You're the Man Now, Dawg

Ideal features in my future house:

• The windows, ones I hope that showcase a view, to match those of my haveli-hostel in Ajmer, India. Sill, with dark wood shutters and white curtains that extend a foot into the forefront.

• Maps and my own framed photos (check)

• One entire wall to be a chalkboard a la 500 Days of Summer
  

Why? Two reasons:
While I'm not the owner of extravagant creative talent, I want to be surrounded by the tools to exert it during the few strikes of lightning. Can I draw? No! But, I would like my surroundings to be an enabler of my limited talents, the forceful fingers pushing out the small amount of toothpaste I possess.
Like my next tattoo (which will be in small part a homage to Johnny Depp since I'm stealing one of his designs; my feelings towards JD mirroring Hansel's estimation of Sting.. he's so hot right now.. Hansel), let's try this again. Like my next tattoo, my life is made up of borrowing. I find the special roads others have paved and try to drive on them as beautifully as I can.

Playing Favorites

Since I've been back, people have been asking me what my favorite country was among the ones I saw on my way home. India has always been the easy answer.

India is a land of contrasts with its fabulous sights and foods(!!), along with some of the kindest people to be found, while also being a seemingly directionless and perplexing experience. The pros of the country make it a favorite on their own, but it's not the prestige. What makes it tops is that it's the Wild West of my 8 year old mind.

The Wild West explanation might be best illustrated in an anecdote.

I am in Fahtepur Sikri, a 30 minute bus ride outside of Agra (home to the Taj Mahal). A lack of signs and people put my ability to even get to FS in serious jeopardy. I did make it though and had a wonderful day jumping around Mughal ruins. As 5 o'clock approached, I made my way to the bus station to catch the last bus back. Sadly, after an hour of losing precious rupees to a 12 year old arm wrestling champion I realized that this bus wasn't coming. What did the Good Word have to say about my predicament? I found out that there's a bus that comes a quarter mile down the road (rather cryptic no?).

This kid took some cash off me

On my way over I picked up two Chinese girls (I shared a bus ride up with them and figured they might want to get back as much as I did) who had the same goal in mind; they looked more lost than I and were still holding on to the fast fading light of plan A. I convinced them to follow me in an attempt to find a bus I couldn't count on; just like that I had formed a posse. Talking to locals along the road, I had a rough idea of where to wait for this bus. Was there a bus stop or at least a sign that said where to wait? Of course not -- this is India without direction. I set up shop at a (reverse?) fork in the road where two highways merged with no idea from which direction the bus might appear. I was also feeling the heat from the embers of ire from Chinese girls who at this point must have been trying to recollect the early plot developments of the movie Hostel so that they could compare their situation accordingly. Now, let me say that the bus did make its way down the road; we flagged it down as if we had just robbed a bank and were looking for a getaway as cars whizzed by us. The day was won.

What I love is that I didn't remember this story until I stumbled onto it during conversation about my travels with my Aunt Pat three weeks after I had already been home. I preface by saying that most people know I like to spin a story. I can recall stories from the 7th grade with a depressing level of detail. I'm likely to bring one up readily without provocation or a sensible segue. The reason I couldn't remember my day on the highway is because in India it's par for the course. The events that day didn't differ much in difficulty from the one before it or the one that followed. India was my favorite because I forget the stories that would be the belle of the ball anywhere else. I loved Spain -- I'd move there in a heartbeat -- but it was so easy that aspects of it couldn't be anything but comfortable. And to those who say India is too hard? "It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it. The hard ... is what makes it great." - Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own

My Mom says that you should never end with someone else's words, but MAN Tom Hanks was great in that movie!


Honestly, the adventure is what really cemented the trip. The country of India -- where I felt lost plenty of the time -- is where that adventure shown through the most. My experiences there will keep me excited for my next trip and the one after that.

On Home

I am back -- Ahh!!  Most people have been asking me "How does it feel to be home?" (and when they aren't asking I'm probably subconsciously turning over the same thing myself).  My answer runs the gamut based on how well I know them, how much I really want to get into the subject, and how much I think they really want me to get into the subject.  So my answer can range from "good" to "weird."  The truth, though, is that it's more of a fusion of both making what I like to call goodly weird. 

Let's start with the weird and work our way to the goodly.  Since coming home, I feel as though I've spent a lot of time looking for a life I misplaced.  I have a sneaky suspicion I won't be finding it either.  While life isn't "the ragged edge of the universe," it's no longer "the warm center of the world."  If you suspect that my situation is akin to the world traveling, forward-thinker returning to the backwood talk of hometown prospects, you would be wrong.  It's just that I haven't quite found my place yet and my brain never seems to let it be.  I know there's a small hole in the boat somewhere but I can't seem to find it. 

