In All My Glory

I was walking on the beach in Valencia, Spain this morning, enjoying the weather, the sun getting warmer on my back all the time.
"There is an uncanny amount of aging Spaniards in spandex," I thought to myself.
And I walked for maybe a half a mile before I thought, "what the hell, I am on vacation, and I haven't been swimming yet, so now is the time."
I hadn't been swimming up to this point in part because I didn't bring my suit (or Speedo), and also because the water always feels so damn cold.
But I decided to go for it, so I found the most secluded part of the beach that I could and I stripped down to my civvies (which I know is not the proper slang use, but I am changing it here to mean boxer briefs).
I realized, standing there in all my glory, that I was slightly embarrassed, and figured, logically, that I need to find cover in the water as soon as possible.
So I ran.
30 feet from the beach, "I'm close."
20 feet, "Shit, this is going to be cold."
10 feet, "Here we go."
2. feet, "..."
And let me take this opportunity to give you a little background information. About 10 days into my trip I did something to my right leg while playing soccer. I thought it was just a pulled muscle, and then I met a nurse in Barcelona and showed her my trick, which is to sit in a chair and place both feet on the ground and then try to raise the front of the foot and the toes up towards the ceiling. I just can't do it, not with my right foot, anyway. I have, essentially, no movement in my toes, and the shin muscle doesn't seem to be doing much of anything. She said it is probably a pulled ligament, and that it might heal once I stop moving so much, but I might need some physically therapy.
Let me continue.
I hit the water, and with each step it is getting noticeably harder to run, which is normal, but also with each step I am losing more and more control of my right foot, which is not normal. It felt (and most likely looked) as though I was running with one of those huge Scuba flippers on only my right foot.
I made it about 10 feet out - which was about 2 and a half feet deep - before my foot just couldn't support my weight vertically, and I just kind of fell.
Which wasn't terrible, just salty.
I continued to swim, tried to enjoy the cold, tried not to think about wet, clinging underwear.
And then I got out, and I made it to my pile of belongings before I realized that a.) I have no towel with me, and b.) I have no pair of dry pants waiting for me at the hostel.
So I stand there on the beach that is growing more popular with the rising of the sun, waiting for my boxer briefs to dry at least a little, like a pale beacon of humanity.

(Insert Polish Words Here)

I don't think that it is an understatement to say that I love music. I truly do. It is one of my passions. I listen to it often, and when I am around Ryan Parish playing it quickly resurfaces as one of my favorite things to do. I miss Ryan Parish, by the way. If you see him, tell him.

This morning I found myself standing outside of a small, independently owned (I think, but I am strictly going off of the aesthetic feel) Cinema shaking hands with Sylwester. They are always called Cinemas here, not theaters, which I find endearing.

I was introduced to Sylwester at Mass on Sunday morning. The mother of the family I am staying with served as translator, as his English is poor and my Polish is nonexistent. He is a music teacher here at a community center, and upon hearing that I play the guitar he became quite excited to play music together.

It was arranged. Tuesday morning, 9:00am, at the Cinema. I didn't quite know what to think, but was excited about all of the potential.

So I was dropped off and was met immediately by Sylwester and his outstretched hand.

We went inside and it is pretty much what I expected: a high, ornate ceiling, a balcony (which was a bonus to my expectations), red velvet seats, and a stage. We were on the stage. Sylwester invited a friend of his along, too, who plays the electric upright bass.

One of the things that draws me to music so much (and, let me add, visual and audible art in general) is that it goes beyond language. You don't need to speak Italian to appreciate the visual art of da Vinci. Nor do I need to understand Icelandic to love what Sigor Rós does with melodies, instruments, and violin bows.

On the stage, each holding an instrument, not speaking, it was beautiful. I never thought that I would be playing music on this trip with two Polish musicians who spoke little English, but here I was, enjoying myself, my surrounding, and my company immensely.

The way that life happens intrigues me to no end. So many times on my trip thus far I have felt like a small child, staring at wonderment at a fish bowl for the first time.

Juliana and the Pigeons

It's not much, but it is something. This took place this morning in Rome.

