Dale blogs for SMU Student Adventures - Student Adventures

Dale, World Traveler

After graduating in 2007 with a CCPA major and French minor, Dale moved to London to intern in Parliament and experience more international perspective. Each year he strives to visit two international festivals and tackle at least one major adventure. In 2007 he attended Carnivale in Venice and will attend Fiesta de San Fermin (running of the bulls) in Pamplona. For adventure, he chose trekking the West Highland Way (100 miles) in Scotland and the Camino de Santiago pilgrimage (500 miles) in Spain. He plans to continue education and dreams of achieving a Ph.D. from a top university for leadership which would allow him to work in international leadership development.

As you read Dale's writing, note that he is practicing to write literature and will experiment with rhetoric, style and structure. Any feedback is appreciated.

July 13, 2007

Pamplona: I came, I saw bulls, I ran from them
I ran, I did it. I ran from the main plaza de San Fermin ... 650 of the entire 800 metre I ran. My life was at the mercy of fate. I stood next to a very tall American at the beginning. We chatted a bit and I must have seemed poised because all the scared people were asking me about the race. I noticed that as I stood alone in the street, the thousands of more-scared people with more life-reconciling to do passing me by, the various cameras seemed focused on me. The non-egotistical truth is I felt calm, ready, strong ... and I must have looked it.

Seconds later, the fireworks sounded and the tall American shouted BULLS! At full gait, my legs carried me at an adrenaline-fueled sprint past strangers and onlookers. Ducking, leaping, pushing, I got to the middle of Death Alley before I heard the bulls to my immediate rear and left. A split second I turned my head to see the train sound´s origin ... 8 deadly and majestic beasts running with wide eyes beside me. I guess a stampede is just as scary for them. As they passed, I felt an intense sense of luck swell over my chest, starting on the left breast side. But seconds before the bullring entrance, the trailing toro (always known as the most dangerous bull) stopped in its tracks. I skidded to a stop within smelling distance of the creature. Immediately I leapt a fallen comrade and shot through the highest slat of a barrier, adding a laceration to my forehead and shins on the way through. Quickly, as if to commend my leap, the toro turned back to the arena and trotted into the ring. I crawled back through the barrier and ran behind him with the rest of the red and white tide. Such senseless pride, but apparent nonetheless, I had entered the bullring alive and barely bruised. My stomach turned after the realization of what had just happened ... but I told it to calm down and keep composure, we can´t be showing our guts to the entire crowd. I stood in the ring, my senses acutely aware of the scene ... my emotions spiraling upward as my util count soared. I came, I saw, I conquered.

July 11, 2007

After sleeping on it, I´ve come to the conclusion that the Camino de Santiago is much like any other journey. That is, the destination is only necessary as a point to affix your eyes and set in motion your soul... but the journey to reach that point is the reason itself for walking.

I think it´s best explained as an oreo cookie. The part in the middle is always the richest, the two ends are sweet ways to get the middle to your taste buds... but we eat them to get to the middle.

The smell of pilgrim still grips my clothes and body, we wonder if we get to keep that familiar funk. Is that how we bring home the Camino? I shaved my playoff beard which has now been replaced with the smoothest, cleanest man face I´ve seen in the mirror for months. I´m not sure I´ll miss walking each day, but I do feel like an episode of my life has faded to black. All I know is that my feet need to feel good so I can run with the bulls on Friday morning ... wish me luck.

July 10, 2007

The finish line
Arrived in Santiago. After a few grande cervezas, we have settled into our pension with completed compostelles. Upon reaching the Catedral, we simply sat in the looming presence of the Apostol de Santiago. No rush, nowhere to be, nowhere to walk, we just soaked in the finish and spent the night recapping stories of good, bad and ugly times.

July 8, 2007

We´re two or three days from Santiago, approx 65 kms. The bittersweet ending is near. Our time with Markus and the girls will be surely finished. That fact is always hard to swallow for me.

This close to the end, there are droves of vacation newbie pilgrims out for a 3- to 5-day hike through cow-smelling Galicia. We race these newbies to towns in hopes of catching beds at the donativo albergues. These people think it´s okay to wake up at 5 am, pack the bag van and then walk loudly until noon. We generally have to restrain Markus from ... how do we say?... having a cow when we see the group of annoying not-tired Spanish churchies sitting in flip flops outside the only donativo albergue at 1:30 pm.

Do people in Spain not have noses? It smells SO BAD in Galicia. Last night, the intermingling of cow feces and pilgrim socks led the hospitaleros to walk the bunk room vehemently spraying deodorizer... which made the 120 bedroom smell like roses (covered in steaming carcasses of long-dead beasts of burden, spoiled milk that you just opened for a quick whiff, a hundred 20-year-old funky mattresses still soaked with ape sweat and toenail clippings ... that, plus crap).

Kai develops loyalty to such strange inanimate objects. Today he asked if he should keep his smelly hat or not. "It smells so bad, but it´s like a monument." Then there was the sitting bag he wanted to keep til Santiago, then the fanta bottle, then there´s the yellowed wife beater which he is saving to wear as he walks into the Catedral. His favorite is "little guy," a perfectly circular blister which forms each day on his left foot and disappears as he sleeps. We´ve all become a bit attached to the little guy.

July 7, 2007

Tell me something LIfe, whisper in my ear.
My mind is open now to things I should hear.
Do you know of a path which I could take and make my own?
And do you know if that path will leave me all alone?
What´s the cost of a love lost? Or did I turn away?
That poem of my sole soul is gone I hope for another day.
This day is sharp in my mind,
The wind has chilled the air.
Where I was is just behind.
Where I´ll go is just there.
Take me life, hand in hand we´ll box with reason and love,
We´ll sing songs which move our souls and pull us from above.

