Meeting Up With Destiny

Valencia Plaza de la Virgen 2
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

It felt good to get an early start for Valencia. To have a direction. A destination.

In Spain, the preferred method of travel by most people is by bus. They are more frequent. And cheaper. Cheap is good. I caught the bus around mid-day, for the trip was only about 4 hours.

The night before, I had secured a place to stay in Valencia for 3 nights. It looked nice and it sounded cool. Rooftop terrace. Weekly parties organized by the hostel. Part of me was looking forward to it. But part of me dreaded it. I just wanted to get to Granada and meet up with Jeremy and Bridget again. Valencia would be a layover. A breather before another series of crazy days in another big city.

How wrong I would be.

Directions given to me by the hostel were impeccable. Although I still got lost once, it took no longer than 30 minutes to actually get there from the bus station. It was warm - no, it was steamy. The hostel was attached to the side of a cathedral. Odd.

It was a 3 story building. 5 rooms per floor. Upwards of 150 beds in total. The guy behind the desk handed me the key. Told me "thank you - enjoy your stay. And leave the key here when you leave."

With 30 pounds strapped to my back, I climbed the (luckily, only one) flight of stairs to the first floor. Walked to the very end of the hall and opened the door. Mixed room. 6 beds.

2 beds were occupied, and the bed in the farthest corner was untaken. Now, it was mine.

Dropping those 30 pounds upon my new place of rest, I sat down and gave a sigh of relief. For the next 3 nights, I was secure. No worries - no plans to make.

Walking in, I had barely noticed her. A quick "hi" was all the attention I gave. But taking a few seconds to soak in my surroundings - she looked for all the world like a porcelain figurine. Sitting upright in bed. Journal on her lap. Eyes closed as if cleansing herself from the day's toxins.

Quite unlike myself - I lost all train of thought, my eyes fixated on her. Realizing I was staring, I intentionally started fumbling with my pack. Unzip. Zip. Unbuckle. Buckle.

My shyness setting in, I went to the restroom to freshen up. The sun was still casting its glow upon the city. Shoot, I still had nearly 4 hours of daylight left. So in an attempt to avoid making a fool of myself in front of the girl in my room, I left to do some preliminary exploring.

When I had arrived, the guy at the desk had told me about some party the hostel was throwing at a bar. And a free drink. I thought nothing of it, until I got back to the hostel that night. The girl was still in the room. She asked me if I was going to celebrate the 4th of July. For a brief moment, I actually thought about going. Then images appeared of me dancing very, very badly. And stumbling trying to make conversation with her.

I said "no" - I was too tired from traveling. I wanted to go with her.

She came back early that night and we talked for a few minutes before retreating to bed. The next day, she had to move rooms. I could not gather the courage to ask her to dinner, so I left that day not knowing if I'd ever see her again.

The day and the night went by without a sign of the girl. I woke up the morning of my 3rd day there. I walked around the hostel, hoping to run into her. The floor restroom. The kitchen. The common area. The computer room. Bingo.

She was getting up as I walked in, but we said not a word to each other. Sitting down, I put money in the machine. 30 seconds went by. I stood up. I was going to ask her out.

"What are your plans? Where are you going from here?"

"I'm not sure, really. You?"

"Well...if you were going to be here tonite, I was going to see if you wanted to get some dinner or something."

"Oh, okay. Well, we'll see."

Uhhh. What? "We'll see."????
What the hell does that mean? I walked away from that "conversation" feeling like a moron and positive that I'd never see this girl again.

I wandered around Valencia for several hours that day. I saw every corner of the city. Getting back to the hostel in late-afternoon, I plopped on my bed, exhausted from the day's explorations.

My journal needing writing in, so I obliged. Not 5 minutes into my writing, the door to my room opened up.

That porcelain figurine turned the corner and was standing at the foot of my bed. I was stunned.

"So...do you still want to eat dinner?"

Night Train into Barcelona

Taking a night train into Barcelona helped save some money. Which was good, because the train itself was 138 Euros. Damn, that one hurt.