The goodly follows the people.  Truth be told - aside from the occasional Jack in the Box daydream - I never much got homesick.  I got people-sick and often I got dog-sick.  So, being around my family, friends and pets has been wonderful.  I realize that I won't be able to give adequate space to this paragraph.  It's much easier to dwell and write on the things that are off kilter rather than what's in harmony.  I can say that it feels warm and familiar and that most of you will know what I mean without my having to use hyperbole.  The best I can do is underline the word that really counts!

So this is where I am: attempting to put static words to dynamic feelings.  I'll let you know how it goes!

All´s Well in España

I think God, or whoever, let´s say the Muse of Karma keeps a special eye over me.  I spent most of today in awe of myself -- perfect hair day with my new interwoven-gray/red Spanish fisherman's sweater, navy chinos rolled up and gray vans sporting a devilish grin that says "hola" with all the flare of Cirque Du Soleil--  the world just right and with me in it.  There had to be some justice levied for this ridiculous level of narcissism.

The last hour I´ve been clumsily searching for this damned `Geographic Club´, taking immediate and wrong turns eagerly as if I was a dog impatient for a treat (taken from a journal entry, and tonight is chilly too to put it in perspective); the prize cannot come soon enough.  By the way, there is a special frustration for knowing where you should be, topographically speaking, looking at the cross streets and not seeing either on the map within an 8 block vicinity of where you want to be.  I hope my earlier transgressions might have been soothed by the fortune of my night.  I have also found myself at odds with every object I come into contact with.  I knock over change trays without caution, run into things and sport a confused look of dread that says "I´m lost."

After finally getting to my destination, I end up sitting at a cool but mostly empty bar drinking a frothy, but mostly empty, 8 dollar Murphy´s Irish Red.  I sip out of determination rather than enjoyment in the hopes to validate this long pilgrimage.  Even in the barren wasteland of beer that is South Korea, I would´ve found abstinence and turned down a Murphy´s for that much money.  In fact, I would´ve guffawed at such a prospect as this.

I must say, though, the enchantment I have had today extends beyond just myself.  I´ve been bowled over by the beauty of my surroundings all day.  I s´pose that´s what Madrid´s Jardines del Buen Retiro is liable to do. Beautiful parks and people, men and women; mortal, marbled and plastered.  I think Madrid´s parks would drive an atheist mad.  Of everything magnificent - myself included - it pales in comparison to the weather.  Today´s weather provided the stroke for which every other element has realized its potential.  To quote Haruki Murakami, it was "the scratchy stuff on the side of the match box", giving light to the park, myself and all its inhabitants.  It was the perfect collaboration of a warm, high sun, starkly differentiating itself from the cloudless blue sky, with a cold breeze on a cool day.  Though I doubt fall in Korea will ever be topped, I tip my hat to you, Madrid.  It was the perfect, most perfect landscape to finish The Pillars of the Earth for the second time.  I might have wondered the same thing about the Taj Mahal, but how can one not feel a higher presence on a day like today? Be it whoever, wherever or in whatever form, these being the minor details of a grand, peace treaty (can´t wait to find out from my Mom whether it´s `whoever´ or `whomever.´ My 16-year conquest to avoid permanently learning this rule of tongue wages on).

Let me tell you about the highlight of my day.  I took such joy in walking by two friends who were presumably meeting again with a long stretch of time in between.  They hooted, dance and spun towards each other´s arms.  It was quite the Love Actually airport moment, and somehow I felt like a member of their reunion.  Somehow I remembered that my Mom, as an English teacher, used to give a particular assignment that called for her students to choose a word, their favorite word, and give the full scoop.  I recalled her telling me that one of her former and favorite students chose joy.  Don´t ask me how or why that moment came back to me, but I thought; `this must be the realization of that word.´

Of course, it was more than mere chance that I took such a special interest in the this meeting when I´m due to arrive home in the US in only two days.  I just with I had the foresight and patience to dance and stride my way there.

The Gist

So I guess I'll shake this thing off now when I see fit.

Tonight I started to make a list of the "accomplishments" I've completed while on holiday in the hopes that when the details begin to slip my mind I will know where to find them. I assumed that once this list had been completed (it ranges from those of grandeur all the way down) I'd have a fairly descriptive view of my long road home to the US. This, however, was not the case a'tall. Getting hung up on the dirty details would be missing the wood for the trees. I won't include the list - partly to avoid embarrassment - but just assume it follows an Indiana Jones'ish itinerary, minus the Nazi's.

*Quick note! If this sounds too indulgent (your cue to stop reading), you can blame my out-there Murakami kick of late (currently his running memoirs). Though I guess you'd appropriately just blame me; at least now you know the reasoning.

