tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47395453249492881332024-03-13T05:19:36.065-07:00Reflection of PerfectionDannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.comBlogger133125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-42947044712309218472016-07-09T04:19:00.000-07:002016-07-09T04:29:12.232-07:00Travel Thoughts and TaughtsHave you ever watched the departures screen at the airport and imagined hopping and skipping across all those cities? Whenever I'm at a major airport, I usually stare at the departures board and day dream of traveling to those exotic destinations. Finally I had the opportunity to trapeze across a small section of the world earlier this year. Five months on the road is a long time, but I've barely scratched the surface. This world is a big place. And that's wonderful because there will always be something left to see and do.<br />
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Months on the road was a novelty for this former citizen of corporate America. There was an impulse to operate in week long vacation mode, to cram the days and to try to see as much as possible. This definitely led to burnout and I had to pace myself. It was exhilarating to realize that I had all the time in the world to see so much and so little. It's liberating to realize that traveling the world is checking off boxes on an infinitely long list. I learned the paradox that the more you see, the more you have not seen.<br />
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I set out out from Calif in the beginning of Feb. It would have been hard had I been on my own the entire time. Meeting and talking to strangers is fun to an extent. And so is the feeling of complete independence. I've had some amazing conversations with complete strangers on the solo legs of my journey. But I think I'd choose travel with family, friends and friends of friends over solo travel. I like to share my experiences with people I can keep in touch with, with people I have something in common with. I love getting to know people at a deeper level and to invest in relationships. And this can't quite be achieved during fleeting encounters with strangers at cafes or in trains. But this shouldn't deter solo travel. After all, the alignment of time, money and energy happens very rarely in one's life. Throw in the requirement of friends, and you are looking at astronomical odds. Thus, when you get a chance to travel, you take it. And that's what I did. <br />
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Travel is an incredible teacher and you learn a thing or two on on the road. First, traveling made me realize that most people are nice, even Parisians. There are morons out there, no doubt. But statistically if we are much more likely to meet nice people, why do we worry and assume the worst all the time? As Mark Twain wrote, “Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness.” Obviously it is important to keep your wits about you and not be naive, but that shouldn't devolve into cynicism and unwarranted suspicion. For me, life is about taking risks, being open to new experiences and being vulnerable so as to let others into your lives.<br />
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Second, I learned to trust God and yourself. When you travel, you are by default outside your comfort zone. You learn to go with the flow. Some planning is obviously essential to enhance your experience. For example, standing in line for an hour when you could have bought tickets online is stupid. But you can't plan for everything. You can't have every eventuality accounted for. It would have been hard for me to be prepared for everything that happened on my <a href="https://dannythereflectionofperfection.blogspot.in/2016/06/france-je-taime.html" target="_blank">first day in France</a>. And you have to remember that most problems can be solved with money and a level head. Take one step at a time. Don't look at and worry too much about the boulders on the horizon that you trip on the pebble at your feet.<br />
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Thirdly, I learned that if I were nice to myself, I'd be nice to others. If you wake up late or spill coffee or misplace something, relax. Stuff happens. Slow down and you'll have more time for kindness. Besides, as Calvin said "When you're SERIOUS about having fun, it's not much fun at all!" In this year of mercy, I have learned that mercy comes from within. <br />
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Lastly, on a personal level, this trip satisfied my wanderlust to a certain extent. There are many jokes about the Jesuit vow of poverty. But even a Jesuit level of poverty means that I'll never have the freedom to go anywhere and everywhere I want. In a way, even though this trip was absolutely awesome, I'm willing to let it be a one time thing. As I mentioned before, this world is a truly big place and I'll never see everything. But having seen a tiny bit, I'm satisfied and willing to let go of the freedom of having the world at the reach of my credit card.<br />
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The world is beautiful. Let it inspire you. If you believe in God, use the moments that captivate you to thank and praise the creator. In the drudgery of life, sometimes you may lose sight of beauty and life will become tedious. Take time to find the beauty around you, in nature, people, food, architecture, music, and the list endless. Find God and find beauty in everything. And as the ancient prayer goes, "May you always walk in beauty."</div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-33668120830348357502016-06-30T03:46:00.003-07:002016-06-30T03:46:38.297-07:00This one time when I was backpacking through EuropeThree months through western and central Europe was an amazing time of exploring myriad cultures, millennia of history and a variety of food. It's hard to paint the whole of Europe with a single brush, hence I'd suggest to read about specific countries in other posts, if you are interested. But I thought a wrap up of the trip was on order when people ask about my trip. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Europe is best for the culture, history, architecture and food. It is a feast for the senses. The variety within the continent is mind boggling as expected, but don't rule out the variations within a country. Spain, for example, can be easily divided into several distinct cultures. Having traveled extensively around the US, I can say that Americans need not travel to Europe for untouched wilderness because there isn't much of it. Note, I didn't make it to Iceland and Norway. Natural beauty abounds, but not wilderness. Also, depending on the length of the trip, throw in some countryside in your itinerary. Guide books, (I used Lonely Planet), are biased towards cities. Obviously they give the maximum bang for your buck if you have only a few days. But after a week or two, I found cities tedious and overwhelming and had to decamp to the country to recharge.<br /><br />Transport<br />Getting around Europe is fairly easy. I didn't rent a car anywhere mainly because of the cost, the hassle of figuring out parking rules and not understanding the language in most countries. Public transport in cities is exceptional and the inter city train connections range from superb in the west to non existent in the east. Though conversely, it's expensive in the west and cheap in the east. Train journeys are generally scenic, but I wouldn't use it as a way to see the country. In the sense, they are good to get from point A to B or to socialize. But it's hard to appreciate a place when you are whizzing by at high speeds, sometimes in excess of 300 kmph. Even Switzerland, with it's legendary train routes, is best seen by walking the trails and soaking in the scenery. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Eurail pass is handy, but may not be worth it. I'll examine the pros and cons. First, it's expensive. I had to save about $60 on average on every train ride, assuming that I'd use all 17 trips over two months, to break even. Train rides usually don't cost that much, except high speed trains which generally serve only major cities in western Europe. Besides, the high speed trains often incurred an added $12 fee for reservations. Further, overnight trains might cost more for these 'reservations'.<br /><br />Second, a rail pass could be considered as a flexible travel option, meaning you don't need prior reservations. Depends. Some trains require reservations before boarding even with a rail pass. And even if they don't require reservations, I'd recommend you do it anyways. Else you might get bumped around during the journey by people who have reserved the seat you are on. Furthermore, I couldn't make these reservations online as Eurail said that they could only mail tickets to my address in Calif. I have no idea why they don't have e-tickets. Thus for every reservation, I had to trek to the nearest train station. And if you go to a station, you can only book tickets for journeys originating in that country. For example. if you are in Spain, you can't book a ticket for a journey in France. So much for flexibility. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Third, be careful about using the Eurail website/app for checking train connections. Trains not covered by the pass may not be listed. For example, there is a train from Ljubljana to Budapest. But it didn't show up when I was looking at options on the app. Lastly, in Central Europe, trains may not be your best option, rendering your pass quite useless. Overall, the verdict on the pass is, it depends. You can make your decision based on my feedback and information from a thousand other travel blogs and websites.<br /><br />Stereotypes<br />We may have heard the joke on European stereotypes concerning heaven and hell.<br />Heaven Is Where:<br />The French are the chefs, <br />The Italians are the lovers<br />The British are the police<br />The Germans are the mechanics<br />And the Swiss make everything run on time<br /><br />Hell is Where:<br />The British are the chefs<br />The Swiss are the lovers<br />The French are the mechanics<br />The Italians make everything run on time<br />And the Germans are the police<br /><br />I think I'd want Italian chefs. But not drivers. I had heard about bad drivers and haphazard parking in Italy. Completely true. Even the cops drive badly. But the food, ah Italian food, makes up from everything. On the other hand, British food lives up to its billing. That's why they took over half the world. The Germans are definitely disciplined and organized. And their language lives up to sounding like machine gun fire. The French fortunately or unfortunately didn't conform to their reputation of snobbery. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Not listed above is Spain. I had heard of the lazy stereotype because of their siestas. I don't think that's quite true because they do end up working the same hours as everyone else. It's just that then their evenings are taken by work, and so the socializing spills over in to the wee hours of the morning and we have a sleep deprived nation on our hands. And lastly, Ireland. I didn't make it out here, but I saw Irish pubs all over Europe. They are always around the corner, lest an Irish guy gets a little too sober.<br /><br />Best of Europe<br />The best cities on my trip were Paris, Prague and Amsterdam. It's hard to say why exactly and it also depends on your interests. For me it was architecture, history, beer, cafes and overall ambiance. For countryside, it has to be Bavaria with it's rolling hills against the backdrop of the alps and quaint villages. The best country was Italy. It scores decently well on all the above categories, plus the food is excellent. Of course the objectivity of my judgement may have been affected by the weather, cost and company I had in those places. <br /><br />And here is a map of my trip. Barcelona was the first stop and Paris the last. Black lines represent land journey, green air and blue water. <div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-65051219611716587702016-06-24T21:31:00.001-07:002016-06-24T21:33:10.145-07:00France, je t'aimeI bid farewell to England and took the ferry across the moat to France. I have always wanted to travel by sea, only so that I could say "This ship has sailed!". And to get the feel of the adventures of yore, when brave men sailed into the unknown in search new lands and fortune, without knowing if they'd fall of the edge of the earth, without Google Maps. My departure from Portsmouth was a rather staid affair. None of the hoopla and fanfare that you see in the movies. No waving and cheering. No foghorn. No "weigh the anchor!". Just a quiet rumble and we slowly pulled away from the bleak gray coastline of southern England.<br />
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The next morning dawned crisp and clear. Land Ahoy! That was France ahead. It really wasn't that exciting as the journey had only been 12 hours (covering a measly 200 km) and I had slept through most of it. Besides, there were no icebergs or pirates in the English Channel. While the sea journey was quite uneventful, the rest of the day made up for it. I saw the good and the bad of the French in a space of a few hours.<br />
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They ferry was delayed by an hour because of the annual summer strike by French workers. And so I missed the only bus to Mont St Michel, my day trip plan for the day. I decided to rebook my train ticket to leave St Malo at the earliest. The attendant grumpily took care of it, but I wasn't told that the changeover in Paris involved changing stations. Thankfully I read the tickets. When I reached Paris, I headed to the info desk to inquire about transit options to the other station. The guy at the information desk spoke to me as though I had insulted his mom or had stolen his girlfriend or both. Why do people whose job is to help people behave like that?<br />
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I got on the metro as instructed, but when we arrived at the metro stop, the train didn't stop as the station was closed because of the strike. Now how could Mr Grumpy not have known this? Thankfully a guy on the subway helped me figure out a new option and I made it onto the train just in time. I arrived in the beautiful Loire valley and hopped off the train at Amboise. I made my way out of town and into the countryside towards my Airbnb reservation. After a good 45 min of walking, I was there. Only problem, the place didn't exist. I looked at my Google Map, it said I had arrived. I didn't have a phone to call the host. Eventually I knocked on a neighbor's door. I was a little embarrassed to have interrupted their dinner. But they were very kind and I asked to use their WiFi. I got through to the Airbnb host, but couldn't understand his French. One of my new found friends offered to speak and translate for me. He figured that I was on the wrong street and began to give me instructions. But the older lady in the house insisted that they drive me over. I love the French! Finally, I had made it to the Airbnb place. In hindsight it was good that the strike led me to book an earlier train. Else I would have been wandering the countryside all night.<br />