Rain was soaking Paris as I waited in the station and rode out into the night. It was a perfect time to be traveling, as the evening would have been a waste sitting in a room watching rain drops fly by. I was hesitant to say goodbye to that great city, but I would see her again. And excitement filled me with the thoughts of seeing Jeremy and Bridget in Barcelona.

On the train - 6 beds in a coach. A young Frenchman, a Frenchwoman and her daughter were sharing my coach with me. The sleep wasn't bad, but the women had brought cats with them. Cats. And they meowed like there was no tomorrow. A full night's rest I did not get. But once I was in Barcelona, the life and passion of the city infiltrated me and I was immediately ready to take it on.

I found my way to the meeting spot for the hostel I had booked the night before. With about an hour to waste until I could check in, I found a Dunkin' Donuts. Thank God for American companies in foreign countries. I hadn't eaten all day and it was already pushing 4 p.m. so those 2 donuts were about the best thing my mouth had ever tasted.

Finally the check-in person from the hostel got there and rounded about 6-8 of us up to head to our rooms. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone swipe my small bag off of the concrete sidewalk. The bag with my passport in it. And my credit cards. Shit.

But when I looked up to catch a glimpse of the prick who was stealing my stuff - it was Jeremy. He and Bridget had been out shopping, knowing I would be where I was because they had checked into the same hostel just a day ago. A sigh of relief came out and I hugged the 2 of them. Happy to see some familiar faces and converse in English, we immediately made plans for the night.

After settling in my place and showering, I was off to meet the 2 of them and kick off the evening. Well, it took all of 2 seconds after I walked thru the door of their room to be stopped in my tracks. One of their roommates - a girl from America - stunned me. Average height, dark hair and mysterious eyes. Great body. Almost a 7/8ths Jennifer Garner. Everybody was pregaming for the upcoming evening, including her. However, I am notoriously shy around girls and just couldn't muster up any courage to talk to her before she and her 2 friends were off. I kicked myself.

Then I drank some more.

Take all the stories you've ever heard about clubs in Europe. Put them together. That's where we spent our night. The place literally backed up to the sandy beach of Barcelona. Long, flowing curtains. Areas of flat, bed-like cushions. Hypnotic techno-beats. Crazy lighting. Amazing women.

I loved it.

The following day brought sight-seeing and shopping. La Sagrada Familia. Park Guell. Zara. H&M.

Barcelona is a thriving city that never sleeps. Las Ramblas is like a human being's jugular - cutting right thru the center of the thing, carrying that which is vital to the rest of the city. Street performers. Animals for sale. Souvenirs. Food. Everything.

Another night had gone by. A nice dinner with Jeremy and Bridget. I was a 3rd wheel. Tomorrow, they would be on their way to San Sebastian. And me? I had not a clue. Originally the plan was to skip across the French Riviera and find my lost love - Italy. But they were going to be in Granada, where Jeremy studied for a semester in college, in a few days. Torn, I made a decision. A decision that would soon prove to be quite instrumental in the way the rest of my travels would play out.

Instead of going to Marseilles and Nice and St. Tropez - I was going to Valencia? Valencia had never entered my mind until that day. But it was about half-way between Barcelona and Granada. Along the Mediterranean coast. It seemed like a good stopping point for a day or two.

Little did I know.

Drops of Water

The beads of water falling across the glass simply erased all my other thoughts. They reminded me of tears.

Tears falling from sad eyes.

Tears rolling down sad cheeks.

Tears being wiped away by sad hands.

My, how I know those tears well. But then I began to realize something about these water droplets. They were cutting paths across the glass - leaving trails behind them. Trails that were impeccably clean.

No distortion. No obstructions. Behind them, a clean slate. A fresh beginning.

Tears may come from sadness. But they heal wounds. They cleanse and leave behind a cleared path.

Funny how washing your car can be the most profound of experiences.

A New Day

Eiffel Tower after Sunset 2
Originally uploaded by uncsuperman.

