Encore

For all of my loyal followers, new comers, travelers, foes and everything betwixt, this is my final blog posting. Confusion must be flowing over you like water in a bath(those take forever to fill up). But it will subside if your literacy just hangs on for a few more minutes.

As we all know, I was babying my parents around Italy and Switzerland. Babying might be a wrong term to use here... No, it's the right one. I was self motivated to make sure our caravan got to every destination with as little hassle and distraction as possible. I was often volunteered by my parents to be the asker of questions, orderer of food, and expert negotiator of cheap souvenirs. How much this costs, where that hotel is, why don't I have 5 different kinds of cheeses on my plate. I am not quite sure why they had me do it. Most of the time my italian was so rough that I would soon be forced to just speak english to them. It wasn't just any english that you speak to a foreigner. Most people think english is the universal language of the world. I am here to say NAY, the language of the world is broken english. My mom speaks english very well, but didn't understand that when one speaks to foreigners you don't say "what per say are the circumstances in which a favorable outcome may come to pass?"  In BE(broken english) you say "what I do good times later?"

We were having a smashing time in Italy and Switzerland when we left out of Zurich to get to Istanbul. I had bragged about Turkey so much to my parents that they felt intrigued to see what fuss I was making. We were in the airport going through customs when the dark cloud of ignorance manifested above me and let out its furious monsoon. You are saying, "Brian, I am not even sure what that last sentence means, please explain". Don't interrupt! I was told prior to my visit to Europe that I can only be in Europe for 90 days but, could hop in and out of the EU to renew my travelers visa. This seemed like an awesome idea. I could stay forever with a forced vacation every 3 months. If you recall, my brief stint in Norway was my attempt at jumping through what seemed like a giant loop hole. The loop hole was actually just a large pit with skunks at the bottom ready to stank me up. The law as it stands today is that one can be in Europe for 90 days. But you have 180 days to spend those 90 days. So from the day of entry in January 20 I had 6 months to spend 3 months of time there. It sounds a bit confusing at first, but when one get interrogated by Swiss police you understand very quickly. Luckily for me they believed I was ignorant of my crime and only fined me 400 francs. They informed me that 3 days later I would have been in huge trouble with possible jailing and deportation. I am very lucky that my parents were there to help me keep me calm and to help pay to keep me from having a European record.

We made out way to Istanbul in a three hour flight. Needless to say I was a bit of a debbie downer. We plopped our stuff at our respected hotels/hostels and met up to see what the city was offering. If you have ever been to my parents house, to say they are Persian carpet enthusiasts is a modest description. We were now in the midst of thousands of middle east carpet shops without the guns and danger. They were lured into each shop in Istanbul with the promise of a carpet show and apple tea. Now I am not sure I counted all of them, but in one day I am sure 30 cups of tea were consumed by each of us. I can not say no to the sugar and bitterness that bless my tongue with each burning sip. Three days of site seeing and shopping left my parents wanting more. They were so happy with Istanbul they wanted to prolong their stay. They couldn't, but they wanted too.

After I got into Istanbul my parents did what parents do for children that would be thrown in jail if were caught in Europe. They used their flight miles and found me a ticket back to Tucson. So at the end of the Istanbul insanity we flew to Rome where i left them at the train station. Now it is important for me to reveal a moment of clarity that washed over me like water in a bath(man i just cant get away from that bath water). When I left 22 months ago to Europe the first time I left with a feeling of excitement and shock when I left Phoenix. Upon arrival in Madrid I was scared, freaking out, and question what the heck was wrong with me for doing this. I had found my way to what was a "hostel" the size of a cell block and just as comfortable. Then just a few days ago I was coming back in the same exact order but backwards. Crappy hostel with a flight out of Madrid. But this time when I left Europe I had a different feeling consume me. Instead of the nervous twitches and confusion with life, I had felt I had accomplished something that gave me confidence that would not be attained any other way. I am not much for signs, but when the beginning and end are mirrors to itself it felt like a conclusion was made to my backpacking days. I have gotten what I can out of the meandering world, and now it is my turn to give back for all it has offered to me.

I want to thank everyone that has been reading this blog during my incredible journey. Hearing that I actually had readers inspired me to keep writing. I want to thank my mother and father for their love and support. If not for them I would not have been able to accomplish my traveling dream. Friends that kept me sane whilst in my slumps and laughed with me during my peaks. Lovely Lori for taking a masterful picture of my after picture shown below(not much has changed since the first one except i need to learn how to use an ironing board.

p.s. I said something to my mom in passing off the top of my head that she told me would be great to add in the blog. "When everything is foreign, nothing is."



Moral of the story, get off you butt and have an adventure. There is too much out there to see.

Sales Rack

The last time I blogged to you I was in the legendary Cinque Terre region of Italy. Much sun and hiking left us hungry for some cooler weather with a bit of R&R. My parents and I said goodbye to our family friends in Milan and went our separate ways. They went to the seductress city of Venice, we headed north to the wealthy city of Lugano, Switzerland. I had raved about Switzerland so much that they penciled it into their busy schedule. I had never actually heard of any of the places we were going besides Zurich, but I am down for new experiences any time.

