been told it was a real long shot, and that it was at our “own risk” that we purchased the tickets.

It was an “illegal” connection, as far as the airline was concerned, but we took the risk anyways.

While we descended on the flight before, we strategized for our escape. We planned out the movements we would take (thankfully we were near a door) to collect our bags (well…their bags, as I do not place mine in the overhead bin) and b-line for the door.

The exit actually went fairly smoothly, and we were on the tarmac, walking towards the door marked “arrivals” within minutes of the opening of the doors.

We were told to “kindly proceed” to the “transfers” desk. We did, and found no employee. The clock was ticking.

Finally, the employee arrived. He had a buzz cut, was short, and was effeminate in his way of speaking and walking.

We explained the situation, and, after brief consultation on the meaning of “e-ticket”, we were beckoned to follow. We were moving a bit slowly, and were all biting our nails as we weaved through the scores of people in baggage claim.

Joao and I were told to wait as the employee and Scott went to the ticket office. This was a strategic move, we learned later on, as we would have just had to shuffle all of our stuff back in the direction we had came to reenter security later on. At the time, we were not so confident of the judgment of the employee, and continued our tense worrying and clock-watching until Scott returned.

It took quite some time for the employee to return, and when he did, he did not mess around. He beckoned for us to follow and started out at essentially a run, with us in hot pursuit, through lines of airport security, and baggage checking agents. He put us at the front of every line, and told off any security guard who tried to stop us.

Anyone who was at the manila aiport around 11:39am on the 13th of April would have seen three frightened-looking foreigners racing after a pseudo-relaxed “Cebu Pacific” employee, knocking people and suitcases as we went.

After a short screaming match between a security guard who was uppity about Joao’s liquid vitamins, and the employee, he conceded and wet galloping off to expedite the checking of her bag (it was not approved as a carry-on).

At around 11:49am (the plane was scheduled to depart 60 seconds later) we made it to the gate. After a brief struggle between the employee and Scott as he tried to jam a one-hundred peso note into the protesting employee’s pocket, Scott conceded, and we ran towards the aircraft.

We had made it.

— LATER ON –-

All of the employees efforts ended up being pointless, as the plane had to land in Cebu due to bad weather (we were told REALLY bad) in Butuan. We were then informed we would be flying BACK to Manila, spending the night, and flying back the next morning. In other words…we’re officially in a mild version of travel hell.

It will be brief, as the past few days have not been terribly eventful.

As you probably know, we have been in “Puerto Princessa”, a city (and a very clean one at that) in Palawan. We have been spending time at “Aloha House”, an intensely Christian orphanage that has implemented a Sustainable Tropical Agriculture system on the grounds of their orphanage.

I went through a day and a half of training (lectures and hands-on work), filming for an introductory video we will show to the staff at “Atlantis”, the orphanage my father supports.

The goal is ultimately to start a similar program to the one started at Aloha House at Atlantis, and ultimately go above and beyond what they have started, and create a system that can be sustained by the older boys in the orphanage, and some of the staff.

Joao and Scott, on the other hand, went through three full days of the training, and now know more than they ever wanted to about farming.

I made some pretty cool technology purchases while we were in Puerto Princessa, that I will be highlighting soon in future posts.

We are now (quite literally, as I am writing this message on the plane) on our way to Surigao City, where we will pay a visit to the Charisma Bethel Children’s Home, an orphanage we moved over to the “Atlantis” facility just two years ago.

Before I wrap this post up, I need to clarify something that has been a source of confusion for some: I AM NOT A CHRISTIAN. Just because my name is such, does not mean I am. Even though we are spending time at Christian organizations and doing what might be regarded as a “mission” trip, none of us are affiliated with ANY denomination.

Will give updates as they happen over the next few days. Thanks everybody for reading my blog thus far!

I can’t wait to travel with each of you through California, and then Europe via the internet, in the upcoming year.

I needed to post about this, though, before I went to bed, as I won’t have time in the morning.

I have been neglecting a few things over the past few days, one of which being my laundry. I generally try to keep all my clothes clean and dry except for the ones I have on if possible (this consists of one pair of pants, one swimsuit, two t-shirts, one semi-formal shirt, a tank top, two pairs of underwear, and three pairs of socks). I wash everything that needs to be cleaned in the sink, and usually it averages out to about 3 items per day.

I didn’t do that yesterday, and therefore didn’t put anything out to dry, either (by out I mean in this case on the table near the window).