This list of notes, my "accomplishments", may be neat details but only I know the full story. Taken separately, they relate to each other as much as blue does to red and fail to convey the big picture. The true accomplishment, above everything, is growth. They (details) may contribute to but don't constitute that growth. The fuzzy stuff that happened in between the respective bullet points was equally important, if not more, as the spotlight items.

My trip is a total workout; mind, spirit and body (lots and lots and lots of walking), but I can not describe the strength that I feel pouring into me every day. Lots, but not all, relates to self reliance.

Of course, this strength isn't a humanitarian cure-all; nothing is. But, it, travel, is inside of me and it runs through every part. Surging and strong, like a spotlight that is connected to my center and shines on every inch. This light scrubs away weakness, bitterness and ignorance. It finds the faults I didn't know I had - realizations that can be a humbling experience - before it attempts to clean the blemishes and leave them anew.

What I might be most grateful for is that the spotlight illuminates the things I hold dear too; who & what I truly love. This process has stripped down the walls and has been like a peek at the foundations of a house; what makes the Temple of Evan stand.

I realize in hindsight that Indy without the Nazi's might not make for a very compelling story after all. I also realize that if I'm going to refer to myself in the third person I'm going to need cooler coinage than the Temple of Evan.

Easy-E Out

La Taj Mahal

I suppose this thing was supposed to die a fiery death at the conclusion of my contract in Korea.  I have treated it thusly, though I thought I'd dust it off one more time considering the gravity of my surroundings.  After making my way through Vietnam, Cambodia & Thailand (and now into India), I have countless anecdotes of joy and misery alike.  From destitution to hand grenades, paradise to Viet Cong tunnels, there and back again, I can touch on most any topic.  However, the one that really counts is the Taj Mahal, and I couldn't help but write a lil' somethin-somethin while I was there! I also figured that this was the best way to simultaneously email my mother and the other two people who follow my life, and I am still holding on to the chance that I rename this blog "Letters home to Mom".

September 25th, 2010

I write this, not coincidentally, sitting under an arch at the back side of the splendid Taj Mahal. Ground zero is not the best place for a snapshot but all that seems arbitrary when put into greater context.  When you make your way, finally, to the beautiful Taj, and make contact (in bare feet) with the pure, smoothly white marble, a force seems to hold you in place. It is like stepping into a most gorgeous spider web.  You can't get away; nor would you want to (though maybe in a spider web, gorgeous and all, you still might wanna get away - no copyright infractions intended). Lest I digress!

After combing the inner halls, the best way to experience the Taj, me thinks, is to lie down.  Putting as much of yourself against the building as possible (you have to do this on the marble floors outside the dome rather than inside, that might be a problem!) allows you to hope, and at times with a bit of success, to be infused with the same genius that inspired and created it.  I feel an urge to reach out and constantly have my hands against some part of it the same way young lovers can't resist each others embrace.  I feel that if I push hard enough against it I might permeate its seemingly nonexistent cracks.  How could this structure have been built piece by piece?  How could one imagine that it existed in anything other than its whole?  I can't.  It seems as though it dropped from the heavens, instantaneously complete.  The pesky fact that it wasn't is a true testament to the best of man's virtue.

Anything I write, read or think (Bridge of Sighs, very good so far!, thanks Steve) here seems that much more important.  I believe that is called true inspiration.  The generous Taj Mahal offers this bond to anyone who seeks it.  I've long considered a solo journey to India the Everest of my travels, and if this is indeed the case, the Taj Mahal is the sweet summit.

The Last (& Greatest) Update from Korea

My last address to my closest friends in Korea:

i figured that if I had one last chance to make a cheesy, overly sentimental speech, i might as well write it down and make it count.  

In a year where we lived in a place where we never really knew what was going to happen next; whether it be exciting or scary, or frustrating, you guys were always HQ, home base.  While people came into our respective lives, and sometimes left just as quickly, you were always there, and it was comforting to know that you had to be there contractually as well because we all have been fiscally tied to Korea.

But really, what I'd compare it to is familiarity, and with that theme in mind I like to think of us in the context of noraebang (Korean karaoke).  I think about our lives in Korea as a drunken stay at noraebang, singing along to a foreign song we've only heard once or twice but now must recite, very much unlike "Total Eclipse of the Heart." That's the one joke I wrote into this speech.  *pause for laughter*  .. In that foreign song, however, where we dont really know that many of the words, the A-team is the chorus, always familiar and ever present.  Even when the singing got hard, and the lines before made us feel out of place, out of tune, or altogether lost, whenever the chorus comes around you can hit every note and drunkenly bust out every line verbatim.  i love you guys, a lot, and i'm just thankful you were there to sing with me into the late hours of the night.

Any changes listed in oh-rhan-gee