Last time I was in Switzerland I remembered that things were a bit expensive, but this time around I really was able to understand the price of luxury. My parents were staying at a 5 star hotel overlooking a beautiful lake. To pull up a cot into their room would have cost 117 US dollars! I thought this was a bit unnecessary to spend such an extravagant amount on me. I would rather sleep on a bench then spend that kind of money. Though the benches were rather comfortable to sit on, to sleep on them would have played mean jokes on my spine. With luck and persistence I found a nice little hostel that overlooked the city for 30 francs a night. Steep, but doable.

The next day my father was considering buying a watch. Where else in the world would you buy a watch besides Switzerland? Swiss cheese, Swiss chocolate, Swiss army knives, and Swiss watches. There is a street called Via Nassa that was dedicated to expensive jewelry and watches. Once in a while we would walk into a place and ask for a watch to be shown to us. Now if you know my parents, my mom is dressed in fancy colors and some nice jewels. My father is dresses equally fancy in basketball shorts and a t-shirt. It wasn’t a surprise when we walked in and they gave us a lil bit of a “what are you doing in here?” look. I felt like we were Pretty Womaning the people with wanting to buy something and them not wanting to serve us. There was a watch that looked especially classy that we asked about. Before we heard their whole spiel about the making of the time piece we asked “How much?” A whopping 31,000 Francs it would cost to be able to tell time. Before he had a chance to say another word we were out the door and on to the next store. I told my dad that it is a watch that if you have to ask how much it costs, you probably can't/don't want to buy it. End of the story, we found a real nice, classy watch that tells the time and everything. Mission successful.

Eventfulness

It has been way to long since my last blog post and honestly could probably be another span of time before I get back to it. The past five days I have been staying with my parents and our family friends in a villa in Tuscany. Needless to say the wifi ability is slightly less than nil.

It was so great seeing my parents again. It was kind of luck that let our paths cross. They told me that they were going to be walking around a few blocks away from the academia at a certain time. They were not aware that there are four cardinal directions and a bunch of directions between those four. I had a possibly 16 or so blocks to roam around to find them. The first street I took to wander was serendipitous street. We met almost instantly and exchange loving hugs and kisses.

The three days we spent in Florence and wine country of Tuscany were filled with sight seeing and major shopping. When in rome, do as the romans. When in Florence, do as the romans, mostly because romans ruled them too at one point. Leather goods consumed our attention along with cashmere scarves and gelato. Let us just say my bag might be going back to Sardinia a little more full then when I started.

One of the toughest parts of the trip was driving around trying to find the towns that we had mapped out. The first part of the problem was “plans”. I am not sure who actually invented that word, but it seems to cause more trouble than helps. Italians try to warn you of that, but then dig it in when driving around. As you drive to a specific small town location there are signs everywhere. The signs are not like the United States where it says Roger st. or MLK Blvd. Instead it will give a large city in a direction. If you are trying to go to a itty bitty town of 200 people it will not be on any street signs or directions. Thus planning becomes difficult. The best way I could deal with it was to stick my head in my book and let the adults discuss and decide.

Wine. It has never been my favorite libation. When I go to a party I might bring root beer or juice boxes. The taste of anything with alcohol just makes my eyes squint, nose crinkle, and mouth make a rather attractive bitter look. My excitement for wine country was on par as if I were to get a coffee enema. It’s just not up my alley. Again my book became my best friend.

Moral of the story, if you cant read, sometimes the letters look like pictures and it looks like reading…

McDonalds Is From Where?

On my way to see my parents from Montpellier. This requires me to take a train ride between 9 to 10 hours total to get to Pisa. Time is loose for me so it was my prerogative to stop off in Torino for a day or two before I make my way. I got on my train around 2 in the afternoon and took my seat next to a scruffy middle aged sleeping man. He was the French version of a American southerner. Midway through the trip he was speaking his gibberish French in his sleep loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the car. Loud enough to wake himself up and excuse his unknown behavior to the nearby listeners. I ducked my hat low, put my ear buds in and read my book. This disguise did not secure my safety from the awkward interaction that was about to occur.

He focused his gaze on me and began rapping quickly in French with intent on me understanding. I gave the universal look of I don’t understand; pursed lips, squinted eyes, raised eye brows, quick head shakes. He kept talking to me persistently maybe thinking that eventually I would divulged the fact I was actually French. After 20 or so minutes of possible ridicule or compliments he walked to a table just behind me and started talking to a different guy who I assume spoke actual French.

I thought I was in the clear, my book and I would be able to become one again. WRONG. A young girl sat across the way from me and started trying to speak broken English to me. Her first words to me was “you have beautiful eyes”. I said thank you and tried to keep reading. She moved on over to where I sat and began asking nearly every question in the world. “Whats you name?”, “Where are you from?”, “Whats your dog’s name?”, “is there McDonalds in America?”. That last one caught me off guard too. True story, she asked my age and I told her 25. I asked hers back as a sign of curtsey and she responded 20. This threw me off guard mostly because she looked 12. I looked for clues that might solve this mystery. Traveling alone, could be 20. Pokemon back pack, could be 12. Rather good English, could be 20. Obsessed with her video games, probably 12. It was nearly an hour of interview questions. I feel that if Opera where to invite me to her last show, I would be thoroughly prepared for anything.

