she's not so usual

I have a friend named Tiffany, who has a blog (http://tntalsma.blogspot.com). I was reading it today and decided that I miss my friend, but I also decided that it's nice to read something that has no pretensions, no self-serving motives, no polarizing opinion. I like Tiffany's blog because it's honest, and it's her. I've been trying so hard lately to write things in the attempt to get them published, that I've neglected to simply write for the sake of writing whatever is on my mind. This is what Tiffany does so well in her blog, and what I want to start doing again.

I Don't Sleep

The Wolf Parade is rocking my world. 

It's Tuesday afternoon and there is nothing to do, so I'm drinking wine. 

Getting High with Leprecauns

Today I had, without a doubt, the worst shower of my life. You know
how you feel after a long day of skiing; you're soaking wet and
freezing cold, a cold that will not go away without a hot shower. Well
that was me today, and after my long-anticipated shower, I'm still
freezing cold. This despite wearing two long underwear shirts
underneath a wool sweater, and long underwear under my jeans.

Barring a cataclysmic seismic event on the island of Ireland, nobody
will ever stand on a spot higher than Michael and I have. That spot
was Mt. Carrauntoohill, which menacingly juts skyward, rising 2500
vertical feet (to a summit at 3500 feet) from it's base, and looks
more like a peak you'd see in Switzerland than Ireland. The snow began
about halfway up the mountain, and the surrounding slopes, green as
green can be, were engulfed in snow at their peaks. And we stood on
the highest one.

Since coming to Ireland, Michael and I have been craving some
adventure. We'd stopped at each castle we'd seen along the road and
traveled to the brink of the Atlantic to see Europe's oldest
lighthouse. At Hook Light, we braved the wind and rain, and watched an
offshore gale send 15-foot breakers smashing into the rocky shoreline,
their spray lifting skyward nearly as high as the lighthouse itself.
We drove onward from Wexford, where we'd spent the first night on the
Emerald Isle, with no destination in mind, just enjoying the scenery.
We stopped again along towering cliffs guarding Ireland's southern
coast, and couldn't stop telling each other we were actually in
Ireland. It was everything we'd expected and then some.

Around 7pm last night we rolled into Killarney, which looked like a
nice spot in Lonely Planet. There is an enormous national park on the
town's doorstep, and we wanted to explore. After wandering through
town and stumbling into Neptune's Hostel, we headed for a pub. Three
Irishmen with fiddles and a concertina played sea chanties and Bob
Dylan while we enjoyed the best-tasting Guiness in the world. It was
during then that we decided to attempt climbing Ireland's highest
mountain, and by the second beer we reckoned it'd be easy.

Upon returning to the hostel and telling the receptionist of our
plans, our expectations were immediately brought back to earth. She
warned us of the snow in the mountains, the relentless wind that
scours the summit, the plummeting temperatures and the fickle weather…
and this was in the summer. She suggested we instead rent some bikes
and go explore the more accessible parts of the park, which included a
large lake where stood a 15th century castle. It sounded nice, but we
had already decided we had to at least attempt the mountain, and turn
back if it got ugly.

The alarm went off this morning at 7am, and we'd purposefully parked
the car in a lot where it needed to be removed by 8am, to motivate us
into action. I ate two enormous bowls of Irish Muesli to top up my
energy stores, and we geared up as if to go skiing, and set off for
the base of the mountain. After driving maybe 15 minutes, we caught
our first glimpse of the dazzling peak, and exchanged nervous laughs
and asked ourselves what the hell we were getting into. I cannot
emphasize how large and intimidating the mountains look here. The
highest peak rises to only 3500 feet, but the fact that they rise from
sea level, and are strewn with sheer cliffs, jagged peaks and
unfathomably steep slopes makes them appear downright terrifying to
anyone with the idea of climbing one.

We arrived at a small farm at the end of a stunning one-lane road. The
road followed a series of switchbacks as it descended into a large
valley filled with grazing sheep. At the tiny car park, there was a
donation mailbox to leave your 2 Euro for use of the lot. In the
summertime there is a small hut with fireplace and hot showers, but it
is inexplicably closed in the winter, when, ostensibly, one might need
it the most.

Climbing the mountain involved far more than just scampering up it's
steep slopes. We first had to navigate a 4 mile valley, slowly rising
from the car park, vaguely following a cascading river that brought
snow runoff down from the hills. Aside from my inadequate footwear (I
was only wearing running shoes), we were dressed for the occasion, I
in my ski pants and puffy coat, Michael in a similar getup of
waterproof fabric. We decided to hike up into the valley to the base
of the mountain, assess the weather and the conditions and make a
decision from there as to whether we'd actually go higher.

The walking was arduous, steadily increasing in elevation. We followed
the riverbed, which cut a deep swath through the surrounding green
fields. We had to stay up on the steep slopes of the bank, as far
above in the fields, the grass was more like a swamp, and the only dry
footing was hopping along the rocks along the river. Two or three
times we had to ford the river, skipping from one side to the other
while trying to keep our feet dry. This was no small task, as the
river was 15 feet wide at it's narrowest, and moving at a decent clip,
with rapids and several small waterfalls. We pushed on however, the
mountain looming ever closer, drifting in and out of the low clouds.
Only once were we able to catch a brief glimpse of the impossibly high
summit.

The hike through the valley continued ascending until we were in the
mountain's shadow; here we were greeted with the most stunning scenery
yet. Not a sole was in sight, the only sounds the rushing water and
the howling wind, as it tumbled down the steep slopes of the
surrounding peaks, seemingly trying to halt our progress. The valley
was surrounded on three sides by towering peaks, and we had the
feeling an ant might have if walking between the fingers of some ones
outstretched hand. At the terminus of the valley were two lakes formed
by the runoff of the neighboring peaks, which spilled into the river
below. This was an unexpected surprise, and we stopped here to take a
rest and some photos before pushing up the most difficult portion of
the hike. We'd been walking for 2 hours.

Two peaks, one to our right and one to our left dominated our
immediate frame of view. Between them ran what's called a 'saddle',
connecting the peaks in a concave arch of exposed rock and snow. To
reach the low point of the saddle, we were faced with the difficult
task of ascending the 'Devil's Ladder' a chute right up the middle,
1000-foot cliffs boxing us in on either side. This would have been
difficult in dry conditions, but because of the snow up at higher
elevations, there was quite a bit of runoff, which cascaded down the
Ladder, making the climb slippery and cold.

Most of the climbing on the Ladder was zig-zagging between the cliffs,
looking for rocks to hop onto to increase our elevation. The ground
was unstable, with loose boulders at every turn, and we took extra
care not to knock one of them on the person following. Several times
we had to boost each other up to a higher rock, but we continued on,
rather swiftly, and the going was tiring, but not extremely difficult.
But every time we turned around we were granted a fantastic view of
the valley we'd just traversed, and also reminded of how steep this
slope was – and that we'd have to walk down eventually.

At this point we were in uncharted territory. We half expected that
we'd turn around at the base of the Ladder, but the weather was
holding, we'd only gotten a few drops of rain on us, and by now we
were pumped to at least get to 'Christ's Saddle', and re-evaluate
there. After all, it was enormous fun, and serious adventure, and we
were in our element.

With about 50 feet to go on the Ladder, we hit the snow line. It was
already mostly melted, but made the going a bit slower – the rocks
we'd been using as footsteps were now hidden under a melting layer of
snow, and it was getting steeper. The final pitch was almost straight
up, and we reverted to climbing up on our hands and knees, digging
into the snow for traction. I reached the Saddle first, and was
greeted by a phenomenal view of the opposite valley, lakes and rivers
bisecting the green fields below. To my right was the summit of Mt.
Carrauntoohill, our mountain. The neighboring peaks made up the
MacGillycuddy's Reeks, the highest range in Ireland. They were much
closer and much scarier at our new vantage point. We now stood at 2400
feet; we knew this thanks to Michael's GPS…we'd been setting waypoints
every half hour in case the weather turned and we lost visibility on
the way down.

I was dead-set on making the summit by now. I never imagined even
getting to the Saddle, and was now inspired to keep going. We rested
for about 15 minutes, but soon my feet began to get chilly – they were
soaked by now, and the temperature had dropped to below freezing –
there was about a foot or two of snow drifting in the 30+ knot winds.
We needed to keep moving.

I led the way, and the going was much easier on the ridge that led to
the summit. I was suddenly living every adventure story I've ever read
about climbing a mountain, and could hardly contain my enthusiasm.
Michael was dragging a bit, so I carried the backpack for the final
push. The snow got firmer the higher we climbed, and the slope
gradually became steeper and rockier – and it got progressively
windier. The strongest gusts were in the range of 30-40 knots, which
was disconcerting, but for the time being the peak was in the sun.
Clouds were building to the south however, and I urged Michael to pick
up the pace if we were going to make the summit in sunlight. I did not
want to get up there and be stuck in a cloud…we had already had more
than enough adventure to worry about finding our way down.

