In The End

As I first wrote in the beginning, there was an end. Well now there's an end, which has led to a beginning.

The road taught me things I could never learn in a book or even from a best friend. I needed strangers for that. Fortunately for me, they are friends now.

The friends I visited along the road inspired the adventure. The lives they lead and the journey's they are on never cease to amaze.

I dedicate this video - which is nearly completely narcissistic, and by nearly I mean totally - to everyone who had a hand in my trip. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Hello San Francisco

Ish Shrpicka Kine Doytch: I don´t Speak German (spelled phonetically)

The Positives: from NYC it´s only seven hours to Frankfurt instead of eight or nine from O´Hare; I made it onto the flight that was not cancelled; I had my own television screen with hundreds of On Demand movie and TV options; I got two meals and one snack on the plane; free booze.

The Negatives: the dude in front of me was a gigantic, seat recliner. Not only did he recline his seat manually, he was such a huge German that the simple act of sitting in his seat dropped his head rest into my forehead.

But the list of The Positives outweighs that of The Negatives and I made it to Frankfurt after two mindless romantic comedies, three sitcoms, and zero sleep.

I thought that I was hoping on a train and heading to Cologne for the SC Freiburg v. FC Cologne futbol match. But right out of baggage claim I saw Andrew´s smiling face and my concerns about reading and travelling alone in Germany were gone. Andrew was there with Daniel and Mark, two friends of his and two absolute nuts for SC Freiburg. We rushed to Daniel´s car to embark on the 200 km trip to Cologne. I was tossed a beer (legal in Germany) and Daniel took off at a cool 200kph - Autobahn bitches.

Daniel is the father of the family Andrew babysits for and is an incredibly gernously man. He has provided Andrew with countless futbol tickets, always buys the beers, hosted us for dinner at his restaurant, and always seems to know someone or someway to help out. Very good guy.

The ramifications of the Cologne game were huge. There are three German soccer leagues: first, second, and third leagues. The best league is First League and each year, the top two finishers from the Second League get to move into First League and the bottom two First Leaguers move down. The third place finisher and the third to last finisher play a two game series for moving or staying rights. The same occurs between the Second and Third Leagues.

SC Freiburg won the Second League last season and was currently sitting in 14th Place of the First League, one spot out of the play in/out game. A win or a tie would guarantee another season in First League.

We settled into the Freiburg, standing room only section of Colgne´s very modern, 50,000 seat stadium. The place was filled before kick-off. In stark contrast to an American anything, the Freiburg section of the stadium was sold only non-alcoholic beer. An effort to minimize in raucous.

Whether it worked or not, I´m not sure, but as Frieburg took a second half 2-1 lead, our section quickly became a falling room only section. Any respects for personal space were ignored as SCF moved one step closer to remaining in the First League.

FC Cologne would score a late tying goal, but the scrappy Freiburg team would maintain the tie and when the final whistle blew, I saw the happiest 14th Place finisher I´d ever seen. Daniel described it as ¨better than Christmas day¨and ¨better than last season´s championship.¨

However you slice it, I was happy for the Freiburg faithful and exhausted. Standing for two-and-a-half hours after not sleeping for hours just off a plane is some difficult stuff. So, as Ska music blared through Daniel´s speakers and we cruised at 200-plus kph, I fell fast asleep.

Then slept a good 12 hours that night.

Germany was not like my previous few stops; it was cold, overcast, and a bit rainy. I wouldn´t see the sun for more than an hour until I´d reached the one-week mark in Europe. When it did finally arrive, it made for an absolutely gorgeous day in Freiburg, Germany´s - if not the world´s - greenest city.

This place is extremely earth concious with an incredible public transportation system, solar panels on nearly every roof, friendly bike lanes, and various other eco-boosters such as rooftop gardens and a daily farmer´s market. Andrew works for Rolf Disch, arguably the world´s foremost green architect. He built his home to rotate with the sun to maximize it´s efficiency and power generation producing 4x the amount of energy it consumes, a ¨Solar Settlement¨with 50 houses each with a positive energy balance (makes more energy than it uses), and the ¨Solar Ship,¨a completely modern and realisitic urban complex complete with grocery store, pharmacy, office space, and rooftop housing with all the bells and whistles of energy conservation. It´s an impressive sight. The soccer team - which is publically owned - provided season tickets for investors in the stadiums solar renovation in which they put solar panels on the roof to heat the team´s showers.

My first few days in Germany were spent adjusting to the time change. I must admit I made little effort to adjust because I was thoroughly enjoying sleeping as much as I wanted. I suppose I still haven´t really adjusted as I´m maintaining about a 2am bedtime. Oh well, such is doing whatever I want.

I explored Frieburg and found it to be a very beatiful and active city. It sits in the southwest corner of Germany in the Black Forest, home evidentally, of Black Forest chocolate cake. I have yet to partake.

Andrew and I hung out for the most part and didn´t push my exhaustion limits. We had a great time going out and partying Euro, techno, dance-style and we even stole a lamp from the club. I tagged along with Andrew when he babysat Gurtz, Daniel´s 5-year-old son. Gurtz is an adorable kid who speaks no English but we managed to bond. We took Gurtz to a kid´s warehouse filled with jumping castles, trampolines, a super-sized McDonald´s playpen thing, soccer field/basketball court, and scooters galore. It was amazing and could be argued Andrew and I had more fun than Gurtz.

Mid-week I was off to Switzerland for some solo travels to let Andrew go to school and work in peace. I took an easy and direct three hour train ride to cold, rainy, and cloudy Interlaken. This town is an outdoorsmen´s paradise. There are tons of hiking and biking trails and an overall focus on outside activities. It´s like a Boulder or Tahoe.

I stayed in a dorm style hostel and managed to meet lots of fun people in the midst of their own adventures. I enjoyed Steve´s story. He was a dude who´d been laid-off, moped about it for a short time, got his ass in gear with a construction gig, saved, then hit the road until the money ran out. I loved that he didn´t just settle for something he didn´t want. He was presented lemons and made lemonade.

The temp sat around 8-10 degrees celcius while I was there and rained most of my first day. Because it was so cold, I felt less than motivated to participate in many of the water oriented activities (rafting, canyoning) in Interlaken. Instead, I chose to hike the whole place. I bussed out to and toured the St. Beatrus caves. Very cool. The huge Germany family that also toured was extremely loud, but it made me want to go to Karchner Caverns, right in my Tucson backyard which I have not yet done. I then hiked home, leisurely squeezing it into 3.5 hours. It was unfortunately cloudy so I could not see the epic Swiss Alps. The brief moments of cloudlessness provided some breathtaking glimpses of the mountains. I suppose I have to return.