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After the roller coaster of a first day in France, it was time to explore the country. I had seen the gorgeous French countryside on TV when I used to watch the Tour de France. I was quite stoked to ride those same back roads through quaint towns and over rolling hills of golden wheat fields. Loire Valley is famous for it castles with Chonenceau and Chambord among the finest. Also, soak in the small town ambiance in Blois and Amboise<br />
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My last stop in Europe was Paris, the city of lights. Paris was absolutely gorgeous and Paris after midnight was magical. With the Euro 2016 on, the party was definitely in town. The piece the resistance was the Eiffel tower of course. It is arguably the most recognizable landmark in the world. The view from the top at dusk was spectacular. But Paris was more than monuments and museums. It was about the ambiance. I loved walking the streets, past the cafes with chairs facing outside. Seriously, it's a thing in Paris where people don't face each other, but sit on the same side of the table, facing outside. A long lunch in one such cafe, watching the world go by, secretly or openly judging others is a must do thing in Paris. Throw in a rude waiter and your experience of Paris is complete.<br />
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The French are surprising friendly. Or maybe I had really low expectations. Much has been made of the French attitude and ennui. But I didn't see much of it on display, except for the odd waiter or help desk attendant. I wonder how they'd have reacted if I had said that Calif wine was better than the French wine. And they really appreciated my efforts in speaking in French. It was probably the first time they had heard French in an Indian accent. Now I speak only a little French. So whenever I initiated a conversation in French, they would just keep talking. And I would have no idea what they had said. But French sounds so beautiful that I didn't want them to stop. I once told a lady to just keep speaking because it was especially mellifluous. I think I would want to listen to bed time stories in French.<br />
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Paris was an amazing end to this trip. I had my doubts and fears with the strike, floods, Euro crowds, terrorist warnings, etc. None of it mattered. France, truly je t'aime.<br />
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Shout out to Lenka and Gabo for hosting in Paris. <br />
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-40999007229220065232016-06-16T23:11:00.000-07:002016-06-16T23:11:49.236-07:00Musings over Afternoon Tea in BritainAs I stood in line at the immigration counter at the airport, I wondered whether the Brits stood in line when they arrived in India. I believe it's a little hypocritical of them to check others before letting them in into their country. I thought that maybe I should at least get a free beer as restitution for the plunder they carried out over the centuries. Though minor detail, I should have taken up my case with the Portuguese, not the Brits. I looked around and noticed that all the signs were in English. Obviously. But this is the first place in Europe that had only one language. At least they should have had signs in French as well to placate the French for losing out as the universal language. <br />
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The first port of call was York, famous for its medieval setting. At the station I was disappointed not to see the famed queuing tendency of the Brits when the train arrived. But I was well pleased to see rules strictly observed on the stairways. Basically you can only walk up/down on the left side, with prominent 'No Entry' signs on the right side. And even if one side is packed, no one would walk on the other side. Given that people depart a station in waves and arrive in trickles, it made no sense to have both lanes to be of equal width. While on the topic of no sense, what's with sinks that have two faucets, one for hot water and one for cold water? I was left constantly alternating my hands back and forth to prevent scalding and freezing of my hands. Also, they use a curious mix of metric and imperial units of measure. Distances are in miles and elevations are in feet for instance. All things aside, the one thing that I applaud the Brits for is the double decker buses. Why haven't other countries thought of that? It's such an efficient use of space. Plus you get great views from the upper level.<br />
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Getting back to York, after that important tangent. The York Minster is one of those places where you spend more than 5 min just because you paid a hefty entry fee and you linger around pointlessly to get your money's worth. Couldn't they tell you that the church has been converted to a theater temporarily? All you could see was the ugly back side of stage sets. The main draw of a Gothic structure is the feeling of space, created by the tall slender columns. Here, there was scaffolding everywhere. I darted for the exit once the respectful 5 min was up. The bright side of leaving right away was that I caught a 'free' history tour of the city. A colorful guy talking about the colorful past of England was an ideal combination. Potter around the medieval streets and along the city wall, and York is a great day trip destination.<br />
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The next stop was Bristol. It is where London hipsters go to retire, just like Calif hipsters retire to Portland. It has a great vibe or maybe I'm just biased towards hipsters. A visit to the pub felt like gate crashing a family gathering. The atmosphere was that homey. There were some guys who seemed to have come straight from their evening run, all sweaty in their running shorts. We need these pubs in Calif. Once I went to a neighborhood dive bar in Santa Clara and I thought I was at a convention of AA rejetcs. While on the topic of drinking, we know that the Brits love their tea (PS: The Brits stole tea from the Chinese). Afternoon tea in a garden was an experience to savor, just like thinly sliced scones slathered in clotted cream and jam. A light drizzle and ominous clouds weren't enough to deter the Brits from being outside just a little longer. After all, a light drizzle would be considered good weather in Britain. Blessed are those with low expectations.<br />
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The final stop was London. That's where the party was. It was the Queens 90th birthday. I am beginning to believe she is immortal. The queen is so old that her memory is in black and white. Meanwhile, thousands of royal aficionados lined the street for the parade. The event though was a yawn fest. It was a lot of doing nothing, just like the royals I suppose. Occasionally a few guys in funny hats marched by. It was the kind of party where, even if you didn't have any expectations, you'd disappointed. I saw the queen for about five seconds, too short a time to ask about that Kohinoor diamond she's been holding hostage. I'll get her next time. And just like that, the parade was over. The fans of the royals obviously continued the party by excitedly discussing her green dress, her wave and her (purely imaginary) smile. While I will never understand the concept of royalty, I applaud her longevity in her role as the queen. Waving to peasants a few times a year is a tough life indeed.<br />
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After the extremely mild dose of excitement at the parade, it time to wander the streets of the great city. London is an eclectic mix of cultures and architecture. There is no old town in London. The city is a mix of beautiful Victorian and Georgian, ugly 60s and bold modern. London, or England in general, is expensive for a tourist. It was a good thing that I had a few extra pounds on me from all the desserts I had eaten over the past few months. One penny saving tip, attend a service or free organ concert in St Paul's Cathedral for a free viewing of this impressive church. <br />
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Meanwhile, Catholics looking for a good Sunday service should head to the Jesuit parish in Mayfair. I'm not playing brand ambassador here, but it was a wonderful service and I met some awesome young adults who hung out at a nearby pub thereafter. It was great to get an insight into the Brexit debate that is raging in London. My take from the discussion was that Brexit was mainly about immigrants. And these (probably liberal) young professionals felt that the 'exiters' were just a bunch of xenophobic racists. I'm not entirely informed about the whole debate, so I'll pass no further judgement. But one things is for certain. The immigrants have definitely improved the food scene in England.<br />
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With that, I cast off across the moat to France. Au revoir!<br />
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Cheers to Matthew, Nikhil and Milroy for hosting!<br />
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-82993525587374388282016-06-08T11:47:00.001-07:002016-06-08T11:47:52.518-07:00High Life in the Low CountriesThe last time I was in Brussels, it was 7 years back, a layover on my way to the US for the first time. I guess layovers don't count as being in a city, but the thought of that layover did bring back some great memories of that <a href="http://dannythereflectionofperfection.blogspot.co.uk/2009/08/daniel-takes-his-first-flight.html">eventful journey.</a> This time was a layover as well, but it's much easier to get out of a train station and stroll around the city for a few hours than say leaving the airport to stroll around and voluntarily having your body cavities searched a second time when back at the airport. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Stepping out of the station you are greeted by fully armed soldiers and armored vehicles. Not an entirely warm welcome to the capital of Europe. But I guess better safe than sorry? It's complicated. Though I wonder why they wear the green camouflage in a city? Maybe dress in red and yellow, the colors of McDonalds, if you want to blend in an urban environment? Brussels, meanwhile, was having a litter festival. Who knew that the drab grey streets could be livened with thrash in bright colors?<br /><br />Brussels was where Tintin was created. My favorite comic book series. Seeing Tintin pictures in windows and alleys brought back some fond memories from childhood. Blistering barnacles, I only had a couple of hours to see the highlights of the city. I spent most of it in the central square, the grandest in Europe. I took in the 360 degree panorama of ornate facades and majestic spires. And it was time to head to catch the connection to Bruges<br /><br />Moving on to Belgium's number one destination. Bruges is a lovely medieval city with narrow cobblestone streets lined with gingerbread houses. It was lovely to walk around the back streets and canals, everything silent and a mist, albeit a little annoying, adding to the ambiance. Sometimes a long walk through a maze of quaint homes, with no fixed plan, is just what the mind needs. To be with your thoughts, to pray and to just be. At the end of it, I stepped into a cozy coffee shop and ordered waffles and chocolate, followed by beer. Not a gourmet combination, but it covered all things Belgian. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Netherlands<br />Finally! Finally, I saw how beautiful life could be if the conservatives in the US would finally let go of their unfounded doubts and entrenched mentality. I'm not talking about weed or the sex shops, two of the most famous things in Amsterdam. I'm talking about biking.<br /><br />Amsterdam is a city on bikes. Everyone is on bikes. The old and the young, men in suits and men in speedos and women in heels. Though almost no one was in spandex. Europeans consider biking as a form of commute, not a workout. Kids are strapped in the front or the back, or sometimes two in a box in the front. I hadn't seen two on a bike (passenger on the carriage) since I was maybe fifteen. One guy was multitasking with a phone in one hand and a cigarette (maybe a joint?) in another. If he had more hands, he would probably be drinking coffee and painting as well. And there were stretched bikes and cargo bikes. A few were cheating with electric assisted bikes. But it all counts. This is a city on bikes.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />I decided to join the city on two wheels and rented a bike. The city looks so much friendlier and more fun from a perch on a saddle. Except when I almost got hit by a bike, a scooter and a ped at the same time. And watch out for trams and tracks. Red lights are suggestions to yield rather than stop. It's incredible that there are no crashes. I'm not sure if the Dutch and the Italians are somehow related. It's chaos on the streets. Even old ladies go like there's no tomorrow. Though some are so old, they probably think that that is the case. Everyone is zipping by with a #yolo attitude. The dedicated bike highways make for smooth riding, until you reach cobblestone streets. I love walking on a cobblestone streets, but definitely don't want to traverse them on a bike. Unless it's a full suspension mountain bike.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />I loved the vibe of Amsterdam. It was the best city for ambiance. It felt alive. Amsterdam felt local. The tourists were not obvious with their tour guides and buses. Though the canals were patrolled by gangs of bros and woo girls. Also there are no obvious tourist sites for a selfie and duck face exhibitions. Except for the Anne Frank museum where the lines make it look like an Apple store on release day of iPhone 17 (I don't know what number they have reached).<div>