July 5, 2007

Pearl´s cappucino was already half gone and cold when her sister pushed into the cafe. Pearl knew the routine so well. Vivian was never the most punctual of people... let me be frank: Viv was too pretty to need punctuality. She´d brush in the room and say genuinely ... or at least persuasively ... sorry I´m late, been waiting long? The thing is, you get swept away by that soft upturned smile and forget the damned frustration on your shoulders, saying ... no, just arrived.

Pearl thought Viv was hysterical; at 19 years old Viv had reached the time when she really could control a room. Pearl was always proud of her but a bit anxious that Viv depended too much on her appearance. Of course, Pearl believed so much in Viv´s talents and intellect, she found herself rooting for the deeper side of Viv to win out the overall personality.
"Sorry I´m late. How long?"
"Just got here 5 minutes ago."
"Liar"
"Brat"

July 2, 2007

So we "get up" every day at 6 am. "Get up" means that Markus pretends to want to get up... but doesn´t. Then Kai´s 6:30am Sweet Home Alabama ringtone goes off. We all giggle and roll over. Then around 7 or 7:30 one of us gets tired of watching the others sleep and crawls out of bed. We all hate this person for 10 minutes and then we get up with coffee on the mind. Wait... I swore off coffee, I forgot. Why? So I could be a part of the bad habit crew.

June 30, 2007

Man cannot stand a meaningless life.
We have really become a group lately. We walk knowing we´ll see each other at the end of the day, or in the nearest cafe. Luth has stopped smoking now for 3 days... we´re proud and protective. She was threatened twice today by Kai and Markus that if she had one cigarette they´d both get wasted and be somewhat violent. See, Kai and Markus have agreed to have no drinks until Santiago... I know... I was shocked too. So, no fun until Santiago.

How lost do I want to be? A cowboy lives loneliness and is a stranger to family. Do I like saying "Hello, my name is..." each day? How found are my dreams? How romantic are my days?

That lost stretch of Highway...
where the sky just goes on
and it´s never the same...
A modern day drifter
Can never complain.

I can´t complain. Yet I know my time on the asphalt is ending. Soon, it is back to a world of accomplishment and fast living. Can you carry the Camino into that world? I am gonna try.

If you could see the skies through my eyes.
For a moment the sun would wrap you in its arms.
You would have strength in your limbs.
Your mind would be sharp... poignantly aware.
Your heart would be full and empty at once.
Time would lose significance to you.
All of a sudden, you´d be unsure of reality.
Are you dreaming? No.
You can´t see yourself... except for shadow
But all of a sudden...
You see everything clearly.

June 28, 2007

I love my life.
Out on the road, it´s so easy to question fate... "Why did you give me this gift of a life?" Truly, I’ve spent most of my life wondering why I should deserve good health, good fortune, good family, good friends, good future, etc. Luth, my new Belgian friend, said it was self-defeating to question a gift... "just accept and be thankful, you worked for this, you set yourself up for this, you took risks... just say thanks and don´t dwell too long or you´ll miss it," she says.

Well, I´ve always been bad at accepting gifts (if you´ve ever given me one, I probably smiled and acted awkwardly, maybe I began acting for those moments specifically), I´ll have to work on that still; but I´m excellent at recording my thanks. You may find yourself on this list, if not, just wait and trust that I have thanked my Lord for all the moments you each have given me.

Thanks...
To the brothers: for HFF and balance, for the stories, for the diligence, for the virtue, for the brotherly love, for the following and the leading... my life as a SigEp has been worthwhile.
To Mom, Dad, Erik, my Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Greg and Chris: For guidance, for love, for support, for perspective, for laughter, for listening, for talking, for learning and teaching, for stories about long ago and about today as well, for allowing a dreamer to find that some come true, for skills like baseball and sailing and driving and skiing and waterballoon tossing and fireworks and such... I´m a product of you all.
To Em, Ames, Christine, Pickle, Slave, Dumpster, Toots, Mr. Salsa, Mike T: For the moments of serious laughter, serious argument, serious drinking, serious vacations, serious ridicule, serious support, serious phone calls, serious long term plans, serious whataburger runs, serious 80s music, serious toga parties, serious gorilla suit stories, serious philosophical discovery, serious XBOX time, serious sarcasm and some serious love... It´s all just the beginning.
To Kai: Thanks for pushing me up a few mountains and recording the stories in a much less epic and much more interesting way.
To the Londoners: I´ll always remember London as the time of my life... it doesn´t get better, and I know it´s because of all you crazy nutters.
To the Mentors: Each day I walk this camino and I think... most of the time I hear your words in my conversations. I often wonder if my entire intellect is just a big collection of all your perspectives. Thank you for pushing and pulling and flunking and passing and hugging and advising me through the past years.
To the ones I left out: You wouldn´t get this if I didn´t love you and need you... but I´m a man and lack full ability to remember and write about each of you. You probably fit into one of those categories anyway... so claim that and feel the love.