I was received in Torino around 9 at night. As I walked out of the train station I was surrounded by a city of construction. If felt like every block was consumed with rubble and caution tape. Reading directions given by the hostel was particularly interesting. Catching the right busses that don’t pass by me required a large amount of walking. I knew the general location I had to get to so I decided to make an adventure out of it. If I came to a fork in the road I would use my expert Italian skills to ask the local pedestrian “where is Dora Station?” I still can’t comprehend what Italians say so I had to rely on their cultural need to gesture everything they say. It is my true belief that the first interpretive dancers were just average Italians on stage. An hour of walking through a slummy part of town made me tired, cranky, and less inclined to stay an extra day in Torino to discover what gems it possesses. So now I am sharing a train cabin with two nice old ladies to Pisa. I get to see the parents today!!!

Moral of the story, learn how to say “I speak (insert a language here)” in that language to get out of awkward conversations.

Sluggish...

I have been a slug when it has come to writing recently. I have been consumed with walking, seeing, eating, and all that is involved with travels. It has really slipped my mind what it means to go out and experience the town. Massive amounts of time is spent wandering while the other part of the day is full of meeting people and relaxing from the strolls. This is a poor excuse I know. I will try to make it up to you loyal readers with a more regular account of that which is Europe.

I have promised Barcelona round dos but due to the fact that each day is filled with more and more stuff I am going to go ahead and skip all the way to Montpellier.

We left Barcelona at 9 in the morning after a long night hanging out with an ex boxer and an auzzie friend. It was rough like the way you feel when you are the 3^rd wheel and don’t get the inside jokes. You just kind of phase out stare blankly. The 5 hour train ride was full of those. While on the train with Laura she would once in a while grab a piece of paper and jot things down on it. I thought it could have possibly been her initial plot to pull a practical joke on me, but it was just her thoughts about traveling. She shared some with me that I had once felt. She said on the train she had finally been bitten by the travel bug. That nothing in the world is like it and that she HAS to find a way to keep going after college. I couldn’t help but tell her it is dangerous to get the bite. Like Pringles once you pop you just can’t stop. She started quoting proverbs to me and getting mind blowing thoughts that might change her life. I will have to take full credit for this new outlook.

Montpellier is a beautiful French city that definitely is French. Baguettes and people making fart noises with their mouths(the silent but violent ones) all over the place. I had been to Paris before, but I have not experienced true French people interacting with each other. It might be just me, but the French language seems so stuck up that it is like wiping your butt with gold toilet paper. I took French for a couple year in high school and I lost it all. I wasn’t completely thrilled with it when I was in school and I still am not. If I looked past the words, the people seemed very nice and the scene is wonderful. A woman at the train station did some clever maneuvering to be able to get me on the train. A guy in a pastry shop gave us an extra treat just because. I don’t know if I could live her, but I would suggest it as a fun place to walk around in.

At the moment I am riding a train from France to Torino(Turin). I love trains like a fat kid loves cake(pop culture moment). So simple and so grounded. I don’t feel like my day is dedicated to getting ready to fly, waiting to fly, flying, getting home from flying, then jet lag. A couple days in Torino will give me a little Italian refresher so that I can try my hand at leading my tourist group around.

Moral of the story, relaxing can be just as tiring as activities…

Barcelona Part 1

It would be utterly impossible for me to write a blog about every single detail that was observed over the past few days in Barcelona without writing a 6 to 8 page essay. I am going to mark some ups and downs, the people I met and the laughable times that the audience could share in with.

First day in Barcelona I checked into my hostel and was greeted by a small German girl and a chap from India. I had forgotten how easy it is to start up conversation with a random stranger. After we asked each other the two main questions that all travelers ask each other we were officially friends. The first question is “where are you from?” then “What are you doing in _____(Fill in the blank to the city you are in)?”. Names are really a minor detail that doesn’t usually get discussed or even mentioned sometimes. Everyone knows that 80% of people forget the name as soon as it is said out loud, plus the gaggle of people that you will talk to that day will tell their names and no one can remember 15 names. Arizona peaked her interest due to the fact she knew someone in the hostel that too was from the desert state. With the excitement of a child in a candy store inside an ice cream store surrounded by Disneyland I furiously went searching for my native blood. Words were not even exchange when we embraced in a understanding that kin had united. Then I found out she went to ASU and then the glares and “accidental” tripping took place. Alyssa was really sweat and gave me a dose of Arizona that will hold me over well for quite a while.

Ramblas Boulevard is the main street on in Barcelona that is just flooded with tourists. You can see everyone from the backpacking traveler to the 18 year old student exchange gossip girls to the American family fumbling with the maps and the sun screen thick on the nose with a fisherman’s hat. When massive people are gathered, sprinkles of middle eastern men will be in the crowd selling what goods they can. Tis the season to sell whistles. Every 20 feet there is a man whistling at you with sounds that range from Donald duck to Donald duck blowing his nose. Every kid wants one, every parents is dreading it. The whistles were probably the worst part of the entire Barcelona experience. Considering that is minor in detail, I think I did alright.