<br />I wandered around this wonderful city taking in the sights and sounds. Dutch sounds remarkably like English. It felt like I should know what they were saying. Just that they started clearing their throats suddenly and uttered something incomprehensible. It was time for a break. But I was too scared to go to a coffee shop as I was apprehensive about baked goods in case I got baked. I learned that coffee shops = weed, and cafe = normal coffee shop. I once had to go to a pharmacy and had to make sure that it was a pharmacy and not a 'pharmacy'. It's just that I'm not into weed and the only joint I have rolled is my ankle. And isn't it a fun coincidence that the city coat of arms is a triple x and their main clock tower was built in 1620? Amsterdam is just fulfilling it's destiny.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />A must visit in Amsterdam is the Anne Frank House. I had read the Diary of Ann Frank just a couple of years back and it's still fresh in my mind. The pain and suffering of a teenager, a family, a community, a nation and the world can never be forgotten. Seeing the places described in the Diary was a profound experience. We have to remember that both Anne and Hitler were human. But their lives were so different and have been remembered so differently. We are the choices we make. It's also a stark reminder of the dangers of excessive nationalism. It's important to remember that Hitler was human. Not a demon or an extra terrestrial. He could rise up again anytime from among us. Those who consider themselves good need to be vigilant. In the guise of a strong leader, we could have a tyrant lurking. A visit on the 72nd anniversary of D-Day added to the sense of occasion. Let us truly mean the 'never again'. Pro tip about tickets. The tickets are sold out online weeks in advance and the in person queues are long. But you can get tickets on the day off if you check online at about 9am.<br /><br />With that, from the highs of Amsterdam, I head across the sea to the big country on a small island.</div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-45158719316383491672016-06-03T03:15:00.000-07:002016-06-03T03:15:52.140-07:00To the Alps!On to Germany. The current economic powerhouse of Europe, a country that rose brilliantly from the ashes of WWII. First up, I was disappointed that the train from Prague to Munich was late by over 2 hours, causing me to miss my connection. We seemed to have fallen behind only after we had crossed into Germany. Not a good first impression of the famed German efficiency. Though I later learned that Germans over estimate their efficiency and build no slack into their time train time tables.<br />
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My initial plan was to visit Berlin, but after Rome, I had developed a general aversion towards big cities. So I decided to go to Bavaria instead. However, I did get a chance to visit Munich for a few hours. The former base of the Nazis was flattened during the war and the city has been rebuilt in a mixture of old and new styles. Strolling around a city for a few hours doesn't do justice to any city. But I did get a feel of Munich's beer culture around every corner. I guess I checked off the most important item on Munich's to do list.<br />
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My decision to choose Bavaria over Berlin was richly rewarded. The first stop was Benediktbueren. A nondescript town that for some reason popped up in my Google search. My couch surfing host gave me an authentic Bavarian experience. A house set in the countryside with views of the mountains was just the beginning. There was a Bavarian breakfast of sausages, pretzels and of course beer. Some of them even dressed up in traditional clothes. Another experience, a hike up a mountain that rewarded me with spectacular views and beer. Yes, in Europe you can get beer and lunch on the trail. Talk about instant gratification.<br />
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My second stop in Bavaria was Fussen, for the famous Neushwanstein Castle. The castle appears to have come straight out of a fairy tale, framed by snow capped mountains, overlooking a lush countryside. The inside is very ornate as well with ever square inch covered with carvings and paintings. While the castle trip was very rewarding, I was a little disappointed that the view made famous in postcards is not to be found anywhere. Those views are either from the air or by hiking through private property. Oh well, nonetheless, still a worthwhile trip.<br />
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Journeying through Bavaria on foot, bike and train made me feel like I had died and gone to heaven. The scenery is picturesque and the setting idyllic. The towns are like the ones you see on Christmas cards and in children's books. Wandering along the back roads, the only sounds you hear are cow bells ringing and church bells tolling. Occasionally a tractor will rumble through. It got me thinking that if I ever try those farm work vacations, it will have to be around Fussen. And like a prayer answered, I met a lady in line at the station who has a farm and gave me her email address asking me to contact her if I'm ever back. Southern Bavaria is definitely a hope-to-be-back place for me. I also loved Radler, a drink made from lemonade and beer. Sweet alcoholic drinks, they hit the sweet spot for me.<br />
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One a side note, one thing on my bucket list on this trip was hitch hiking. I gave it a shot in Bavaria. I got a ride for a short distance, but didn't get further after that. After a long wait, I decided to cut my losses and catch a train. I'm not sure what exactly was the problem. A national holiday or low traffic route or single guy. I don't think I'll have a chance to try it again as rural Germany was probably my best shot.<br />
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One thing I have been asked is whether I have been affected by the migrant crisis and the rise of extreme right wing views in Europe. Overall I've head a great experience with friends and strangers alike being very friendly and helpful. But there were a couple of incidents that could be attributed to the current migrant crisis. First, in Budapest, when I need a phone to call up my contact, people even crossed the street to avoid me when I approached them. Maybe it was because it was after dark or because I'm a tall guy with a big backpack. But I hope I don't look too threatening to warrant such a response. And the second incident was in Fussen when a bunch of kids asked for my passport (while pointing toy guns) as I was strolling through a quiet neighborhood. Now I attribute their moronism to plain stupidity as I was a guy with a big camera in a town overrun by tourists. And I was more concerned about their stupidity than their xenophobia. But I'm sure they must have gotten their views from the adults around them. I have been following the migrant crisis in the news, but seeing it first hand definitely gives a new perspective.<br />
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I could be a dreamer and imagine a world with no borders. I wish I could see all the great cities, experience the cultures and taste the food everywhere in the world without worrying about visas and passports. I wish there was no migrant crisis. I wish there was no war. The reality is very different and the causes highly complex. Trying to address any of these in a blog post would be an impossible task. But I hope that travel will leave me with a better understanding of the world and I hope that the people who have met me have a slightly better understanding of India and the US.<br />
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Switzerland<br />
The above paragraphs about Bavaria being heaven were written before my time in Switzerland. This note is important because if there can be only one heaven, it has to be Switzerland, not Bavaria. Switzerland has many things going for it and the flag is a big plus. It is a small country, but there are so many things Swiss. Chocolate, cheese, watches, knives, banks, etc. And now they even have the longest rail tunnel.<br />
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The first thing you notice in Interlaken is the number of Indian tourists. Years of SRK romancing with the Bollywood ladies in the Swiss mountains have led to Switzerland having the highest number of Indian tourists in my observation. It is a great destination, no doubt. But the bang to buck ratio is average because the place is outrageously expensive. And factor in the atrocious weather (I saw the sun for about 10 minutes in 5 days), you've got a good chance of being underwhelmed. It's a good thing they have beautiful pictures of mountains on clear days everywhere. It helps imagine the scene when you are standing in fog as thick as pea soup. Or maybe it leaves you ruing what might have been. Thanks to Michael for trying his best to optimize my trip by checking detailed weather conditions to decide on the plan every morning.<br />
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Switzerland is known for it's scenic train journeys. The train snaking up and down steep mountains as it makes its way through the tiny picturesque villages hugging the mountain side is a quintessential Swiss experience. Throw in a few waterfalls, alpine lakes and rugged mountains and you've got heaven on earth. My personal favorite leg was Interlaken to Lucerne. Besides, all those tunnels makes you see the truth in the old adage "there's a light at the end of every tunnel." The only downside of seeing the country this way is that you don't get to stop and take it all in. I'd suggest to get off the train sometime and hike around one of those tiny villages and imagine what it must be to live in paradise.<br />
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On one of the train journeys, I met a Swiss lady who claimed that her people are too cold and efficient and that she loved the vibrant and chaotic Italian culture. True, Switzerland is always on the clock. Train schedules are optimized to around the top of the hour. And there are clocks everywhere. The capital, Bern, is the epitome of Switzerland; clean, efficient, organized and a tad boring. Though the Swiss kids seemed like normal kids; boisterous, mischievous and rebellious. I wonder at what age do Swiss kids morph into Swiss adults.<br />
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With that it was goodbye mountains. Let's hope it's downhill here only literally as I head north.<br />
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Thanks to Daniel Siebel for hosting me in Benediktbueren!<br />
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<br />Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-56171577118681770562016-05-23T01:58:00.000-07:002016-05-23T01:58:09.698-07:00Slavic PeregrinationsMy next stop as I stomped around Central Europe was Roznava. I imbibed in the Slovak countryside that is like the Microsoft XP wallpaper, endless rolling hills of verdant green. Roznava is a small town in Eastern Slovakia that isn't used to tourists. A tall brown guy with a camera was a subject of attention everywhere I went. Maybe if they started receiving bus loads of Chinese tourists, their curiosity will be diminished. I jest. Those cute villages cradled in gorgeous valleys are best left in the time capsule they are in.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />One thing I noticed was that every home my host took me, I was offered Slivovika, a Slovakian spirit. It doesn't have to be 5 o'clock anywhere for Slovaks to drink. I guess this is the source of the high spirits of the Slovak people. Apparently they drink spirits to kill bacteria in their systems. Given the amount they drink, either they have superbugs in their tummies or they are just plain hypochondriacs. Another peculiarity of Eastern Slovakia - Gypsy villages. These are pretty much clean slums. The Gypsy people have a culture, language and society of their own. And they are known to have originated from North India. Though their language is very different from Hindi, the only North Indian language I know. I tried speaking Hindi to one guy, and he just stared at me. Maybe I just spoke really bad Hindi. What a strange parallel society to exist in the heart of Europe.<br /><br />Krakow<br />Moving on to Krakow, a quick stop in Poland to get another country checked of the list of countries I have visited. It is the relatively undiscovered Prague of the East. Emphasis on the term relatively. It has a lovely old town with numerous magnificent Gothic churches. And for once there were people praying! Most of European churches have turned into museums of art and architecture. So it was a pleasant surprise to see people of ages showing some form of piety.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />But as I stepped out of a church and I got accosted by a pretty lady trying to make conversation with me. Now in my 29 years of existence, I have concluded that I will never attract a hot girl based on my looks. It's not that I suffer from low self esteem (read this blog URL), but facts are facts. How did I become attractive suddenly? So naturally this lady's overtures made me suspicious. She said she would get me free drinks at a gentleman's club. I asked her if I looked gentle, given my 5 o'clock shadow from last week. Besides, I wasn't thirsty. The problem with puns is that they are completely ineffective when English is not the first language of the audience/victim. And I don't think she was interested in my jokes anyways. She moved on to her next target and I was left wondering about the contrast of churches and strip clubs in the heart of Krakow.<br /><br />A must visit in Krakow is the Schindler Factory museum. WWII brought out the best and the worst of the human soul. There was brutality and horrors beyond words. And there was sacrifice from people who went above and beyond the call to help someone else, sometimes at the risk of their own lives. You read about stories of hope and resilience of the human spirit. And finally it is a lesson in history. One mustn't forget that these events transpired less than a lifetime ago. And history repeats itself for those who forget.<br /><br />Prague<br />If any city could be a melody, it would have to be Prague. The seamless blend of architectural styles surrounded by spires in all directions results in a delightful harmony. It is easily the most beautiful city I have been to so far. Prague is simply stunning. There's something magical at every turn as you stroll through the medieval streets of the old town and over the Charles Bridge towards the Castle. Thank you WWII leaders for not bombing the crap out of it. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Charles bridge is probably the most famous sight in Prague. Every time I walked across, I was awestruck by the views in both directions. The panoramas never ceased to amaze me. Agreed that it is so crowded that they almost have foot traffic lanes with pull outs for photo ops. I wouldn't blame you if you thought for a brief moment that you were on a subway train in Tokyo. But go there at 7am (or earlier) for an experience to savor. The quiet of the morning augments the eminence of the spires and arches looming over the horizon. Now who wakes up that early when on vacation? Well, if the offspring of a peasant wants a royal experience, you gotta do what needs to be done. The other famous attraction in Prague is the clock. At first I was, well, whelmed. Not over or under. It seemed nice and fancy, but not deserving the throngs of tourists who gather faithfully every hour, like clockwork. Later, after reading about the details of the clock, I was definitely overwhelmed. I encourage you to read up before you go see it so that you are not left thinking that staring at the clock was a waste of time. Give it a second glance and the minute details will manifest themselves.