I was 50 feet higher than Michael when the summit came into view.
There is a large steel cross marking the summit, and seeing it for the
first time energized me. I nearly ran on my hands and knees for the
final 100 feet or so. Then I crested the last ridge and stood up.
Words cannot describe the feeling I had at that moment. I experienced
a surge of adrenaline, was overwhelmed by the 360 degree view, was
scared by the sheer drop of the cliffs on the north face of the
mountain, and was overcome with an enormous sense of accomplishment.
I'd just done something I'd always dreamed of, and felt an enormous
sense of pride. But at that moment I also confirmed to myself that I
can do absolutely anything. Suddenly I decided I'd climb more
mountains, I'd sail around the world, I'd complete that full Ironman.
I discovered again that I have it within myself to do anything that I
set my mind on doing.

When Michael crested the final ridge we high-fived each other,
embraced, and soaked it all in. We took photos of each other and of
the surroundings. You could actually see the ocean from our vantage
point, and we couldn't believe we'd made it all the way to the top,
two wanna-be adventurers probably in way over our heads. But we made
it, and we savored every second on that peak. Strangely the wind
actually died down, and we experienced a serene peace, standing on our
spot, the highest in all of Ireland, 3500 feet straight down into the
ocean.

…

The entire way up, we kept saying to ourselves that the hard part was
going to be coming down. We stayed in the snow drifts on the descent
from the summit along Christ's Saddle. Here the footing was much more
secure, and we traversed from one side of the ridge to the other,
following the snow. We made remarkable time, and arrived back at the
top of Devil's Ladder by 1pm, the original time we said we'd turn
around, no matter what. We were a bit concerned about descending the
Ladder, especially the snow-covered steep section near the top.
Michael went first, sliding on his ass most of the way, and I followed
close behind, scurrying crab-like on hands and knees. The volume of
runoff had increased dramatically, and the climb down was much
slippery and wetter than the climb up. It didn't much matter, because
it had also started raining, and we were completely soaked.

Our legs were quite thankful when we emerged back onto relatively flat
ground. Now all that lay between us and the warm car was 4 miles of
hiking through the river valley. This time we headed for the left side
of the river, and followed its banks, again hopping from rock to rock.
Getting our feet wet was less of a concern however, which made the
route-finding a bit easier. Fording the river was now only a matter of
walking through a shallow bit. The sheep looked at us funny, and we
steered clear of the horned ones. This is after all their territory,
and we thanked them for letting us use their mountain as we passed by.

After 6 hours of near constant walking and climbing, we finally
crossed back into the car park, in the pouring rain, soaked and
delirious with satisfaction. As it turns out, we timed the weather
absolutely perfectly. When we were on the summit you could see dark
clouds rolling in from the south, so we didn't dawdle and headed down
with haste. It paid off, because soon after leaving the Ladder behind
us, it began raining in earnest, and continued the length of the
valley. The mountain was now cloaked in rain and fog, and when we
turned around for one last glimpse, it was gone.

Which leads me to my horrifying shower. We finally returned to the
hostel and proudly announced our success to the same receptionist who
tried to steer us towards the bike-rental. She happily rented us
another room, and even offered to do our laundry for a discounted
rate. When I finally stepped into the shower, the only hot water was
literally a trickle, barely enough to get the soap out of my hair. I
stood there, freezing, trying to get warm, unsuccessfully. Now I sit
in the café of the hostel, having drunk my second cup of tea in an
effort to bring my core temperature back up, to no avail.

The sense of accomplishment I'm feeling right now I have never
experienced. I think it's a combination of doing something totally on
a whim, with little preparation, something we probably had no business
getting ourselves into, and the ecstasy that nature provided our
senses at the summit. The photos I got are amazing, but they of course
do little justice to the serenity and the peace we felt standing on
that mountain. I'm physically drained, but mentally bursting with
energy and enthusiasm. Suddenly all bets are off. I've opened up an
entire new part of myself and the boundaries within have become
limitless. I have stoked a long-smoldering fire within myself, and it
won't easily be extinguished.

Ireland

I just got back from the pub, drank two Guiness, and got to listen to three Irish dudes playing violins and an accordion. It's exactly like I expected, and much better in a lot of ways. We're in Killarney, in the mid-western part of the country, south of Galway and directly west of Cork. Tomorrow we'll try and climb the highest peak in Ireland at a measely 1040 metres, but it looks rugged and should be a fun adventure. I'll have much more to update, including a description of St. James Gate, the Guiness Brewery, when I have more time. I'll be back in Sweden Wednesday, and until then I'll enjoy the greenery of Ireland. Thanks for the posts about my political pieces, more on that when I get back to Sweden. 

Anonymity

In my original reaction to the comments made regarding my political ideas about America, I initially stated that those persons leaving anonymous comments should come forth and announce their names...however, after further thought about this, I've decided that anonymity in fact encourages debate. There is no need to include your name in a comment, as I believe now that this only invites criticism of the person, and not debate about the idea.

Since that post, several people have commented, and in fact have criticized the anonymous, not for their ideas, but instead for their perceived lack of intelligence. This is unfortunate, and I apologize to anyone who may have been offended. I may in fact have offended people myself. 

Debate of any kind, especially political, is only worthwhile if all parties remain focused on the issues and not on the speaker. When the speaker is removed from the debate, the issue is the only thing left standing. The speaker becomes immune to criticism and is allowed to voice their opinion without fear of being ostracized by a not-so-friendly opposition. 

I enjoy debate, sometimes solely for the purpose of argument. I find it entertaining and challenging to take an opposing viewpoint and create arguments in it's support, regardless of the political or social side I may be on. Obviously I remain on the liberal side of the political debate, yet I still find myself arguing in favor of conservatism when liberals become too far-fetched and too idealistic. I like to think of myself as a 'realistic liberal', one who strives for the ideal, yet acknowledges the realistic.

So please continue leaving comments and feedback and creating ideas from a different perspective, and remain anonymous. Too often both sides of any debate find solace in speaking amongst themselves, and never allow their ideas to be put under scrutiny by the opposing side. It's quite comfortable to talk about your own ideals with people who share them...but you only truly learn when you put your ideas at the mercy of the opposition. This is risky for many people, because if the idea fails under the scrutiny of opposition, the speaker often takes it as a failure of their being, and no longer participates in debate, for fear of losing a piece of themselves. 

I do not want this to happen in a forum that I've created. Unintentionally, this blog has become political in the past week or so, when it was supposed to be about travel. However, I've enjoyed talking politics and putting my ideas on the line, and I have enjoyed hearing the comments that people have to say about them. So keep them coming, and remain anonymous, in the name of debate. I look forward to arguing against them! Until later.

More Political Commentary

29/1-08

 

Yesterday's Comments…

 

Yesterday I posted a reactionary piece about some comments I received following a post about American foreign policy, among other things. The piece was a spontaneous reaction to the comments I received, and I stand by my reaction. However, I've had some time to mull over a few things, and would like to expand on some of the ideas from that retort.

 

Regarding the President's Name…

 

Wouldn't it be funny if our next President is named Barack? What kind of person thinks someone with a name like Barack could ever represent America?

…

The name thing was a joke. Anyone who thinks I'd actually base my vote on someone's name is missing the point.

 

"People are still dying to come here… What we have, that I don't know anyone else has, is opportunity for everyone. You can go from nothing to something in a realitvely short time without having "class" interfere."

 

I concede the point about class. Although our society is very top-heavy with regards to who controls the wealth, it's always been like that, and that doesn't preclude someone from rising to that level from relative anonymity.

 

However, I believe that this argument is becoming less and less true. Our country was founded on diversity, and the varied viewpoints and variety of skills and knowledge of the people helped facilitate our rise to a world power. But that was a long time ago. What is one of the biggest issues in this election? Immigration. Or, rather, the elimination of it. I said earlier that history has a funny tendency to repeat itself. Well, this is a case of society ignoring an important facet of history that made our country great. Instead of focusing on positive solutions and finding ways to utilize new immigrant skills, we're simply trying to deny them the right to come here in the first place.

 

Not only is it becoming increasingly difficult to immigrate into our country, it's becoming increasingly difficult to even visit our country. Foreigners are now forced to have all 10 fingers printed electronically, and are subject to a series of questions prior to being granted entry simply as a tourist. What kind of message is this sending to the world? I understand the necessity for national security. But when a banner in the international terminal of the LA airport reads 'Homeland Security Welcomes You to the United States of America,' I think it's going a little too far.

 

I came to Prague to learn how to teach English as a Foreign Language (TEFL). This means the teaching of English to people who reside in a foreign country, with a foreign culture and a foreign first language, who simply want to speak English in order to 'get in the loop' with the rest of the English-speaking world. TESL, on the other hand, is the Teaching of English as a Second Language. This is for students who reside in an English-speaking country, and want to learn not only the language, but also the culture, to assimilate into society. Only a few years ago, the world officially crossed an astounding threshold as a global society – there are now more non-native English-speakers in the world than native speakers. This means that more people on earth today can speak English as their second language, than people who can speak English as their first language (like us).

 

'Welcome to America – Now Speak Our Language.' Well, it's no longer our language. In fact, it's their language. However, I don't disagree with that statement entirely. But instead of turning it into a negative, why not make it a positive? Think about this…let's create an army of English teachers. It only takes a month. Let's open our doors to the rest of the world, allow free immigration like we did when our country was founded, teach them our language and our culture  (which, by the way, they had to learn on their own in the old days…where do you think we got 'PA Dutch" from?), and see what they can offer us.