June 24, 2007

We stood for what felt like hours and may have only been seconds; she facing me, I facing her. The wind blew comfortably from behind me. The friendly sun kissed our necks. We couldn´t see each other for the eyelids in the way. I stopped asking why for maybe the first fleeting moment of my life. She was pure... in the moment of her world´s imperfect wonder. The woosh of the wind filled our ears and we shared each other´s moment. I opened my eyes and saw her looking at the place on my face where eyelids veiled my soul... or revealed. How long had she watched me just then? Or did no time pass? No questions in my mind, no nagging curiosity.
"Tell yourself I love you, " she said.
I gave the "I´m not ready yet" face and she smiled.
"You give me hope," I said.
To be so formidably exposed to someone standing so near, I´d have kissed her if I could have pulled my eyes from hers. The respect I have keeps me safe from mingling desire with probability.
"You never ask why you get moments like that?" I ask.
"I just say thank you, I take the gift and I live the moments."
"Yes, but--"
"You earn moments like that by working for them, by searching, letting your soul guide you without question."
"How do you change from one person to a new one immediately?"
"You just do," she said.
"I can´t just do that..."
"Say you can."
Even now, I´m denying myself inside."
"Stop"
"Okay... Thank you"

June 24, 2007

Some stories from the Camino:
He leads her by hand. Each day, as he walks, he defines true love by describing to her the scene from his perspective. The sounds and smells, the feelings, the people, but most importantly the sights. She´s blind. Over 1000 kms there is much to see on the Camino for anyone... for him, there is no detail to be missed. She depends on him for the experience, his experience depends on her. That is the Camino.

She´s on the trail every day, crutches in hand. "I´m building up my arm strength," she says. With a badly sprained ankle, nobody moves very quickly. She gets 10 kms each day, refusing to rest because Texan women don´t acknowledge pain. Her coffee companion for the morning will move 40 kms in the same nine hours that she´ll spend hobbling down the path... and she´ll never see that person again. She´s still going now. That´s the Camino.

They just met in the Pyrenees, headed down the same path. She´s beautiful, brilliant and gentle; a teacher, she is approaching that dire age when women begin to worry about nature... she´s searching for something each day. He´s new to adventure; going on this trip represents a big step for his self confidence. They meet and share 2 weeks together. Finally a point comes and she decides that the Camino is a singular sojourn and says goodbye for now. He, loving her, lets her go. Each day he walks a bit slower than she. But each day, by happenstance, they end up in the same town in the same albergue. The following day, she decides to outhink him and go five extra kms to get ahead of him. So she bolts with the sunrise and walks with herself all day. She arrives and soon sees the tall silhouette of her dutchman, who apparently had the same idea. Every day they leapfrog and chase each other a bit further across Spain, desperately seeking singularity. That is the Camino.

He had one day with her when their walking days coincided. Conversations of life, love and the journey filled their time. He told her, courageously that her eyes were only descriptable in poetry. Blushing at his words, she wondered if she should write them down for those days when her mirror hated her. "I´ll write them for you," he said. The next morning, he moved on before her, but expected to meet her for coffee later. She was behind schedule that morning and missed him. So he tore the poem in three sections and left each one by one along the path with rocks to spell her name and catch her attention. The next day, as she began a new day on the camino without him, she found words to make a woman cry. He made her day. That is the Camino.

The camino is walked by either tourists or pilgrims. Pilgrims need new questions, new answers, new direction, new hope. Tourists need new stories, new pictures, new fortitude or new adventure. But everyone, everyone, will experience their worst, their best, their most demeaned, their most achieved; they will all leave the Camino with new perspectives. Young, Old, Sick, Well, Happy, Down; they will all walk in sunshine and shade behind each other and in front of the next. That is the Camino.

June 18, 2007

Need a funny story now? Here you go...
8:30 am
The tent was all packed, we had eaten breakfast, Kai his usual camembert and bread, me the usual Nutella and bread... maybe an oreo or two or four. Seriously, I love Oreos like the Hoff loves his mirror. Spain, unlike France, has an excellent selection of cookies which keeps me happy.
    Backpacks on, pavement underfoot. We´re off the Camino de la Costa, walking south on roads and routes to Burgos where we´ll catch the more traditional Camino Frances. Twenty five minutes and two choruses into "I would walk 500 miles", a low engine crept up behind us on the shoulder of beautiful A-68 Autopista. We had just been pulled over like a cardigan. I started singing Bad Boys before the serious looking Spanish polizia emerged from their tough-looking copper mini-van. Pretty quickly we knew these guys weren´t going to just let us go about our derring-do. They took our passports and told us to pull off the autopista at the next exit.
   Now, in a car, you get pulled over and you just cruise up to the next exit and it´s a two minute ordeal. Without a coche, it looked more to passers-by as a police escort for two peregrinos marching for 20 minutes.
   After a city flatbed truck driver pulled off to pick up our escargot selves, we were handed souvenirs from Bilbao which we each got at a 30% discount at 68 Euros. We were then pointed to the right for our route, and left by the police. We walked on trying to smile... you know... laugh it off. Four hours pass with us walking up hills, through serious jungle, compass pinting and map scouring. At last, we arrived at our destin... the exact same place that the police dropped us off!!! "This looks familiar," I said...
INSERT SCENE WITH KUNG FU FIGHTING, VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS, MONKEYS THROWING POO AND WILE E COYOTE SHOOTING HIMSELF WITH AN ACME BRICK LAUNCHER.....

Fifty kilometers later, in a tent pitched illegally in the middle of a village...
"Dale," said Kai.
"Yeah"
"That will make a really good, expensive story someday."

June 15, 2007

This is our last day of six with the Germans, our friends Horst and Karin. They have been so fun to walk with. Horst lives up to the German stereotype, drinking even better and quicker than Kai can. Horst has been teaching us the German words for all the English words he knows... animals, tree, clothes, anything he can point to. It´s a bit like Robinson Crusoe and Friday... only he has an interpreter in Karin.

After walking the last 4 hours from Lezama to Bilbao, we found Spain´s third or fourth largest city to be a bit unwelcoming. People here don´t seem to worry much about pilgrims, even seeming a bit put off to help us find direction in the town. The nun in the Cathedral Santiago was nice though, so I guess I can´t curse the entire city.