<br /><br />If all that sight seeing has made you thirsty, grab a Czech beer. Oh yes, pilsners and lagers. Enough with the pale ales that have infested the American beer scene. Czech beers are refreshing, delicious, potent and cheap. They love their beers so much that once my coffee was served in a beer glass. And with the foam at the top, it looked like a porter. A delightful place to enjoy a cold one and feel like a million dollars (for $4) is at the bar on the roof of U Prince. It's a hidden gem overlooking the main square. Best time is after 5pm as the best views are to the east.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Time for a little general rant. Why do people feed pigeons? I don't want to be a party pooper here. But I'd rather poop on this party figuratively than be pooped on literally. Let's keep these flying rodents away please. They are menace to the outdoor spaces and monuments. See those ugly nets hanging everywhere, that's to scare the pigeons. And while on rant mode, what do smokers think when they drop cigarette butts all over the place? Do they think that when they stamp it out, it just magically disappears? Cigarette butts are one of the major polluters of the oceans as well. I wish I could tell smokers that dealing with their smoke was enough. Now if they could clean up after they are done, it would be a breath of fresh air.<br /><br />Shout out to the Dorcakovas in Roznava and Vieroslava&Marek in Prague for hosting me.<div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-89964580018580263142016-05-15T11:14:00.003-07:002016-05-15T11:14:26.329-07:00Into the heart of EuropeI continued my peregrinations through central Europe as I trundled in a 'fast train' along the Danube to arrive in Bratislava, a neat city that maintains a quiet charm without trying too hard to compete with Vienna. In the current age of the Internet, Facebook and selfies, much of the world has been discovered. 'Hidden treasure' is quickly becoming an oxymoron. Bratislava is a compromise by being partly hidden and partly a treasure. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Low costs, prevalence of English, a lot of history centered around the old town and friendly people make it one of the more complete off beat destinations. Also it has the 'where?' factor if you want to be the guy who talks about obscure destinations rather than London, Paris and Rome.<br /><br />My first experience of the city was a Spring Festival that had a live bad playing. Attending a concert in a language I don't understand was a novel experience. Though the lead singer did give the standard instructions in English. "Put your hands in the air." Or, "make some noise." And every time he yelled Bratislava, you shout "yeah!!!". It's quite simple really. Music is a universal language after all. And so are blond jokes apparently. I was told that blond jokes are quite common in Slovakia. Though I'm not sure how they are funny if half the population is blond.<br /><br />While in Bratislava, I'd like to file another incident another the 'Stranger Kindness' section. I was at the ticket machine at a bus stop when I realized that I didn't have any coins to use in the machine. So I approached this pretty lady to ask for change. Instead she bought me the ticket! Before I could thank her, bus 205 arrived and the lady was gone. I was left, ticket in hand, pondering the kindness of people. I realized that you can experience the kindness of others only when you are in need. You have to be in a vulnerable place so as to be open to receive. And for me, learning to receive teaches me to give because the next time you are in a position to give, you will be able to empathize with the one who is receiving. I hope to be able to pay this kindness forward some time during my travels.<br /><br />Vienna<br />Another top 25 destination in Europe according to Lonely Planet is Vienna, the former capital of the powerful Hapsburg empire. Vienna is famous for palaces, coffee houses and classical music. I did enjoy lingering around a coffee shop one afternoon as I read the New York times. Was it in places like these where intellectuals met to philosophize and argue about life? Are we missing out on something with the demise of idle conversations in coffee shops and pubs? Now we just abuse each other on the comments section of various websites. With this depressing thought, I headed into the warm sun bathed streets. As I wandered the streets idly, I was approached by a lady who asked me if I'd put on headphones and dance to some EDM for 30 seconds on the streets of Vienna. I gathered through a mix of German and English that they were making a promotional video for some music festival. I got a lot of bemused/admiring stares from passers by. And maybe if I got my moves right, I'll have my 5 seconds of fame in Austria.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Another must do in Vienna is to attend a classical music performance. I attended part of an Opera in the famous Vienna Opera House. Don't be put off by the cost or formal clothing you'd expect at a fancy opera. You can get standing room tickets for 4 euros and you can be in t-shirt and jeans. Thanks to Americans for always saving the day by dressing in casuals and helping me blend in. The Opera was a spectacular performance. The music was beautiful, the stage play elaborate and the ambiance majestic. It was totally worth the aching feet and exposure to strange German singing. I think German is best suited for heavy metal. The Opera gives a taste of the life of the Viennese high society.<br /><br />Ruzomberok<br />Heading off the beaten path, I arrived in Ruzomberok, beautifully nestled among the Tatra and Fatra mountains. While the town itself is a drab affair, the surrounding mountains more than make up for the eye sore that is the Soviet style box buildings. The hiking was wonderful with gorgeous views of the mountains and tiny villages in the valleys. But the highlight was a geography class at a local middle school. I was the guest speaker for the day and had to talk about India. Props to me that no one fell asleep. After all, I wouldn't blame you if you had mistaken my TA classes at UMN for sleep therapy sessions. And I even had an autograph session with the kids after the class. I guess being the only foreign tourist (ever?) in the town made me a celebrity. I should have practiced writing my name legibly. Or maybe they might assume that I wrote my name in some exotic Indian language. I hope the kids learned something that morning. But for me, having an audience of wide eyed kids definitely made my day.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />A couple of things that I have realized on my travels so far. First, learn at least two words in the language of the play you are visiting. Hello and thank you. This is especially true in smaller countries because it shows that you care about their culture. In every country I have visited, this has helped me get friendlier service and a smile on many occasions. Some languages are harder than others. But two words, even in Hungarian, shouldn't tax your mental faculties too much.<br /><br />Second, how to balance photography with experiences. Photography is a lot about timing and patience with light, composition, angle, etc. But I have learned not to get carried away and not to make it the sole purpose of my journey. Maybe someday I'll be a photographer. But today, I'm a traveler. So I take a picture or two and put my camera away. After the picture, don't move on. Linger. Look. Imagine. So many people point, shoot and leave. I say point, shoot and stay. And I try to ensure that my days are not planned around photography, but rather around experiences and people. Europe is a beautiful continent and you don't need to try too hard to get great pictures. And for those who've asked, I use a Canon SX50 camera. It's nothing fancy, but gets the job done<div>
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Thanks to Andrea for hosting me in Bratislava and Pavol for hosting me in Ruzomberok.</div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-1630841305846174662016-05-08T12:44:00.000-07:002016-05-08T12:44:08.204-07:00Meandering EastSlovenia, where's that? I certainly had no idea where it was until I read an article on the BBC website extolling the beauty of Bled. One look at the picture and I was sold. I had to go there. And more than two years later I was there. <br /><br />I arrived in Ljubljana on a sunny spring afternoon. Don't worry, the spelling looks a lot more difficult than the pronunciation. And the locals were genuinely happy when I uttered the only Slovene word I learned. The historic part of town is set along the river as it snakes around a bluff. There was something beautiful about the city that I couldn't quite put my finger on. Maybe it was the neat red roofed buildings along the river, maybe it was the intimate small town feel, maybe it was the friendly people. Or maybe it was just the peace that comes when you leave the chaos of Rome behind. A short little hike up to the castle gave expansive vistas of the city and beyond. That was followed by a drink at a cafe by the river listening to some 80s pop music. Ljubljana is a great place for your 'bring-back-the-80s' band. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Next day was a trip to Bled, the town that my heart bled for from thousands of miles away. It is picture perfect. A castle set on a cliff high up above the lake against a backdrop of snowy mountains. A church on an island in the lake breaks the monotony of the delicate emerald waters. Tiny boats milling around the island complete the picture. I'd say a trip to the castle, a boat ride to the island and a hike around the lake make for a perfect day. You get the feeling that Slovenia exudes a sense of optimism as it looks to the future after a tumultuous recent past.<br /><br />The lovely Slovenian countryside and the small town feel of Ljubljana made me want to shift the focus of this trip from big cities to small towns. Guide books tend to overemphasize cities. The cities have a lot of highlights, no doubt. And on a short trip, you get the maximum bang for your buck. But they can leave me tired and jaded after a few days. And occasionally the cosmopolitan feel means uniformity and repetition across different destinations. I'd wanna mix things up a little by trying a few offbeat destinations. Maybe Slovakia in a few days might have something to offer on that front.<br /><br />Venice<br />There was one last stop in Italy, the beguiling and romantic Venice. The city is beautiful and exhilarating. It is the best city to get lost in. Firstly, you can't end up too far from your hotel as you are surrounded by water. And more importantly you can discover the seductive charm in the hidden treasures of small bridges, gondolas on narrow canals, ornate churches, peaceful piazzas and time worn buildings. There are no cars and bikes and so your mindless zig zag meanderings will not endanger your life. As you get lost you wonder about the future of the city. It is sinking into the sea. It is dying as a city and is slowly turning into a hybrid of a museum and Disney land. Almost everyone you see is a tourist or connected with the tourism trade. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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And even those people are day commuters. Venice is a must see before it is too late. This glitzy jewel of yore is slowly fading and sinking as time takes its toll.<br /><br />Venice has a vibrant classical music scene with many churches being turned into concert venues practically every night. I had the good fortune of attending a free concert in an old stone church one evening. The beautiful singing coupled with the ambiance of delicate lighting in a baroque church and beautiful acoustics made for a memorable performance. Another highlight of Venice is the Cathedral. Initially it gives an impression of a cave with it's dim interiors. But let your eyes adjust and you'll find the beauty in the details. Thousands of square feet of mosaic adorn the roof and walls. A mix of Byzantine, Venetian and Islamic styles make for a unique canvas of medieval art. <div>
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Budapest<br />Next stop, Budapest. My first stop in Europe without the Euro. Florints are hard to use given that everything is in the hundreds and thousands. It requires pulling out your rusty and dusty arithmetic skills. And the language is incomprehensible comprising of sounds that I've never heard before. Hungarian is very different from the neighboring Slavic languages and is very difficult to learn. Also, the people seem to smile a lot less here. Not that they are hostile, they are just cold. I believe it is a remnant of the communist era. Another remnant of the communist era, monotone audio guides. I took a boat cruise up and down the Danube one evening to soak in the beautifully lit bridges and castles of Budapest. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The narrator used the same monotone to talk about a king being put in a barrel of snakes and thrown into the river and about Hungarians enjoying summer pastimes along the Danube. I couldn't stop laughing even though some of the events narrated were quite tragic.<br /><br />While Slovenia could be considered a former commie state, it was not the true red Soviet communism. Hence, I consider this as my first stop behind the Iron Curtain. Though some of Rick Steve's podcasts make it seem like communism is at times remembered fondly, the realty is different. Conversations with a couple of people led me to believe that communist Hungary was a terrible place to live in. A trip to the museum 'House of Terrors' confirmed this notion. I'm now even more grateful for democracy, despite our struggles with dirty politics. I will always cherish freedom of speech and lame jokes. May I always be able to make fun of Trump's hair. I wonder why we have lost interest in our democracies. Maybe it is because we have never seen the horrors of dictatorships as we were lucky to be born in a free society. And what makes it harder to accept is that in Budapest the brutal and corrupt communist officers were never prosecuted after the fall of communism. They are actually living among the people they persecuted. I believe Hungary is trying to move on with life in the hope that the past will be forgiven, if not forgotten. I'm not entirely sure if that's the way forward. May God give them the strength to overcome the horrific events of the past.</div>