 

On a similar note, since I began traveling in foreign countries with foreign languages, I don't recall ever being denied service or being treated unfairly because I didn't speak the language. I don't know more than 3 words of Czech, and nobody here speaks English. Do you think I'm treated differently? I may be looked at funny sometimes, and laughed at behind my back…but when I go to a pub or restaurant, the staff tries to be helpful, despite the language barrier. I've never once been refused service for not speaking the language. It's called hospitality.

 

We are at a time in history when English is the lingua franca, and we need to take advantage of this. We don't even have to learn another language! We can remain self-centered in that regard. We have more power now than ever as English-speakers, when we can actually communicate with more non-native speakers around the globe than native English speakers. Let's take advantage of this!

 

"As "they" say, "If you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem"."

 

First of all, who are 'they'? This has always puzzled me, and why are 'they' always right? This is a good argument to use when one doesn't have anything better to say, and can't give any good examples to back up their point. Instead of using a real retort, and offering up solutions of their own, users of this cliché instead place the blame on the speaker, and avoid the issue. Which in a way, makes the speaker part of the problem as well.

 

The intent of my original post was not to save the world. It wasn't even to offer any solutions to anything. I was merely making observations, and, while we're using clichés, providing 'food for thought.' I'm glad that it provoked some replies. But if you're going to argue, please back it up, and don't simply rattle off overused idioms. At least I can recognize that there is a problem in the first place. I've always been taught that the recognition of a problem is the first step to its solution.

 

 

"…it is incredibly untrue that this generation is complacent and not passionate about change. If you were paying any attention before the Iraq war started, there were marches in every major city - with over one million people marching in New York alone."

 

I still adhere to the notion that my generation, in its current state, is not capable of creating change within our society. This idea stemmed from the CNN special I saw about MLK Jr. while in Austria. (And as the bumper sticker says, 'There are no kangaroos in Austria'!). I was struck by the fervor that MLK Jr. spoke with, and the enormous crowds he drew. The passion emanating from his followers was unstoppable. They willed change to occur. This was not that long ago, and it's scary to think that our society, as great as it is, still segregated blacks less than 50 years ago.

 

(A funny side note…When MLK Jr. was at the peak of his power as an orator, he visited Sweden, just before Christmas. December 13 is 'Lucia' in Sweden, and Mr. King happened to be visiting on this date. 'Lucia' is a holiday that remembers the burning of witches at the stake in the old days, much like in Salem, Mass. The tradition is for young women to sing 'Lucia' songs under candlelight, early in the morning, waking up in fact, the residents of a town. MLK Jr. got to experience this tradition. He was awoken by a group of people dressed in white gowns, with white headwear on, holding candles and encircling his bed…you can imagine what he thought. The misunderstanding was quickly defused, however, and now in Uppsala, we have a street named after him.)

 

MLK Jr. had the benefit of an obvious cause to fight for, that was personified by the countless black people who had to deal with it day in and day out. Their cause for racial freedom only needed a catalyst, and MLK Jr. provided that, and was able to organize the contempt that everyone felt, and mobilize it in a way to create real change.

 

My point was that currently our generation is not faced with such personal anguish, and that no one cares enough to begin the process of creating change. My parents had Vietnam, and saw their friends and family carted off against their will to an unpopular war. This potentially affected every person in society. The lucky ones went to college. The ones who got their number called went to war. We don't have this problem today. We (fortunately) have enough voluntary military to avoid a draft. Would our generation tolerate it if it came to that though? I say no…but like I said before, the government knows this. They won't risk the social upheaval that a draft would cause, so they find other ways of recruiting men for the military, and instead are actually praised for avoiding a draft in the first place.

 

My generation is not segregated. We enjoy more freedoms than any other in our history. We, the middle class, live extraordinarily comfortable lives, and in the age of technology and globalization, know more about the world from our desktops than any generation before ours. And in a matter of 12 hours, we can be almost anywhere in the world. Our lives are simply too comfortable, and we refuse to risk that comfort in the name of societal change. The country's (and the worlds, for that matter) problems are too abstract, too impersonal for any real change to occur from the bottom-up. Marches on Washington and NYC are great…they show that we care, but what have they accomplished? That's the difference.

 

"Really, if the US falls, who wins? We are all so interconnected at this point, it seems there would be no real winner."

 

I concede this point, to an extent. In the age of globalization and exponentially increasing technology, there can be no complete failure of a society, and no complete world-dominating empire. But I think this phenomenon began far earlier than now.

 

When the US was formed, England was the most powerful empire in the world. When the US fought for their freedom, we took a large chunk out of the English empire, and began creating an empire of our own. Gradually, as the US matured, England simultaneously became weaker as a global power. But they did not fail. The playing field was leveled, but they remained a worthy opponent in the game of global domination (some call this game Risk!).

 

Eventually, and it did not take long, the English and the US recognized each others power, and became allies. Instead of remaining enemies, they joined forces and currently remain two of the world's great empires.

 

The balance of power will never be in favor of one global empire as it once was in the time of the Romans and Greeks. Their worlds were comparatively miniscule, and it can be argued that the far-east nations in fact had greater control over the entire world than even the Greeks or Romans. Now that the world has shrunk, there can never be one dominant country or society, and this fact must be recognized to achieve any kind of progress.

 

My problem with the US society is that we refuse to acknowledge the rest of the world and it's diversity, which in the past has shaped our country and our society, and made it what it is today. We've somehow shifted to a self-centered culture basing our foreign (and domestic) policies on fear and negativity, denouncing foreigners as strange and scary.

 

Like I said, I'll concede that in a modern, global society there are no clear 'winners' and 'losers,' but the US is going to lose ground on the global playing field if we do not recognize the need to become more egalitarian and open-minded, and concede that there are equally important, different cultures playing an enormous role in the rest of the world.

 

Conclusions.

 

Can you tell I enjoy this sort of thing? Keep the comments coming, because I believe that open conversation is the first step to compromise and the creation of change.

 

The reason America has become the leader of the free world is because we have always been able to change and adapt, based on what's been happening in the world. I have no doubt that our country will continue to adapt to the changing nature of our global society; I'm just curious to see how that is going to happen.

 

Our country was founded on moral principles and is in fact 'good' as one commenter put it. We will not fail like the communists did, because we have the freedom and the flexibility to change with the times. And the first step to creating change is recognizing the need for it. That's what I meant by saying that America is at a turning point in its history. Everyone needs to wake up to the reality that what our country has been doing, globally and domestically, has been short-sighted. This doesn't mean America will fail. I hope this means that our society will recognize our faults, and continue to mature and be the leader of the free world, setting the example for other nations and cultures to follow.

 

I think if we think of it that way, of being an elder sibling to the rest of the world, we'd be better off. Let's try to set the example we'd like the rest of the world to follow, and we can rule the world! If we continue to create good ideas, welcome diversity and acknowledge and respect other cultures, the rest of the world may just follow suit. We're currently setting the opposite example, shutting ourselves in, destroying our opposition instead of listening to it, and forging animosity from the rest of the world. What, exactly, is this going to prove? Think about what I've said, and by all means, craft a reply and let me hear your point of view. Knowledge is power.

Reactions to the Previous Comments

I don't know who's written the previous two comments, and didn't even realize they were posted until this morning...the post they are referring to was more of a 'what-if' and not necessarily a criticism of the United States. In fact, if you'd read the rest of my blog, you'd notice that I wrote extensively about how excited I am to come home...and the mere fact that I am writing from abroad is due to my freedom to travel as a US citizen. 

(And furthermore, writing about America from Abroad offers an outside perspective that is impossible to view from within our own country. I never said I was renouncing my citizenship or declaring war on the US. I'm traveling to experience the world and broaden my views. You know there are places worth experience outside your own country. Finally, the entire last post was based on an international CNN broadcast that I saw in Austria. It was one of the few times that I've watched the news and saw people talking about America from afar, and it offered a viewpoint that could simply be objective without trying to offer any solutions. It was very interesting, and I don't think my position is tarnished by being abroad. In fact, I think I can speak more objectively by removing myself from the norm.)  

The vague, 'we are a stable democracy' argument is relying on our history as a stable and powerful country and not looking towards the future. Don't you think the Romans and the Greeks, and even the recent English Empire relied on their 'collective goodness' when the signs started pointing to their demise? History has a funny way of repeating itself, and humans have a funny way of ignoring it. Wake up people. "The tragedy is that unfortunately this administration will follow its agenda regardless." This is not the tragedy. The tragedy is that my generation does not have enough collective willpower to create change. Don't you think the communists thought they were going to 'follow [their] agenda regardless.' I don't care how powerful a government becomes, the will of the people will always be stronger.  

Inevitably America will change. The status quo has never remained. Throughout our history, there have been waves of digust, followed by upheaval from the citizens, and significant change. This was my whole point about the MLK Jr. thing. And actually a praise of our country, since we have the power within our democracy to create change without violent revolution and radical orthodoxy.

To return to my first point, I still believe America is on the brink. It's been a long time since any significant change has taken place and our society has become stale and mired in historical solutions that no longer apply to the modern global circumstances of economy and war. My generation must be the next great generation to take responsibility and remove the negative taste in the worlds mouth with regards to the US.

People, please leave your name if you comment. This is supposed to be an open discussion, so stop hiding behind 'anonymous' and let yourself be heard. Debate is supposed to be fun.