I spent my Interlaken nights at the hostel´s basement club. It was loud but fun, overly populated by locals but fantastic people watching. The details are not important, but in summary, I played the role of self-proclaimed ordained minister for an American-Swiss wedding one night at the hostel. I pronounced them ¨International Man and Domestic Wife.¨ Sometimes, shit gets weird on the road.

While in Switzerland, I learned why the Swiss had created and mastered the multi-use pocket knife commonly known as a Swiss Army Knife: the Swiss need to get multiple uses out of everything because everything is so damn expensive in that country that you can´t afford to have 17 different tools. Holy smokes.

I returned to Freiburg for another futbol match and weekend with Andrew. This game was a friendly one and had nothing riding on it. However, it was the last game of the season and there would be free beer after the game. The catch - and it´s a brilliant one - is most people barely make it through the game to the free beer. You see, all the drinking is done before and during the game. By the time we arrived, I was far too many beers and mixed drinks in to continue drinking at the stadium; but I did anyway. It all makes sense now why whenever the home team scores, people go nuts and spill beers everywhere and all over one another: they´re simply getting rid of the beer they can´t drink anymore. Brilliant.

Freiburg won the game, 3-1, and will stay in the First League. It was an incredible atmosphere at the home stadium and is comparable to college football games; except their season is some 35-plus games long, not eleven.

We lazily worked through the rest of the day, revelling in the beauty of a sunny day and the Freiburg victory. The city trains were packed with excitable fans, chanting and singing their joy.

And so my time in Germany comes to an end. I have one day remaining in which Andrew and I are going to do some hiking and cook a giant international feast with some of his roommates. It´s then off to Paris and I-don´t-know-wherelse beyond that.

Happy Mother´s Day.

Adam Versus the Volcano: Throw Your Plans to the Wayside

The plan was going perfectly.

I had managed to seamlessly stay awake until my shuttle to the San Diego Airport arrived, I was prepared with food for my day´s travel, and the flights were on time. I immediately passed out between San Diego and Denver. Between Denver and Chicago I stayed awake, preparing to sleep the entire eight hours between O´Hare and Frankfurt.

Arrival in O'Hare was on time, if not early, and I had a neat 2.5 hours to sort my things, check in, grab some food, and prep for my flight over the Atlantic. Between terminals, I ran into my cousin, Akiva, who lives in London but was home in Chicago for Passover. He'd been stranded for a week between a combination of visa issues (which I could relate to) and volcano issues (which I soon could relate to). We ironically discussed how lucky we were to beat the volcano.

To that point, all signs were that I was going to cross the ocean, and Europe, no issues. AirIndia had said - despite their shoddy customer service - that the flight was a go.

When I finally arrived at the AirIndia ticketing/check-in counter, I noticed that the Departures board listed my flight as leaving at 1:00am, seven hours later than the original 4:05pm departure. That's OK, I thought, at least I'm going.

But once at the ticketing counter I was quickly told that the flight was canceled, given a photocopied letter listing the flights canceled for the day which was to help me get my refund, and a "good luck." AirIndia gave me no direction and no help in finding where/what/how to do anything from the cancellation forward.

I spent the next two hours frantically trying to figure things out. Should I try and latch on with another airlines? Lufthansa was taking other customers. Can I even do that? No, AirIndia would not release my ticket. Will Orbitz refund me? Yes. How much of my multiple carriers airfare will AirIndia refund me? TBD, with a 45 day average notice time. Should I fly to an unaffected European city? That day flights were costing upwards of $1500. Do I stay in Chicago? Go to New York? Philadelphia? DC? Ahhhhhhh!

I was beginning to lose my cool, patience, and head - I was on two one-hour naps rest and a bagel for sustenance. I was lost and with a shattered plan. I shot Jared, my buddy in Israel, an email to update him:

Flight to Germany was cancelled. Everythings changing. This is an adventure man!

As I punched the last sentence in, "This is an adventure man!" and tacked on the exclamation point, something changed. I immediately realized, it didn't matter if I wound up in Germany, India, New York, or Skokie, this was an adventure. Exactly what I'd signed up for.

So I talked, one last time, to AirIndia and they told me to call them Friday after noon for an update on their services to Frankfurt (I would eventually not even bother to make that call). I took the supervisors name and number, called my aunt and uncle for local housing, grabbed some McDonald's and I was off. Continuing my adventure, eagerly anticipating what would happen next.

What happened next? I spent six days in Chicago with my orthodox Jewish Aunt and Uncle; hung with my friend Matt who was in Chicago visiting my friend - his girlfriend - Katherine; visited with a work friend and discussed a possible job opportunity in San Francisco; and had an all around amazing time. Not to mention I made plans to visit Mara and Adrienne in DC then bus to NYC and Leah. I picked NYC as my final stop hoping the airfares would be cheaper from there and to give them time to lower. Not to mention the dissipation of volcanic ash.

I suppose it was karmic that I was stuck in the middle of an international flight crisis caused by a volcanic eruption. I was lucky to see a cloudless Arenal, Costa Rica's active volcano. It is covered in clouds some 75% of the year and on the one day that I visited, it was cloudless. I also saw lava flowing down the side of the volcano. I'd make that trade seven days a week and twice on Sunday.

My time in Chicago was amazing. I was "supposed" to be in Germany, right? I would soon come to discover that it was wrong. I was supposed to be exactly where I was; if for no other reason than I cannot think of another household where I could successfully borrow clothes that would fit me (all of my cousins are 6'3" or taller). Perfect.

But truthfully things unfolded perfectly in Chicago. Outside of the clothes miracle, I had an incredible opportunity to spend time with my cousins and learn and come to build a deeper understanding and respect for their religious beliefs. I had a great afternoon walking downtown Chicago with my cousin Shalom laying T'Fillin for various businessmen in the area. It was an incredible experience seeing these men, not orthodox, embrace and learn about their religion. It was also great to see my seventeen year old cousin in action. He's a charismatic and intelligent kid with an innate ability to brighten a day.

Seeing Matt in Chicago was another added treat; contributing to my realization that I was exactly where I was "supposed" to be. I hope I didn't over-stay any welcomes from Matt and Katherine (Matherine) but I certainly had a great time with them. Good friends.

From Chi-town I Southwested over to DC. Mara - the ever eloquent Angel that she is - exclaimed upon seeing me, "Oh my god. You're disgusting. I cannot look at you." She was likely referencing my face which had not been shaved since March 14. I somewhat wanted to, and was soon mandated to, get a haircut. My raging beard, queer travel pants, and running shoes stood out in stark contrast to the clean cut, popped collars, and Sperry Topsiders galore of Yuppi-ville, aka Georgetown.