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Thanks to the Balint Nagy SJ for arranging my stay with the Jesuits in Budapest.</div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-11531893210799490602016-05-01T03:14:00.001-07:002016-05-01T09:51:03.358-07:00A walk down the Renaissance ItalyNext up, Florence. The birthplace of Renaissance. Now, I don't really understand art. But I thought the statues were 'marbelous' and I wouldn't take them for 'granite'. I did get an inferiority complex looking at some of the male statues and it was not a good inferiority complex. It was fun looking at paintings and making up descriptions. "Do you need a duck?" Or "are those pants tight?" Or "that horse stinks." As I <br />
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wandered around gazing at the magnificent Churches and art, the socialist in me wondered if the workers were happy. Did they have a just wage? Where did the money come from? Could the money have been used to alleviate poverty? After all Florence was a republic. Did the citizens want these things? But for now I'm grateful for the incredible beauty in the art that has survived to date. There were and are some really talented people who created masterpieces that will be appreciated for generations to come.<br />
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My travels took me further south to Assisi, the pilgrimage town. The birthplace of St Francis. It is a very photogenic old town with cobblestone streets and alleys set on a hill overlooking a verdant countryside. Walking around the town and the surrounding countryside really fills you with a sense of peace that St Francis always talked about. A narrow country road through green fields lined with some spring blooms was a perfect place for an evening stroll. Assisi may not be a top destination in Italy, but it definitely is on my 'will be back' list. I hear the rest of Umbria has a similar vibe, perfect for small town hopping.<br />
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And then onto Rome, the eternal city. I'd say the eternally crowded city. Trevi fountain looked like a 24x7 free concert venue. And the only music to be heard was the sound of running water and chatter in a hundred languages. It was quite the sight to see people trying out their throwing arms in an effort to toss a coin into the fountain from a hundred ft away. I'm sure that people up front got tonked a few times. I was tempted to do the same because when in Rome, do as the Romans. But then these morons were not Romans. Plus it would also mean throwing away money, which really is not my thing. Rome is definitely a must see for Roman history buffs. The Pantheon is quite a feat of engineering for a 2000 year old structure. <br />
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Though some of the Roman history artifacts like the Colosseum didn't make for happy imaginations. I concluded that I wouldn't very well in a bloodthirsty era and culture. How could two humans fighting to death be a form of entertainment? The Colosseum itself is quite an impressive structure and deserves a wander around for at least an hour.<br />
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The Vatican is a must visit for Catholic peeps. The Pope gives an audience to his fan base on Wednesdays. It is one giant rally. Pro tip, find a seat near the barricades as the Pope may drive through near there. It's quite the experience to be part of this massive and joyful audience. And then there is St Peter's Basilica which is truly magnificent. It's enormous and ornate, but not tacky. Michelangelo and the rest have delivered a masterpiece. You can truly feel the transcendent in the beauty around you, despite the mob scene. The geometry and symmetry, the paintings and sculptures deliver a complete all around experience. Finally, you can top it off with a visit to the Vatican museum. Make sure that you save some mental bandwidth for the Sistine Chapel that comes about three quarters of the way through. Michelangelo was truly a genius. The incredible imagination of theology and the final painting itself makes the Last Judgement worth all the hype. Prepare to have your expectations met and surpassed.<br />
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A few more observations on Italian chaos. At Sunday Mass during communion, there was none of the pew by pew business. It was a mad dash, first come first serve event. As though the priests might run out of communion. <br />
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And my airbnb host was this old Italian lady who didn't speak English. When I pointed out that the internet wasn't working, she got so animated, that I wanted to hug her and and tell her that everything would be alright. Every time she exclaimed 'mamma mia' I couldn't stop laughing. The more she had trouble communicating with me, the louder she got. I felt that if I got the accent right, spoke really loudly, threw in a few mamma mia's and gestured wildly with my hands, I'd be speaking Italian. What a wonderfully chaotic country. A look at the parking habits of Romans will leave you thinking that Rome is a giant puzzle for all ages. Even German Shepherd dogs look undisciplined here. How did the Germans and Italians get along during WWII?<br />
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Another stray thought. How do we treat hawkers? Do we ignore, do we tell them to leave us alone or do we smile and keep walking? I once dined at a cafe and when I was done decided to join one of the waiters in trying to get people to come in. I asked him if he gets depressed with the continuous rejection and how we should treat hawkers. He told me he doesn't take things to heart, but would like people to either ignore him or just smile. He hopes that people wouldn't give him a stink eye if they are not interested. So from here on, I'm gonna smile and keep walking. It'll cost me nothing.<br />
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A shout out to Fr Tony Sholander SJ for free accommodation with the Jesuits in Rome.<br />
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-80006006885142796822016-04-23T09:43:00.002-07:002016-04-23T09:43:28.542-07:00Mamma Mia Italia<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Lisbon</b><br />I arrived in Lisbon on a cold rainy morning. Lisbon appeared to be well past it's prime with paint peeling of facades, streets probably unwashed since Goa's liberation and people walking around with glum looks. Maybe it was the weather that made everything appear so dreary. As I looked around, I scoped a stall with postcards. I browsed through and noticed that most contained pictures of old school trams against a backdrop of rickety buildings. Not a good sign if that's the highlight of the city.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />As I wandered the streets, I got the vibe of a homely neighborhood. People on the streets seem to know each other and there was a lot of tiny mom and pop cafes. I finally spotted my first batch of tourists sliding up on their segways. It was oddly comforting to see tourists as it meant that the place had something worth visiting and that there might be a little bit of English spoken. Though I must add that there was significantly more English spoken in Lisbon than any of the cities I'd visited in Spain.<br /><br />Talking about English, I realized that Google maps and similar apps has definitely democratized travel. You may not understand signs or know what you are eating, but at least you can find your way around town. I wondered why cities known for tourism don't have maps and time tables in English? I understand not having English speakers at help desks because of the expense. But maps and instructions would be a one time investment and be very useful for independent travelers. <br /><br /><b>Italy</b><br />Next stop was Italy! I had heard of Italy's legendary chaotic lifestyle and had thought that it was one of those over hyped stereotypes. But the Italians were enthusiastic in proving me wrong. I landed in Pisa and headed to the baggage claim. The belt started moving and bags came through. For about 5 minutes, not a single bag was lifted off the carousel. Then there was an announcement in Italian and everyone rushed to another belt where the bags actually were. A British guy summed it up succinctly, "If there was any doubt, we are in Italy." I headed to the Leaning Tower, to do my bit of holding it up or pushing it down, depending on which side you stand for the picture. There I had to store my backpack at the visitor center. I was charged 4 euros to keep my bag in someone's office. No lock, no bag tag, nothing. I decided that I had no option and walked out hoping to see my bag again. As I crossed the street, on a crosswalk, I assumed that the city bus barreling towards me would slow down to let me cross. Apparently I had forgotten about Italian drivers. When the <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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bus was seconds away, I realized he wasn't going to slow down, and I had to sprint across, narrowly avoiding a Fiat that appeared out of nowhere. <br /><br />All this chaos made me a tad hungry, so I stepped into a nice cafe and placed an order. After about 20 minutes, nothing showed up and I went inquire. In typical Italian nonchalance, she told me it should be right out. About 10 min later, only half my order came. Finally it was time to take the train to Cinque Terre for which I had to change the train in La Spezia. I read the time table and went to the designated platform. But there was no train in sight. While waiting, I spotted a guy who looked like he was in a uniform. I inquired about the train and he told me the platform was changed and I had 2 minutes to get to the other side. How was I supposed to know that? Eventually I made it to the hostel and got my room assigned. I was idly setting up my bed when a girl stepped into the room and had a shocked look on a face. She spoke no English. But the terrified look made me suspicious. So I went back to desk and asked to check the room number again. Turns out I was assigned to a ladies' dorm. Whew, that was an overdose of Italian chaos! I hope I have paid my dues.<br /><br />Cinque Terre is spectacular. It's like Big Sur, but with a few tiny historical towns scattered along the coast. Though, I wish someone had taught them the concept of switchbacks on trails. Need to climb that hill? Not a problem. You just go straight up. But every climb was worth it. Gorgeous views of the rugged coast against the azure sea interspersed by a few colorful cluster of buildings. Sitting on a terrace high above the sea, sipping on Limoncello while reading some Bill Bryson comedy made for a blissful afternoon and I fell in love with Italy again. The first time I fell in love in Italy was when I had three desserts for lunch earlier that afternoon. I had tiramisu, cannoli and gelato. It was delicious and addictive. I had to tell the lady to send me away if I came back.<br /><br />In the evening, I wandered around the town and came upon a spot that twenty tripods lined up. It was gratifying to know that I was at place with a 20 tripod rating. I love the camaraderie shared on such occasions. People talk about the cameras, the best settings, the places they've been, they places they want to go, etc. It's that common desire to click a picture already on the internet that brings us together. In between a couple wanted their picture taken on an iPhone in this hallowed photo studio. Everyone chipped in. I provided the lighting as I had my headlamp, someone coached them with the pose, a few commented on the camera angle, someone even suggested props. All in all a perfect evening in this slice of paradise.<br /><br />Until next time, ciao<div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-82807573245604690602016-04-14T10:14:00.000-07:002016-04-14T10:14:01.016-07:00Spain - Muy BienI'm not clubbing veteran, but I've been to the ones in Vegas and SF. Madrid clubs were the almost the same. You start of with some overpriced drinks to numb the pain of being in a loud, dark and smelly place. I thought I heard a Bieber song in Spanish! Everyone was vibrating like atoms in a tightly packed crystal lattice. Yes, that's the best description possible. And I report that grinding is international. As a mechanical engineer, I certify that the Spanish grinding technique is more elegant and sensuous. It's amusing to watch some guys trying to hit on or grind with anything that moves. It's a strange mating ritual. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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How do you decide if you like someone just by the way they grind? Maybe they should take Pitbull's advice, "Grab somebody sexy, tell them hey, give me everything tonight" I suppose you can't really have a conversation in a club. I could say to someone that I'm from outer space looking to sacrifice humans for a ritual, and the other person will just nod and smile.<br /><br />I scoped around to look at the menu on offer, but I wouldn't order of course. In any case, there was a mismatch in supply and demand. From basic economics, I concluded that I'd be better off at a Yoga class. I should start a club called 'Grind-asana' or something to bring the supply and demand together. Our hostel group was fun though. I was lazily swaying to the music when this Italian guy tells me "Shake that ass." I told him that my preferred dance style was 'changing light bulbs'. After all when I dance to EDM, I appear as a cross between shivering and being electrocuted. After a few hours of shaking in random directions, I called it quits. For the better or worse, clubbing is the same all over the world. Yet another connection for humanity across the oceans.<br /><br />Onto something a little more mellow. Soccer, which they call football but I think should call dive ball. I couldn't score tickets to the El Classico at Nou Camp, so I settled for an inconsequential La Liga match between Real Madrid and Eibar. The Stadium is huge and I had seat at the very top. A bird's eye view, but without bird eyes. The ambiance was energetic with all the singing and the first half was fast paced. I loved when the announcer went "Goooal de Roooonaldooo". But what's with fans shooting videos of set pieces, that too in portrait mode? These are the same people who at live concerts watch it through their phones. As you can see, here we have morons connecting humanity across the world. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The match had some gripping moments for both sides, but ended 4-0 for Real Madrid. All in all, an experience to try out, even if you don't know any player besides Ronaldo.