Its night time, and I’m leaving in the morning, and…until a few hours ago, I didn’t have a single shirt that didn’t smell like rats had peed on it. I wanted to wash one, but I didn’t think it would dry in no sun (moonlight just doesn’t cut it these days) and only a few hours.

I reluctantly soaked and washed my grey “American Eagle” shirt.

I put my air conditioner on, and balanced the shirt (with the aid of a few small heavy objects) in front of the “blow” portion of machine, thinking that the action would be somewhat close to wind, and hopefully help get some water out for the morning.

As I was getting up a few minutes ago, I checked the shirt. Still SUPER wet, and probabably almost as wet as when I put it on.

But wait…one sleeve was dry, completely dry. What the heck was going on? That sleeve wasn’t even on the blow side…it was on the “suck” si-…

And then it clicked.

I did a test, and put the other sleeve against the “suck” part of the grid covering the air conditioner. Within MINUTES it was COMPLETELY DRY.

So now, I have a completely (and I mean completely) dry shirt to wear tomorrow, in under 10 minutes of drying.

The air conditioner was sucking so much of the moisture out of the room (usually not something I’m excited about), when a soaking wet shirt is placed in front of it, it has no problem drying it in 5-10 minutes.

If you need a quick dry at night, now you know what to do. Turn on the air conditioner in your hotel room and cover the “suck” side (the side that doesn’t blow) with shirts.

More soon!

I was packed and ready to go (the room was locked, and my backpack was sitting outside my room, on the outdoor table/chairs.

I had turned in my key and was ready for action. The only problem…was that the van wouldn’t come for at least four hours, and the plane, even later.

One fault of being in “western mode” is that you tend to overshoot like this. I had done it a lot. I had become SO efficient in my packing/preparation process, that I could do it almost automatically, and this is what I did.

I had not a clue what to do, so I wrote a blog post. We went to breakfast after that, and met another nice Aussie guy named “Chris”. He was a diver. He told us one of the most truest observations about the realities of traveling in small planes in the Philippines (or any third-world country for that matter) I have heard so far.

What he observed was just what an ordeal it was (and how it can swallow up your day) traveling for just an hour flight. He noted that once you have packed, gotten ready, the transportation is ready, the plane arrives, the plane is ready, the plane takes off, the actual “travel time”, the arriving and getting your bags (not applicable for me as everything is carry-on, but Scott and Joao have checked baggage everywhere), the taking of transportation to the accommodation, and the unloading of bags, all can take an entire day out of your trip!

Obviously this observation is true about any air (or train) travel. The more extreme stretching of time becomes apparent however in the smaller “one hour” flights.

I thought this was a very insightful observation. We bid goodbye to Chris, and, after sitting for another ten minutes deliberating just what to do…our friend Stephen stopped by for breakfast.

We talked, as we always do, for about an hour. He is a good one to bounce things off of, and very receptive to technical advice.

By the time we were done, it was time for me to take my last walk around the town (in search of more food…I’m always hungry). I had a half-hour before it was a “good idea” to get back, and an hour before I would “be left behind”.

I walked around, trying desperately to spy some unturned barbecue sand that just happened to be in-operation for breakfast, but there were none to be found.

I even checked out a local farmers market in the same basketball court I had watched the game in the day before. There was fish…and fruits…and fish. I don’t like fish.

Giving up, I dejectedly bought two sorry looking apples, and headed back. Scott and Joao were frantically packing, while I had been carrying all of my possessions on my back for hours.

In desperation, I tried the rester aunt. The had not been very quick with the delivery of the food before, and I had doubts about their capabilities now.

I told them I needed to leave by 11:30am, did they think they could have it ready in time…? I was doubtful, but they seemed confident that they could.

I sat and bit my nails, I walked over to the “reading material” area of the kitchen. These were books and magazines from travelers past, basically an upchuck of German, Hebrew, and English books and magazines.

I found an entertaining looking German magazine with lots of pictures (these are great for learning your German as you can assign the words with the pictures almost automatically) and swiped it for the plane ride.

The lunch was ready at 11:28am. They packed it in a to-go container and off we went.

The “airport” was just the same as when we had arrived. We were given free iced tea, but no pastries, as we were flying “Seair”, not our earlier “ITI”. Finally, thirty minutes after the “scheduled arrival time” the engine of the plane could be heard above the waves.

Another half-hour later, we boarded.

As we took off from the small airport in “El Nido”, I felt no sorrow or feeling of incompleteness. I had done everything I would ever want to do there, and had read a new and well-illustrated page in the book of life.