My good friend Laura was meeting in Barcelona from Montpellier. She booked the hostel we stayed at just a bit away from Ramblas. After checking into my new hostel with her we noticed about 200 high school kids running around the hostel. There was some kind of program that allowed them to travel in large packs, drink, go out and be supervised by only 2 adults. This hostel was fantastic because after we got our bags all unpacked and ready, we had made friends with all the people in our room. Lisa, Natalie, Brendan, 2 Englishmen, the Brits(9 of them), and a few Canadians. During the day Laura and I would go out in the city and observe everything we could (Gaudi was the main influence that caught our attention). During the day we always found a park that we  could lay in and listen to music. At night though, things went to chaos. Now my drinking habits are to drink a beer or two maybe every couple months. Brian the lush is not a name I would rightfully receive. But here in Barcelona new people would come in and it was our job to taste the city. My taste was cavas. For those who are not familiar with the libation, it is a wonderful sparkling white wine. If you think it is champagne you are wrong. True champagne only comes from the region of France known as Champagne. But the similarities were uncanny. The bubbly and sangria were poured to keep our glasses full. When I would get back into the hostel it would be between 3 and 5 in the morning. As I am on my way to Montpellier I am happily exhausted.

More is to come about my trip from Barcelona.

Moral of the story, if a man thinks he looks good in long hair, make him put on a dress too.

Asian Sensation

If you recall my complaining on an earlier post about directions that Hostel owners give in Norway, I had another similar experience. I took the late flight from Alghero at 10:35 and arrived in Girona just an hour or so later. I didn’t really feel like taking a bus all the way to Barcelona while not sleeping and building up my crankiness. Instead I booked a hostel for cheap in Girona for the night. I got the email with directions to the hostel but did not look at it until I landed. Midnight had fallen upon me when I read the email that said, “it is a 10 minute walk from the bus station. Just follow the signs to the Catalunya plaza”. I got on the bus to the station and kept reading it as if a hiding meaning might pop out from betwixt the words.

After my half an hour drive I got off the bus and looked around for signs. I must have looked like a dog chasing his tail with how many circles I was making. Usually when I am in despair I would just go into the closest shop and tell them the name and start pointing in all directions as if to say which one is right. Most people can understand what I mean when I do this sporadic movement. But at 1 oclock at night on the eve of Easter, not a single person is stirring, only the mice. It was up to me to start walking in random directions to discover any kind of hint. I was extremely lucky to go down the street that would eventually lead me to the hostel.

After I signed into the hostel a little confusion occurred that caused a big fuss. I am not one that likes to make enemies, but when I am tired please don’t mess with me. I got my room and bed assignment for the dorm. I was sleeping in room 6 bed 4. Got it. I go into the pitch black room and close the door. Ahh pitch black, good thing I can’t see the beds or the other peoples luggage. I turn on my itouch to shine some light on the situation and of course what do I do but point it right into someones sleeping face. After much confusion I found my bed and almost threw all my stuff on it when in the silhouette I saw a figure of a person snoozing away in the comfort of my comforts. I didn’t want to play games and I was extremely cranky. So I did what any grown man or 4 year old would do, I went and told on him. I felt guilty for about 30 seconds when the manager busted in the room and woke everyone up wondering who is suppose to be in what bed. Lights went out and I snuck in and took my bed…

Moral of the story, if you are asian, learn 1 through ten so you wont be woken up because you choose the wrong bed.

Sad Days...

The sky was scorched with melancholy and tears fell from the sky on the day of my departure. A solemn aura surrounded the town as if it were have a moment of silence in respect to their long visitor. Over the four months I have resided in Bosa, I have been able to see many of the locals and even friended a fair share of them. The 23^rd was the final countdown for my initial goodbye. I will be back in late may to resume a bit of work on their farm, but it was still a bitter Italian meat ball I/we had to swallow.

For my last meal Silvia decided to play a joke on me. Early in my work with them she created a soup dish that was very tasty but I was skeptical before I took a bite. The substance staring back at me was a sewer green with some chunks of who knows what. I guess when I asked “what is this?” I didn’t hide the ewww look on my face. Since then I have been taunted severally for not liking such a tasty dish. Silvia’s sense of humor presented itself when I came for lunch and at my place at the table was the GREEN SOUP. I laughed out loud and scarfed that soup down with a furious passion. Each bite was worthy of a moan and groan. After lunch Nahima offered me a chance to beat her in a game of chess. I am not a pro, or even good, but I am afraid that I might have been a little too hard on the 8 year old. We played 2 games and each one we played I lost only 2 pieces while she lost all but her king. What can I say, I get competitive. My last task at hand was to write in a Helpers Journal that they bought that day. After I wrote a heartfelt paragraph about how wonderful they were to me and how I am a part of the family now I was off to the bus.

Earlier that day my intentions to plan ahead bit me in the butt. I looked at a couple different time tables to take me to Alghero airport. The safest time to go at was 3:40. That will teach me to research before I make a move. The bus was to arrive at 4:40 and was still 20 minutes late. Let me remind you, it was raining out. And when it rains, it pours. And when it pours, the hurricane is on the way. Everything on my person was dripping wet. I did what I could to protect the just recently laundered clothes that were happy being dry. I am now sitting in the Alghero airport for 4 hours until my flight departs. There will be 1. Blogs written 2. Naps taken 3. Solitaire played. With all my experience in waiting in terminals, I still haven’t found my go to thing to keep me occupied. People watching only goes so far…

Moral of the story, weather can be interpreted however you want to appease your ego…

Clean Up, Get Out...