<br /><br />From the exulted football royalty to the ignored fancy hat royalty. Spain has a royal family despite a 40 year dictatorship. I was a little surprised with that fact. And Franco wasn't a nice dictator. Well they mostly aren't nice. Anyways, the royal family has a humongous palace although they don't live there, so you can tour the rooms. Kings and queens are weird in my opinion. Or maybe I'm just a simple minded commoner. Every room was so ornate, that I felt a little sick after a half hour. Why would you need everything to be in gold and silver? Why do they have chairs and couches for twenty people in the 'Dressing Room'. And unless you sleep with your eyes open and the lights on, that gorgeous painting on the bedroom ceiling is a waste. Also, I don't think I'd get much done if I sat in a golden high chair, surrounded by paintings, golden sculptures, dazzling chandeliers and wearing twenty pounds of clothes on a hot summers day.<br /><br />After Madrid, I journeyed south to Granada in Andalusia. Most of the famous Spanish traditions like Flamenco, tapas, bull fighting, etc. originated down there. Attending a Flamenco performance is a must. Dancers bust moves that appear like a hybrid between tap dancing and belly dancing, to some soulful singing and music. The Alhambra is the other must do and I'd recommend at least 4-5 hrs. Soak in the ambiance of royalty and ogle at the exquisite carvings on the palace walls. And don't forget to gaze at your imaginary kingdom from the watch tower. If you have some time, stroll the streets of Albayzin. They are a-maze-ing. Walk narrow alleys and stairways as you discover hidden plazas, markets and scintillating views of the Alhambra on the other side. The beautiful blend of European and Arabic cultures makes Granada a lovely place.<br /><br />I'll wind up Spain with a few stray thoughts. The food is very greasy and starchy. I once ordered a 'plate of ham'. And it was just that, a plate of ham. No sides or anything. They don't mess around here. Wine is an integral part of meals and is as cheap as water. I enjoyed sipping fine wine and watching the world go by in a quiet plaza of a small town, just as Hemmingway had described in his novel "The Sun also Rises." The siesta is absolutely sacred and you must plan your day around that. Though I read recently that the government was planning to do away it with it. It is interesting to see a town dead silent in the afternoon and then slowly come to life in the evening. Of course the bigger cities are always buzzing, though some tourist attraction may close in the afternoon. Going for a haircut when you don't know the language is a little nerve wrecking. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thankfully I don't have much hair, but when your barber is a bald guy, it doesn't inspire much confidence. You wouldn't go to a nudist tailor, would you? I told him to surprise me. And thankfully I was pleasantly surprised with the outcome.<br /><br />Lastly, I wanna mention something I learned during my time in Spain. Kiska, who hosted me in Granda, doesn't know any English and I don't know any Spanish. So we settled on French. I'm sure Kiska's French is great. But I think the French will go "Mon Dieu" and have a heart attack if they hear me speak French. I wished I knew Spanish so that I could converse with Kiska. But then I realized that you can't know every language. You need the attitude of embracing the unknown. You have to be friendly and hope that someone will help you out. My good friend Sara told me that I should use this experience to empathize with refugees who arrive in foreign lands not knowing the language and the society. And that made me think about my own prejudices against people different from me. I know I'm an immigrant myself. But my time in Spain has shown me how I get treated by people who are open minded and closed minded when it comes to immigrants and it was truly eye opening. All I can say is "do unto others what you want done unto you." There are some lovely people out there and may God bless their hearts. Yes, all we need is a little more love.<br /><br />Next up, Portugal. Maybe I might find some inheritance to the Mascarenhas family fortune. Until next time, Adios.<div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-34905030172118669202016-04-04T12:28:00.000-07:002016-04-04T12:42:05.716-07:00Barcelona - Fresh off the boat in Europe<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Now that Australia was under my belt, I was a world traveler. Bring it on Europe. I sat excitedly in the plane waiting for take off when the lady in front of me decided to put her head in my lap. Don't get any ideas, she just reclined all the way that I could almost stroke her forehead and sing a lullaby to her. I muttered to myself and put my head into the lap of the person behind me. I believe putting world leaders for 10 hours in economy class would bring world peace. Air travel gives a wonderful sense of community, except when you have to establish dominance over the arm rest in subtle ways.<br />
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After a long flight I was in Barcelona! I hopped of the bus and walked towards the hostel taking in the sights as I lugged my wardrobe with me. The alleys were a labyrinth which I could never have figured out without Google maps. But I liked what I saw. There was an air of joie de vivre around. People were well dressed and looked energetic. Maybe my senses were dulled by the slobs in silicon valley. Or maybe everyone looks well dressed when you wear five layers of clothes. And the food was cheap which surprised me as I hardly saw any overweight people around.<br />
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Early next morning, I decided to walk around the famous Gothic Quarter. Ancient buildings, crumbling walls, cobblestone streets and a plethora of public squares gives you sense of being in another time. And presently I came across the Cathedral. On a cold rainy Friday morning at 8am, I was the only tourist and the friendly guard waved me through without a ticket. And my lord I was treated to something special. I was alone in this magnificent temple of God. I was speechless, not that I was saying much before that given that I was alone. My heart soared as I imbibed in the beauty around me. It's hard not to feel a connection with the transcendent when you stand in the silence of a massive 800 year old cathedral surrounded by magnificent art. I was truly inspired and thanked God for the beauty in this world.<br />
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And beauty is in abundance in Barcelona. The spectacular Sagrada Familia, a masterpiece by Gaudi, God's architect, is a must visit. Despite the crowds and the commotion, it's hard not to be inspired by this incredible canvass of pure genius. Gaudi's work is brilliant from the standpoint of beauty, nature and spirituality. His use of curves and splines in 3D left me in awe. He is the paragon of attention to detail. He has accounted for the interplay of light and sound, for the structural integrity, for beauty and for scriptural accuracy. Gaudi is my hero for concocting this delightful cocktail of God, nature and engineering.<br />
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Now given that the only countries I've been to are the US and Australia, I braced myself for the language challenge. Spanish is largely an alphabet soup to me. I decided that not knowing the language was part of the adventure. I'm not usually a yes man but I did say Si to everything thrown my way. The extent of my Spanish was 'los angeles' and for some reason 'caliente'. Where would I need to say 'hot angels' is beyond me. I thought sign language would work. It does, but sometimes it can make you look quite stupid. I had gone to this Church that has the sword of St Ignatius but I couldn't find it. So I asked the priest who didn't know a word in English. How does one act out sword? I'm not a charades expert, but I think I did a pretty good job as he finally understood me. The priest must have thought I was nuts with all my theatrics. This was after I misunderstood the communion rite and tried to drink the Blood of Christ when it was only meant for dipping the Body. Imagine the scene with me trying to grab the chalice toward my month and the priest pulling it back. I had to let him win just because everyone was staring at this lanky Indian dude in shorts and t-shirt on a cold rainy morning.<br />
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All the gesturing and yanking had me hungry and I decided to get some food under my belt. I stepped into a homely cafe that had some delicious sandwiches and pastries displayed out front. I liked the ambiance where the diners seemed to be from the hood and had a friendly banter going. I stared at the menu for 5 minutes and finally spotted Americano under coffee and California under sandwiches. But I wanted to try something local. And there was a line of hungry people behind me. I took a shot in the dark hoping that I wouldn't die from the food or from the shame of committing a faux pas in my order. Thankfully Spanish food is generally safe and I don't have any severe allergies. As I sat at a table, I tried to fit in by browsing through the newspaper. I realized that pictures don't speak a thousand words, but nonetheless I flipped through with a pensive look on my face. I knew what my horoscope said of course. Good things and bad things are going to happen. The food was delicious and I felt I truly was in Europe. With cafes such as these why do people do McDonalds or Subway?<br />
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Questionable hostels are a quintessential part of backpacking in Europe. And so is couch surfing. I had never tried the latter before, although I have experience in corporate America's version on it, Airbnb. Hence spending a night at a strangers home is not a new experience. But why would anyone host for free? After reading a lot of online reviews, I concluded that letting strangers into your home is quite enjoyable for some people. From a safety perspective, I presume being a guy helps. All things considered, I decided to give it a shot.<br />
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Call it beginner's luck or Catalan hospitality, my first couch surfing experience was awesome. I connected <br />
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with Mar when I was looking for a host in Manresa, outside of Barcelona. She and her dad played tour guide and satisfied the desires of a Jesuit junkie that is me. Everything Ignatius in Montserrat and Manresa were covered. Throw in some Catalan traditions and stories over a sumptuous three hour Catalan lunch and you have a perfect day. I felt part of the proud Catalan culture, if only for a day. And who knew that my Indian accented English would be much celebrated in a tiny corner in Catalonia. The only thing they wanted from me was conversation in English. If only life were this easy everyday. <br />
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Next up, Valencia. I love Valencia Oranges and I can't wait to try the Oranges in Valencia.<br />
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-22699765556531821122016-03-31T21:36:00.000-07:002016-03-31T21:36:25.490-07:00Farewell Australia, until we meet againAs my time in Australia winds down, I have to wrap up a few stray thoughts about Oz. First, driving. To begin with, they drive on the wrong side of the road. But since I lean left, I didn't have problems keeping left. And they have roundabouts which can send you into a loop at first. But once you master the 'right side gets the right of way', it's smooth sailing. They are way more efficient than the 4 way stop signs in the US. Though sometimes the Aussies have gone overboard and put them on highways with a 100 kmph speed limit. Exiting a roundabout at high speeds is like performing the sling shot maneuver of satellites. You dive into the intersection slow enough to avoid the kerb and then accelerate through the curve, exiting hopefully still with your eyes open and your wheels still on the ground.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Second, nature. While I didn't get to experience the famed outback in Australia, I did get to sample what nature has to offer around Melbourne. The south coast is spectacular with the rugged sandstone cliffs set against a turquoise ocean. Sun kissed beaches in pretty little sheltered coves. <br />
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When the sun's out it's picture perfect. While the beaches are magnificent, the waterfalls are mediocre. Don't go chasing waterfalls near Melbourne. One of them was so insignificant that I realized I had passed it only after I saw an arrow pointed back the path I had come from. I was surprised as I'm quite good at spotting waterfalls. So I doubled back to see what I had missed. I didn't see anything of note until I came to another arrow pointing back on my doubled back path. I concluded the waterfall must be in between the two arrows. On careful inspection, I realized what would pass off as a storm water drain in most places was elevated to the status of a waterfall in the driest continent on earth. It truly is a dry place. A lake I visited was basically an open field covered with mud that looked slightly moist in some places. And the largest river in the country was about half a mile across close to its mouth. Suddenly California during the drought felt like a rainforest.<br />
<br />Lastly, railways. I decided to take train from Melbourne to Adelaide hoping to catch glimpses of the bush country and maybe the outback. When I had booked tickets, passengers were warned that check-ins would close at 7am for an 8am departure. Even flights close only 30mins prior. I dutifully arrived by 6:45am and was left sitting on the platform till 7:45am. Apparently the regulars knew that the whole 7am check in was baloney. The passengers were greeted over the PA system and few safety instructions dished out in case a snake was found on the train. Just kidding, no snakes on this train. These were followed by an extensive and wordy commentary about the food options available on the train. By the end of it I knew what the attendant's grandma's favorite quiche recipe was. Information filed under, will never use in the future. The scenery whizzing by was quite drab to say the least. A never ending sickly brown brush over an endless expanse of flat land. The amount of empty space is mind boggling. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Think Wyoming, much larger and more desolate. I guess everyone is in a long distance relationship by default here. And this wasn't even the worst. Flying from Adelaide to Perth, you see how unimaginably vast, desolate and dry Australia is. It's truly a wonder that the world's oldest continuous civilization survived in this God forsaken place. The next time someone says they need space, send them to the Australian Outback.<br /><br />A few passing remarks on Adelaide. It's like San Jose. It's big, it's important, but it will not be on anyone's travel bucket list. Unless, well nothing comes to mind. This one guy on knowing that I came from San Jose Calif, looked anxious and said that he had been to San Francisco but not San Jose. I told him to not sweat over it. He said he wanted to see where the big three, namely Google, Apple and FB were located. I replied not San Jose and repeated to not sweat over it. Adelaide is in the same league as San Jose. It's alright, but not striking. And all the nice places are a short drive away, just like San Jose.<br /><br />Goodbye Australia. Not sure when we'll meet again. Maybe I'll check out Thunder from Down Under whenever I miss you.<br /><br />Thanks to Richard and Shweta for hosting in Melbourne.<div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-44593737699312844232016-03-23T20:47:00.002-07:002016-03-23T20:47:38.650-07:00Melbourne - It's heaps of funI continued my peregrinations down under in Melbourne, the world's most livable city. I can see why it has captured that crown. It has a lively arts and culture scene, a plethora of cuisines and cafes, classy arcades for shopping, beautiful parks and trails, great public transportation, street music, a generous sprinkling of hipsters and very friendly people. Sydney is clean and efficient, but is rather one dimensional and sterile. Melbourne has character and I'd give it a Daniel-Recommended badge.<br />