A night's rest brought not only rejuvenation for my body - but also a deep thirst for my soul. Although I probably could have slept through the afternoon, my body rose early, overwhelmed with the things that I knew the day would bring me. As I sat in the kitchen eating my breakfast (free it was, but good it was not - little did I know bread and jam would soon become my friends), 3 people conversed in front of me, intertwining a little English in with mostly French words. I savored the excitement of what was new.

Securing a place to sleep that night brought a sense of relaxation. After moving my 2 packs to the new room - I set out to explore this great city. I wanted to uncover every part of Paris. I wanted more than to simply navigate my way around this place and her attractions. I wanted to know her. Halfway through the day, I had visited Notre Dame and The Louvre and Tuileries. It is difficult to describe either the architectural triumph of Notre Dame, or the sheer immenseness of The Louvre. You can take pictures all day, but nothing will encapsulate any of these places better than actually studying them and searing them into your memory. And some people really did take pictures all day. It got to the point of being annoying. Are these people here for any reason other than to be able to tell everyone they saw Paris or Rome or Barcelona? Why totally miss the experience of the trip, only to relive it through pictures that you can't even remember taking?

Me - I'd rather soak in every second of this journey. Don't just see Notre Dame. Allow yourself to be in awe of it, to stand in wonder of its brilliance.

By mid-afternoon my feet and legs were hurting. More importantly, the Achilles of my left foot was throbbing and my pride was shattered after paying 3 euros for a Coke. I mean come on - a bottle of Coke is 99 cents in the good ol' US of A! But I was in America no longer, and I had to play by their rules. I explored this city for 9 solid hours. And I ended up in the most obvious of places - the lawns of the Eiffel Tower. It is not the tallest structure in the world. It certainly is not the prettiest. But something stirs inside of you upon seeing this thing.

And when the sun starts to bid the city adieu - My God. It's as if the sun knows exactly where to go, what angle to set at, in order to kiss the structure in the most beautiful way.

I hated to see that sun go down, but at the same time I was filled with an immense joy. For I knew those moments were going to be some of those that you never forget. Memories that would never fade for me no matter how many years go by.

A friend of mine was waiting for me in Barcelona. So I was set to take a train in the following day to meet him. Sad to say goodbye to the city that I was just getting to know and fall in love with - a sense of calm came over me. Paris was my arrival city. Likewise, it would be my departure city. In 7 weeks, I would ascend back upon this wonderful place like 2 old friends who have missed each other for decades.

Already I was experiencing moments of introspect. I did not feel like I was 6 time zones away from home. But I found myself on multiple occasions filled with one thought - that this is life as it was meant to be.

I was coming alive.

The Beginning...

I sat in the airport for what seemed like forever and a day. It couldn't have been more than 2 hours in reality. But there I sat. Scared. Confused. Overwhelmed.

Up until that point, I was feeling pretty damn good. However, I was not anticipating the immensity of what I was attempting. I had navigated my way around Charles de Gaulle International Airport fairly well. Found the bathrooms to freshen up. Found the payphones. Found the RER train that takes you into Paris. Now aside from that - I had no idea how to actually use the payphones. Nor did I know how to buy a ticket for the RER. Nor where I was going.

I thought to myself - "You're going to starve here, on the floor of this airport. That will be your legacy."

Looking at all the maps and instructions I could find - none of it made sense. Fortunately, the lady behind the ticket desk spoke "a leetle" English. In what I would eventually find to be a fairly common occurrence, the person I simply had to communicate with spoke some English - and I was grateful beyond words.

On the RER - I met my first fellow traveler. He was more experienced and gave me some pointers to help me better fit into my new surroundings. I remember being nervous - and hot. No A/C on any train in Paris. The RER stays above ground for about the first 3/4 of the trip. After that, it ducks into tunnels as if trying to avoid being caught by the city.