Friday is a day for packing and a day for solemn goodbyes. Instead of work I was detailed to stay home and clean the house from top to bottom. Michael is having a couple move into my room the day after I leave. He didn’t waste any time replacing me. It is up to me to clean my room. This is never a fun job. I also didn’t exactly help myself over the past month in keeping it in tip top shape so it would be an easier job later. I don’t think I ever emptied my trash, I swept the floors once I think, what is dusting? My laziness even went as far as my laundry. Yes I did my laundry, but when it was dry I would throw it to the other side of the bed instead of putting it away. I just figured I was going to wear it soon anyway, why put it away. That bit me in the butt when clothes were everywhere and I needed to pack it up. Most everything got pretty clean after trash was gone and everything was vacuumed. The last thing I was dreading to do was the bathroom. I am not going to give details of what it looks like or what is involved in cleaning it. Just be happy yours smells and looks better than mine.

Tonight is my last meal with the family until I get back in a month. Silvia is cooking something special for me. Not sure what it is, but I am pretty sure I will like it. After this I will be back on TTD(The Travelers Diet) eating bread and drinking water. Back to looking at train schedules and “stressing” over where I will sleep next. I love living here, but I think it is time to take a little break. The traveling bug is hitting just in time…

Moral of the story, if you don’t go to the bathroom, you don’t have to clean it…

Language Of The World...

In movies when you see an American talking to a foreigner, what do you picture? I see someone speaking loudly, very slow, and with over dramatic pronunciation. I am always super embarrassed when I watch it happen. The people talk to foreigners similar to how they talk to babies. When traveling around South East Asia Carlyn had a tendency to take part in this. She would try to ask something about hotels or food on a menu and get American. When they didn’t understand, her frustration peaked and I was assigned to deal with it. Luckily I am fluent in the universal language of pointing to objects and getting what needs done. I am getting to a point that matters to my current trip, read on.

At home I don’t think I am considered an extremely fast talker. Sure I listen to that horrible rap music, but my thoughts do not form in my head until I have already started my sentence. I actually consider myself pretty slow when it comes to conversing with other humanoids. I have been accused though of being soft spoken. My words are light on the tongue but heavy on the soul(that is deep). Next paragraph brings it all full circle.

For the last few months since I have been in Bosa I have had a little annoying thing happen to me each day. It is like a gnat that plays around your ears. It doesn’t really matter, but it just kinda gets to you after 3 months of living with it each day for 5 hours of work a day. If you were not sure, the gnat is not a gnat, it is a person. I love Michael dearly, but I something he does, or doesn’t do, gets on me enough to write about it. Whenever I say something to Michael he says “ehh?” or “what?”. Both pretty common things said in the English language. I am not sure if Michael has to adjust his ears to the frequency of my voice so that when I repeat myself he can understand, but it is everything I say that he questions. It isn’t that English isn’t his 3^rd or 4^th language because Kurt can speak to him with no problem. So I wrote the above part to question what the heck is wrong with my speech that Michael needs an echo to comprehend it?

Moral of the story, just answer the last question please…

100!!!

This is my 100th post. It was said it couldnt be done, but I made it to 100. The pool that people had that said i would quit early, i am sorry you lost your money. I feel like this is one of the occasions for a little dream bubble appear and remember the good times that have been had so far... The food, the fever, the beach, the cliff diving, the London, The Germany... I have had many experiences here while on my travels that have now been documented for when i am older and the memory starts to slip. I have a couple posts that i can go ahead and put up, but i think i am going to take a couple days sabbatical from posting. I will be heading to Barcelona in only a couple days and then to france then to see the parents. So if you stay tuned I am sure I will have new material including new cast members. Good thing my parents have a sense of humor...

Moral of the story, take a breather, breathing is good, keeps ya alive...

Masticating, One Bite At A Time...

I have met my match. Prior to this trip i thought my metabolism was something of glory and praise. I could eat a whole pizza 7 nights in a row and still be able to get away without it affecting me in the slightest. Other factors might be involved in my ability to stay in relatively swell shape; playing tons of basketball, volleyball, lifting weights, tag, marco polo in the pool. My metabolism was in a constant state of digestion to appease the energy that was needed to be sacrificed to stay active.

Though I work a few hours a day outside, the amount of food that has been portioned to me the past few months has outnumbered my calorie burning. I am not saying I grew a bit of a belly, but I am not saying I didn’t. I am not sure what I am saying if those are the only two options available, but I can tell that my body has taken a different form. In one week from this day I will be stepping foot in Barcelona, Spain. I am not sure if I will be able to pull off a miracle but I have started with baby steps. Recently I have taken less on my plate and have not taken seconds, eating slower and not inhaling my food, and beverage of choice is some crispy cool water. This is going to be step one into getting back into shape for beach weather in Spain. Let’s hope that I can run around enough to get my metabolism unrusted and back to top level.

Moral of the story, it is easier to maintain then fight back…

Take A Walk On The Wild Side...