Wait, yes I can... there´s no McDonalds here. I know, that sounds like a silly reason to curse an entire city; but we have been talking about getting a big greasy hamburger (or several) for about a week now. We spent hours combing the streets for the golden arches, bellies rumbling in harmony, only to find Burger Kings. Now, this is indisputable, when you want McDonalds, you want McDonalds. We asked strangers, "Donde esta una McDonalds?" Only to get directions to the nearest BK. "Spanish people should learn that ----ing Burger King is not Mcdonalds," said Kai. Unhappily, we settled down at a Hot Dog House for some burgers that were bigger, better and cheaper than McDonalds. Stupid Spain.

My head is full of Dallas right now. I can´t stop thinking about the next job I´ll pursue, education I´ll petition for, apartment I´ll live in... etc. I think I´ve just been learning so much in my new life that I want to integrate into my old life... a bike, language classes, dancing, travel plans, new cooking recipes, more maps, more balance, more activities, etc. I don´t like to be away from my present situation for too long, but sometimes you just gotta think think think like Winnie the Pooh... only walking... and in Spain... and in real life.

"Someday I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying."Tim McGraw

This life as a wanderer is decidedly tough. Here and gone friendships, a constant road smell on your skin, a serious lack of glamour and luxury, a pinched wallet and a torn body. But it is also full of romanticism. New languages, fresh air in your lungs, a hard working man´s tan, scrapes with stories, stories for walking, wisdom from rubbing noggins with the more experienced or the emphatically hip, wallworthy photos, life measurable on a map, new foods, and that accomplished feeling you get while looking over your shoulder at the 30 kms of old mountains that bid you adieu in the day. Triumphantly, you unload a pack inside a free or cheap pilgrim´s habitacion, you say to yourself, "I did something today, I earned a bed, I am a true pilgrim in the 21st century."

German word of the day:
Ha Schneide Machine
Hair cutting machine

June 13, 2007

Stamps. Sellos. To receive Pilgrim hospitality, you must present credentials with sellos proving the route which you walked. Our confraternity of Saint James in London got us the nifty passports and we have room for 100+ stamps. You can get stamps at tourism offices, town halls, churches, monasteries, hostels,police stations, bars, etc. Most people we meet (including us) have been getting the requisite one stamp a day.

Here´s the mindset we´re in: We walked, 80+ kms in 3 days, we´re muddy, we´re stinky, we´re sore, but we´re accomplished. At the past 3 albuergues, we´ve met the same dozen "pilgrims." These people walk by autoroute to towns on the camino, skipping the climbs, the sun, the mud and the thorns. Some even have a car to drive their bags from place to place. When we leave at 7am, walk hard all day with packs on, reach the final stop covered in mud (and I mean up to the knees), sweat stained smiles are turned red by the sight of the same dozen people as before who haven´t walked the true camino, yet have taken the small quantity of pilgrim beds. Our 51 and 62 year old German friends with bad knees and heavy packs are walking it, what´s the excuse? I´m trying to have the patience described in the Good Book, but it is hard to not stare them down with the same ferocity with which I stare down accroching dogs. A pilgrim´s boots should be muddy.

Wealth quickly and easily attained is nothing. Like ashes in the wind they will vanish into thin cold air.

June 12, 2007

Ecclesiastes 9.7
Go, eat your bread with enjoyment and drink your wine with a merry heart; for God has long ago approved what you do.

A night in a monstery. We spent 30 kms working toward the place, approaching with a happy heart. The food and wine really did hit the spot.

Big Prayers today for:
MeMa´s heart... I need to hug her tight as soon as I get back... Lord send her my prayers and love.

For Grandpa... It´s hard on him, being unable to do what he wants because his body is misbehaving. Keep his soul strong.

June 11, 2007

After a quick awakening (apparently at 6am a bomb goes off in pilgrim land), breakfast for everyone, a good stretch, we headed out with Karin and Horst. Let´s put this into perspective for the viewers: Kai and I both have packs that weigh roughly 60lbs. The other, mostly older folks, have 1/3 that much. We are told daily that we are overladen... we just nod and walk on, a bit proud and stubborn.

We walked 30+ kms today in some difficult terrain. We sang like pilgrim jukeboxes and pushed each other along. We are in Deba now, about to find some food for our worked and wearied bodies.

Funny moment of the day:
We were walking along, wondering why the manure smell was increasing so vehemently until we rounded a corner and saw a truck spraying poop all over the field next to the road. "Oh no, we´re gonna get pooed on!" I said.

June 10, 2007

We are currently staying in an albergue for peregrinos only. We met two German folks and spent most of the evening chatting with them. After a 3 course pilgrim´s dinner, we played cards and drank. Tomorrow we´ll walk with them some 20+ kms.

Today, after I pulled a Speedy Vaughnzales and left Kai below, I got to thinking:
We march on with courageous hearts. Sea to the right, Mountains to the left, mud and challenge under foot. I find that I can call on a hidden strength which will push me up past the peaks at any moment. But I know in time, I´ll need those reserves of divine gift for the daily walk.... so I save it for times of real trial. To know the peace of pilgrimage, you must rip your heart open and peer inside. Be careful, you may be surprised with what you find.

Thoughts: "You have to get your mind working before you can get your body moving."
" My advice to anyone: workout your soul. Your spirit is what will carry you up that hill when your body and mind fail."

June 9, 2007

This is my first real Spanish coastal city, San Sebastien. I've observed quickly that the Spanish men are lucky people. The women here drip beauty fromevery pore, leaving a constant sense of seduction on the air...and truly the public affection here is noticeable. The people are gracious, the food is great and reasonably priced, and the beach today is everything I picture of a European beach. Tomorrow we're back on the road and will be in Orio for a night in a pilgrim's albergue (like a hostel).