The flight was similar to the one taken before. I recognized a few of the passengers and even talked to a few of them (like the English lady next to me who had come out for her sons wedding and decided to extend her trip of two weeks, to nine months to continue traveling the Philippines).

I felt a bit sick when we landed. Might I recommend NOT trying to translate ANYTHING while traveling in the air, stick to native-language materials only.

Puerto Princessa is very clean (well…theoretically. Pollutants still rule the oxygen supply, but at least there aren’t lots of cigarette butts on the streets). We were destined for a full day of work the next day, and needed to get as much done today as possible.

We were starving, and went to eat. Shakey’s Pizza seemed to be the best option at the time, and it probably was.

We needed to shop. We needed notebooks, a new cell-phone for me (the Nokia e61…I am settling for the e61 rather than the e61i as I am a terrible photographer and do not desire any camera on my communication device), and a temporary used cellphone for Joao to use while she is here.

We found them all, but I had not yet made a decision on the phone, so this would need to wait until the following days.

We were tired, and ready for a little mainstream television (it is amazing how even a person who hates television like myself can take comfort in it after being on a secluded island) and sleep.

And, save for some time on my part spent doing laundry, thats what we got.

Still feeling exhausted from the previous day’s romp with the jellyfish, we were keen on doing as little as possible for the last day we were here.

We woke up, had breakfast, struggled until noon to keep ourselves entertained, and made our way over to the internet cafe.

It was empty in the “Art Cafe”, and we spread ourselves out, taking up three tables (much to the chigrin of the owner and employees). I ordered some french fries (the best in the Philippines) and Scott and Joao ordered seafood salad and pizza.

We were poised and ready for passing the time, yet even with all of this “time”, I still didn’t have much done by the end of the day.

As the systems that they are using (including Ubuntu Linux) are all sort of “my thing” and there was not a very large training window prior to departure, I have reluctantly taken on the role of “tech support” once again. This is fine, and I am glad to help them with their issues, especially when indirectly caused by me. The drawback, however, is that I can get very little done in this situation.

Scott left at 4:30pm, as he had a prior engagement to fulfill. Joao and I stayed until, desperately clinging to our 2% of battery remaining, our screens went dark, and our work went unsaved. The power was out until 6:00pm, and there was nothing we could do about it.

We decided to head back to home-base, and unload our laptops.

What Joao did to pass the time, I don’t know. Scott returned around 8:00pm and did his own thing as well.

I walked around for quite some time, in search of adventure before we leave this place and move on to the next. I got some barbecue chicken on a stick (as you know, this happens often), and walked along the streets I had avoided in the days past.

As I was walking, I happened upon a boy’s basketball game. The two teams were doing warm-up exercises and they weren’t half bad. One team wore black jerseys, one wore white. I asked a local if both teams were from El Nido, he nodded.

“Lets GOOO!” the announcer shouted in English, and suddenly the game began.

I watched for the entire game (something I have NEVER and would normally NEVER do in America, but somehow this was different) and enjoyed it immensely. The team in the black jerseys won.

When I was done, I walked back to the room, feeling very satisfied in my search for adventure, that was just what I needed. And as a bonus, during the entire game, there was not a SINGLE tourist. A truly cultural experience. Thank god.

I packed silently for the travels the following morning. I had originally taken two pairs of jeans, and one swim suit to use as shorts. When I thought about it, I realized that I was only using one pair of the Jeans. I would wash them at night (when they needed washing which was rare, perhaps once a week) and wear them again the next day. I had not once worn my alternate pair. I decided to dump one pair, and take my minimalist life design a step further.

Did I make the right choice? I think so, but we will see.

When I was packed, I got in bed, and fell to sleep to the sounds of the thirteenth chapter of “The Four Hour Workweek” by Timothy Ferris.

The excursion was going to be all day, 9:00am to 5:00pm. It was a snorkel/swim/lunch tour around the islands in a “banka boat”. It was called the “snake island” tour…and I will admit, the name was a bit daunting.

I did some laundry (hand washing, as always), Scott did some reading, and Joao did some swimming. When we had finished these vital tasks, we ventured down to the outdoor rester aunt area to pick out our fins and masks. There were many different fins, unmarked, and virtually unmatchable. They were ALL too small for my American eleven and-a-half feet. The employee had to go back into the “extra storage” area to get some larger fins for me. The mask was a cinch, and was theoretically sanitized in seconds. I did have my doubts about the scientific aspect of their method of sanitation.

We filled up our water bottles, and were ready.