Always a treat to see those DC, Lulu Lemon Clowns.

I bussed to New York, passing the smooth four hours with a new acquaintance, Laura, who was a Lulu Lemonite and friend of Mara's. It was nice to make a new friend and brought me back into the realization that I was in the middle of my big adventure.

Leah and I took in a comedy show my one night in The City and I took in Brooklyn my one day there. New York is certainly it's own, unique beast and always worth a visit.

And then finally, on Friday, April 30, I was on a flight to Frankfurt, Germany. The seat was small, miserably so, but I was on it and the adventure continued. On the theme of broken plans, I expected to sleep much of the flight; but with my knees into my chest and the uber-German reclining his chair in front of me, I instead passively watched romantic comedies and sit-coms for seven hours. No sleep.

If you read the sub-title to this blog, etched into the Arizona sunset, you'll realize that I specify no locations. Just that I'm on the move. Well I'm movin'. And if it sounds like a good idea to go over there, I'll check it out. And if something sounds fun, I'll go that way. And if a volcano blows up, I'll go this way.

Maybe my plan, in that context, is indeed going perfectly?

Some Time in "America's Finest City" and Playing the American Pastime

I can describe my flight back like this: s p a c i o u s.

The woman at the American Airlines check-in counter - the same airlines that crammed me into seats en route to Central America - noticed my height and asked, "Would you like an exit row?"

WOULD I LIKE AN EXIT ROW? Pshh, would Ben Rothlesberger like to go to a frat party?

The angel in American Airlines garb rearranged my seating so that I sat aisle seat, exit row from San Jose to Dallas while there was also no one in the center seat. Extraordinary. Then, from Dallas to LA, I sat first row of coach seating where there was no seat/wall/reclining asshole/nothing in front of me. Miraculous. It was arguably the single most comfortable commute of my life.

Uncle D (aka Unc Deez Nutz) picked me up at the airport igniting a glorious weekend of adult time. It was likely a much needed maturation period as I was on the heels of my alcoholic weekend with the New Jersey school teachers and needed to feel that I indeed was learning something beyond my beer intake abilities on this trip.

Sharing my stories and photos with my LA family was fantastic. I was able to continue my newly learned task of doing nothing, although the days never felt empty. I filtered photos and started exercising again. You know, not like constantly active, hiking and exploring a new town exercise, but rather good old fashioned tear yourself down to bring yourself up exercise. I tried running again and sat on runner's high for the first 10 minutes of a jog.

"I could do this forever," I thought to myself. Then reality set in and I knew that outside of 10 minutes/1.2 miles I was toast. It's going to be a long road back to recovery.

That said, there's really not much better than a run in beautiful weather and winter in Southern California is pretty nice weather.

Perhaps the highlight of my time in LA - outside of chit-chatting with the Aunt and Uncle - was filling in for Unc Deez Nutz's Temple softball team. The Emanuel Squad was sitting on a 3-4 record and the injury bug had really hit the team hard. I was filling in for Petzold. Mike Petzold that is. I played left-center field and batted 10th. Right behind Amanda.

Emanuel jumped on top early, carrying a 6-1 lead into the middle innings. From there, after a few defensive blunders and some sound hitting from the green opponents (I can't remember their synagogue's name) we headed into the seventh and final inning, tied at 9.

Amanda, our tenacious right fielder and 9-hole-slugger, came to bat with two on and no one out. After watching two close strikes whizz in, Amanda worked the count to 2-2. She then struck out for the third time that afternoon.

Which then brought up Petzold. Petzold had had a good game to that point, 2-3 with an RBI, but now was why they'd brought Petzold - a former college baseball player and All-State performer - to the valley: to win ball games.

With a 1-0 count, Petzold got ahold of one and drove it deep into the right-centerfield gap, a sure double if not inside-the-parker. One problem: in softball, there is no right-centerfield gap as there are four outfielders including a right-centerfielder. Petzold's drive was nothing but a long out. Mighty Petzold had failed.

But that's why baseball (softball) is a team sport. The ultimate team sport. You perform an individual task (hitting, fielding, throwing) for the good of the team. Emanuel had Petzold's back.

Another single and a green team error led to an Emanuel run and a 10-9 lead heading into the bottom of the seventh.

The green team promptly put runners on and tied the game at 10. With one out and runners on second and third, from left-center Petzold recommended an intentional walk; load the bases, create a force out situation where we could either turn a double play and get out of the inning or get the lead runner at home.

Thus, the green teams three-hole hitter came to the plate, bases-loaded, winning run on third, a tense situation.

Pop-up. Two down.

It was now time to face the green cleanup hitter, a monster of a hebrew who had already belted one home run on the day. The entire game clung to this moment. Minimal preparation and almost no blood, sweat, or tears had been expended getting to right now, the pivotal moment in a completely inconsequential game. The tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

After running the count to 1-1, the Emanuel pitcher looked in, got his sign (dramatic effect), and delivered.

Now, I wish I could sit here and write that Emanuel shortstop Don Spetner (aka Unc Deez Nutz) made a diving play up the middle, back handed it to second for the force, and we went home with a gutsy tie.

Or that there was a Luis Gonzalez-esque flair that Spetner made a running, over the shoulder, back to home plate, one handed snag of to send us home with a ballsy ending to a great game.

The reality is that the green cleanup hitter rolled the 1-1 delivery into the gap at short Spetner made a good effort to get to the ball and square up to it, but ultimately bobbled the ball in an effort to get the force out at third. The green team secured the victory with on the E-6. 11-10, Green Temple.

Emanuel took the loss well. We knew we'd battled hard and, by all reports, Green Temple had beaten Emanuel pretty soundly the last time they'd faced off. We consoled Spetner, who was in surprisingly good spirits, and reminded him that we wouldn't have even been in position to tie if it weren't for him.

I promised not to tell Unc Deez Nutz's children of the play. But, failure builds character and you're never too old to learn a lesson. Love ya Uncle D.

That afternoon I took the train to San Diego. It was an easy two hour train and I was greeted by a paternal sibling, Aunty Jon Lea.

San Diego was defined by long walks with Aunty, glorious weather, movies, and grand-er attempts at running. I had a fabulous time with my Aunt while I was there and enjoyed discussing the various, and sometimes down and dark, films we watched. We saw Greenberg which wasn't as funny as I'd expected, but had tremendous dialogue and very interesting characters. A well written movie, decent story. We also caught the Oscar Nominated Animated Shorts at the (possibly) historic La Paloma Theater in Encinitas. Those are worth checking out.

From San Diego I was off to Coachella, the three day Music and Arts Festival that was an absolutely amazing experience. I documented my time there at WC Homer and you can read all about it here.