June 8, 2007

Phhew! 26 kms, 1 a.m., we arrived at a hotel in San Sebastien. We weren't aiming for a hotel, we weren't even aiming for this city...or darkness. In fact, at normal arrival time, we got to our determined destination of Pasajes de San Juan. After the 2nd city flyby, a few locals very happily told us that in fact, there was no accomodation to be had at all in the town. So we urgently boarded a ferry and rode over to Pasajes San Pedro in dire need of better luck. Again, we were told that there was no habitacion... (where do visitors to these beautiful towns stay?). So, with daylight gone and aching bodies, we walked the last 6 kms to San Sebastien...only to find ourselves in a huge town without a map, a clue, or the time of day (it was 11 p.m.).

I ask you...what would you do? Can't find a hostel, there is no campground, it's now midnight...we went to the beach. We then contemplated very seriously the pros and cons of sleeping on the beach. We even picked a spot, decided on safest sleeping positions, and measured the probability of being arrested (very little, we were sure). About 1 a.m. rolled around and brought with it a squad of SWAT team Spañiards to patrol the beach. We promptly walked off and began the 1 a.m. search for a budget hotel. Here we are now...very pilgrimesque.

But we did find the true Camino today after a frustrating-and-becoming-typical-of-Spanish-cities lack of signs and maps. The old compass got us to the trail and around 1 p.m., after walking out of France and attaining the necessary pilgrim stamp from Irun, we began the Camino de Santiago. We saw some striking views which Kai summed up well in saying that, in fact, these were the views he came to see.

Pain and all, a good day.

June 7, 2007

Day one on the Way.
We began the long discussed journey today; walking along the former edge of the world, we were a couple of foreign adventurers in the old world. The heat is at times too much, but we just get into rhythm and breath through it. This lack of luxury, living from a tent and pack, it sounds difficult (and it is). But in fact, one learns to live simply...having what you need. It afford us the chance to sleep with the night sounds, walk with the Atlantic wind, and even forget the sounds of cities and pretense.

Life as a pilgrim has begun. I hope it has not been built up so much in my mind that I'll find it lacks the challenging romanticism of antiquity.

25 Kms Today.
Tomorrow we'll cross the border into Spain. Farewell France.

June 6, 2007

I surrender. This life has me. I'm caught in the rushing rip tide; pulled out to a horizon a thousand dreams away. If I wanted to escape, I could pull myself back to a sandy, noisy beach... but I don't want to. I'm along for the ride, letting a soul without bearing wander the maps of our ancestors...hoping to find something but not searching for anything specific. How could I need anything more?

All I need to smile is:
A pair of soft eyes glowing their magic at mine,
Music...for dancing,
Shoes...for wandering,
Some wind to push me along...
and a pen.

Recap for the past week:
Kai's buddy Shy came into Biarritz. On Saturday we BBQd steaks and veggies on the beach with newly found British friends. After some sandy steaks and merry drinking, an onlooker could have seen Kai streak into the icy Atlantic (ouch), or a young Texan roll down a nearby grassy hill... twice. Memories of grandeur and freedom.

Sunday we were useless.

Monday we surfed with our Swedish friend Razz. I should clarify, we tried. To be fair, we were on very short boards, in very cold water, in cross cutting wash. But we all got up a few times, so well worth it. If you´ve never been surfing, you can´t understand the sense of accomplishment for having stood up on a wave. You paddle and you strive against the cold to sit up and see a wave worth riding, then get into position on a wobbly board, and finally push up on the descending crescendo in time to find yourself shooting down a small mountain of unforgiving water. Rush.

Tuesday we spent the entire day with our French girls, Les Belles. An entire day we spoke french, we had a blast on the beach playing splashy splashy, then went to the pool and BBQd with the entire campsite. The highlight of my trip so far, I danced cheek to cheek with Lisa (ma belle de Biarritz) underneath the stars to the crashing sound of the waves.

You have never lived until you´ve felt the pulse of your heart in her fingertips...until you've tried to express to the dreamy French beauty what your poetic spirit sings...until you've looked in every direction and been convinced you were in heaven.

Sleep now... dream of your days.

Even as I lie, My heart returns to mind.
Welcome to the rest of your life.

May 31, 2007 - Broken poles and beaches

Bonjour! Hola! Cowabunga!

Chateau de l'equipe d'amerique

We've been in Biarritz, a town on the border of Spain and France with a Surfing Pro Tour beach and a distinctly sea-salted breeze, for five days now. The first four days it huffed and puffed and blew our tent down... nearly. Yesterday Kai and I had to invest in a second cheap tent so that we could get two new poles to replace the discount ones we relied on til this point. During all the wind and rain, a new reign began: Kai officially spanked me in our made up rummy/poker-esque card game all four days. The sun's out now and I'm back in the winner's circle, so don't worry too much. For more on this episode, read my blog on SMU adventures, link below.

Before that, we walked from La Rochelle to Rochefort, took a train to Bordeaux, stayed one day there and rented bikes to tour the countryside. For those of you who know me well, you know that two wheels and me don't get along. I have this thing, it's called gravity and it keeps me down. But after hours of riding, kilometers covered, and countryside seen, I lovingly named my bike 'le sexy tortoise'... for those of you who don't parler francais, that means 'the sexy tortoise.' For more on this episode, read my blog on SMU adventures, link below.

The date of my arrival in the Big D is official, the 23rd of August I'll touch down stateside. Also, Kai and I have decided to walk out of Biarritz in a week or so, get maybe half of the trip done before taking a train to and from Pamplona, and then finish a few weeks before projected... which means there's some more flexibility and plans to be had...

I'm really excited these days because of 5 things:

I bought a cheap hammock and a cheap blow-up mattress (which leaks because it costs less than a burger at McDonald's), which makes ground comfy.