The group rendezvoused down in the front area of the grounds (this is the area with a hammock and some wooden chairs and tables). It was a very diverse group of people. It was us, from Hawaii, a man with long wavy hair and glasses (who I later would learn was named Stephen) from London (and originally, Canada), a mother and daughter from Norway (I learned this after trying to speak the little German I knew to them for half the day, with no success), and a Philippino couple who had immigrated in their twenties to Canada, then to America.

Suffice it to say, there were many conversations to be had. We all introduced ourselves and, generally, I think, liked each other.

I have noticed, since traveling to more remote and unknown areas of the world, that you meet a different kind of person. You meet travelers. The difference between tourists and travelers become startlingly apparent and distinct. You might see a tourist at a bar, sitting alone or with many other tourists with him/her, drinking a beer and talking about how cheap everything is. A traveler, you will find in a dark, back alley rester aunt, trying a bite of the local cuisine, and speaking in five different languages at once.

Generally, we on this tour, tended to be more traveler than tourist.

We boarded the boat (wading through waist-high water) and took our seats. As we started to pull away, one of the crewmembers (there were three) apparently forgot something because we turned back almost immediately.

When all the necessaries had been checked, we were off once again.

We were plunged, headfirst, into beauty. It was unbelievably sunny, clear, and beautiful. It was all the things that Hawaii is supposed to be, but just plain isn’t.

The first place we stopped, was fairly anti-climactic. We pulled into a cove of sorts, and were told we were not allowed on the beach, because we did not pay to use the area, but as long as we stayed in the water, we were fine. We awkwardly put on our snorkels and masks, and jumped in the water.

There were very few fish, and a lot of mini-jellyfish stinging the living heck out of us. This was our first encounter with jellyfish for the trip, and we thought it would be our last. As we rode away from the area, though, we began to see shimmering white objects in the water. They were sparse at first, but soon turned into a grid, one huge jellyfish every four feet in every direction.

“Its jellyfish season, apparently.” said Stephen, from London. This was the month when all the jellyfish came out. We were scared out of our minds. Well, all except Helena from Norway, who was just eager to go snorkeling again.

The next place we were taken to was the place called “snake island”. None of us knew what to expect. When we got there, we were all blown away by what we saw. It was two islands, connected by a sand bar. This was paradise. Accept no imitations.

The water was warm, shallow, and clear. It was amazingly beautiful all around.

Some of us (myself, Joao, Scott, Stephen, and the Norwegians) decided to take a walk from the island we were anchored at, to the other island, through the water, on the underwater sandbar. As we walked, we began to see big clumps of seaweed crossing our path. When we got closer, however, we realized they were in fact, huge, red jellyfish.

They did not seem to chase us in any way, and as long as we stayed a decent distance, did not seem to be any danger. This did cause me, Stephen, and Scott to hang back, however, while Joao and the Norwegians kept on walking.

They made it there, and back, and lived to tell the tale, unstung.

The next attraction was something called “the caves”. This was the island where they would be preparing lunch and resting for a period. While much of the group went inside a small gap in the wall of a cliff to explore a cavern, my fear of small spaces, and hunger, made me decide to wait hungrily by the food instead.

Soon, the group emerged, and we all started up a game of beach volleyball. We were sort of good, in our own special way. I ended up serving the ball WAY to far the first couple of times, and Joao did not do too much better. By the end of the game, however, we had gotten pretty good, and were passing it between the teams three or four times before its inevitable straying to the sand below us.

We took a swim, at this point, and (despite the consistent fear of jellyfish) it was perfect. Someone from the group noticed a stirring amongst the crew’s group and shouted “LUNCH!”. We all launched towards the beach-side table where lunch was being served”.

It looked pretty good. There were whole fishes stuffed with vegetables, which unfortunately just aren’t my thing. There was barbecue chicken (which definitely IS my thing), there was cucumber/tomatoe salad, there was mango (cut with five slices, two vertical and three horizontal. This allows the mango to be essentially turned inside out and eaten very cleanly), and there was rice. I ate rice…and I hate rice.

A half-an-hour of surprising silence later, we were somewhat satisfied. We talked about various things (our lives, shirts, pronunciation of words in Tagalog, and more) and when we were done, some went to swim, some went to sleep, and some (like me) were ready to go home.

A half an hour later, we were herded back on the boat. We were going home!

Not so fast…however. I thought we were going home, but instead, we were taken to another snorkeling spot. This was better snorkeling, for sure, but by that time we had all (well…except Helena) had enough of the water. We clambered up onto the boat to wait for Helena, and the crewmember she was with, to come back to the boat.