Coachella was a microcosm of my adventures as I travelled there really only knowing one of the five other people attending. We left, however, a small family who camped together on a 10x30 plot for three days. Again, it was an experience best shared with others.

By the end, we likely smelled bad as the peak hours shower line was usually around 2-3 hours long and we were crammed in there with 75,000 other concert goers. We won the self proclaimed Green-ella Award by reusing melted ice water in empty water bottles for "brief showers".

And then it was back to San Diego, passing a little more time in America's Finest City before I was on the road again; this time en route to Frankfurt, Germany (more to come on that).

It was nice to be back in the States and with people I love. I miss my folks, I've seen all of their siblings though and it's been nice. The NBA Playoffs have not fulfilled my athletics appetite and I'm still reveling in the end of the Madness. But it's back to traveling again (sort of).

More. To. Come.

Costa Rican Photos

Here is a link to 125 of my 846 pictures from Costa Rica. You run the math, but that means I took 721 photos that were either crap or inappropriate. Enjoy, I certainly did.

http://picasaweb.google.com/103867330515943770058/GoodCR?authkey=Gv1sRgCPT06or1o4Picw#

Science Geek Alert!

Seeing as how I was “professionally trained” to create lab or scientific reports, I concluded that I would do exactly that for my Costa Rica Adventure. Here is my Lab Report.

A Visit to Costa Rica and the Subsequent Findings

Question/Hypothesis:

What is the Central American country, Costa Rica, all about? What does it look like? What does a month long journey through the country look like? How does an oversized uber-Gringo fit in?

Procedure:

1. Contact Costa Rican contacts (Tara Michelle Ruttenberg) and accept invitation
2. Purchase airline ticket
1. This process should take less than two hours
3. Obtain free tickets to basketball tournament
4. Board plane
5. Apply sunscreen
6. Speak Spanish
7. Take photos
8. Experience

Results:

• 25 days
• 10 consecutive days without underwear (boardshorts)
• 2.8 million grains of rice consumed
• 3.1 million beans consumed
• 6 ATM visits
• Innumerable bug bites
• 5 separate monkey sightings
• 3 species of Monkey
• 8 Naps
• Lotsa Pilsen
• 3 good hangovers
• 11 bus rides
• 2 rides in an original Hummer
• 0 phone calls (apologies to my parents)
• 846 photos
• 2 oceans
• 1 lake
• 1 volcano
• 2 cloud forests
• 75 total feet jumped off
• 0 shaves
• 5 Yoga classes
• Accommodations:
• 1 – Puerto Viejo
• Turquesa – Amatierra 1
• 3 – Hermosa 1
• 12 – Hermosa 2
• 6 – Malpais 1
• 4 – Malpais 2
• 18 – Monteverde
• 8 – Arenal
• 20 – San Ramon
• Amanda’s Room – Amatierra 2
• 6 different roommates
• 8 New Jersians
• 6 Angelinos
• 5 Texans
• 2 Baltimorians
• 2 Coloradans
• Many Ticos
• 1 Oregonian
• 2 Germans
• 1 guided tour with no one else
• 2 hours of surfing
• 118 falls off a surfboard
• 2 rain storms
• 1 sunburn
• 0 tan

Conclusion:

If green is your favorite color, go to Costa Rica.

And Then There Was One.

Approximately 12 years ago, my family and I took Esapnol classes in Monteverde, Costa Rica. Twelve years later, I returned to find that....the streets were paved.

This is a moderately quiet mountain town renowned for it's cloud forests. A cloud forest is like a rain forest but its wet nature is sustained by rain and cloud moisture. I extensively hiked each of the cloud forests and was impressed by the green. There was green everywhere. Green leaves on green branches from green trees covered in green moss snacked on by green bugs. Unfortunately I didn't get to see a Quetzal, the beautiful and rare national bird of Costa Rica.

I took residence at the first hostel I came to when I was dropped at the adjacent and more accessible Santa Elena. I could research and obtain the hostel's name but I wouldn't be doing justice to the fact that the entire time I was there I didn't know its name.

The staple of my stay in Monteverde/Santa Elena was "The Common Cup." The CC was in its 24th day of existence when I meandered in for a free coffee roasting class. What I didn't know, is that The CC also gives free cups of coffee and is evidently a gringo magnet. I suppose that's what signs in English will do.

The CC is run by a fast talkin' Georgian named Ken who has lived in Costa Rica for five years, is married to a Tica, has Tican step-kids, owns a coffee farm, and now The CC. His motivation for The CC was to provide a hub for travelers and locals to freely enjoy a cup of Joe that had been freshly picked, roasted, and brewed in town. The CC makes its money from selling bags of coffee for $8/pound, 40% of which goes to fund youth programs in town. Somewhere in the monetary equation of The CC the farmer sees a 400% increase in what he usually would get for a pound of coffee beans. I'm unsure of the mathematics, but Ken said-so.

I used The CC as my own hub-o-friendship. I met a Minnesotan teaching at an international school in the Dominican, an aspiring filmmaker from Philly, a post-grad traveler from LA, and some medical missionaries from Portland. Basically I was the creepy regular at the coffee shop there to pick up friends. It only moderately worked.

My greatest friend success was while pa-rousing the streets, a favorite pastime of mine. I overheard English and slowed my gait to allow the Gringos to catch up. Andres and Nick were from LA and traveling with friends. We had no real destination so I suggested we visit my brother and my hangout from Monteverde circa '97: a small park at the bottom of a dirt road with hiking trails and a waterfall. We completed a hike which turned out to be far more difficult than any of us had anticipated. But we survived and I scored a dinner date with the five Los Angelians. During our hike I discovered that Andres' girlfriend was Jewish so when I arrived for dinner I brought a box of wine and the most Jewish bread they had: bagels. I later realized that it was also Passover and bread's a no-no, but it was the thought that counts.

All-in-all, Monteverde was a success. I didn't have much of a social life but I got lots of hiking in, tons of pictures (I took advantage of the auto-timer on my camera for self-portraits), caught the Final Four, and slept miserably as I had the creepiest room in the unnamed hostel, not to mention the Costa Rican snoring champion next door.

A note: don't sign up for a tour unless you know for CERTAIN there are other people going. For a friendless traveler to take an adventure tour alone with just two Costa Rican guides is uncomfortable, moderately embarrassing, and dull.

Off to Arenal, Costa Rica's most popular active volcano.