Miserable Weather

I'm under way again, waiting for the boat to take me back across the
Elbe and to the bahnhof. My train won't leave for an hour, but the
cafe wouldn't let me sit there without buying something, and I only
have .80 Euros in my pocket. My clothes, my jacket and my backpack are
thoroughly soaked.

This is without a doubt the crappiest weather I've experience since
arriving in Europe, even in Sweden. The wind must be blowing 20-25
knots, the rain is blowing sideways and permeates into everything, and
the visibility is about 300 metres. Yesterday, conversely, was
gorgeous outside, and I wish I could have experience Bad Schandau
then. I would have stayed longer for sure.

The boat is small and the river runs swift. I'm joined by a middle-
aged German couple, and we continue to remain at the dock. There is a
small enclosure at the stern of the boat with 4 small tables and
booths, where i compose this entry. The wheelhouse is forward.

The Elbe valley is beautiful, and as I sit on the river, I get a neat
feeling from gazing upstream. The high sandstone cliffs rise on either
side of me, giving the area a surreal, closed-in feeling, partially
created by the weather, and creating a sort of mystery around the
town. The captain has just returned and we're departing the dock. I'm
freezing in my damp clothing, relief hours away in Prague...

It's Raining in Dresden

And it's raining even harder in Bad Schandau. That's where I am right
now (in Germany) as I write this. The waitress just brought me 'ein
kannchen kaffee.' There are two cyclists drying off in the bathroom.

I learned today that my new puffy jacket is not waterproof. It's not
even water resistant. It's soaked, and so am I. I almost didn't make
it to the cafe where I'm sitting now. The train from Dresden only
stopped for 30 seconds, and I made a split-second decision to hop off
despite the gloomy weather. Unfortunately, the bahnhol is on the wrong
side of the river from town, and the bridge was 3km in the wrong
direction. So I stood in the rain, debating what to do, and nearly
returned to the deserted train station to wait two hours for the next
train back to Prague. But I persevered, and at the last second, as I
was walking towards the station entrance, I noticed a boat coming down
the river...salvation! For a mere 1.50 Euro, I was whisked upstream
right into the quaint heart of the tiny German 'dorf', and managed to
stay sort of dry in the process.

Being that it's my last full weekend in central Europe, I wanted to
take advantage, so set off yet again. (Can you tell that I'm not
completely enamored with Prague?) This time it was just me and Sara,
and we were bound for Dresden, an easy two-hour train ride away.
(Traveling by train in Europe is a must-experience event by the way. I
thought to myself yesterday that i could sit on that train all day
long, drinking coffee, writing and watching the scenery glide by. What
a cool - and practical - way to travel). We made no plans, arrived in
Dresden at 12:30pm, and just walked towards the old center of town.
Dresden is unique in that the 'Alt Stadt - Old City' is really very
new - it was bombed flat in WWII and the city is still rebuilding.
They've done a remarkable job, however, and the city is super-clean
with a modern, well-designed, friendly and decidedly untouristy feel.
I was pleasantly surprised.

Sara and I wandered through the ancient-feeling yet shining new Alt
Stadt, winding up at the Frauenkirche ('Church of the Mother'),
magnificently rebuilt in the center of a large square. We ambled into
the Frauenkirche Cafe, up the steps to a comfy table replete with two
couches and overlooking the church and the square, and we sat there,
for 4 straight hours. The goal of the weekend was to complete the
enormous writing project for TEFL, and I was determined not to leave
that cafe without doing just that. Upon completion of my 14-page
(handwritten!) masterpiece, I had a beer.

At that moment, when i was browsing the bier menu, I realized that I'd
been waiting nearly 8 years for this opportunity. I was about to enjoy
a true German Hefeweizen, in Germany, and I knew how to order it,
speaking Deutsch. I sat for a moment, reflecting on how much I
romanticized Germany through my 4 years of language study with Herr
K...I was finally there. I stared at my bier for a minute, marveling
at the situation, and thoroughly enjoyed every last drop of that bier
more than any other in my life.

By 7pm, both Sara and I were getting hungry, but we still hadn't yet
found a place to sleep. The waiter was tremendously helpful, brought
us a map of the city and drew directions for us of how to get to the
'Jungensgasthaus - Youth Hostel.' It turned out to be only a 10 minute
walk away, so we sauntered down Freiberger Strasse and found it quite
easily. For 18 Euros a piece, we had a double room with two beds and
breakfast in the morning...not too bad.

That night, we ended up at an Irish pub of all places. (The phenomenon
of the irish pub is really incredible. Here is a bar, based on the
theme of a country the size of New Jersey, which you can find with
striking consistency all over the world. And they are usually the most
fun and atmospheric places to go!). This place was obviously a local
hangout, kind of out of the way down a side street, and we felt lucky
to stumble into a little Dresden secret, despite the irish theme. A
band was setting up, so we settled in, to hang there all evening, soak
up the ambience (which was still decidedly German despite the decor)
and get drunk on German 'bier.' (Yes, they had Guiness, but the German
bier was the highlight, by far).

It is worth making the pilgrimage to the motherland solely to
experience what the Germans do best - make (and drink) bier. We
ordered two Kostrizter Schwarzbiers, which looked like motor oil
coming out of the tap. They were served in .5L glass steins, with a
big handle on the side and a two-inch, snow-white foamy head. A real
beer indeed. Before the night was over I'd sampled two hefeweizens
('helles' and 'dunkel' - light and dark) - the two best I'd ever
tasted - and the aforementioned schwarzbier, guzzling 3.5 litres in
all. I slept like a rock.

And now I find myself in Bad Schandau, about 50km outside of Dresen,
nestled into the Elbe River valley, which rises dramatically on each
side of the river, sandstone cliffs towering above the pine forests in
shapes and colors you'd never expect to find in Germany (or at least I
didn't). If not for the weather I'd be exploring today, as the area is
apparently home to the spectacular Saxony-Switzerland National Park,
with endless hiking and climbing in the dramatic sandstone
surroundings. (In fact, the Frauenkirche in Dresden, as well as the
other historical buildings, is built entirely of sandstone. Originally
designed in the Baroque style, which calls for marble as the building
material, Dresden's buildings were made instead from the local and
abundant sandstone. It's the only place in the world where you'll find
Baroque architecture made from sandstone.)

My jeans are damp, and it will be hours before they dry. The rain is
the kind that you can't really feel falling from the sky, but in no
time you find yourself dripping wet. It's like a giant fog. And the
wind is howling, blowing the rain sideways and ensuring that your
clothes become saturated.

I wish I had more time to spend in Germany. I've spent a long time
romanticizing the country, especially in high school German class, and
it hasn't disappointed. I'm remembering how to speak the language, and
surprisingly have been able to understand most everything I see and
hear. I have a theory that the language-barrier is a deciding factor
in how you perceive a place, once you actually get to visit it.
Australia and New Zealand, and now Germany, are romanticized in my
head because I'm comfortable in those places, can understand the
language and enjoy them.

Prague is the opposite. I'm turned off to the city in part because the
language is so foreign to me and I don't have any desire to learn it.
Without that desire to at least attempt to assimilate, even as a
tourist, I'll never enjoy a place to the fullest extent.

Rural Austria and American Foreign Policy

Note: This is the final entry from Austria.

Written 20 January, ~8:00am.

I seem to have completely forgotten that my somewhat expensive room included breakfast. So, to my delightful surprise, upon entering the cafe for a cup of coffee to start my day, I was presented with an assortment of meat and cheese, various rolls and jam, OJ, water and my coffee!

(Oh my God, Ace of Base just came on the stereo...I don't want to see the sign.)

This morning I was awakened by the town church bells ringing around. 7:30. What a wonderful change from the incessant noise of the trams outside my window in Prague. (This cheese is absolutely outstanding by the way...sliced so thin you can almost see through it!). Today I plan to explore the town on foot this morning, take some photos and just enjoy the fresh air and quiet stillness. I'm hoping the abbey is open so I can go have a look around. It's almost unfathomable how over 900 years ago they could build such an enormous, beautiful structure, perched atop rocky cliffs no less.

I watched TV for the first time in weeks last night. My room actually received almost 30 channels. Strangely, even the American stations and shows like MTV and Desperate Housewives were dubbed in German. I found a 'Sport am Samstag (Saturday)' channel and watched highlights of skiing and biathlon. Apparently Hermann Maier just won the most recent World Cup Downhill with Bode Miller a close second. The Hermannator has to be like 45 by now doesn't he? He was good when Johnny Moseley was popular...

I then switched to CNN, the international version, which was broadcast in English and not dubbed over. They had extensive coverage of the Nevada Caucauses, and it appears Hillary has won a narrow victory over Obama, while Mitt Romney ran away with the GOP. Can we really have a president with a name like Mitt Romney? How can this be possible? Let's make sure this doesn't happen.

What would happen I wonder if the next president, regardless of who it is, simply withdraws every soldier from Iraq and declares the nation neutral, kind of like Switzerland? I think the immediate consequences would be enormous gas price increases and the Middle East would degenerate into more violence (as it's been for 2000 years...). But think of the resources, both monetary and human, that the US could sink into worthwhile, advancing projects.

What if the US were to develop the first plausible, workable, affordable alternative energy automobile? Ostensibly, as it is now, the Japanese will figure this out first, the US car market will suffer, and we'll still be dependent on oil and at war with the Middle East. But what if we did it first? We'd simultaneously end our dependence on oil, while providing an enormous boon to the economy and creating countless jobs in the process. We'd set an example for others to follow, kind of like America did when we first began our democracy.