It took a good fifteen minutes for this to happen, and as they approached, the crew member was waving something in his hand. He was gripping it tightly. Someone said he had caught a fish by hand. I was thinking…an edible fish.

It was a puffer-fish. He held it in his hand proudly, but Helena looked quite upset. She was not fond of abusing fish, or any animal.

We all stroked its enlarged belly. It was soft and slimy. All in all, a very interesting little fish. As he laid it back into the water, we feared it was dead, as it appeared not to be moving. Soon its flippers began to flip, and it began releasing air, through its mouth, out of its belly.

This process took a couple of minutes, and, finally, it assumed its normal size and swam off in a lightning-quick motion.

We returned home, after a short detour at another “cave” area. This cave was not near a beach though, so , thankfully, we did not stop.

When we returned, we were sunburnt (oh yes…I am toastie red) and exhausted. After a bite to eat at the “Art Cafe” and a few walks around the streets, I came back to my room, and collapsed.

We got up, Scott and Joao had a swim, and I sat outside and wrote for a while. We had breakfast at Lallie and Abbot’s resteraunt, and plotted out the days ahead. We decided to go “Island Hopping” the next day, and we would go on a tour of something called “Snake Island”. It is a snorkel/swim tour.

Around about 10:30am (a full hour before the power was scheduled to come on) we set off towards the internet cafe. This was our dedicated “internet” day, and we set up camp.

After about an hour, my battery had lost its juice (I had been writing on it without power for a good amount of time in the morning as well) and I decided to wait out the oncoming half-hour instead of going back to the room.

I decided to journey down to the shop underneath the “Art Cafe” (internet cafe) and check out what was available. The internet cafe and the shop below it are both owned and operated by a swiss woman who speaks German, Swiss-German, French, English, and Tagalog. This is very impressive, as I have not yet seen any foreigners fluent in Tagalog (Tagalog is the language of Manila and its outer islands of the Philippines) before now.

The shop below, was nothing short of amazing. It was very well done with everything a traveler could need. The contents of the shop below gave great insight as to the past of the owner. She was obviously a very frequent traveler.

Mini bottles of mouthwash, socks, underwear, sunglasses, cell-phones, dynamo mini-flashlights, plug converters, sun-hats, mp3 players, this shop had everything.

After deliberating a great deal about the possible acquisition of a very cool three inch long dynamo flashlight (these are flashlights that you crank to charge the battery, thus providing a sustainable light source) and ultimately deciding against it, as I promised myself before I left I would keep the acquisition to a minimum, I decided to journey back upstairs as it was getting close to noon.

The power was already on as the cafe had switched on their generator. I was able to continue my work.

After all three of us, with our three laptops, spending all day in the Art Cafe, I began to shoot the owner apologetic glances whenever she came near. I had kept an eye out to make sure that we weren’t interfering with business and seating. At about 5:00pm, I had had enough. I was ready to go outside and take a few long walks, and I did.

Scott and Joao left not long after me and we all rendezvoused at the rooms. We decided (after Scott had fussed over the stiffness of his replacement towels for the day) to go to a beach-side rester aunt to watch the sunset.

The sunset didn’t quite happen, as we were delayed for various reasons. Finally, we made it to the beach. It was a very nice rester aunt, with torches stuck in the sand. We ate, walked back, Joao went out swimming, and then we all went to sleep.

This was my first thought upon waking up in El Nido.

A particularly awkward sounding bird coupled with the air conditioning switching off (due to the power schedule: El Nido has power from 12pm-4pm and then 6pm-6am) were the culprits all of us blamed for waking us up.

It was not all annoyance however, as we soon left our rooms and decided to take a walk along the shore of the island.

We saw farms, found interesting trees, heard birds we had never heard before, and Joao interacted with children she met along the way by taking their picture and showing it to them on her half-inch screen.

We soon felt the pang of hunger, however, and decided to turn around and walk back the way we had come. As we walked along the beach, trying to decide which “beach-side bar and grill” we would try today, Joao jumped in the water and took a “quick dip”. When she emerged, she looked refreshed and energized. I was somewhat jealous, but my hunger won out against the prospect of jumping in myself and slowing everything down another few minutes, so we journeyed on.

We came across a good-looking German owned grill with chairs and tables set up right on the sand. We found a table with some shade, got our menus, and chose our meals.

I ordered some mashed potatoes with a “cheeseburger” (this ultimately ended up being two slices of homemade bread with hamburger meat and two slices of pickles, and tomatoes). Joao ordered two scrambled eggs, and Scott ordered one. As an after-thought (remembering just how long it can take to receive our food at these types of resteraunts) Joao and I each ordered a bowl of fruit salad, this was a good choice.