I took the Jeep-Boat-Jeep shuttle service (lack of a better term) to drive, float, then drive to the lava. As fate would have it, three young school teachers from New Jersey were making the same multivehicular transfer. Slowly, conversation between the four of us grew and I was invited to have lunch with them. Then we found a hostel together (or rather it found us as we were pitched the appeals of Cabinas Jerry four times over). Then we found a tour together (again, courtesy of a multiple sales pitches). Then we shared 32oz beers together. Then we took the tour together.

I'll take a break from the together lines and describe what our $35-a-head tour got us: transport to a resort's free volcano observation deck, a guided hike through the resort's gardens, a swim under a waterfall (cool), a hike across and immediately back across a hanging bridge, 1.5 hours watching the volcano at night (yes we saw lava but overstayed our desire to be there as our guide, Julio, watched an important soccer match - and yes, I did just call it soccer Julio, suck it), a borrowed flashlight trek to the natural hot springs (which seemed to be runoff from the adjacent resort but we'll give Julio the benefit of the doubt), and a whole lot of drawn out stops for animals including a dead snake and bad canibus jokes. Needless to say, the Julio Tour Company, sucks.

But, as every cloud has a silver lining, I found mine in bonding with Steve, Megan, and Kelly of the Garden State. Traveling on their spring break, they found it in them to take in this ginger bearded loner from Arizona. We added one more, Steph of Santa Barbara, to the Wolf Pack and called ourselves the Buellers or members of a traveling circus. The Bueller thing doesn't make much sense and probably doesn't merit mentioning but there is a white bearded man in San Ramon, Costa Rica who may or may not believe that we were all traveling separately and coincidentally found one another each with the same last name.

Upset with the scam we'd just had pulled on us we decided to get out of dodge. We headed to San Ramon, possibly the least tourist friendly city in Costa Rica, but with a diverse bus system that would allow each party to conveniently travel on. But before we parted ways, there was beer to be drank.

After finding and price pointing each of San Ramon's three hotels, we settled on the nicest, La Posada, which offered us a cash only, tax-free room for $85 for three guests. That's right, three guests. We slyly pulled a quick one and slept five to that room. Booyah.

With a place to stay it was time to belly up to San Ramon. It was remarkably difficult to find a restaurant/bar but when we did and we made it last. The five of us sat and drank and ate for a good two-hours before we left to do the same thing at the park, this time with more 32's. When those were gone we needed ice cream and ran into another La Posada guest, Bill from Alaska. An extremely interesting and warm man, he bought us all cones and offered Steph and me a ride to San Jose in the morning. After free ice cream, it was on to 30 beers. Followed, much later, by a beer run for one more sixer.

All-in-all my solo travels were not so solo. I met fun, like-minded folks who were simply enjoying an adventure of their own. Whether it was seven days or seven months, everyone had stepped out of their box and into a little discomfort, something new. While traveling and meeting these discoverers, I couldn't help but think of Chris McCandless, the mysterious post-grad and subject of "Into The Wild." McCandless died alone, only to discover that life is best lived when shared.

We said our goodbyes and after spending an afternoon with Steph in San Jose I found myself all alone again. As I stood waiting for my next bus, I noticed something written on my ankle: "HOLA!" the penned message read. I'd never been so happy to realize I'd drank too much the night before.

Thanks Tara. Thanks Buellers. Thanks random others and those to come.

Good Times in Bad Country

The boat ride from Hermosa/Jaco went something like this: iT wAs ReAlLy BuMpY. The wind was terrible and we felt each and every bit of the ocean. But we arrived safely in the quaint, Pirates of the Caribbean looking town of Montezuma, which we promptly left. We were headed for Tara's favorite place in Costa Rica: Malpais.

Malpais is another surf town but not as hardcore on its surfing as Hermosa. There are only dirt roads at the end of the peninsula (where Malpais and other beach towns exist) which, in my own construction of the History of the Peninsula, is why it's called Malpais (translation: Bad Country). Walking through what is supposed to be the green forest is actually painted with dust, giving the effect of a black and white film.

But Malpais had the Sweet 16 thru Elite 8 games on so it will get no dust complaints from me.

Our first evening in town was deserving of rest after the boat ride and an early beach day that morning. Tara listened to her body. I listened to Jay Bilas and Dick Enberg call the Duke-Purdue game. After a lovely Italian dinner, I paid the price for not resting and crashed, hard, by 11pm. Tara was a rock star and stayed out 'til 2am.

Now, if Tara was a city council member in Hermosa, she is undoubtedly the Mayor of Malpais. On every street corner, in every shop, on every wave she knew someone. Bless her heart, she always made me feel welcome and paid attention to.

The next morning, my hungover travel companion was a trooper and surfed a long session. We followed that up by cooking an epic meal of very traditional American taste. We feasted on beans and eggs and salsa and avacado. It was good ol' fashioned breakfast burritos and we ate like good ol' fashioned Americans: fast and a lot of it.

The highlight, for me, of Malpais was our day hike out to the waterfalls. When our ATV rental plans fell through, a friend of the Mayor's invited us to tag along with them. Once there we found ourselves overlooking three cascading pools, each higher than the last. We made some warm up 2-4m jumps and some rope swings (note: don't ask Tara for rope swing advice unless you enjoy face planting). Then it was time for the Big One. The Big One, as I've named it, was a 45m leap performed by the locals and scrutinized by the visitors.

Tara did it first and I quickly followed. I knew that the longer I stood over the jump, the less likely I would do it. But I did it and lived to blog it. We rewarded ourselves by feasting at a resort overlooking Malpais where we ran up too high of a bar tab and probably over-stayed our welcome. But we were high diving champions so screw them.

One of the main reasons for staying until Tuesday - in fact the only reason we were staying until Tuesday - was Monday's Raggae night. This is just a huge party and Tara's favorite in Costa Rica, the theme of Malpais.

But, Monday was also the first night of passover. Fear not. We did a little internet research and were set to have what was likely Malpais' only Seder. Our Seder Plate had as follows: chopped apple with a sprinkle of wine (marror), an egg (the egg), parsley (the parsley), a lime (bitter herb), and a sea shell (the bone). The used our brows for salt due to the hot humid climate. It was quite a site. We shared the Passover story, recounted the 10 plauges, asked the four questions, and I hid the aficomen. And, of course, we did not forget the traditional four cups of wine (boxed wine, standard), especially not with Raggae night fast approaching. Our matzah was a tortilla and you all should be glad to know that Tara indeed found the aficomen. Amazing girl that Tara Michelle.

Well as best night in the country go, Tara and I had the best night in the country. So much so, that neither of us heard my alarm go off for our respective 8:30am buses. We casually awoke at 10:00am, chuckled at our tardiness, spent a zealous hour ignoring the hangover and dealing with our absenteeism, then settled into the reality of our hangovers. We dealt with it by watching 4 hours of television in our miserably hot room. We were a spectacle that Tuesday but managed to catch a sunset.