What do you think of when you think about Sweden? Snow and blonde people, right? Sweden has the best standard of living in the world, and doesn't get involved in other people's business, yet maintains friendly relations with the 'good guys.' They play a sly game, and they play it well, and their citizens reap the benefits.

I think the US is facing a critical turning point in it's history. The economy is teetering on the edge of disaster, our historically dominant military cannot wage the way against terrorism, as there is no clear enemy. The rest of the world dislikes us more now than ever, and our foreign policy is so self-centered that we're missing the big picture and inviting criticism from the rest of the world, allies and enemies alike. Every great civilization in the history of man has fallen. Why do we assume the US is invincible?

Unfortunately, I don't think my generation has enough passion to create change. CNN showed a documentary last night about MLK Jr. and the changes he brought about. The people he spoke to were incredibly passionate and willed changed to happen. Over 250,000 people stood to hear him speak in front of the Lincoln Memorial. My generation will never create that kind of energy or power. People like me, i think, simply turn the other cheek, refuse to participate and sort of forget the whole mess. I think it's because the tipping point the US is facing is not personal enough for us. Yes, I don't agree with the war, or many of our countries policies, but they don't immediately affect me. I'm more concerned with my life, to see the world before my eyes before my country destroys it. I wonder what the catalyst will be to create real discontent and change from my generation. Every generation has had something to rally around - WWII, Vietnam, race, etc. What will we rally around?

Something extraordinary or unspeakable needs to happen to Americans to save our civilization and create some real change. 9/11 was not it. It could have been, but Bush killed the chance of that happening by invading Iraq and turning the world against us. I wonder if that will turn out to be the tipping point, historically, of the fall of the US as the ruler's of the world. Days after 9/11, the entire world was on our side, sympathized with us, and we blew it.

I think a draft would create enough unrest for some change to occur. Unfortunately, that government knows this too, and would never institute one for that exact reason. I don't know what the answer is, though it could involve aliens and Will Smith.

Authenticity Revisited...

I'm not yet finished transferring all of my entries from this weekend onto my interweb blog, but I feel like I need to interject, and comment on my last entry about authenticity, that I wrote back on Saturday. 

First of all, I'm aware that that entry devolved into an alcohol-induced commentary on my surroundings, but I liked it nonetheless, and I enjoyed writing it immensely. I was in the best mood of the past three weeks, and I was simply writing what came to mind. I sometimes think that is when I write best, or at least enjoy it the most. 

I spent a lot of time in Melk enjoying my time there, but also commenting on how much Prague had been weighing on my well-being. Well, I may have found a small piece of Prague which is in fact authentic, and I feel I need to share it.

As I write this, I'm sitting in a small bar 4 subway stops from my apartment, but 6 subway stops from Old Town Square. Karinth, the Alaskan girl told me about the place. It's really just a local pub that happens to have wireless. I'm drinking a glass of wine, talking to Mia on Skype, and am surrounding by about a dozen Czech's enjoying an after-work beer and socializing. It feels like the Prague version of Davis Pub in Eastport, and actually looks a bit the same inside. Anyway, despite the smoke, it's a breath of fresh air, and has given me a slightly different impression of Prague. 

Authenticity

Note: Written 19 January 2008.

Bahamas. Canada. Costa Rica. New Zealand. Australia. Fiji. Sweden. Finland. Czech Republic. Austria. 

Anyone can travel. The world's cities and resorts eventually blend into one blurry memory. Everything becomes the same. So what's the point?

Why travel to Prague when nearly all of the Old Town restaurants and pubs print menus in English? Who cares that an odd bridge exists when it's plagued by swarms of people looking for a photo?

This morning my international travel resume has reached double-digits. Austria is officially the tenth country outside of the US that I've visited. I'm not bragging about this...it's quite common for the average European to visit that many countries by their tenth birthday. I'm trying to find authenticity in my travels.

What's authentic American? New York City? Maybe certain parts. Philly? Maybe more so. But give me St. Michaels if I'm an international traveler. Yes, it's touristy, but in a very American sort of way. There is more down-home authenticity there than in any major city. But that's my taste.

I've attempted to see the world from a locals perspective, as much as that's possible. I think I've managed pretty well so far. I managed to escape Vienna and am currently writing this in a cafe in Melk, absolutely undoubtedly the only native English speaker in the establishment. I'm quite proudly getting by on my much-forgotten German (I'm mixing it with Swedish and Czech all the time). I'm surrounded by Austrians playing Yachtzee and smoking cirgarettes, living out their ordinary lives.

These are the experiences I crave. At my side is a German National Geographic; and again, I write in pencil, to later translate online.

In Austria it's Melk in winter. In Costa Rica it was the beach village of Gandoca. In Sweden, Enkoping, Finland, Aland. In Australia is was Hobart and Byron Bay, New Zealand, Blenheim and Wanaka. In Fiji it was Lautoka, The Bahamas, Georgetown (though I don't remember too much). I've yet to find that special place in the Czech Republic, though I'm more determined to do so now, maybe next weekend. 

I'm buzzed and it's only 8:30pm. I wonder what Nate and Ryan are up to tonight. I ought to send them something. Maybe some Absinthe from Prague. Maybe just a postcard. i wish I'd have ordered this Gosser Bier a bit earlier...it's the cloudy, wheat beer that I so enjoy, and it's delicious. Bob Dyland is playing now, my soul at ease.

The cafe I'm in has a distinctly 1950's feel. At least how I'd imagine a cafe in the 1950's to feel. The lighting is bright yet soothing, emanating from several globe-shaped fittings hanging from the ceiling. The walls are decorated with photos of the days gone by, adding to the old feeling. Wooden booths are upholstered in dark red faux-suede, creating an elegant atmosphere. There is a magazine rack attached to the bar, but all of the publications are in German. Suddenly I'm rather looking forward to retiring to my room upstairs and watching TV before falling asleep. I predict tonight will be my best night's sleep since leaving Sweden...

Should I have one more beer? I shall, aber ein kleines bier. It's too early to kill the creative mood I'm in right now.

(Interesting aside, and this is written as I transfer the pencil to the computer...I just recalled a part of the Kirk, Mark and Shamrock Show from Baltimore's 105.7 radio station...they were discussing funny song names, and one person called in and suggested "It's too early to drink, but too late to stop." I remember laughing at that.)

Tomorrow I may meet Karinth, an interesting girl with an even more interesting name. She's from Alaska, and I ask her if everyone from Alaska is from Anchorage, and she confirms this. She was with our party of 6 on the train to Vienna. I had only just met her and Lisa, a Korean-American girl, also on the TEFL course with us. It was originally their idea to go to Vienna, and me, Michael, Alison and Sara kind of tagged along.

ANYWAY, the 6 of us enjoyed pleasant conversation for the duration of the train trip this morning, and I may have convinced Karinth to meet me in Melk tomorrow. She's accustomed to the quiet town atmosphere, having once toured British Columbia via mountain bike. She also has a Czech boyfriend, so we can relate well in the foreign-significant other departmant. I'll wait for her by the train station tomorrow, and if she doesn't show by 11, I'm out. It would be nice to have some company to visit the abbey with tomorrow.

'Hast ein Kaiser, Bist ein Kaiser' - the slogan on my Kaiser Bier coaster. It means 'Have a Kaiser, be a Kaiser.' Nice.

This may seem like a rather disjointed entry, but I've been sitting in the same cafe since it began, so I feel it's continuous enough. I'm still waiting for the waiter to acknowledge my request for ein kleines bier, but he's yet to pass by. Since my evening began, nearly 3 hours ago, I've consumed 2 litres of beer...

Two Austrian girls are playing pool right now...I feel the need to mention this. I can't help but think I've stumbled into the real lives of other people and have managed to escape the tourist traps of Prague and Vienna. The people here know what is going on...they're not merely passing through, but actually belong here. It's kind of weird actually...I feel like an invader of a very private, sacred place. Like this is a haven for people, outsiders not allowed. It feels like The Chesnut Tree, 'where I sold you, and you sold me' from the classic 1984. Any minute I might be whisked out of the place by the Thought Police for merely considering the idea...

I've paid, I'm leaving...Goodnight.

"Austria? Well then...G'day mate. Let's put another shrimp on the barbie!"

Note: Written in pencil, on Saturday, 1/19/08, on the train...

Ahhh. Back in my element, finally. It's 1:57pm right now and I'm sitting on a train that has yet to depart the station. I'm in Vienna, bound for Melk, a tiny Austrian town in the heart of the Danube River Valley. I've been traveling since 7:15am this morning, and will not arrive in Melk until after 3pm. It's been a glorious day.

Prague has been weighing on my emotions for the past two weeks, and being on the move once again is incredibly cleansing. When the first train rolled into the countryside my mood lifted immediately. I'd decided last night over a glass of wine that I was not in fact going to stay in Vienna with my friends, but move on, in search of a quiet town surrounded not by factories but by nature. I hope I've found it in Melk.

Quite serendipitiously I discovered the town in an Austrian tourbook that was left in my apartment. It's from 2004 but had some great info in. Apparently it'd be only an hours train ride from Vienna, and was described as picturesque and devoid of tourists. The main center of town supposedly  revolves around a 900 year old enormous abbey. I'll check it out later today.