The real meal started when my father (Scott) asked for some “hot sauce” and we received a beautiful jar of homemade “this means business”-like hotsauce. All of us tried some, but I lathered it all over my hamburger. This made the meal both tastier, and encouraged us to drink almost two liters of water each.

After our meal, Scott and I continued lazily back to the rooms (Joao went back into the water and was swimming with some local children) and worked on blogging/structure/and marketing text for a few hours. We still had roughly two and a half hours before the electricity would return, and, by design, the internet would become active.

We tossed around ideas for the mission statement of the impending “Project Free Life”, and I hammered out yesterdays blog post. Joao went “for a walk” and took the video camera with her, saying she was going to practice shooting.

When she hadn’t returned by 11:30am we were slightly surprised, not concerned. We ventured down to the “Lollie and Abot” resteraunt and I had lunch. By the time we had finished our coffees, etc. it was well past noon. The electric had returned, and still no Joao.

We decided to go in search of an internet cafe, and leave a note for Joao in the room (hoping that she would be able to get the key from the office upon her return, and follow us to the internet cafe). A comedy of errors, is the only way to describe what next occurred. We walked through the center of town until we found an internet cafe, we inquired as to why no computers were on and were told that there was no power, all the shops had none. We were surprised, because the rooms had plenty of power.

We walked back. When we got back, we asked if there was a generator here powering the rooms some of the time. Yes, there was, and that was what was causing the confusion.

We put two and two together, and asked if there was an internet cafe in town with a backup generator. Yes! It was the “Son 1” internet cafe (we later learned this was in fact “Zone 1”). We made it there via tricycle (small peticabs with a motorcycle and a covered area for people to sit along-side) and climbed the stairs which took us to “Art Cafe”. It looked close enough to “Zone 1” and we decided to go with it.

It was as if we had stepped into some sort of pseudo-America. Floors were clean, tables were modern and well-finished, and wifi was free (with purchase of a meal). We had not anticipated this, and although we try to stay with the local flavors and experience the culture as much as possible, it was comforting to be able to experience some familiarity, not to mention wifi.

So we walked back to the room (across town once again) to get our laptops. Still no Joao and Scott had begun to worry slightly. El Nido is arguably one of the safest places to be in the Philippines, however, and the knowledge of this curbed his worrying to a manageable level.

After checking with the employees to see if they had seen her, we journeyed back to “Art Cafe”, laptops and charger cables in hand (well…in my case, in backpack).

We couldn’t quite figure out why the wifi was so slow at first. Eventually, my photo uploads stopped, and everything got faster. I resolved to put aside my photo uploading until some more critical tasks were accomplished.

Eventually, Scott received a text from Joao. All was well, she had simply stopped into a shop and gotten into a particularly good conversation. Within minutes, she was back in his sight and he relaxed.

Emails were answered, facebooks were checked, and email update invitations were sent out to those who had shown interest in receiving them. A few hours into our session, a friendly young-looking Australian named “Carl” walked in and sat down at my (Christian) table. He introduced himself and we proceeded to have a great conversation about many things (including rock climbing, sleeping outside, swimming with whalesharks, and rudeness of tourists) I was glad to be able to connect with someone who had similar interests.

Eventually, he left, bidding me a farewell. It was getting darker outside and we were almost done with our tasks. We all saved some reading material for reading “offline” (longer emails, blog posts, etc) and went back to the room.

We were in for the night, and, save for a few short walks through the town and a brief lay-down in the hammock outside for Christian, this was how it stayed.

After showering and packing up (collectively taking about 15 minutes…I’m a light traveler), my father (Scott) knocked on my door so that he could get my share of the stored boxes (same ones, filled with clothes and a sewing machine each) out of my room and give them to the shipping company who was taking them all the way to Surigao city (where Atlantis, and the base of Helping People to Help Themselves is). They had already eaten breakfast, and I was starving, but we were all going to the mini-airport (privately owned) to get the tickets for the afternoon’s flight to El Nido (a small coastal tourist/fishing village on an isolated Island, an hour long flight from central Manila).

The ticket purchasing was fairly painless, we went through their mini-security once this time (and would be ushered through again later on when we returned to take the flight).

After a stop at a money-exchanger recommended by the hotel’s transport service driver, we returned to the Hotel to do some blogging, and waiting.