It’s been long overdue for me to write about one of the most fun days I have had since i have come to Bosa. A week ago we had a day off so sir Michael planned a day trip for his family and us to go to a special place. We got ready for a water day and found out Orlando didn’t tell his parents about a math and science test he had to study for. Needless to say, he stayed home and Silvia stayed as well to keep him on task. Facebook is a good distraction from work. I saw a fake news cast once by Onion News. It said something like “the internet went down nationwide today, productivity increased 500%.” That is probably pretty close to true.

Michael, Nahima, Kurt and I took off around noon for our special destination. After getting a few nice lunch sandwiches and a drive along the coast we arrived. We had to do a little 15 minute hike through a super over grown path. I have done some hikes in my life, mostly in Tucson. I was noticing some of the differences from the locations. In Tucson if you walk down a path and a branch or other form of vegetation is blocking the path than you have to either go around or go back. Chances are it has spines, poison, toxins, dangerous bugs, or all of the above. In Sardinia you could walk all the way through a bush and it will feel like the plant is kissing you with its leaves and saying thank you for stepping on it and breaking some of its branches.

After our 15 minute walk we arrived to a small beach. To the left was sheer rock walls and to the right were giant boulders that lead to who knows where. Excitement grew in my mind that we were going to get to go bouldering and just jump from right to rock with slight chance of danger. When we got to an open area around the bounders we got to look around. It was so beautiful. Going from lush green plants to nothing but stone and water pools was quite a site. These pools ranged from a size of a basketball to the size of a basketball court. As deep as a toe or as deep as my whole body. The water everywhere was clear as day. One time as I was passing by a pool I actually saw a squid swimming around. I kept my distance of course because I have seen that they can take down fierce predators like sharks. Sure this was the size of both of my fists, but who knows???

The entire time we were hiking around on the rocks I felt l like a little kid in a candy store. I would try to find jumps between rocks that would test my jumping abilities. When we got to where Nahima couldn’t jump anymore we stopped for lunch and a swim. The pools were cold but really fun to go into. The big fun was cliff jumping. Kurt did this more than I did. We would find jump that just got higher and higher. I lost my fear of jumping off of tall areas into water when I was in Switzerland a couple years ago. We just had to watch out that we don’t step on the sea urchins. Those are some nasty little animals with spikes heading in every direction possible.

After 5 hours in the sun we headed home and had some of Silvia’s wonderful dinner. Grrrrrreat day.

Moral of the story, adrenaline and jumping height have no correlation…

Lightning Bolt...

When I wrote this blog, I wrote a little thing under the title that said I was on a journey to find something missing. I really wrote it to be an intriguing question that would bring newcomers into the page and see what funny twist on life I could make. It might even keep people waiting and reading for a brilliant bolt of lightning to hit me. Honestly, I thought it was a pretty good advertising campaign.

A friend of mine kept asking me and pressing me for an answer. I didn’t really want to think about it nor admit that something was missing or wrong at all. Living in bliss was good enough for a while. Things got a little bit dull and I became a bit homesick again. After much analysis and some deep talks with some friends I think I came up with one epiphany that I think will serve me in the future in all ventures I attack.

When I was in Arizona I always had my mind on Europe. Now when I am in Europe, I had my mind on things going on in Arizona and what I was missing out on. Recently I saw myself with one foot in and one foot out. It occurred to me, “you’re in Italy stupid”, if I am going to be here I need to fully commit to what I am trying to do. This is my life and it is time that I lived it out while diving head first. It might sound weird that moving to Italy for however long isn’t considered diving head first, but I think you can get the gist. It doesn’t mean I don’t miss home, or care about the people any less that are there, but I guess it was a realization that if I am to live the next chapter of my life, then I should turn the page.

With this new found ideology, things look a bit shinier and taste a bit sweeter.

Moral of the story, just reread it…

Dont Mess With Texas...

In nature we see alpha males fight each other for a dominant position within a clan or pride. Rams might knock horns, lions will take part in epic battles, humans get defensive and stubborn in their ways. I got to witness such an occurrence between Michael and Kurt today. We are making a platform that will help take water away from the house and divert it to a more deserving place for rain water. A couple days ago the two of them did some measurements to prepare for the cement pouring. Meanwhile I did menial jobs that are not hugely important, but if not done will just be annoying if they weren’t done. For example they were going to put a ton of rocks inside the cement to take up a lot of space. So they needed me to get the rocks and pile them up near the site. Not extremely complicated or massively important, but if not done, it would have made the cement day a bigger hassle.

Cement day came with all our hopes and dreams of a fantastic pouring and laying of pretty stones. We each had our jobs that were not necessarily assigned but just worked themselves out. Michael was to make the cement in his machine. I was on wheel burrowing detail. Kurt was on cement distribution and stone placing. We had our bases covered and our tasks clear, now all that was to do was to start the job. Michael is very particular about his mixture of cement in his machine. He has to have the right amount of water, the right amount of sand, the right amount of cement mix or else it is way off. It usually came out soupy no matter what he did. My job was a lot of waiting. Michael took a good 20 to 30 minutes between each mix. Wheel burrowing was a 10 second job. Do the math… Kurt had the hardest job. When he got the cement he had to level it, put the rocks inside of the cement, stomp it down, and then place decorative stones evenly on a downward slope. Mr. Kurt was prepared for the job until Michael threw a wrench in the machine. Instead of creating a nice foundation that would dry so that a nice top layer could be made evenly, Michael wanted Kurt to put the finishing touches on a soupy and very moveable surface.