I brought my running clothes with me, and with luck will finally be able to get back into nature and explore the way I enjoy the most...on foot.

I haven't booked my accomodation, and I'm excited about where I'll stay. I'll continue tomorrow, after I've actually explored the area. The train has just departed...

~6:30pm...

Run: 65 minutes / ~8 miles

This has already been the best day I've had since arriving in Prague. That city, as I've mentioned ad nauseum, was wearing me down, soiling the amazing experience of teaching. Prague has it's highlights for sure, but the overall feeling is doom and gloom, and it's difficult to overcome.

Moving on. Literally. I knew I'd have fun in Vienna, but knew I'd also want something more. We had a group of 6 people when we left Prague, and the difficulties of travel increase exponentially as your group increases in number. So I decided to simplify things and go solo, and it's been the best decision of my journey so far.

As I write this, I'm sitting in a small cafe/pub in the tiny town of Melk, Austria (pop. 6600). I'm writing the old fashioned way, with a pencil and paper, and will later transfer this to my blog. I'm drinking a 'Kaiser' beer, apparently Austrian, though it tastes pretty much like any other beer would. The ambience of the pub is lovely, the music is shit. I'm going to move on shortly.

It was easy getting to Melk, but it was a long trip. I woke at 6:15am, having to shower and make breakfast before catching the meto around 7:15. I took the time to hard-boil 10 eggs, for this mornings breakfast and to bring as sustenance for the weekend. I'm trying desperately to keep it cheap, so I won't pay for food this weekend. My backpack was loaded with bananas, pears, oranges, bread and 8 hard-boiled eggs, so I'll be fine for the weekend.

I met the others (Michael, Sara, Alison, Karinth and Lisa) at the downtown train station (Nadrazi) in Prague for our 8:23am departure for Vienna. Falling in and out of sleep, the ride was pleasant. In 4 hours we rolled into Wien Sudbahnhof. En route I'd mapped my course to Melk. I hopped the #18 tram to the Westbahnhof and got there 10 minutes before the next train left for Melk. Perfect timing.

We rolled into town around 3:30pm, 8 hours after I'd first gotten on the metro this morning. But it was worth the trip. The ancient abbey was immediately visible, high on the hill overlooking the Donau (Danube). The thing is enormous...I plan to visit tomorrow and explore for a bit.

Exiting the train station, I was greeted by cobbled streets and beautiful, quaint houses, scattered along a rolling hillside. I followed some worn steps down to a narrow alleyway, and after 30 metres or so emerged through a low arch into the trafficless town center. Only about 300 metres long, the main 'Platz' is picture-perfect, and being the winter low season, there wasn't a tourist in sight.

I gleefully ambled down the small hill, keeping my eye out for a cheap place to stay. My guidebook mentioned a hostel-like hotel not far from the center. When i arrived, the door was open but the place seemed deserted, and no lights were on. I walked up a creaky staircase to find an open window but no sign of anyone. So I quickly exited. I couldn't help but think of 'The Shining' and 'Hotel California' simultaneously. I'm moving on to a another pub...

-PAUSE-

Um, not much better here. The music is even worse, but the ambience is about the same. It's very peculiar having club-style music in the quaint Austrian pubs in such a postcard-perfect town. Oh well, this is real life here I guess...

So I did find a place to stay shortly after my encounter with the creepy hotel. This place is obviously a summer town. It's deserted, and a lot of the restaurants and guesthouses (you can't really call them hotels) are actually closed. So at the center of town there is a small cafe that advertises rooms for rent above the establishment. It looked open, so I investigated. Two older Austrian women greeted me at the bar, and in my best effort at German, managed to convey that i needed a place to sleep. The older (and uglier) lady led me upstairs to room #2, surprisingly modern with a nice bed, shower and even a TV. It was a bit pricey at 45 Euros, but I didn't seem to have much choice. At least it's very nice.

By then it was nearly 3:45, so I immediately donned my running gear and set out to explore the surrounds. I hadn't been in such a good mood since first discovering my forest in Uppsala.

There is a well-marked bike path that heads out of town, circling first below the cliffs, where the abbey stands guard over the Donau, then leading across the river to the town of Emmersdorf. I followed the  path, relishing every breath of fresh air, scented with the sweet smell of wood-burning stoves, not the industrial smog of Prague. Upon reaching Emmersdorf, I slowed to a gentle saunter, and tried to burn into my memory the fairy-tale ambience of the place. I jogged up a long stone staircase, emerging onto an old, un-used train platform that offered a splendid view of the town from above. The main street is only about two blocks long, but I found an open cafe, surprisingly crowded with locals and enjoyed a latte before my return jaunt to Melk.

I returned in 65 minutes, simply enamored by my surroundings and so completely happy that I could hardly remember Prague. Though alone, this has been the most enjoyable time since leaving Sweden. I've been craving an escape to the countryside, and didn't want to set foot on another city public transport system. I'm sure Vienna is nice for what it is, but I'll trade a bustling city for a quiet town in the countryside any day, and I'm so glad I did.

The Hills Are Alive...

Tomorrow I'll ride the rails to Vienna. I'm really looking forward to practicing my German for the first time in a real-life scenario. Maybe I'll even run into the van Trapps along the way.

Prague has been wearing me down. I'm already sick of living in the city, especially the communist-influenced, dirty, worn-down area, far from the city's cultural center. I hate riding the metro, and starting Monday have to find another way to school. There is a tram stop right outside my window, so I'm going to leave early and check that out...it may involved a bit more walking, but it will be worth it to stay above ground for a bit.

Prague is an odd city. It has been magnificently preserved throughout it's history, and escaped destruction during WWII. So it's old center and historic district is quite a sight to behold. But that's the problem...it's only a sight.

Where the bombs of WWII missed their mark, tourism has scored a direct hit. The city's ancient buildings and myriad of confusing cobblestone streets are gorgeous when viewed from a distance. But once you enter the maze of old town, you're simply inundated with gaudy tourist shops and ridiculously expensive restaurants.

There is a side of Prague that I enjoy. It exists on the opposite side of the river from Old Town Square, and is more quaint, more green and more local. But from where I live, it's light years away, which is a bummer. Mia and I did find one cool Turkish cafe off of a side street in Old City. I had the best coffee of my life there. Middle-eastern decor lined the walls while enchanting Indian music created a surreal surrounding. Two men next to us delighted in their enormous water pipes, the sweet smell of flavored tobacco a delightful respite from the other 'smoking allowed' pubs. I will revisit this place, hopefully on more than one occasion.

But off to Vienna I go, tomorrow at 8:23am (it's currently Friday evening at 9:51). I had a strong urge to get out of town this morning waiting for class to start. I really wanted to go to a much smaller town, somewhere in Germany perhaps, and avoid the city life for a bit. But then three friends from class said they were heading to Vienna, so I decided to capitulate and tag along. It's a four-hour train ride from Prague, one which I hope offers some interesting scenery along the way. Apparently Vienna has some really cool cafes, a big forest just outside town and some amazing museums, so I'll be a tourist for two days and soak up this part of the world while I'm here.

USA! USA! USA!

Sometime this spring I will be returning. I had previously announced to several friends that I'd be heading off to St. Maarten for another adventure this summer. I changed my mind.

It was a difficult decision, but at the same time it was an easy one. I've been in a bit of a funk lately. Prague has been eating away at my sanity...nowhere green to explore, no good places to run, breathing the filthy air, riding the dark underground metro everday. It's had it's good moments...Mia and I exploring last Saturday night, looking for a decent pub, not returning home until 3:30am. The zoo, my Turkish cafe, the small internet cafe where a glass of wine costs $1. It's been an up and down experience here to say the least.

The teaching has been the same. Some days I get excited about it, other days I ask myself why i wanted to do this in the first place. I don't have much of a choice at this point...I'm good at it, so I might as well put my energy into it while I'm here and see what happens.

I realized this morning that every time I've traveled somewhere before, I've had a definite return date and some concrete plan to return to. This time, I didn't have that. I left for Sweden, and ultimately to Prague without so much as a return airplane ticket, and it got me all out of whack. I didn't realize it until this morning. I've been so obsessed with trying to figure out what the future would bring that I neglected to live my life in the present. This is part of the reason i decided to head off to Vienna tomorrow...at least I have something to look forward to, am on the move again to see a new place and have some new experiences.

When I made the decision to return home, a lot changed. I feel like I am freer now to experience life here, knowing I'll be returning to something familiar in the future. Jen has already told me I'm welcome to return to the Woodwind family, and I can't wait to go back there. I thought it would be cool to skipper a catamaran in the Caribbean, but what could possibly be better than sailing on the fastest sailboat on the Bay with your best friends, everyday, while living half a mile from the center of my favorite town on earth. Um, not much.

So my spirits have lifted. I'm lucky that I realized this now while I still have two weeks remaining in Prague. I actually can't wait to hop on that train tomorrow and enjoy the 4 hour ride through the countryside to a new city I can explore. I've been reading up on it tonight in a guidebook that I found in my apartment, and I definitely have to go to one of the outlying wine gardens. I only wish Nate and Ryan were here so we could reminisce about the Finger Lakes.