I was in the park when I met her. Juliana.
She was old and becoming frail but that wasn't revealed in her passion: Pigeons.
She worked for them everyday hauling cans of dog food from the supermarket to her secret hiding place behind the newspaper stand.
We transported twelve that morning.
The proprietor knows, speaks to her with the gentleness of a mother her child.
She told me it makes God smile.
She's Italian, gestured with her hands the rising corners of an Almighty mouth.
The tide is coming and this is her blessing to those winged rats. She would probably scold me for calling them that.
But in turn they're a blessing to her. Before we spoke I saw he mimic Mother Mary, look up to the sky. I saw only thankfulness in her eyes.
I asked her if she would like to get a cup of coffee with me. She said no, but asked if I would go with her, so she bought two cappuccinos and I've never seen anyone put so much sugar into a cup so small. It almost overflowed.
She smiled up at me with a hart so warm I could feel heat escaping her body.
That's when I started to fall in love with Humanity again.
When she said goodbye she did so in Italian; kissed both my cheeks and when her bus came, waved at me like she was bringing in an airplane from overseas.

Fran's Snort Count

I can't give you a complete update, but I will update you from New York up until a few days ago.

I left New York with no troubles at all. It is actually a lot easier than I thought; the flight being only about 6 hours and 45 minutes from "the states" to Germany. I wrote this on the plane:

Let it be known that this is coming from a 21 year old punk kid that jumped at an opportunity. For my own reputation I would also like to add that my longest flight prior to this one was 4 hours. This one is closer to 7. 

Next to me sits a man in his polo shirt and pinstriped suit. He's got at least 3 papers; two in German, one in English.

There is a six hour time difference between New York and Germany. Dinner on this flight was served at about 7pm in New York. Breakfast 5:30 in Dusseldorf - 11:30 to my body. That is something I, unfortunately, am not accustomed to, dinner and breakfast a mere nap away.

Right before breakfast came I was handed a wet cloth with a pair of tongs. Now, this is a hard thing to judge, so I can't be certain, but I think that the skin on my hands cannot tolerate heat as well as the skin on others hands. Polo/suit handled his just fine. I briefly participated in my own private game of hot potato. I won. And lost.

I then proceded to look around to see what to do with me new, hot gift. Promptly I put my socks back on my feet.

(In my defense I was tired, caffeinated, and highly excited.)

I will just add the highlights of the places I've been so far.

Dusseldorf - Salsa dancing, where my host for the duration of my stay let me step on her feet.

Amsterdam - The fact that the building are falling into each other or out of line with the others.

Utrecht - no comment.

Berlin - the people in the hostel and the art collective I visited.

That is it for now, until later...

From Amtrak to Letterman

Internet at this Hostel is $0.10 per minute, so this will be brief. I wouldn't have done it at all except that I had to purchase a ticket to Gdansk, Poland for later this month. Oh yea, I am going to Poland. I'll be teaching English classes out of a families home for an undetermined amount of time.
Everything is going great - better than expected, even.
Within' twenty minutes of staying in the hostel I met a handful of really genuine people. Today I wandered around a large portion of New York city with two of my new friends, Marcus and Matt. I even ended the evening by sitting in on a recording of David Letterman, which I have wanted to do for some time. It airs Friday, and though I don't think you'd be able to spot me I would like to draw your attention to the ridiculous dance moves that Brett Denen has when he performs.
Only 3 minutes left. I fly out to Germany tomorrow, so I will update you again at a time that is convenient. Take care; Godspeed.

Up And Running

Interest may be slight, but I figured that I would host some sort of running collection of what is going on during my months away.
A few weeks ago I was in Grand Rapids visiting a friend and took up a rideshare over Craigslist to make it back home. David was the pilot, and, painful as it was, he nominated me co-pilot. He spoke languidly of his various trips to Europe; sleeping in caves on the coast of Spain, sharing wine with his wife and cousins in Normandy, taking holidays in small, quiant villages in Italy, and asked if I was going to have an email newsletter going out to inform people of my activities. I think I have an uncle who sends those out...
The answer was no (sorry, David), but I am going to post current goings-on here from time to time, whenever my path crosses that of an internet café, hostel with wi-fi, or a host with a computer.
My itinerary as of this evening is quite bland, so I won't bore you with all the details. The basics are as listed:
I depart the Amtrak station on Sunday, October 4th, at 2:50am.
I arrive in New York (barring, of course, any unseen delays; my last Amtrak experience was far from pleasant, after a 12 hour delay and a complimentary Subway sandwhich, which I proceeded to picked all of the meat off of) at 6:30pm, spend two nights there, and fly out of JFK on Tuesday, October 6th, at 5:45pm. I arrive in Düsseldorf, Germany...later. To be honest I can't decipher the arrival time in the e-mail confirmation - the only pain I have found so far in purchasing airline tickets through German-based companies. That and the fact that I don't seem to have a confirmation/booking number...
Maybe I won't make it to Europe after all.

Until next time,
Luke