Missing the bus meant one more day with my perfect travel partner. She prepared me well to spread my wings and fly solo and has been a great guide and a better friend all along the way. Another close friend of mine said that good travel partners are hard to come by. Well Tara is as good as they come.

My solo travels will encompass the mountains of Costa Rica as I am no surfer and that's what they do at the beaches here. I did, however, very much enjoy my time with the ocean. No complaints. Pura vida.

Have you seen any Monkeys?

The first thing I saw once in the beach/surf town of Hermosa – after a gorgeous sunset over the Pacific Ocean (classic) – was a television that said, “Northern Iowa 69, Kansas 67.”

Our first night in Hermosa was spent getting me my college hoops fix. We jumped around to a few sports bars and reveled in the Madness; or rather, I reveled in the Madness. Tara was an uber-trooper and tolerated my hoops banter and even seemed to entertain it. After watching some otherwise boring, blowout games, we met back up with Bob and Jill who were attending a birthday party and had a few more drinks.

Retrospectively, drinking to the extent we did was a very poor decision seeing as how we were heading back to a hotel room sheltered from any breeze and without A/C. I managed to work into a full sweat during that evening’s slumber.

Luckily, the next day Tara managed to get us into a new hotel, two lots over, on the third floor with A/C. It was like a miracle. I think I cried. We settled into Cabinas Rancho Grande where I would live for the next five days.

Hermosa. This is a surf town and there’s really no other way to describe it. One afternoon, around 2:30pm when the surf is traditionally bad due to wind, I settled into a shady spot on the beach to read. I was the only person on the beach. There was not a soul in the water, sand, shade, no where. It was barren. Two hours later, as the winds died down and the surf picked up, the town made like crabs: sprinting out of their holes into the surf.

Day one in Hermosa was dedicated to living like an Hermosan. Tara woke up and surfed and I slept. This became a standard practice of our time there. After breakfast we lounged some on the beach then packed up the DP (DP = day pack which I have been mercilessly teased for naming such but has been the trip’s unsung hero) and headed to Esterillos, an even smaller surf community 5 miles up the road. Esterillos, you see, has gentler waves than the epic, heavy, unforgiving, rip current, swimmer sucking, powerful waves of Hermosa. In short: forgiving to a beginner, me.

I will forever be a beginning surfer and this attempt was no different. However, unlike my US Trials, I managed to gain some encouragement from locals. In fact, I was given pointers by a rather ornery, bad-ass looking dude despite nearly hitting him with my board as I wiped out (Worth noting: I say nearly because I cannot confirm or deny whether I indeed struck him with the board). We conversed briefly in Spanish; his dark, shirtless, tattooed body a stark contrast to my pasty, t-shirt draped, sun block painted torso. He was intimidating, but kind, to say the least.

After another failed surf attempt, Tara and I found a shady spot to relax on the beach and watch the Scarlett Macaws fly in to snack. When they arrived, the six birds settled on one tree to harvest its almonds. I meandered over for some pics. Shit. The gorgeous, rainbow colored parrots had chosen my volunteer surf instructor’s tree to perch on. He was barbequing when I arrived with my big tourist camera and timid, gringo accent. We head nodded to one another. The birds were beautiful and I got some decent pictures. I even spoke to bad-ass’ girlfriend when she came to look at the birds. Then he barked for her to return while he was holding a man-sized machete.

Then, as I was heading back, he barked again. I reluctantly looked up and, to my surprise, he was offering me a wedge-o-watermelon. I’d made a friend and scurried back to brag about it to Tara.

The next day Tara left and I had a few days alone in Hermosa. To once again sum up Hermosa I offer an anecdote. Following a Yoga class I stumbled across, I was asked, “Do you surf?” I answered “no” of course and the follow up question was asked with great confusion on the Yoga instructor’s face, “Well then, what do you do in Hermosa?” A great question but here’s what I did in Hermosa.

I met Nico. He became my roommate for two nights while Tara was home. He’s from Argentina and, as it turned out, is a great surfer. I woke up with him one morning at 5:45am to watch him and the others surf on the swell that had come to Surftown, CR. For a guy who slept from 6-to-6 and seems perpetually stoned, he sure is dedicated to his craft. He woke up at 5:15am to make himself a hearty breakfast of eggs and toast to fuel his big morning of surfing. While he did manage a joint between morning sessions the dude was good. I watched as he dropped into a wave and disappeared into the barrel. I’d previously seen him do this three or four times; each time with the barrel closing around him. But this time, as he disappeared inside the wave, he suddenly came shooting out the open end of the barrel. Triumphantly, he pumped two fists into the air. It was quite a site and I complimented him profusely back at our room. I was very impressed and he was very excited.

Another day’s activity in Hermosa was to bus down to Manuel Antonio. This is Costa Rica’s second most visited National Park and it is beautiful. There are some 20km of hiking trails, tons of wildlife, and terrific beaches to relax and swim at. I chose to navigate much of the trails and seek out wildlife.

My Manuel Antonio day began by catching the 6:30am bus to Quepos where I would catch another bus to the park. Also waiting at the bus stop that morning was the most gorgeous woman in Costa Rica who also spoke English. “But Adam,” you might ask, “How do you know she spoke English?” Well, I’ll tell you: she spoke to me, in perfect English. But soon before the bus arrived her gorgeous boyfriend also arrived and settled into a cramped bus seat next to a passed out sprawling sitter.

I hiked the trails and saw the sites of Manuel Antonio peacefully and primarily alone. I choose not to get into the details because I think you should experience the place for yourself. It’s pretty amazing.

This I would like to share. Towards the end of my hiking, I was heading down a trail when I was approached by a pair of men in capri pants and tight shirts. Now, I want you to read the next line in your best Hans and Franz voice, the weight lifters from SNL. Here it is:

“Have you seen any monkeys?”

Yup, that happened and it took everything I had in my sweaty, dehydrated body to not die on the spot due to laughter. Strangely, the next three groups I passed heading up the trail each asked the same question, but none were Eastern European. Note: I had seen monkeys.

Nico moved out when Tara returned and we were back to our old shenanigans of ridiculously childish games and rampant immaturity. We’d moved on to fake news reports as my generally unclean hair managed to stick very neatly into great anchorman hair.

We hitched our way to a hilltop resort where a friend and potential Ama Tierra employee was teaching a Yoga class. This was, by all definitions that I’m accustomed to, a 5-Star Resort. There were expansive and breathtaking views of the Pacific Coast at every turn of the resort. It was quite a place. The class was taught overlooking those views and we followed that up with another gorgeous sunset viewing.