Kurt did what he could, and actually did a pretty good job, but there are problem spots that could be avoided if foundations were made first. So today was going to be finish it off day. Alpha male vs. alpha male. If you are wondering I am a beta male. I have no place in making decisions or contributions in these type of situations. Followers don’t get dirty glances and will be invited to dinner that night. Michael was telling Kurt how he wanted it done, Kurt told him the proper way to do it and then silence. After much brooding and a slew of comments like “do whatever you want to do” and “why don’t you do it, it’s your house”, Michael left for more cement and Kurt did it his way. I am not really sure who won the battle royal. After two long days of waiting with a wheel burrow the platform is complete and looking like slab of concrete. I do what I can…

Moral of story, when two alphas fight go in after when they are both weak and dominate…

Purple Nurple...

I am not a member of the fashion police, neither would i assume the position of such a high praised job. I am not terribly fashionable relative to the rest of the world. Maybe inside of my personal family I have a greater desire for a nice arrangement of matched clothing, but this does not give me the right to judge others on what they wear, but I will anyway. Since I have been away from the celebrity gossip and big city style it is entirely possible that in the 3 months I have been gone that a new color has emerge as the primary color of choice among humans. About a month ago the trio of trouble makers which consists of Michael, Kurt, and I were at the hardware shop picking up some things. I had no need to be inside since my knowledge of screw size and strength are limited to just being able to drill. Instead I took part in a favorite past time, people watching. Not many people were out, but enough to keep me from going inside and standing around like I knew what they were talking about. Something peculiar caught my gaze in the distance. A young lad wearing a coat that looked like a bunch of marshmallows that was dark purple matched with black pants. I thought, hmm, that is not a usual color scheme. Not 2 minutes later I saw an old lady wearing the same exact thing. The obvious conclusion that I made was that they were related and he received color blindness just like his grandmother. I was wrong. As time passed the color purple was slowly flooding the streets of Bosa. I couldn’t comprehend what the heck was going on. Was I so out of the loop that I didn’t realize that purple was the pink? I am not so silly to say that I will never buy something purple, but I don’t think I can pull it off. As weird as I thought it looked, it kind of works due to the dark hair, dark tan, dark pants. I got nothing but light, lighter, and ohh my god is he shining. We will see how my fashion is altered due to some trends flowing through this small town.

Moral of the story, being too cool to care has one main factor that must be true, you gotta be too cool.

St. Michael...

I feel like I have given most things in Bosa a fair analysis. But it occurred to me that Michael has not been put under the microscope like Silvia and the kids have. Since I work with Michael everyday this seems rather appalling that his character and quarks have not been plastered on the web.

Over time working with Michael, he eventually divulges all the stories of his life. This man has had quite an existence here on earth. Growing up in Germany he eventually joined the army for a brief stint. In his early 20’s he lived in the red light district of Amsterdam. While there he was friends with all the local working girls on that area and also took part in the shows that are offered in such areas. As he grew older he pursued a different avenue of enlightenment. He went to southern Spain and lived in a cave in solitude for a whole year. Using only what skills he had learned to capture food, he survived as a anarchist against the evil governments of this world. He told a story of him staring down a tiger from across the river and that he felt like he was moments from death. After his year was completed he left to India where he became a monk and met Silvia. Of course there are stories in between the general over view I just gave, but still the story is pretty amazing. But I guess one of the most distinguishing character traits is his response to the simplest of questions. I will be in the back seat of his truck dazing off and kinda wake up and ask “where are we?”. Without a skip of a beat he will respond with “isn’t that what we all want to know about life”. One that I remember quite vividly is my question to him about work that day “we are gonna have to keep going up and down the hill, huh?”, “This is life, always going up and down, up and down”. You are right Michael but I really am curious about this situation. I have learned that the only way to get around his mysterious answers is to ask super specific yes and no questions. “Michael, are we going to the store to pick up a loaf of bread and cat food?”. Try to get philosophical with that little gem of a question.

His anarchist ways has left him pretty skeptical of the world at large. Conspiracies of the big organizations, music icons like Lady Gaga, future, technology, facebook, they have all felt the wrath of Michaels word venom. I love Michael, he is a good father and husband as well as a great friend to both Kurt and I.

Moral of the story, when you cant think what to write, you write that you can think of anything to write.

Warm My Cold Cold Heart...

Before I left for Norway I still needed a jacket in the morning and night to fend off the cold. Over the three days gone someone turned the summer switch on. The mornings and evenings are pleasant with a long sleeve shirt and whatever form of leg covering clothes(shorts or pants). The day reminds me of the days in Tucson with the heat of the sun and feeling that radiation filling your skin with light to create darkness. A tell tale sign of how quickly summer is coming is the number of people sun bathing on the beach. The day I left for Norway there were about 10 people including myself on a stretch of beach approximately half a mile long. Yesterday I went for a run and the number had jumped to 30. Today I went with Silvia and the kids to a birthday party and there must have been 200 people scattered through the beach. The water is still a bit chilly and takes your breath away, but still fun to go into.