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Strolling around Melbourne, you get a taste of its artsy vibe. You walk down alleys and arcades lined by cafes and bars. The cuisines are as varied as the people you see around you. It is a melting pot of people from the world over. The alleys are like a box of chocolates, you never know what you will find next. Some are covered with street art (euphemism for graffiti), or you might run into a Mumford and Sons cover band. Sometimes you might see some building from the Victorian era. I love the Victorian architecture brick and cast iron edifices. It's a shame that a lot of it was torn down in Melbourne in the 60s. But the little that remains, blended with modern and post modern styles make for a eclectic mix of contrasting styles. Eventually I ended up at the Anglican Cathedral and was treated to delightful performance of classical music. I'm no expert in any kind of music, but it was a pleasure to sit in a magnificent cathedral and listen to a virtuosic performance on the grand organ. Personally, I'm used to perceiving beauty visually, and I realized that I have ignored beauty in sound. Thank you Asian guy for that wonderful afternoon.<br />
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When it comes to tall buildings, Melbourne ranks outside the top 100 of the world. But I'd still recommend the Eureka Skydeck. It always an exhilarating experience to view a city from a high up vantage point. The cars appear like ants and the trains like caterpillars. You imagine different people going about their lives with trains to catch and appointments to keep. As I walked out cheerfully, I was stopped by a tourist couple. I guess have spent so much time in Melbourne that I got asked for directions. Maybe I'm the world's most interesting man because when I'm on vacation, the locals ask me for directions. Stay thirsty my friends.<br />
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A few other observations in Australia. A tip is not expected at a restaurant and since tax is included in the price, it feels like eating out is 25% off! Hurray for livable minimum wage. And that I presume makes for a more egalitarian society. Very few homeless people and very few Teslas on the street. But I also see the downside of excessive government spending. Does every train station need so many assistants? Does it take 15 cops to control pedestrian traffic at an intersection? Just thoughts of a visitor, who is here today and gone tomorrow, that should be taken with a pinch of salt. So what do Australians do with the extra cash? They go to milk bars! They are all over the place. It is said, "Alcohol doesn't solve any problems, but then again, neither does milk." Maybe in Australia milk does. I imagine Aussies going in for a glass of milk on Friday nights. Shots of half and half for the extra kick. Cheese if you are looking for a 'cultural' experience. And when you review the milk bar, it will have at least 4 stars. Honestly every cafe I reviewed has more than 4 stars on Google and Trip Advisor. Is everything is that good? Or that bad, depending on your perspective.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVXQ1iimiUWIV5LX40UxfVSUrWsBmN-O0aAogo46D1I_tu6HciBqgT0G2E1wcBUIcPySzh2McfewcR9qfW2Nzup3oP-sjfvMrJjz-rndYIPPZChSjIqqEV-El2KM1bYN3Pb5g8cBnU40/s1600/IMG_3483.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZVXQ1iimiUWIV5LX40UxfVSUrWsBmN-O0aAogo46D1I_tu6HciBqgT0G2E1wcBUIcPySzh2McfewcR9qfW2Nzup3oP-sjfvMrJjz-rndYIPPZChSjIqqEV-El2KM1bYN3Pb5g8cBnU40/s200/IMG_3483.jpg" width="200" /></a>Lastly, I would like to mention Emily, who I met on the flight from Honolulu to Sydney. We started chatting and got to know that we both loved desserts. She mentioned that mince pies are delicious, but unfortunately they are made only around Christmas time. I thought I'd have to make a Christmas visit to try this delicacy, but lo and behold, Emily mailed a package of mince pies to me in Melbourne when she found some back in Sydney after I had left. How about that for a connection with a stranger (now friend) who she may never see again? Travel reminds us that people are generally good and sometimes excellent.<br />
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Sometimes during travel, we tend to spend too much time planning the future and too little time engaging the present. I was reminded of a Calvin & Hobbs quote "we are always looking ahead that we don't enjoy where we are." I guess enjoying where you are is easy when you are in a beautiful city like Melbourne. I look a around and see beauty. I realize how we are all human. The kindness, the humor, the joy etc. unites us no matter who we are and where we are. And also bad drivers. I'm happy to report that there are morons on the road here as well. Road rage is that unseen cord that connects humanity across the seas. And wine snobs. Yes, they are here as well.<br />
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<br />Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-862494007675616262016-03-12T21:20:00.000-08:002016-03-12T21:21:24.658-08:00Fun in the sun, down-un'As I flew from Hawaii to the the Sydney, I crossed the date line and lost a day. With a blink of the eye, it was next day, same time. Imagine falling into a deep sleep and walking up exactly 24 hrs later. Thankfully it was the leap day, the spare day we get once every four years (except multiples of 100, but not 400. It's complicated) So I used a quirk of the calendar that gives us one extra day to pay for the quirk of timezones that cost me a day. It was a fair deal and I called it even. In addition, this was my first time in the southern hemisphere. I did feel my world turn upside down, but I attributed that to motion sickness from some unexpected high altitude turbulence.<br />
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Touchdown in Sydney and it was time to explore. I went straight to the Opera House and photographed it from various angles, light conditions, camera settings, filters, etc. After all that is the only landmark of Sydney that really stands out and I was out to get the most mileage out of it. The Opera house construction has an expected story of projects going well over budget, just this time a whopping 1457% over budget. Ok, let's take a few more pictures, in the hope that it justifies the cost just a little bit.<br />
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My impressions of Sydney were that it was clean and had a relaxed vibe, even for a big city. The sticker shock was alleviated slightly by a favorable exchange rate for the USD. Though with tax is included in the price, it feels like you get 9% off on everything. Public transport is excellent and very affordable. I used the ferry service for cheap cruises around the harbor. Expert tip, the best views of the city are to be had from the ferry. Yet another angle for that internet picture of the Opera House.<br />
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As I wandered around the city, I noticed that sight seeing has been replaced by sight backing. Everyone gets to a landmark and then turns around for a selfie. People watching is a lot of fun near famous landmarks. Why do people yell for a picture? After a while, the Australian heat got to me and I headed indoors to a museum. I wanted to get acquainted with the all killer creatures that Australia was famous for. It's good to know your enemy before the battle. There will be no battle for me as Australia's fauna is way out of my league. Most dangerous jellyfish, octopus, spider, snake, crocodile, shark make for a formidable line up. Half the creatures' poison had no known antidotes. A sting from a box jellyfish can kill an adult human in four minutes. I instinctively stepped back from the exhibit and crossed myself silently. The whole nope creatures exhibit gave me chills and I stepped out into the sunshine, pondering these creatures lurking around me.<br />
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Australia is famous for sun kissed beaches backed up against the deep blue ocean. The beaches are pretty and more so, the people. Bondi was packed with 6 packs. It was like being at beautiful people convention and I felt rather out of place. I wondered how could everyone be so gorgeous. I concluded that there might be a correlation between fitness and good looks. I was told that body scrutinizing is a Sydney pastime. I can safely declare that it is a rewarding pastime. I promised to have a 6 pack the next time at Bondi. No, not a 6 pack of Budlight. I will have to change my go to gym from Jim Beam to something else.<br />
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After Sydney it was onto Brisbane famous mainly for a a city near it. Gold Coast. It is like someone being friends with you because your brother is so cool, not entirely unique I suppose. Gold Coast is like the Vegas of Australia. It's a curious assortment of tourist traps. There is a strip club next to an antique photo shop. There's a tarot card reader stall next to one that sells organic dog shampoo. Throw in a guy with pet snakes charging a $20 for a picture with his snake around your neck. And top it off with a stand talking about Jesus opposite to a table talking about Allah. Whatever floats your boat.<br />
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One thing I enjoyed about the beaches is that the water is warm. All NorCal peeps will understand this sentiment. It is inexplicably a lot of fun to thrash around in the ocean. Only the ocean can bring back that unbridled joy from our childhood. Maybe that's why there are nude beaches and not nude ice cream shops. I can attest that bathing in the ocean au naturel is a rather liberating experience. Just make sure the tide is not going out because as Warren Buffet said "Only when the tide goes out do you discover who has been swimming naked"<br />
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A few miscellaneous observations. Timezones in Australia are weird. Brisbane that lies 8 degrees to the east of Melbourne is an hour behind. They use the metric system, which while refreshing in its simplicity certainly lacks in character. I like that there are 5280 ft in mile or 128 oz in a gallon. And I found an entire store dedicated to tea. I remembered an incident an Aussie guy had narrated to me a few years back. Once he was hiking in a Tasmanian snowstorm and came across a lost hiker. Assessing the gravity of the situation and that the hiker was a nervous wreck, his first course of action was to fix up a cuppa before proceeding any further. Tea must be serious business here but food portions are rather small. I am used to American servings where you eat not until you are full, but until you are sick. While the large serving sizes are bad for the waist lines, we at least get our money's worth. Also, houses here don't have massive garages that cover half the front of the house. I wonder where they store the bikes that have not been used since 2005, the kayaks since the 2003 floods, the power tools since Jim gave up on woodworking in 1995; the antique clock sitting silent in the hope of being discovered someday, etc etc. And lastly, the Aussie accent is delightful to the ear. There is an informal and friendly tone built into the accent that I wonder how it sounds when people fight or have a formal business meeting. Maybe in this slice of paradise, they have neither.<br />
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Thanks to Sampath and Sean for hosting me.<br />
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Ok, it is time for my high tea.<br />
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-18134953651416394862016-03-06T14:58:00.000-08:002016-03-06T14:58:47.358-08:00A little more AlohaOk, Hawaii has more than beaches, volcanoes and pineapples, as incorrectly described in my last post. Well there is spam. And there are rainforests. And I concluded that GPS doesn't work in Hawaii as I met numerous people who were trying to find themselves. And the answer to global warming may be the tapping of the ubiquitous energy vortices all around the islands. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hawaii is truly a state of mind, which can get high based on breathing the fumes from volcanoes or weed.<br /><br />Hiking in a rainforest is scary. I have probably hiked over a thousand miles of trails in CA. I'm at ease in the clean, manicured forests of northern CA where everything is well behaved. In a rainforest, everything is out to get you. Insects, reptiles, plants with thorns, plants with weird oils that make you itch, plants that look plain evil. But since I was in Hawaii and since I like hiking, I had to hike in a rainforest. The rainforests of Hawaii are more welcoming. It is said that the plants and animals of Hawaii lost most of their defense mechanisms (aka scary features) because there was very little competition on these isolated islands. Until of course man arrived and all hell broke loose. But don't be put off by those nasty tropical plants. A hike in a lush forest is a spiritual experience. The strong aroma from the trees and the wet earth, the chirping of countless birds and critters and the bright green all around mixes up for a wonderful cocktail that quietens the busy mind and relaxes the weary body. Until of course something crawls up my leg.<br /><br />After all the nature and man v/s wild experiences, I decided I should feed my non existent cultured side by attending a luau at an expensive resort. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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How apt to reenact a rather primitive culture on the manicured lawns of a 5 star beach resort? The food was delicious and the hula dancing enchanting. Boy, those hips don't lie. They tell a story, I'm told. I wasn't sure how to read a story from a dance, but those gyrations did spin a tale. After a few Mai Tais, my mind wandered and pondered on the way rich people vacation. I wondered if mediocre pasta tastes delicious at a resort. Is going on an adventure tour really an adventure? Do they like puns?On a plus side, peeing at night is not a hassle. You don't have to worry about stumbling on some night beast when you step out of your tent or worse, run into wasted guys at the hostel restrooms. I have camped at dozens of campgrounds, but have never stayed at a 5 star resort. I'll need someone to sponsor me a 5 star vacation and then I'll make a accurate comparison.<br /><br />Thus I bid Aloha to the land of Aloha. Onward and southward to Australia. Until next time, hang loose and have a great day mate.<br /><div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-40155067910337715812016-02-27T16:58:00.001-08:002016-02-27T16:58:04.598-08:00Aloha from Hawaii<br />