Nothing can prepare you for those first few seconds as your head rises out of the station stairwell. The smell and aura of the city surround and infiltrate you. You think you know what Paris is like. "Sure, the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame and all that..." European History class and travel books in Borders do not give it justice.

The city is beyond description. It is romantic in ways that even Shakespeare would be envious of. However, it is just as modern as New York. The metro can get you within a couple hundred yards of any point within the city. It is picturesque - every turn you make is another opportunity to break out your camera. Every structure is detailed and designed in ways "modern" architects would never think of. And the city is better for it.

After getting lost for about 2 hours looking for a hostel, I settle on a hotel. More money, but I have a single room with my own full bath and free breakfast in the morning. I change places the next day, but for now - this is exactly what I need. Although I am tired from the 36 hours of travel and walking around in the searing sun of the summer - the city calls me out into her warmth and beauty.

So after my shower, I head out into the unknown. The unseen. The undiscovered. This is the beginning of my journey. This is the beginning of my Life.

I Must Be a Bore

Well, since no one is posting comments, then one would have to assume that no one is reading my pointless drivel. Although I got a nice comment (my only one!) from jennifer. Jennifer - send some backup, cause my ego's taking a beating.

Actually I jest. Kind of. I didn't start writing here in order to get attention. This isn't life or death, but it would be fantastic if I could get some steady feedback coming. I'm sure my writing is just horrendous according to all the Lit majors out there. Well, that's fine - but I'd like to get better. I guess that's kind of why I'm here.

I'm also here, maybe because I'm lonely. Who knows? This thing we call life is one great big dance. We start off with the tango, mix in a little slow dancing, maybe some salsa, then comes the grand ball room dancing. And all the while, we're switching partners, choosing partners - looking for someone to love - someone to make us complete. We dance to these different tunes and different rhythms, quietly hoping that somewhere, somehow, someone perfect is searching for us.

While in Spain, I met a girl. She's from Vancouver - a million miles and many different cultures from here. But we connected on a level that no 2 people have any right to connect on within a matter of days of meeting each other. She's in school - I'm wandering right now, enjoying the journey instead of worrying about the destination. Whether or not to go to her is a question I've been asking myself perpetually for the last 3 weeks now.

She has a great big life surrounding her. She says she wants me to come; she wants to be with me.

Would that be smart? Would it make sense? Should it make sense?

I don't know - all I know is that I wish people would make more comments...

What Do You Want?

What a question.

It's not easy really answering that question. Not just what do you want to eat, or what do you want to go buy yourself. I mean, what do you desire? During certain quiet times - when some of the noise shuts down and you are able to just be...what does your heart call out to you?

You know what I'm referring to - and it scares you. If you don't know, then you're not listening close enough, and you never have. The world tells us to shut out desire. To work at a job that will pay us a lot of money, so that we can build up our IRA's and our portfolios and plan every little step along the way. Meanwhile - we kill ourselves. We kill our desire, we kill the things inside of us that make us come alive. We try to plan out everything that will happen along the way. Well, it doesn't take much for God, Satan, chance - whatever you wanna call it - to throw those plans out the window.

We are not guaranteed anything. So what do you want? Do you want to save lives? Do you want to teach children? Do you want to bring Christianity to a lost world, or pursue knowledge until all is found?

Me...I want a lot. My heart calls to me in ways that I cannot describe. And my journey across Europe awoke some things that I did not even know where there. I want to travel. I want to see as much of the world as I can. I want to learn about different cultures and their histories. I want to study architecture and design buildings. But I also want to build those buildings. I want the materials in my hands and to feel the purity of doing something with just the tools God gave me. I want to love like no one's ever loved before. I want to take chances and risks and dare greatly. For it is the ones who dare greatly who are greatly rewarded.

If you live in that dark place of safety and isolation - then you will not know the riches of this world. I dare you to live otherwise.

So...what is it that you want?

Placing Blame

Today is September 11. I'm sure everyone who writes "blogs" is writing about this unforgettable moment in our country's history. It's difficult to forget.