Upon return to the Hotel, we realized we were all almost out of bottled water (dehydration is something which can happen very easily when you are traveling), we decided to venture down the somewhat shady (yes…even for the Philippines) looking street and check out the road-side storefronts for water.

As we passed a particularly good-smelling stand, my eyes found their home on a particularly well-barbecued drumstick of chicken.

Eleven drumsticks and two sticks of cooked squid later, we were full and ready to leave the Hotel. The promised free wifi was a disappointment (it worked for about twelve minutes upon the night of our arrival, and was completely dysfunctional the rest of our stay), and we had little to do inside the congested city, we wanted out.

We went through the “security” a second time and were ushered into a heavily air conditioned “waiting area”. It was obvious this area was made for more important people than us, as we found our names on a place card on top of “our” table. We were given coffee (or iced tee for the less manly of us) and an “almond croissant”. It was all very well-received, we were still hungry.

About an hour later (we had been scheduled to leave at 3:00am…it was now about 3:15pm) we were given the “security briefing”. This entailed a run-of-the-mill “seatbelt” speech, with some life-jacket preparedness training thrown in for good measure. We weren’t even in the airplane yet, let alone crashing!

Finally, we boarded. The airline “attendant” had warned us that we may notice a discharge coming from the vents due to a lot of air conditioning…this was not a problem. In fact, I noticed no air conditioning whatsoever on the flight. Bluntly, it was hot as hell!

We waited for what seemed like hours (realistically was probably about 45 minutes) inside the airplane, waiting for the other planes in line to takeoff. When we finally did, we were an hour behind schedule.

El Nido, Philippines

Arriving at the El Nido “airport” was similar to landing in other provincial areas. The airport was, essentially, a landing strip. This one, like many others, had a building to house luggage and fair-skinned tourists, and nothing more.

We were greeted and taken by Banka Boat (a medium-sized engine-propelled boat, found in great quantities in the Philippines) to Lollie and Abot’s, a sort of low-end resort on another side of the island. I put the rain cover onto my backpack, but this was pointless…the boat ran straight and did not create a single splash.

When we reached water too shallow to take the boat into, the men driving the boat jumped off and fetched (from the shore) a medium-sized yellow kayak. We were ushered onto the Kayaks (our bags as well) and floated across the rest of the water, to the shore.

First impressions of Lollie and Abot’s found it to be a pleasant, friendly place with a helpful staff, and a diverse group of guests. Our rooms are on the second floor of a six-room complex. The room is clean enough, with huge beds, and a decent bathroom.

The view from the front part of the grounds is spectacular. I have seen 3-D models of paradise less perfect than the standard view here.

After settling in, we took a walk through the center of town in search of a resteraunt. We found one with a nice atmosphere, and great view. The food (I ordered a Pepper Steak, and Scott and Joao ordered some snapper and crabs) was terrible. My steak was…well…not a steak, and their fish was undercooked. After about 30 minutes waiting for the crabs, Scott asked how long the rest of the order would be.

“What crabs?” was the response.

We all left, went back to the room, and went to sleep.

We wanted to give a quick update on our status (currently: Alive and well) and the events of our travel so far. It has been eventful in the right ways, and uneventful in the wrong ways…we have had very little trouble so far (the biggest for myself (Christian) being the heartache of leaving the love of my life for a whole two weeks).

Maui, Hawaii

We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We were traveling with six boxes filled with children’s clothes and a used sowing machine each. These boxes weren’t too heavy, but they were large and too awkward to be hauled around the airport so we grabbed a porter and had him transport/check the boxes.

We made it through security fairly painlessly, although it was rough and unfriendly as always. I would say I removed and replaced my shoes, belt, laptop (from the bag), cell phone, wallet, etc. no less than seven times throughout yesterday’s twenty-four hour period.

By the time we got to the gate, we had a roughly 20-30 minutes wait, so we set up camp against a wall with outlets and charged our laptops desperately so as to have some juice for the plane ride (our motives were, of course, drastically different. I was searching battery power for some last minute programming, the rest of the laptops would be dedicated to serving up movies and other entertainment.

We boarded the plane, took our seats (window: Scott, middle: Joao, aisle: Christian) and took off.

Honolulu, Hawaii

Our first flight under our belts, the life had not yet drained from our faces. We were confident, and ready for anything as we treaded through the gates and on to baggage claim. We had two hours to make it over to the inter-island terminal, and were opting to walk.