I cut my own hair with a pair of 1 euro scissors and it looks perfect.

I have given a new character life in my writing. Her name is Pearl, and you may get to read about her in coming emails as I'm obsessed with her. I write three to four pages each night at least, so she's beginning to get a story... but I have no idea where she's going or what she'll do. Any suggestions are welcome.

I have a tan.

I love the look of the SMU adventures page that I get to write for. You'll like it too, so read it and enjoy the pictures. I update once or twice a week with my journal entries and thoughts of each day. Also, the more you read it, the cooler it gets...

Hope all your summers are shaping up for sun, fun and ummm... rum?

May 29, 2007

Rain.

May 28, 2007

Biarritz Beach Time

These three days have been enough to drive anyone crazy. Rain and wind enough to snap a tree in our campsite. i laughed when I woke up to that view, as karma sassing as that is, it was only funny because our limping tent had taken the beating just fine. One of our poles has needed Kai-ifying: duct-tape and ignoring.

If card playing was an endurance sport, we'd be Olympians. Rain sucks when beach is so near. We keep jumping up and running to the beach every time we see blue skies... only to be met by more icy Atlantic wind and rain. My flip-flop wearing toes are still bluish. I asked Kai if I had frostbite, since he's Canadian and all. That's a joke now, and it was then. Canadians all live in igloos. If it rains again tomorrow I'm going to curse the skies in anger and keep playing cards.

May 27, 2007

Sunset on the rocks

Sometimes we get going so fast that we pass life by without knowing it. You have to slow down to take a good look at this whole deal we call living.

Careening skillfully through life is my idea of wealth.

On this path, I'm searching for a compass... a point in the right direction. Why take a path unless it leads somewhere? I guess you have to have somewhere to go to justify any decision.

As I look out on the sights and smiles of my life's golden youth, I sometimes try to get the best of time's veil... peering into the future with trained eyes. Could I see myself? where? Doing what? With whom? All questions I am afforded for having lurched into the tempest of self-discovery.

May 26, 2007 - Biarritz

Biking near Bordeaux

Yesterday we awoke to a short day's prospect in Bordeaux with an idea. Kai talked me into renting bikes to tour the countryside. It was zero to sixty for me. I hadn't ridden on 2 wheels since 15 years old. Within seconds of hopping on the wobble machine, I was cruising behind Kai in traffic on a major freeway. After an hour, we were out of eardrop of Bordeaux's busy centre ville, out in the countryside which sticks to my romantic Bordelais image. We returned the sexy tortuga and machine de vitesse and headed to the gare for Biarritz.

Today we slept til noon... after walking 50 kms and biking a full day, you would too.

May 24, 2007

We walked around 20km today to a nice little campsite run by a nice family. We watched the sunset and reclined on craggy seats while scarfing our concocted dinners and discussing who'd be a better friend, Buddha or Jesus.

May 23, 2007

I wrote a song:

On the train to Bordeau

I'm gonna make a miracle each day,
Listen to the wind play... yeah,
I'm gonna run wild with my dreams,
Rip normality at the seams.

And before I'm gone
You better believe
that i'll know
the difference between
Living and Surviving

Do you breathe or Inhale?
Do you take in or glance?
See colors or is it all just pale?
And do you wanna dance?

May 22, 2007

I have compiled a list of my happiest moments in the past ten years:

With Kelly above the gorge in Taos, sunset, she wore pink pants and a white tank top, I was a mile above ground to be with her.
Cutting my mile time to sub 6 after beginning above 8. Such accomplishment.
South of France, Toga Party... nuff said.
Winning M Award with grandparents and family there to see me join such giant peers as company.
Rockstar Karaoke... The stage was so welcoming, so many friends, so loved, so sexy. Dream come true.
Stavesacre concert, hearing Blind Hope with Chris LaRue, completely exhausted after a 28 hour dance marathon.
Grandmother's place, Kelly sleeping there, as I awoke to the sunrise and went out to the forest with an axe to collect firewood. So at home in another time.
With Erik and Grandaddy at the Rangers game. We went on a whim, and Grandaddy loved sitting up high, having a hot dog and watching the fireworks. He was infectiously happy. I could list a million memories with him.
Sing Song, winning with all the guys, leading the chapter in We Are the Champions, front page fame...
Seeing my senior video portion at prom senior year.
Taking a bow as my first leading role on stage.
Ulster Project, when the shuttle went over.
First Victory with SigEp. So Proud.
Muse concert With Erik
NYC with Garrett, kicking pigeons or seeing musicals or naming strangers
Scotland, top of the mountain, never thought I'd make it.
The Gorilla Suit Story...
Chartering Banquet for SigEp.

May 21, 2007 - la Rochelle

Spending very little is difficult when you want very much and need so much less than that.

Time even took vacations here, succumbing to the rise and fall of tides; only mattering for the ones of us who were from a world with clocks. When the time of day happened that the oyster and mussel fields were exposed, droves would join the casual exodus out to the razor sharp rocks adorned with precious gifts from Poseidon to those souls who worshipped him and kept his secrets.

The two adventurers picked that time to move toward the alluring lighthouse, passing the community of sea people, they'd see a picture of the old edge of the world. This majestic pillar of red and white would signal to the wanderers, "take care, you've reached our coveted home."

Later that night, with newly cherried shoulders, the two would make the ground comfortable... they had to, it was home.

"How do you make a pillow without anything soft? The answer is: you don't and you deal with it."

May 18, 2007

This past week I put on my dr. seuss hat and created a word which George Dubya could use in daily rhetoric.

To Adventurize:
the act of seeking and/or creating adventure
ex.- The day dragged on without interesting occurrence until we decided to adventurize a bit and walk to the lighthouse.