Looking back, I am reminded of the pure rage that I felt that day. I woke up to the first tower burning in the sky. And then the second being pierced by an airplane - as if a knife were flying into its heart.

Back then, no one was criticizing political policies, or reaction times to national crises. Now, there are countless people - sitting on couches, making peace signs with their fingers - throwing blame everywhere they can find someone they don't like. It's sad, really. And the best part of it is, is that none of them have any answers. They can criticize and crap about issues all hours of the day, but none of them have any better solutions. Oh sure, some will say "Get out of Iraq!" or "Rely more on diplomacy!" That's all well and good - but are those answers??

How do you reason with the modern bad guys of the world? I don't know - that's why I don't throw blame everywhere I can find. I read a blog somewhere this morning where a guy was blaming Religion - of all things. I mean, good grief - if you actually want to blame religion, then perhaps you should read the teachings of those religions. I'm fairly certain the Bible doesn't advocate killing innocent civilians. Or suicide bombings. I can't speak for Islam or Buddhism or any number of other religions. But Christianity is not at fault - so therefore, religion as a whole is not at fault. That's a narrow-minded point of view.

Anyway - 9/11. Watching some specials on T.V. late last night, a feeling rose up inside me that almost overwhelmed me. I had a desire to go man up with Al-Zarqawi. Just me and him - with nothing but our fists as defense against the other. Beating the living shit out of him, until he was an inch from his life, would have brought me great pleasure. For all the innocent people he has killed and the pure chaos he is trying to bring out for no other reason than the chaos itself.

And then I was brought to tears as I watched replay after replay of the planes flying into the towers. Those hijackers deserved to die. And all the men who were involved in bringing that tragedy to the light of day deserve to die as well. Actually, they deserve to be tortured and tortured and tortured some more. And then killed.

Listen, I'm just as much of an idealist as anyone. But idealism is impossible in a situation like this. Drastic times call for drastic measures. My prayers are with all those families that lost on September 11, 2001. May the United States of America bring justice to those men that committed that great atrocity.

Get A Free IPOD

I know - there are scams galore out there. This is the site that CNN, MSNBC and WIRED have done reports on and come away with free stuff. Sign up for a credit card or something and then get 5 of your friends to do the same - we'll get free IPODS.

http://ipods.freepay.com/?r=21783877

Silly Canadians

You know what the strangest thing was that I found in Europe? Well, perhaps it wasn't THE strangest - but unquestionably odd. Every single Canadian that I ever came across had some sort of Canadian symbol on the back of his or her pack. All of 'em. Either a flag, or "British Columbia" or "UBC" or "CANADA". Something, anything.

It's as if they are so desperate for their own identity, that they have to try really really hard to get others to see where they're from. Do Canadians have any sort of international identity? I'm not sure - but the more I've made myself aware of this little situation, the more I doubt it.

I almost found myself embarrrassed for them. Why would anyone have such a need to identify themselves to all who walk behind them? Then a feeling began to rise up in me - a desire to get "AMERICA" embroidered right across the back of my pack. In big frickin' bold letters. And in red. But I began to realize that this was simply a reaction to all the Canadian symbols. It wasn't really a true desire to embroider that on the back of my pack - but rather a swelling of pride amongst the other national identities.

We are not perfect - we Americans. Our political system gives us only 2 choices for president every 4 years. But we do vote. And we vote for the majority of our government's members. County, City, State and Federal. We may be a country divided by politics in the current era. But when a tragedy like 9/11 happens, or Hurricane Katrina, we pull in together - as if a group of wild animals protecting each other from a predator.

God gives the strong their strength so that they may protect the weak. I think that's one of the things I like most about America. It doesn't go perfectly every single time - nothing ever does. Sometimes the planning is faulty, sometimes the execution. But we try to protect the weak.

God Bless America.

What Difference Does It Make??

I mean, really. The problem with most people is that they say one thing, but DO another. Words become meaningless to them. They can spew out some blathering prose - perhaps to a friend, or a family member. Or maybe even a lover. And it means nothing. Their actions will then contradict their words.