As we picked up our boxes (not yet checked to go all the way through), we became increasingly aware of a serious problem that had arisen. The rains on Maui that had begun as we were boarding had somehow soaked the cardboard of the boxes as they were being loaded on to the plane. They were not completely destroyed (if they had been, all would have been lost), but something had to be done, quick. Joao jumped to action and started to tape the boxes up, this was no good, though, and it became obvious that further action would need to be taken. Joao took initiative once again and journeyed across, the large baggage claim room to ask the nice lost and found official if they had any supplies that could help.

It turns out they did! They supplied us with 6 large plastic bags to wrap the boxes in (these would serve as a way to deflect the rain, as well as backup system to hold in the contents.

We bagged and taped them, loaded them up, and proudly paraded our newly-wrapped packages up to the inter-island terminal, we were on our way once again, problem solved.

Tokyo, Japan

Touching down here was ladened with fatigue, and the prospect of continuing on to another four hour flight after the prior eight-hour hell-ride was somewhat maddening.

Nevertheless, I will admit, I was quite excited to be entering (even for just four hours) the super cool country of Japan. When you live in Hawaii, Japanese culture and food are prevalent EVERYWHERE, and many a schoolchild dreams of visiting this mysterious and culture-rich country.

As we descended the stairs entering into the airport, and waited to board the magnetically driven airport-tram, we were serenaded with traditional Japanese music. This was a very cool thing to hear after living for much too long with badly encoded western pop songs being rammed into our ears from every wall-mounted speaker around.

The shops and resteraunts were amazing. They were so distinctly Japanese, I enjoyed just walking around and looking at EVERYTHING. I bought a hand-roll (or Maki for those of us who make ordering sushi a nearly daily activity) with Tuna and Cucumber, and a ham and cheese sandwich (this lacked in taste, I thought) and leaned against the wall to enjoy (and yes, charge my laptop).

As we went through the security in Tokyo I was stricken by the palpably less-stressful process. The security officers were polite, patient, and didn’t rush you through. Was there a line? Yes…but I think they may have gotten through even faster because they weren’t dealing with the screaming and rudeness one is subjected to at any American airport.

As we boarded the plane to Tokyo, I began to feel the first hit of my body’s reaction to time-change. My eyelids began to droop, and my motor skills were suffering. I noticed a similar pattern with Joao and Scott. I slumped in my seat, and we all prepared myself for another fatigue-inducing flight, and fell asleep.

Manila, Philippines

Here we were, my least favorite place in the Philippines.

But at least we were here.

The eyes of the other parties in our group were staring lifelessly ahead as we trooped over to baggage claim. We still had to pick up those damn boxes and get to the hotel.

The moment we stepped out of the terminal, I was greeted with familiar smells who took me back to years prior. Sights and sounds began to signal my brain to slip into old survival habits and techniques. We made it to the hotel and loaded the boxes into our rooms.

The room was fairly bare (TV, bed, bedside table, and bathroom) and two towels were provided per room for our comfort.

We all went to sleep.

The concept of an unlocked phone, is that it retains all the traits of a locked phone (that you would get from your local GSM network provider, AT&T, T-Mobile, etc.) yet it can be used with any carrier that supports its technology (this requires a SIM enabled phone which, if its worth its salt, it must be).

Why was I in the market, you ask? With my upcoming trip to Asia, and my following trip to Europe, I was speculating upon the idea of purchasing a NEW quad-band phone while in the Philippines, as mine has been locked to T-Mobile.

Unlock codes are different now, than they used to be. With the exception of a few very cheap Nokias, the unlock codes are now based on the phone’s IMEI number (a unique identifier to the phone) that the carrier encrypts and embeds into your phone after they purchase it from the manufacturer. In years past, once could do a quick search for “unlock code” and their phone model, and find a series of numbers and symbols to punch in (whether it worked or not, was always a gamble).

After hunting around for different candidates online, and checking out the many services that will offer to “unlock any phone for $30USD” I stumbled across a forum thread that said you could simply call T-Mobile, and if you had been in contract for more than 90 days (3 months) they would send you a code to unlock it within 24 hours.

I almost didn’t even try. I thought to myself “too good to be true”, “they would never do this”. But - I was feeling like I could take a “are you kidding me?” look from a stranger working at T-Mobile yesterday, so I popped in. I asked the inevitable question and sure enough, the policy was true! She told me I would receive an email within 24 hours.

This morning, I opened up my email inbox, and there were the blessed dozen numbers that would put the soul of my phone back in my possession, I gave it a try and sure enough, my phone is unlocked.

This is an amazing service…and perfect for traveling.

I can now call using my same cell-phone at local rates wherever I go!