Upon arrival in La Rochelle with homes on our backs, we asked a group of three local police officers how to get to the campsite in Port Neuf. The conversation went something like this, imagine it in French in a coastal fishing port:

Cop 1: Port neuf, you'll have to take a bus, you can't walk it.
Us: We just walked over 45 kilometers.
Cop 2: On foot!?
All Cops: Huh!?!
Cop 3: Do you have any money?
Us: We have money
Cop 3: You have money and still want to walk?
Us: How long will it take to walk?
Cop 1: Pffft, thirty or forty five minutes in that direction!
Us: K, Bye

I guess we're crazy in every language. But, if you want to adventurize, you have to do it right. The lighthouse example is a true story. We decided to walk about an hour and get from our campsite to Ile de Ré which is connected to the mainland by a long bridge. After arriving, we decided to walk out and find our way to the base of a lighthouse. After wading through knee deep tide pools and walking several hundred meters on razor sharp oyster fields, we reached the old world remembrance of sea faring voyagers and crashing waves.

May ?, 2007

I've lost track of the days already, that bodes well.

Thought of the day:
The future seems so blurry, the present seems so still. The past seems now so full and poetic. Is this how it feels to be right?

Quotes of the week:
'Fighter jets are sweet, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'
'Well, I don't hate you yet.'

May 16, 2007

Racing across the green carpet of god's creation, they laughed like brand new old friends. Cheap wine will make the merriest of company. Winning was of medial matter, the race was all of importance. The next day, they'd quickly sum up the day's weather and stay or leave accordingly, such adventurers.

May 15, 2007

They were there, but not there yet. Finally where they were is exactly where here should be and there was just before. Tomorrow's there will be reached when they get there and give thanks for being here.

It was nice to have company along the walk from Tours to Villandry. Better than having none. The tent is up and home is currently a bank where two rivers meet and convolute to become each other.

The winds rattled our tent all night long outside of Ussé. We slept like kings, proprietors of royal land by the kingliest of rivers. New limbs carried our homes from chateau to the next. As the shadows of Joan of Arc's ramparts crossed our modest plastic castle, we wrote our memories so to keep them from leaving us, and slept. To me, sleeping was saying farewell to a beloved relative. Goodbye, you've changed me so well; i'll not forget you and all the worth you showed me in your time... I'll have others like you, but surely none the same.

May 14, 2007

To the train station for the commute out of haut culture and into life's sojourn . . . nibbling a baguette and a melanged bottle of regional rubbish, he fed the mallards and began presupposing his future reminiscing:

'One day, the walls of our lives and offices will be adorned with the moments and accomplishments we're about to conceive and complete,' he said to Kai, his travel partner on this trip.

It was funny and fulfilling to dram about certain uncertainties. To be young afforded such ponderments. Will middle and old age supply such subtle and supple moments of profound ignorance mixed with bliss?

'We will litter the earth with our footprints and lost thoughts until we find a doorstep or hearth to call home,' as he flung his last crumb of bread to the birds.

May 13, 2007

His return to Paris was less than ceremonial. He clambered up the stairs to face Notre Dame from a crowded, noisy, musty metro station. His world on his shoulders, life had just repeated and begun all in the same breath. Just one day and night to come to terms with Paris? Hardly acceptable.

April 18, 2007

The West Highland Way: 100 miles walking the rugged Scotland mountains.

The crisp breath of the freshly yawning town filled his nostrils and pumped optimism through his unknowing limbs. His ankles and knees would soon be screaming for rest with every step, but for now he was hard, fresh, zealous. The track in front of him never staid there long. At times he’d look back to the last point on the horizon where he’d fiercely leaned onward only a few minutes or hours before. His tireless legs spurred him past aged mountains and still lochs. Truthfully, he’d never done anything comparable before… 100 miles through the rocky, unforgiving Highlands of Scotland. No, he was a city kid with fantastic notions of adventure and self discovery. His way of finding peace was to get lost. He’d done it a few times now. A hopeless romantic, he found Paris a bit grey.

In his journal, he’d write romantic one-liners which he thought Yeats or Wordsworth would appreciate: “Today I saw the perfect tree, it had no imperfection, but having been seen by me”…”I wonder as I walk, how many answers were found on this path?”…”I’ve catapulted myself into life.”

The fantastic lifestyle of a genius
He smiled every time some speck of profundity entered his mind. He’d pause, take a mental picture of the moment of its conception, and then begin to manipulate the thought in his intellectual laboratory. The greats did it this way… Da Vinci, Aristotle, Rousseau. They’d conceive a notion and then play with it endlessly until it was worth putting ink on paper. He fancied himself a sage at 22 years old… even purporting to understand women better than they do themselves. The fantastic lifestyle of a genius fit him proportionally. He didn’t mind if he wasn’t actually a genius, he could always blame his ignorance for stopping him from becoming so.

The sound of shrill train whistles woke him on his fourth morning. He had opted for a warm bunk in a converted train station instead of a wet, cold tent pitched on God’s rockiest terrain. He clambered down the ladder to the floor where he gave in to the involuntary back stretch, yawn and toe squeeze that always accommodates a tired traveler. His already throbbing ankles and locked knees carried him uneasily to the window where he peered at the most blatant metaphorical decision he’d ever make. A train to Glasgow was waiting on the platform to carry passengers away from the clouds, rain and desolation of the Rannoch Moor which would face anyone looking to carry on from Orchy. By now his ankles were buckling with his unclothed weight, how would they fare with an extra 60 lbs over the most isolated and unfriendly terrain in Europe which they were destined to hobble for the next 10 hours? He was sure he could get himself the few meters to the train door if he hurried… then he could go home and heal, even see a movie or some theatre in the west end of London.