This has been my experience - in particular with women. Perhaps they are all just so jaded by now. So many men don't know how to treat women, and so they start playing the game, too. Women become stuck in this rut of having to play along with all the bullshit, that they start their own bullshit.

What makes it worse is that I actually care. And I still believe them. I have been able to resist playing the games - joining in the bullshit that has become such a common occurence in today's world of relationships. It has been tough - as I have come across some of the worst that women have to offer so far. Maybe I'm just a moron. Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic. Or maybe I'm just an optimist. Whatever it may be, it's happening again right now. I think.

Every now and then I actually break thru to the woman. The game-playing mentality crumbles and I get to glimpse into the real soul of her - the person she really wants to be if someone would just allow her the opportunity. I have also been stabbed in the back. Thinking that I had broken thru all the messiness, the girl one night pulled a 180 on me. Blindsided.

And so this current girl I am unsure of. We met amongst a whirlwind of circumstances and although it's been over 2 months now - it seems as if the winds have yet to die down. She has built up quite a wall over time and it has been difficult to actually get to her. Perhaps she does not want to been gotten to. Who really knows?

Her words tell me that her walls are crumbling. However, when the chips are down - it seems as if she is folding. Over and over again. Like I said - words mean nothing if they are contradicted by actions.

If you love someone, and you are seperated by a vast distance, what would you do?

The fight is getting tiresome, especially with no end in sight. But maybe that's the point. Just maybe, the girl is there to test you. What if, all along, she knew what she was doing? That she knew she loved you, and it was she that was doubting you? She thinks you're going to leave her, so in turn, she tests and tests and tests you in order to see if you'll still be there.

I don't know - my mind is weary from the setbacks. The tests just may be too much this time.

What am I doing here?

That's a great question - one I am unsure of. 3 months ago, I never would have thought about doing something like this - writing my thoughts out. Not even in a journal, much less online for all who meander across it to read.

3 months ago, I didn't write much of anything. Ever. Since then, I have written in a journal quite a bit and written a few poems as well. Now this. We'll see if I keep it up.

2 months backpacking across Europe can change a man. I know it almost seems cliche now - backpacking across Europe. It's as if every 18-24 year old college kid with Abercrombie & Fitch written across his shirt is taking this journey. One must wonder - do they even get the point? Are they doing this simply to see how many cities across the globe they can get drunk in? Or maybe, for the guys out there - how many girls of foreign descent can they sleep with?

I saw too many tourists taking too many pictures of too many places without ever really absorbing where they were at. People take pictures of the Colosseum and then walk on as if they are at a museum of some sorts. Have they ever wondered how that awe-inspiring structure was even built? Did they ever consider how fantastic the whole place was - what with putting on gladiator matches, filling the floor with water and recreating sea battles, and God knows what else?

Those people started to irritate me. I was on this journey to recover myself. To look deep down and find out what I was really made of - what burned deep inside and what, exactly, was to keep me going for all the days of my life. The journey was unlike anything I had ever done. And it is not over. Well, the physical trip through Europe is (at least for now), but the journey of my heart and soul is not.

And so I am back home - not knowing what to do with my life at this point. The world calls to me as the deep blue sea calls to a whale. There is so much to explore and discover and experience. I have thought about teaching here in the states - so that my summers would be free to journey across this great big playground we call Earth. Or perhaps teaching English as a second language in Spain or Italy or Greece is the right path. Architecture has always been a love of mine - grad school?

My mind flashes between each path that sits in front of me, and I am reminded of a quote that a girl I once knew sent me. We fell in love and back out in a very brief, violent period of time. I don't know her any longer. Here is the quote:

“Listening to your heart, finding out who you are, is not simple. It takes time for the chatter to quiet down. In the silence of ‘not doing’ we begin to know what we feel. If we listen and hear what is being offered, then anything in life can be our guide.”

I know not where my life will lead. Perhaps the chatter is quieting down...