I took a little stroll around the beach while the kids were playing get each other wet while in the water. Now if you have ever had a stereotype in your head about Europeans and how they act at the beach or wear, I promise I have seen it all today. I am not much of a speedo man myself, but the men here really let it all hang out. I talked to the father of the kid having a part while he was in his speedo. It was a good talk except he doesn’t understand the concept of American personal space when tight underwear is involved. If he got any closer to me we would have been in an embrace. The women on the other hand are laying on their towels as women do on beaches. Except on these beaches I have seen more women comfortable with forgetting their tops and slipping the small cloth that covers the butt into the butt. The problem with this is that quite a few of them women that try to pull this off really should use that little cloth as directed and should probably remember where they put their top. It really does seem apparent that people are very comfortable with themselves when it comes to public displays of “oh my god put that away”s.

Moral of the story, shake what your momma gave ya, and your momma…

Grade Check...

Things were back to normal on the Zipp farm. My first official day back and we have started a new project with clearing out a space that will be dedicated for hosting the spoontinos(BBQs). Before we entered the area it was over grown with cacti and tree nonsense. The stone wall was crumbling and the ground was uneven with debris everywhere. After demolition of the cacti and some nice pruning I had the honor of building the wall up. We have quite a bit to clean up in the next couple days, but it will look like a beautiful summer oasis for Italian mingling. A few setbacks made sir Michael a frustrated panda. And no one likes frustrated pandas. The sledge hammer, pick, and small hammer all broke off of their wooden sticks nearly 20 minutes within each other. Also, we are borrowing a car that was sitting in the sun tanning for a year. We had to get a fuel filter replaced to make it run smoothly. At the moment it sounds like it will blow up around gear 2. Michael was getting flustered by the mechanic that would give him a part that wouldn’t fit. He would try to return it, but it was siesta(nap time). Then he got the correct part but needed a certain lubricant to make it work properly. All this running up and down and broken tools was turning Michael red with frustration. Everything turned out alright though. The tools we fixed, the car is running, and his color is back to normal german white.

Fooled ya…his color had gone back to normal but quickly went back to red when his wife went to a parent conference. I dreaded this day like no other when I was in school. Most the time I would get the exact same thing said by every teacher. “He is a good kid, talks a little too much, and could work harder”. All things were true, but man it would eventually turn into a report card and that was when WWIII would happen. Michael experienced this with Orlando today after he got his report back that he doesn’t do anything and will probably have to stay back a year. I could tell that there was a huge discussion(fight) that went on because Orlando was careful not to be a pill at the dinner table. He ate his salad and didn’t make any jokes to be noticed. I pulled the same move…

Moral of the story, if you do your work, then you can make jokes…

When The Moon Hits Your Eye Like A Big Pizza Pie...

A long day of travels took me to Alghero, a city a couple hours away from Bosa. The buses don’t run after 9 at night, so it was up to me to find an extremely last minute hostel that would be easy access and close to the bus station. So as I was walking to the closest McDonalds for their good wifi and tasty heart attacks a fellow strolled up to me and offered me a room for 25 Euros overlooking the entire ocean. It was only a couple blocks away from the bus station. I tried to dip into the skeptical side of me, but I found out I wasn’t born with that specific bone. With extreme excitement that I just got a great deal for an apartment over night I hoped in his very clean car and we took to the road. A couple minutes later I was inside a wonderfully big apartment that is actually bigger than the place in Bosa. He handed me the key and explained how to use it. I am not very familiar with the use of keys, so it was good that he told me that you put the mountain side up and then twist. I was just gonna hold the key next to the lock and hope it opened on its own.

I dropped my stuff off on my bed and took to the streets to find something to eat. As I left the building the kind sir was there to give me another lesson in key use. He assured me that the key to the building worked exactly the same as the one into my room. Phew…I can only take so much information at once. The city seemed quite dead, but I walked around and found an open pizzeria anyway. I ordered a random pizza off the menu and a water. The cook lead me to the bar where I could pay and wait for the pizza. As I walked in, there was a few men and a woman behind the bar. A midget of the group gave me a handshake and asked if I spoke English. I told him I was American, so barely. He loved talking to Americans because we are looser with our language. He said British people were very funny in the way they talk and hard to understand(he then gave a funny impersonation I don’t think I could ever copy). He then told me of his dreams of going to Las Vegas so he could take some of the money they have their home with him. I told him that was quite a few people’s dreams going there. I am not sure people go there dreaming to lose money, they just expect it. The pizza came out and I wished them a pleasant fair well. As I walked out of the building I realized I had a monster pizza and that I couldn’t eat it all. So I walked back into the bar and told everyone to have a piece. Without a moments delay, the midget man that could speak English dove right in. Others were reluctant, but eventually gave in. I now had roughly 6 people standing around me asking the man questions to ask me. I felt like I was on Opera and she let the crowd submit questions. We had some good laughs and some good eats but it was eventually time to go. That night I was offered a place to sleep if I was ever in Alghero and had no bed. Gotta love the locals…

Moral of the story, if you got a piece, share a piece…