How to Teach English Without Actually Speaking It

I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I sent $500.00 to Prague. I think it was sometime around July. Wanting a little adventure and excitement, and a chance to make some money when I travel in the future, I decided to sign up for this TEFL Worldwide course in Prague, of all places. I hadn't the slightest idea what the city was like, only that it was near Germany and used to be communist. 

As the fall rolled along, my mind was focused on going to Sweden, not Prague, and I didn't give it a second thought until literally the morning I left Uppsala for the airport. It only hit me then that I was heading off for a month in a new city to go to school for something I knew next to nothing about, and wasn't sure if I really wanted to know anything about.

So here I am, two weeks into this business, and am still not sure what to think. I'm excelling at the English teaching bit...so far I've been observed twice by our professors while I student taught, and both times they had excellent things to say. I'm finding that i actually really enjoy the teaching as well. All the training and the theory cannot create the feeling of standing in front of Czech students, who really want to learn, and successfully being able to facilitate that. It's a cool feeling. But it's also a ton of work. 

Class starts at 10:00am sharp everyday, and Terry and Pete, the two British guys who teach the course, are very strict about their time schedule. Their great teachers, two of the best I've ever had for anything, and they command the attention of their students. It's an added bonus that they both speak with that enchanting British accent...Pete sounds like John Lennon and looks a bit like Keith Richards, while Terry sounds like Prince Charles and looks a bit like a 12 year old kid. They've been doing this for over 12 years, and have taught all over the world, from the UAE to Japan, Spain and Russia. Their stories alone were worth the price of admission to the school.

So anyway, school begins at 10, with the first session lasting until around noon. After that we get a 15 minute break, followed by the afternoon session from 12:00 - 1:30. On Mondays, school resumes at 2:30 after lunch. But the rest of the week, the afternoons are reserved for student teaching, when the Czech students come to the school for their lessons. We only teach twice a week, either T-Th or M-W, having the other two afternoons off to plan our lessons. So on any given day, I'm at school from 10am until at least 7pm, sometimes longer. But it's rewarding work, and to me is like solving a little puzzle. Planning the lessons requires a lot of thought to actually make them interesting (despite following a book as a syllabus). And successfully implementing a lesson is enjoyable.

The biggest challenge is getting your points across while not actually being able to say anything. Our training follows a theory of student-centered tactics...meaning essentially that the students do all of the work, and the teacher is only there to facilitate the learning process. For example, when presenting a new vocab word, we must first try to elicit the word from the students through visuals and sometimes elaborate and quite humorous modeling. A lot of English teaching is really just acting, and once you realize that and embrace it, it can be quite fun.

The planning bit is the difficult part. I spent 2.5 hours planning my first lesson (each lesson is 45 minutes long). Which is roughly 2.5 hours longer than I spent on anything I did in college. The difference this time round is that I really enjoy it. I'm not doing it for the sake of getting it done, I'm actually looking at my lessons as a little problem I have to solve, and when I get to present them and fit in that last piece of the puzzle, it's very satisfying.

I've written and discussed before the notion that all deeds are essentially selfishly motivated. I think this teaching thing is a prime example. My initial motivation for coming to Prague and to this school was so that I could potentially get a job while traveling the world, and finance my adventures. Which obviously is a selfish motive. Since I've been here, however, I actually enjoy more than i thought the actual act of teaching. So while I'm fulfilling my own selfish needs by simply feeling good about myself when i complete a lesson, I'm also helping those Czech students learn English, which they are paying to do. So I think sometimes it's ok to have selfish motives when in fact you're helping others at the same time.

Blood Doping & Ironmen (Published January 8, 2008)

Dane sent me an email today and posed an interesting question that I've touched on briefly. I'd mentioned how happy I was that Roger Clemens got caught for doping, which he's vehemently denied. Regardless, his name was involved and it's bad press even if he's exonerated. If he's truly clean, I hope he can prove it. But if Andy Petitte testifies to Congress like they want him to, and Clemens' name comes up, he'll have a tough time denying his so-called best friend.

So anyway, Dane wondered if I thought that a lot of Ironman athletes were dopers. His intonation (if you can infer that from an email), suggested that he thought they did. 

Anyway, without further ado, here is the email reply that I sent to him:

I'm not sure about your Ironman question. I think based on my experience with that Luke guy and the couple athletes I met last year in New Zealand that I'm inclined to say it's way less than most major sports. There is just not enough money and publicity in the sport, or team pressure for that matter, to do it. Luke won that event in NZ, and nobody cared. It's one thing to win the Tour de France, but even Ironman Hawaii, the holy grail, is pretty much unnoticed. And these athletes are not making tons of money or living like even cyclists do. He was there by himself, no team, not even a coach, staying in a hostel with normal people like me, eating Cocoa Puffs. His pre-race meal the night before was a massive t-bone steak and a local wheat beer...I ate with him. And he was the skinniest punk I've ever seen in my life. Now I know he could have been blood-doping, and you wouldn't know from appearance, but based on the lifestyle, the lack of money and lack of notoriety, I don't think there is as much motivation to dope. He could probably be a successful cyclist, even on a ProTour team, and could dope there. But I think Ironmen are a different breed of athlete and are more intrinsically motivated rather than extrinsically. I still think some do it, but I don't think it's as much as cycling or baseball. I am being optimistic of course, and basing most of my idea on the fact that I met one dude and he was friendly and just didn't seem like a doper. But I think I make a valid point. Sorry for the long-winded response. 

One think that I think is missing from the doping coverage in the media is how it affects the average athlete that only competes for fun. Major athletes can dope all they want to...I'm still going to cycle, and run and compete and have no desire whatsoever to dope. I enjoy following cycling and triathlon as a professional sport, but I enjoy it more as a participant, and in that way I have control over whether or not I dope. I think the average person makes heros out of professional athletes and are crushed and angered when their perfect beings, their heros are caught cheating. But for me, I'm more concerned with myself than with what my favorite athletes do. I'd be upset if Lance ever was caught doping...he's provided lots of motivation for my own athletics. But ultimately it's still me that has to get up in the morning to exercise if i want to compete, even if only for fun. So I think the media and the  average person makes way too big a deal about doping, because they get too caught up in sports as an escape. I 'escape' the mundane, as you said, by going for a two-hour run; not by watching someone else run on the tv, only to find out they've been helped along by taking drugs. 

A Ridiculous Link

Check out this ESPN.com article. Considering the recent backlash for people saying stupid things in the media, if this woman doesn't get fired from the Golf Channel, I'll be surprised. She said something involving the words 'Tiger' and 'lynch.' Truly amazing.

Heavy Metal & The Beach Boys in the USSR

Very surreal…the Beach Boys ‘Get Around’ plays on my stereo, immediately following an original version of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir’ on a local Czech radio station. (I shouldn’t be surprised at the tasteful and eclectic music in Prague – after all, this is the city that produced the Plastic People of the Universe, possibly the most important band after the Beatles, to ever grace a population with its music. More on this in a later post, but stay tuned, because their story is incredible). I’m drinking a glass of wine, which has been poured from a bottle depicting a large black bear with a Czech label. The wine is red, oddly sweet, and cost me 45,00 Czech Korunas, which is roughly equivalent to just over US $2.00 (for the entire bottle). I’m sitting alone in the spacious bedroom of my apartment located in Hloubetin (which has a weird accent on the ‘e’ and the ‘i’, which I cannot reproduce on my American machine), and the ceilings are not quite so low. My front window overlooks a busy street, and my back window overlooks an adjacent apartment complex. The subway station is less than a half a block away. It doesn’t quite register to me that Communists (capital ‘C’?) once lived in this apartment.

I’ve just returned from my first jaunt into the city center, one of the few in Europe that escaped destruction during World War II. That post I wrote this morning in the airport seems like it occurred a lifetime ago, which is generally the feeling one gets when traveling great distances in a short period of time. At least I get that feeling.

Prague is old, it’s sprawling, it’s confusing, it’s beautiful, it’s scary and it contains an oddly large number of marionettes. I want to say something to the effect that Communism still reigns supreme and that people are only starting to adjust to Western culture and capitalism. But that’s not true at all. Capitalism is everywhere, encouraging and sickening at the same time. For some reason I guess I expected the city to be more authentic, more something, but the same trendy restaurants and tourist boutiques line the Old City just like anywhere else. The comforting realization that nearly all of the Old City buildings are actually authentic and original in their architecture and construction is squashed by the establishments that inhabit those buildings. Paradoxically, tourism simultaneously maintains and kills the authenticity of a city by preserving the look of an historical place such as Prague, yet destroying the feel with the influx of money and foreign tourists.

I must go back in time before I can return to the present. I’ve been writing what is coming to mind, which may be a product of my solitude, the wine I’m drinking or this bizarrely eclectic radio station I’m listening to. Mostly I think my stream of consciousness comes from that ominous black bear who graces the label of my wine bottle. I feel like the hammer and scythe should adorn the bottle next to the bear. ANYWAY, (and I shamelessly borrow that word from Chuck Klosterman), I digress. So back in time we go…

Remember that 7 degrees C that I mentioned Paris was enjoying? Well evidently Paris is a bit farther from Prague, at least meteorologically. When my plane landed, after descending through three distinct and mesmerizing layers of clouds, the pilot announced, in not less than three languages, that the temperature on the ground was minus 6 degrees C. Not sure if I heard him correctly, his statement was shortly confirmed when I exited the terminal sans jacket and promptly froze my ass off waiting for my ride to the school. For some reason I didn’t get a stamp in my passport, which is disappointing, because up until now every country I’ve visited has left their mark in my little Blue Book of Freedom.