“No, what is pain for two days compared to a lifetime of inner shame for not completing this trip? But I’m not from some prideful culture where failure is greeted with abandonment, I’ll just tell everyone I couldn’t continue with two sprained ankles and a strained back… that is reasonable, right?”

WHISTLE!!!

He packed his bag quickly, laced up his boots loosely, threw on his brimmed Tilly hat, and looked himself in the mirror.

The train sounded less welcoming as it raced southward, as if to say, “good luck with your life, you’ve made a decision you get to live with.” He bit down hard as he turned his gaze north to the death trap that is the Rannoch Moor. From atop the crag, he looked down past his body’s pain and into his soul’s strength. Nothing could stop him that day.

The mountains sent squalls of rain on him, the air grew colder as clouds swept around him and the whipping wind literally blew him off balance. He would march in this condition, cold, wet, hungry, hurt, alone… for seven hours. One wrong step, a tumble off the old military path, and he’d be in bog and marsh capable of pulling a man under and keeping him hidden for decades. At the end of the moor a small hotel would supply him with food and water to make the following day’s trip up the Devil’s Staircase, and on to the finish in Fort William. Walk. Walk on. He would finish in five days what guides tell you to spend seven to ten days doing.

It’s Beautiful once you’re out here… Your life is waiting. ~Stavesacre

April 10, 2007

I’m a week from departure for the West Highland Way in Scotland and a month from departure for the Way of St. James/Camino de Santiago. A few thoughts on my mind:

“Man’s only just profession is to find himself.” Siddhartha

“Do what scares you” Americano

I’ve begun training to run with the Bulls at the Fiesta de San Fermin. I’m scared out of my mind when I think about it. I keep thinking:

I must flirt with finality,

Dance with Death,

Derail my anxiety,

And take a deep breath.

Life awaits.

I keep making plans and God keeps throwing them aside. What Grace!

march 12, 2007

I’ve just finished my internship in Parliament and contemplated the different forms of government. There is no perfect government. It is impossible to solve a dialectical argument. I would prefer a government that admits imperfection over one that claims perfection.

March 11, 2007

To reconcile idealism and realism. It is the trick of life to make idealism realistic. My idealism has yet to be shaken when I assumed it might. Now I doubt very much that it will flee me.

Feb. 28, 2007

I decided today, after seeing the heads of Parliament argue for a half hour in person, after evaluating my life, and after a poignant moment on the tube home from a date; I realized each person I indiscriminately walked past had either orchestrated some small success story today, or they had planned some such move. Progress and life fulfillment are achieved through a series of small successes. For every tiny step forward I take, I move my end success a bit closer and a bit grander made.

Dec. 19, 2006

My constitution… the description of my beliefs, rights, reasons and dreams

I do believe in love
- This belief may be grounded in my observation of family and my own proximity to love in the past
I am an idealist (finding points of parallelism between realism and idealism)
I believe in the pursuit of knowledge for the betterment of life
- I don’t believe in education as society’s definition of class and rank
- I don’t believe in education for job’s sake. Necessary, yes, but I believe education should be pursued for higher reasons
I believe in slow, everlasting progress
- Which ascertains my belief in a truth, perfection, or unity
I believe in God
- His love is overwhelming and permeates all of life
- I trust Jesus’ teachings
- I believe I’ll never understand God fully, which means I believe other religions may hold truths about God as well.
I believe and hold dear the uniqueness of everyone I meet… or don’t
- This makes me a lover, a romantic, an artist and a good friend
I pursue and am most happy in the presence of beauty
I am happy with who I am
- Trying to be better is difficult to avoid since I believe in progress, but I do believe I’m worth my air
I believe in honesty
- “the people who mind [your honesty] don’t matter, the ones who matter don’t mind.” CS Lewis
My definition of success:
- To maintain balance in mind, body, heart, soul, work, play and love
I believe in dreams:
- I can’t walk slowly to the grave when my dreams carry me to heaven on earth
I believe in hard work
I believe in Integrity
- It will be hard to live well, but it is my only option
I believe in brotherhood
I feel kinship to the souls of:
- Rousseau, Socrates, John Wayne, Ben Franklin, Da Vinci, Degas, Casanova, Hercules, and Jesus

Nov. 26, 2006

Could you live a life worth repeating? Is that the goal? Or is the goal more ambitious? To live in such a way that others repeat the method of your life. Could I create such a repeatable lifestyle? Surely I lack the ability. I hesitate, perhaps I do have the ability. To live a life inspired. This life could be of such service that the world would breathe anew.

What can I do? I have no plan. My plan is outside the dimension of my time. I wish to devote my life to making life better. How then? Do I teach? Do I fight actively for justice? Do I inspire through art, speech and strategy?

Where do I hide my idealism if it is to subvert my existence? But it is my existence.

Dare. I must be Daring.

Nov. 5, 2006

Choking back tears, my father pulled me tightly into his bearish arms. I had done a good job of dodging criers because I wasn’t of the temperament to handle any goodbyes at that stage of my life. This unavoidable moment left me at once embarrassed and proud to warrant such emotion from such a man as my even-keeled father. It was at this point that my stomach vacated my control, plunged into my shoes and left me with a fast realization that I really was doing this. It was worse than that first day of kindergarten and college combined. It was literally flying form the nest. What a hug. It really felt like goodbye. Twenty two years had built to this point. All that he had poured into a soul had culminated outside of an airport, watching his flesh board a plane for a fantasy and adventure. I’m so glad he cried.

Like the Titanic at sea, I was waiting for my iceberg. I had embarked upon my first real voyage, full of anticipation and backed by years of optimistic supporters. I felt huge and ready to sink. I knew my present adventure would be the real story of my life.