And here’s where things got a little weird.

We watched with the other hotel guests at the hotel’s quaint amphitheater. It was a great venue and vantage point to watch the sunset. But the power ballad opera music they were blaring reminded me far too much Cirque D’Soleil – so much so that I suggested to Tara we put on a brief performance in the amphitheater – and was not fitting for a sunset.

Also, when the sun was gone, the amphitheater erupted into applause. Tara and I were dumbfounded. We had no idea what was going on. Had the hotel arranged this evening’s solar performance? Were we applauding God? What was going on? We were so shocked that we scurried out and forgot to pay our bill. Whoops. Luckily – or not – the hotel staff did not forget and we paid for our chips and guacamole.

Just as I was settling into Hermosa and the locals were becoming comfortable with the fact that there was someone there who was not surfing, it was time to go. Tara said that when you feel the comforting sense of home, the feeling that you just might belong, it’s time to go. Tara is a traveler.

First Class Time

Reason #332 I'm gald to be traveling with Tara: I thought our bus left at 9:30am for San Jose from Puerto Viejo. Tara knew our bus left at 9:00am.

Unfortunately, that wasn't the biggest frustration of that bus ride. There were 4 stops in the first hour and 3 ticket checks. It was hot, slow, and cramped. But we made it and were off to some first class livin' at Ama Tierra.

We arrived and immediately took a yoga class at the Ama Tierra studio. This is an open air studio that overlooks a valley of green that I'd never quite seen before. Everything was green! Except of course for the Tucans flying about. They were all sorts of colors.

The sun set and it was dinner time. Wow. We had green papaya picadillo, sweet potato, and seared, fresh tuna. It was an amazing meal after a few nights of very good meals. Certainly better than the Whopper I munched on at LAX earlier that week. Anyhow, dinner was excellent and I passed out after watching a movie.

The next day was an Adam day. Tara had work to do for Ama Tierra so I tagged along with some of the hotel guests to the local park, Turrubari. This is an old park, formerly a mango grove for a huge grocer in Costa Rica. He sold out in 1984 but kept and converted these groves into a park with hundreds of species of indigenous vegitation.

I began with the walking tour where I learned that above info. We saw all sorts of stuff. The highlights were the 4 or 5 different fruits we sampled while just parousing the forrest and the crocodiles they were rehabbing. These are some freaky creatures and best observed from a safe distance.

Following the expansive buffet where the fruit juice tasted like smoothies, I was off to zip lining. My fellow Ama Tierra guests had left early. They had succum to the heat. I was now joined by a group of fellow gringos in from all over that states on a cross-cultural volunteer project. The group of families and teens were building a basketball court at a local town. Evidently the operation had been a great success.

The gringos were good company as we zipped through the forrest. It was quite an impressive outfit they had there. Our longest "ride" was 720m. It was very scenic and fast although I'm not very good at going straight on that thing and I kept twisting all about. I suppose it wasn't too big a deal.

From zip lining I returned to Ama Tierra with Popo, the Ruttenberg's trusty driver. He and I spoke spanish all the way back. We covered everything from car honking theory to the Governator. He treated me to a local snack called Idon'trememberbutitstartswithaG and it was delicious.

Dinner was once again delicious at Ama Tierra and we relaxed for the evenning.

The next day was a mellow one where we didn't do much. I taught Bob how to use the iPod I'd brought for them from the states and did some internet-ing. We were taking off for the beach that afternoon and the Ruttenbergs were tying up loose ends for the night.

My stay at Ama Tierra was amazing. The grounds were beautiful and peaceful and was only topped by the hospitality and kindness of Bob and Jill and Kenny and the rest of the Ama Tierra staff. Kenny set up my park tour and managed to swing me a significant discount. Bob and Jill were so kind to let me stay there. It's a truly beautiful place. I'll have pictures up later but for now here's a link: Ama Tierra.

Another thing worth noting about Ama Tierra was that it had internet access and I was able to get some Madness scores. I was pretty amped to see the Pac-10 playing well and it looked like there'd been some good games.

We headed to the beach that evenning and I was excited to see the sun setting into the Pacific Ocean once again.

Arrival

First of all, international travel - or travel in general - is not made for 6'5" people, namely me. I should note that American Airlines was very efficient and kind and, most importantly, on time. Kudos AA. Beyond that, the seats were incredibly small and I was seated next to sprawled sleepers.

On my overnight from LA to Miami a sweet old man who appeared to be on his first flight had to go to the bathroom, from the window seat, just as I, from the aisle seat, was falling asleep. From that point on, I knew I would not sleep for the rest of the flight. The inflight movie was The Invention of Lying. Not good. It had become impossible to sleep and I didn't want to turn my light on to read because I did not want to disturb the able sleepers. My mistake.

Between the two flights (LA-Miami and Miami-San Jose) I managed to hit my head 4 times on the aisle located televisions. I also managed to sit behind seat recliners whom I hate. But when all was said and done, I arrived in San Jose.

And there she was. Tara Ruttenberg my host, guide, and - most importantly - my friend.

Reason #238 I'm thankful for Tara: she dominated the overwhelming and intimidating San Jose airport exit.

From the airport we bussed to a cab, cabbed to a bus, and bussed 4.5 hours to Puerto Viejo. I passed out twice on the bus after not sleeping all of the previous night while flying in. Once in Puerto Viejo we found a place to stay and I quickly - or as quickly as the humid weather would allow - got out of my damp, heavy jeans. I immediately put the jeans into a compartment of my pack where I knew they would not be accessed again. We found dinner then went straight to bed.

The rooster blarred at 3:44 am and didn't stop until I don't know when but he sure as hell started at 3:44 am.

Day one in Puerto Viejo was for biking. We rented beach cruisers from a guy who smelled like pot and called me "Adan Mantequilla" because Butler was spelled a lot like butter. Tara's bike was bright pink, mine was white and too small.

We were riding out to Manzanillo which we later discovered was 13km away. Initially, Tara announced that it was 20km away. Retrospectively, 20km would've been awful, but I digress.

Our first stop was Punta Uva. It's difficult to describe Punta Uva because there are no words to describe such a place. Instead I have invented a new adjective: postcard. Punta Uva was incredibly postcard. It's unbelievably tranquil and as the Palm Trees stretch over the water, it's easy to lose yourself in the lapping of the waves and the softness of the sand. For this, I fell asleep.

When I awoke, Tara was gone for a walk so I decided to let my primal instincts take over: I was going to get us a coconut. With my eyes to the sky I searched for the most ripe one. I finally settled on the perfect one. I shimmied up the 50ft tall palm tree to retrieve my chosen fruit. Noticing that I had a good angle into the ocean, I jetisoned myself off the tree and swan dove into the bay. I was later told by a Scandinavian onlooker that the climb, pick, and subsequent dive was a thing of beauty.