Via shuttle bus, I was granted a short tour through the Old City en route to the Hotel Pivovar. Despite my zombie-like state, brought on by my 1:00am bedtime and 5:00am wakeup call, my initial reaction to the city was one of amazement. The driver did his best Michael Shumacher impression as he tore through the cobbled streets, our sense of speed multiplied by the incessant vibration from the ancient pavement. A few observations immediately stood out; cars were parked on the sidewalks; trolley cable cars zoomed down the center of the main streets; church spires stood like palace guards over every visible section of the city; and the enormous castle loomed over the entire city while the river meandered through it’s ancient center. The castle, I later discovered, is more than one thousand and one hundred years old, built more than a millennia ago. The first passenger was dropped off just under the famously beautiful Charles Bridge, where an old mill, built in the 1350’s, was visible. As the cab departed, I noticed a sinewy, soldierly looking man, ostensibly in his 30’s, running through a park adjacent to the river, in shorts. I was reminded that I am in the former USSR, and that these people are probably a lot tougher than I am.

Upon arrival at the hotel, I was greeted by a few of my fellow students, all of which were female. One of the girls was asking for help lugging her enormous bag, of which she’d packed two, up the stairs to her room. Another was very friendly, in her 40s or 50s, and will probably feel very out of place with a class full of twenty-somethings, but whom I will probably relate to the most. The third was unmistakably American, and unmistakably female. She had not one positive comment to make, and her frustration with not being able to make a credit card phone call or get online with her laptop quickly became everyone else’s problem. I’m very cautiously optimistic about the rest of the class.

My apartment is larger than I’d imagined, and for better or for worse, I occupy it by myself. I was under the impression that I’d be living in a bedroom of my own in a shared apartment, but that is not the case. I have a large kitchen, a huge bedroom, a nice shower, a decent stereo, no TV, and an absolutely enormous closet. I’ll like it here, and I’m only two subway stops from school, eight from the city center, about a 10-minute jaunt. My accommodation is adequate, but I must emphasize that it is pretty rustic, a bit musty, and, for lack of a better descriptor, very Russian. (Rather appropriately, I think, I began re-reading George Orwell’s 1984 this morning in the airport.)

After a brief doze on my entirely-too-small-for-one-person bed, I decided to explore. Never fully cognizant that I’d be experiencing yet another culture with yet another language to challenge my comfort level, I was a bit shocked at the indecipherable recordings while riding the subway. Without realizing it, I’d become very accustomed to Swedish, and now faced with a culture even more foreign to me, Sweden seemed oddly familiar and comfortable, in hindsight. Nevertheless, I ascended from the underground into a bustling, vibrant city, gawking like a child at my surroundings. Fairly confident in my route-finding ability, I set off in a direction that seemed to lead to whatever it was I was in search of. Block after block of ancient architecture delighted and confused my senses, and soon I was very, very lost. I didn’t care. Truly enjoying myself, albeit freezing my ass off, I meandered along the ancient cobblestones, keeping a watchful eye out for a neat pub or interesting gallery to pop in to. About to continue down one street, I glanced to my right and noticed the silhouette of the immediately recognizable castle looming in the distance, and immediately changed course. Following a side street, I soon emerged onto a veranda overlooking the river, and beyond that, the castle itself. Perched on the peak of a small rise in the landscape, the castle in Prague occupies a stunningly enormous piece of real estate, and is a truly magnificent site to behold. The sun had already set, leaving only a faint grey-blue hue on the western horizon, and the castle stood, glowing in the soft-yellow light that shone upon it, dramatically contrasted against the ever-darkening twilight.

By chance alone, I found myself in the middle of an explorer’s nightmare – packed amongst hundreds of wide-eyed tourists, snapping photos in every direction, unconcerned by anyone else around them. I had stumbled upon the Charles Bridge, the gateway to the castle and essentially the central tourist attraction of Old City. In this most historic and beautiful of locations within the city, cheeky tourist shops which belonged in Ocean City, not Eastern Europe, dominated the storefronts. Unfortunately, these places and the people that keep them in business are exactly why historic monuments like the bridge continue to exist in their original form. After all, money is king, and tourists bring in more money than the people of Prague have ever seen in the 40 years of Communist rule.

The radio station has seemingly switched to mellow classic rock at this point. Crosby, Stills & Nash ‘Our House’ is currently playing. That followed The Who’s ‘Substitute,’ which followed Pink Floyd’s ‘Shine on You Crazy Diamond.’ Life in my apartment was more exciting when Led Zeppelin diametrically opposed The Beach Boys. Ah, fittingly, The Beatles are here to save the day, and help me finish my $2.00 bottle of wine. I wonder if this black bear is going to give me a bad hangover.

Several sips and several minutes later, after re-reading and editing much of what has already been written…

Bob Dylan’s ‘Lay Lady Lay’ is now playing on that radio station. I feel that this is important to mention. Additionally, in the hour or so that I’ve been creating, there has been, at a maximum, maybe 30 seconds of continuous commercials on this radio station. The sounds emanating from my stereo have been almost entirely musical, and I’m thrilled that this song is on the air right now…20 seconds later, and now what is playing? None other than ‘Love Isn’t Always On Time.’ This place is bizarre. One of these days I’m going to do a Bill Simmons-esque running diary of this radio station. I may need more Czech wine for that.

Welcome to the Future

Last year I was in New Zealand when 2007 happened, and I had a funny conversation with Nate on the morning of Jan. 1. It was still 2006 where he was, and he asked me if people in the future wore silver clothing that looked the same. They didn't. That wasn't why the conversation was funny. He continued with a story about his exploits in Tampa (I think it was in Tampa), where he enjoyed some classy "entertainment," the kind of which I had never experienced, and up to that point, he never had either. His recap of his night was humorous. 

2008 happened 7 hours before it did for Pennsylvanians. People still aren't wearing silver suits and talking with the brains, which was a bit disappointing. 

After Stockholm, Mia, Kate and I embarked on yet another, longer journey via Scandanavia's public transportation system. A quick subway ride at 7am (it's still dark at this time...in fact the sun won't rise until nearly 8:30), and a twenty minute wait outside in the cold for our bus. Then the two-hour bus ride through more rural countryside to the tiny coastal village of Kapellskar, which we slept through mostly. Finally we boarded the ferry that would take us across the Baltic Sea to Aland Island, which belongs to Finland, but where they speak Swedish and hate the Russians. 

The weather was bleak (again), and really windy, with whitecaps on the water. This made for a bit of a rolly ride on the ferry (which was better described as a mini-cruiseship, which slot machines and 8 decks). It would have been hellish in a sailboat. We entertained ourselves on the two-hour jaunt by playing cards and drinking coffee, while everyone else on the ferry entertained themselves by drinking beer. It was New Year's Eve, so that was acceptable, even at 10am.

I hadn't seen Johanna in nearly a year. She looks the same, and it felt normal seeing her again, like an old friend. We met her parents, who put us up in their modest house in the countryside (there is a lot of countryside over here). Her dad would not look strange in one of those Russian winter hats with the earflaps. He has gymnast rings in the basement.

The festivities began at Johanna's friend Josephines house. Her parents were away, so her and about 12 friends had concocted an elaborate and exceedingly classy dinner party. Three or four times the Nordic folk at the table sang songs and we drank snapps, which is a nice word for vodka, which is a nice word for jet fuel. This is common to do while eating a festive meal.

At 11pm, a cab picked us up and we drove a while down the road, through more countryside to another friends house for the rest of the evening. I was too drunk to realize how far we'd driven, but it seemed like forever. The house had an outdoor hot tub, which looked like a giant tin can with a chimney, that fit 4 people. Kaitie was welcomed to Aland by the 4 guys in the hot tub standing and saying "Welcome to Finland!" These four men were very large, and very naked. 

Around the hot tub was 3 or 4 large logs, planted into the ground, on fire. It may have been because I had had 4 snapps, 2 bottles of wine and 3 beers, but the ambience created was mesmerizing. The Alanders were exceedingly friendly - initially Kate was nervous about being left alone at the party, but she ended up talking to everyone on her own and truly enjoying herself, and I couldn't have been happier to share that amazing cultural experience with her. I think she understands a bit more now why I do some of the things that I do.

Johanna's boyfriend's brother builds fireworks. He has a business building fireworks, and his fireworks won the Finnish fireworks championships last year. His brother built us fireworks for New Year's Eve. The fireworks were awesome. 

A year ago, in Napier New Zealand, on Dec. 31, 2006, I kissed Mia for the first time in my life, while watching fireworks on the beach. I cannot describe the feeling I had when I got to kiss her, exactly one year later, almost exactly on the opposite side of the planet. I'd spent only 3 months with this girl out of the past year, on different sides of the earth, yet never had a doubt that this wouldn't work out. Maybe because of the alcohol, maybe because of the ambience, maybe because of Mia, but probably for a combination of those reasons, at midnight on Dec. 31, 2007, I was the happiest person alive, and I was kissing the girl of my dreams. It was a fitting way to begin the future.