That is completely untrue.

Realty: I used a dry, leafless palm frawn to bat down a green, very unripe coconut. But I was able to retrieve it, crack it open, and we enjoyed the refreshing and tasty milk.

We biked on to Manzanillo which was a less postcard view but unbelievably gorgeous nonetheless. I napped here as well.

We returned home, showered, then ate. Again we were exhausted and found ourselves in bed and asleep by 10:15pm.

Day 2 on the Carribean Coast was for hiking. We were off to Cahuita in a bus and it became quickly evident that it was a fantastic idea not to ride bikes out to the national park. Pot holes, dirt roads, and erratically controlled drivers made it an intimidating and threatening bike ride, but an easy bus unless you're the driver. Not my problem.

Walking into Cahuita was quite a site. It was like entering a Disney ride. We crossed a small bridge and as we crossed, the landscape changed. We moved from a town into a park and the vegetation became incredibly dense in a hurry. The park was much of the same.

To our right was green on top of green on top of green. To our left was the Carribean Sea. It's relatively mind blowing. While hiking Cahuita we saw three types of monos (howler, white face, and spider), some raccoons, and an iguana holding on for dear life as he fell from a branch. Also saw a spider the size of my fist eating a bug. That was gnarly.

When we returned to Puerto Viejo to prepare for dinner, we first picked up an ice cream afternoon snack. It was an early sunset, about 5:45pm, and as we ate our ice cream we watched what I suppose was a sunset. The ocean was there but the sun was not. You see, Puerto Viejo is on the eastern coast of Costa Rica and, as we all know, the sun sets in the WEST. So, we watched a sherbert sky with no sun. It was quite beautiful but something I'd never seen before. I've decided all sunsets of an eastern ocean will be called "sets".

We also discovered that it was St. Patrick's Day. As they say, every town has an Irish Pub and Puerto Viejo is no exception. We decided to give it a whirl. After dinner we found ourselves a quality box of $2200 colones ($5) wine and settled in on the beach in front of the bar. Tara and I enjoyed the boxed wine as the local cover band, Atomic Pants, played in the background.

When the boxed wine was gone we headed into the bar. Only problem is we were both over boozing so we "settled" on ice cream. Chocolate and then passionfruit. This was ten fold better than rum shots or whatever you take down in the Carribean.

We boogied down to a mash of "La Bamba" and "Twist 'n Shout" and declared ourselves the world's foremost wedding/bar mitzvah dancers. The dancing was interupted for us as Atomic Pants moved into a Radiohead cover. While we couldn't dance, the local prostitute got low to "High and Dry".

The hike and box-o-wine began to take its toll and we decided that it was time to turn in. After a brief discussion, it was determined that it was 2:00am. We were pooped and leaving the next day for San Jose. Convinced it was 2:00am and we had to get to bed.

We walked back through town, St. Paddy's Day'd out. We got back to the room and I checked my watch. It wasn't 2:00am. My clock read 11:26pm.

Oh to be young.

And We (rather I) Are Off

As I prepared to leave from Tucson things were going well; for me at least.

The woman behind me in the efficient baggage check line of Southwest Airlines was panicking. There was an unattended bag behind us and she would not shut up about it. "Oh, oh my. There's a bag there. No one's attending to it. It's an unattended bag. Oh. Oh. There's...It's alone...it's...should I call..."

I ignored her and texted the story.

And then a little girl walked into the terminal. She was carrying two bags, each two times her size. She was alone. And because she was alone, she had something to say about it.

"MOM. Don't leave your kid alone. Don't leave your kid alone. Don't leave your kid alone..." she repeatedly announced. I'm still trying to decide if this was adorable, tragic, or CPS worthy.

This was the beginning of my voyage.

Arrival in Los Angeles was simple. Cousin Jamie picked me up and it was off to what had been described as "not so great tickets" to the Pac-10 Basketball Tournament. The only part that was "not so great" was the talent level. Other than that, the "Ernie Kent Farewell Tour" was incredible. Any time you can say you sat in better seats than Jeremy Piven, they're great seats. We had floor seats for a half of the surprisingly good basketball game, but I digress: They. Were. Floor. Seats.

Yes, those are my feet on the floor.

Floor seats were followed by road trip with Cousin Jamie to Vegas for the 311 concert on 3/11. While I am versed on 311's music, I don't know much. So when it's 311 Day at the Mandalay Bay events center, it is best to be better than versed. When their 60 SONG, 5.75 HOUR SET was complete, we established that I knew 5% of the songs (that's 3 songs if you're counting).

Also worth noting, the Planet Hollywood Hotel gives you a free bottle of liquor upon checking in. Only in Vegas.

We road tripped back, not without filming the World's Tallest Thermometer, of course, and returned to good - not as good - seats at the Pac-10 Tournament.

The remainder of LA was fun. Saw old friends and new. Had two fantastic brunches. Experienced a brief panic attack thinking my flight was at 9:25 am as opposed to pm. Remembered how little I liked daylight savings. And overall thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Yes, I'll repack my suitcase and yes, I'll have another panic attack that I have forgotten something; but by 9:25 pm, for better or worse, I'm off.

Unless of course I forgot my passport.

In The Beginning...

In the beginning there was an ending. Or darkness, or stillness, or nothing. Depends on which book you're reading; but for now, you're reading my blog so I say ending. The statement, however, begs the question: where does one emotionally focus at the beginning of an adventure and the end of an era?

I’m about to begin an adventure of three months that currently has little direction beyond doing it. This is the first time in my brief life that I’ve been able to say something like that. I don’t have a plan and I kinda like it. I’m excited because I have no itinerary just three destinations: Costa Rica, India, and Israel. I’m fortunate to have this travel opportunity and I’m going to take full advantage.

I also just ended my job. It’s been a good job and a great experience. I’m incredibly thankful for the opportunities I’ve had there and perhaps more to come. But for now, it’s an ending.

So I find myself at the crossroads of bitter and sweet. Bitter to be leaving a nurturing and exciting job. Sweet to be embarking on world travels. But again, where do I focus? The bitter or the sweet? The beginning or the end? The chicken or the egg (the last is irrelevant but it just flowed with the series of questions so I ran with it, whatever)? Ultimately, I wont recognize how bitter the end was until something new has begun and I wont recognize how sweet the beginning was until it has ended. I suppose I’ll reflect on each in due time and not realize the significance of either until much later.

So for now I’ll settle on overwhelm because I still have so much to do before I begin this end or end this beginning.