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Welcome to paradise. What does one think off when one hears Hawaii? For me it was beaches, volcanoes and pineapples. I'm not a great swimmer (I always look like I'm in survival mode, flailing around), I don't surf (except on the internet) and I don't need to work on my tan (I'm already a rich mocha). But I did enjoy snorkeling. It was like being in an aquarium. The colorful corals and fish set in stunning turquoise blue waters was breathtaking (no, I wasn't choking on the snorkel mask). It's a whole other world out there that we don't think about. So much color, so much life, so much beauty. I have always said that I wish I could fly, but now I think swimming to the depths of the ocean would be a nice super power as well.<br /><br />The volcanic landscape is from out of this world. The Halleakala crater has been rightly described as a lunar landscape. It is completely barren and so quiet that it is unnerving. The brilliant rock colors kaleidoscopic. As an aside, the sunset from 10k feet, above the clouds made me feel like I was in heaven. While Halleakala on Maui is an older volcano and has been eroded, Kilauea on the Big Island is younger. I walked on lava that was completely hardened only 20 years back. Hiking on a lava lake while listening to birdsong is an surreal experience. It's a stark contrast of beauty and destruction. The rocks splintered and cracked rocks make for fascinating patterns. And while life has begun to find it's way onto the lava field in the form of grass and shrub, it was fascinating to imagine the volcano with its blazing cauldron sloshing and exploding. The raw power of nature in all it's glory. One evening, I viewed a glowing lava field from a distance. Even from a mile, you could sense the power of the underworld forces. I visited a town that was threatened by lava flows last year. It's unnerving to see that wherever the lava had flowed, the land was completely destroyed with no hopes of rebuilding for a long time. Damn nature, you are scary. Oh and to top it all, you land on a lava field at the Kona airport. <br /><br />One thing I noticed was that there were only Hawaii plate cars around. Then I realized that I was on one of the most isolated islands in the world. And how they hell did the Polynesians find these tiny pieces of rock in the vast Pacific? One of humanity's great mysteries. They navigated to these islands without modern instruments. Look it up. I talked to one of the guys who moved to Hawaii 10 years back about the difference between life on the mainland and life on the islands. He said there is a greater sense of community and belonging as the land and the people are finite. You can't be rude to anyone as you never know when your paths will cross again. There is a greater involvement in community affairs due to the culture and the small size of the community. And imagine there actually being a limit on options available. For e.g cars, doctors, lawyers, hotels, etc. If you don't find something you like, you actually have to accept it and you can't say I'll drive a 100 miles to find it.<br /><br />A few thoughts about travel in general. For me being on vacation is not a matter of checking things of a list. I do like taking pictures like the ones already there on the internet. But being on vacation is more than that. It is being: present to yourself and to the sights around you. It is about seeing something new and experiencing something different. It is good to identify the goals of travel. For me setting expectations is the first step towards satisfaction. The goals could be bucket list, pictures, nature, food, people, experiences, getting away or being open for something new. It also helps to understand the difference between pleasure, happiness and joy. And I believe the questions to be answered is, how does travel lead to joy?<br /><br />In these early days of my trip, I do feel a little overwhelmed. A sense of loss after the farewells coupled with being on the road for the next few months makes me a little uneasy. But I know that as I settle into a routine and learn to be more present to myself and to God, I will be more at ease with this whole adventure. After all this has been my dream for a long time. I look forward to new sights, experiences, food, people and adventures.<br /><br /><div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsaE259IxxqhDREBpjYLuy3BDQaXs0wKeE-VHErPoNDwyJ7Qv23nFELNIDLM48FMeOSq8KvJR8Z0Hzw5cE5eH1uJjHLxNnK82Q8sLlJ22fYwUbIhOjI5blKs50QmJQHybZawJ_mZqQC8/s1600/IMG_2692.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsaE259IxxqhDREBpjYLuy3BDQaXs0wKeE-VHErPoNDwyJ7Qv23nFELNIDLM48FMeOSq8KvJR8Z0Hzw5cE5eH1uJjHLxNnK82Q8sLlJ22fYwUbIhOjI5blKs50QmJQHybZawJ_mZqQC8/s200/IMG_2692.jpg" width="200" /></a>If you don't like raunchy humor, please stop here and wait for my next post in a few days. So I was at a beach the other day. The turquoise blue water and white sands made for a spectacular setting. As I pondered on how to capture it with my camera, I spotted a path leading up to a small cliff at one end of the beach. As I neared the top with my camera in hand, I saw the path continue further down to another beach. And lo and behold I was at a nude beach. It was as unexpected as the Spanish Inquisition. There were no signs expect for one that said no life guards on duty. I guess naked people have a natural buoyancy? I quickly put away my camera and selfie stick, because who wants to be seen at a nude beach with those things in hand? I avoided eye contact as it was difficult to make eye contact and I wasn't sure if it was against nude beach etiquette. I didn't want to butt heads with anyone. Now, nudists are usually the kind of people you don't want to see naked. I would say it wasn't the case this time. For a split moment, I considered putting and checking of 'swimming naked at a nude beach' off my bucket list. And as Nelly says "It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes." It was a hot day and it was tempting. I could end this post right here, but I'm not the kind of guy to leave anything hanging. At that moment I was too afraid of raising any red flags as I wasn't sure of the do's and don'ts at a nude beach. What if they went nuts all of a sudden? What if they didn't appreciate my assets? Some of them looked a little testy. So I threw in the towel and left, saving my birthday suit swim for another day. All puns, real or imaginary, in this account are intended.<br /></div>
Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-74408502015695813252016-02-24T19:03:00.000-08:002016-02-24T19:03:18.924-08:00In America, we do road trips.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBJoExgvfCXYTtfGSudHqh0Uj2XfD9UGzn-FJvjeOjR3z3PKfbFJH6vXaNmrLioOmW4d6rPTWollyY657UaUi4l24ZwX1oyb1AKwxWYRGk1epiK2OR6kK6gXxjNNfkauGPa5QrPrpvbQ/s1600/IMG_2623.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigBJoExgvfCXYTtfGSudHqh0Uj2XfD9UGzn-FJvjeOjR3z3PKfbFJH6vXaNmrLioOmW4d6rPTWollyY657UaUi4l24ZwX1oyb1AKwxWYRGk1epiK2OR6kK6gXxjNNfkauGPa5QrPrpvbQ/s320/IMG_2623.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
Road trips are a quintessential American vacation. Open roads, spectacular scenery and the ubiquitous McDonald's make for memorable experiences. I usually avoided road trips as it violated my law of travel. "Time spent at a place should be greater than twice the total time spent in transit in a car/plane/train. Time spent sleeping is not counted." And then there are the annoyances of driving, which I'll get to after extolling the merits of a road trip. But this time, since I had the time and a car which I have to get rid off after driving only 40k miles, I decided to do a road trip up the west coast. <br />
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Cruising along an open highway with the wind on my windshield (sorry, I don't have a convertible) and the music set to Bon Jovi is something one yearns for. Isn't it awesome that approximately 1 day of walking = 1 hr of biking, and 1 day of biking = 1 hr of driving, and 1 day of driving = 1 hr of flying? What an incredible blessing modern technology is. And the spectacular scenery whizzing by makes you feel glad to be alive. This indescribable joy that swells within you. For an instant everything is perfect. You just thank God for the gift of the present. It great to feel free, completely. No emails to worry about, no chores, no appointments. It's magical to wake up every morning and feel a sense of adventure well up from within.<br />
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For me, this joy leads to gratitude. And at this point as the farewells have wound down, my mind drifted towards the wonderful friendships I have had in the Bay Area. They say hindsight is 20/20. And truly I saw in retrospect (and after staring at I-5 for 7 hrs straight) the blessing my friends have been. I'm excited about the next phase of my life, but I can't help feeling a strong sense of nostalgia and loss. When everything is done and dusted, what you are left is with are memories. A shout out to all my friends who laughed and cried with me, who put up with my quirks, who let me share my life with them and their life with me. Isn't it ironic that happy memories make for sad farewells? Life moves on. And until we meet again, may God hold them in the palm of his hand.<br />
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I pondered on traveling alone v/s traveling with friends. Traveling alone has its perks. A great sense of freedom to choose what and when you'll do with your time. I love photography and sometimes it requires patience, which most non photographers don't understand. Traveling alone gives a lot more time to ponder and reflect on what you see and experience. You learn a lot about yourself and you gain confidence and a sense of independence after a successful solo trip. When you are alone, there's a much higher chance of talking to strangers and getting to know people outside of your daily life. Having said that, I prefer traveling with friends. I love having friends to share the memories and experiences with. Things you can laugh about years later. I love having friends give me pity laughs for my lame jokes. Also, as a team, travel can seem less daunting. But this trip will be mostly solo, because who else gets 6 months to travel?<br />
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And as promised earlier, I present the annoyances of driving. The main annoyance of driving are the moronic drivers. There are the left lane campers who believe it is their birthright to be in the left lane, no matter the speed they are traveling at. And there are the high beam gangsters who I think are signalling to their alien overlords in the night sky. What about those people who drive real slow on windy roads (understandable), but never use the turnouts and speed up whenever there is a passing lane? Finally, we have the group that believes blinkers are Christmas lights on their cars and never actually use them while turning or changing lanes. I'm sure there are many more. But I don't want to dwell too much on moronic drivers as it makes me irrationally angry and that leads me to break my lenten promise of being more charitable in my thoughts.<br />
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And so the road trip section of my travel ends. Now I downsize from my car to a backpack. The world beckons. Next stop, Hawaii!</div>
Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-65416406089734517652016-02-12T21:50:00.000-08:002016-02-12T21:50:23.606-08:00Wander and wonder<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWERDXSirtMq6CfDFa0DeHGQjYSABcTxrhN_nSlIbUdOqYYUUOpxi_sjZ10dGDnRba_-yOSX98rc61PzVrA9LZLewfdo8xYbExZVoVK-iurzF-2dpArsVi1QNbadboFVj4MPqrxL_XTjE/s1600/IMG_2358.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWERDXSirtMq6CfDFa0DeHGQjYSABcTxrhN_nSlIbUdOqYYUUOpxi_sjZ10dGDnRba_-yOSX98rc61PzVrA9LZLewfdo8xYbExZVoVK-iurzF-2dpArsVi1QNbadboFVj4MPqrxL_XTjE/s200/IMG_2358.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Quit the job and travel. Isn't that the dream? Go where the wind takes you. You have months off and no real plan. Instead of the usual 'days off and every hour is planned'. Finally that dream has come true for me with a little help from corporate America. I have the next 6-7 months off and the world beckons. For the first time in my life, time and money presented themselves together. It is an exhilarating feeling. I thank God for giving me this gift and this opportunity to explore this beautiful world.</span></div>
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<br />I love travelling. I love seeing new places, meeting people and experiencing new things. Travel is a wonderful teacher. It has taught me to go with the flow. It's good to have a general plan, but don't make it too rigid that you'll be annoyed if it doesn't work out. It has taught me to live in the moment. If you spend every minute planning for the next event in your life, have you lived at all? It has taught me to trust God and to trust myself. Yes, we make a great team. It has taught me to take one thing at a time and to have fun. It has taught me to avoid FOMO (fear of missing out). After all even Bill Gates with his billions, will not see everything. So why am I so bothered that I didn't see that perfect view of Yosemite valley with just the right amount of snow, clouds and sun? Well, I think I did see that. But you get the drift. </div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-XWk7w2MKMRyj3xviB7pcwZRA9ftRhe49p7QbNaDWva7dhpLsFaoLBXKsL3nktPj4n9iDPu6wk6nOl09Y9Hgy7wTd8qvOn9Dk0XJi3862hNlJvwzbpdlap3GB9rgeNgHRXJniUaIFdh0/s1600/IMG_2397.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-XWk7w2MKMRyj3xviB7pcwZRA9ftRhe49p7QbNaDWva7dhpLsFaoLBXKsL3nktPj4n9iDPu6wk6nOl09Y9Hgy7wTd8qvOn9Dk0XJi3862hNlJvwzbpdlap3GB9rgeNgHRXJniUaIFdh0/s200/IMG_2397.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />Travel has taught me to trust people. Granted that I'm a 6 ft male and I have never been in an unsafe situation, but I have learned that people are generally nice (except while driving). People are just like you and me, no matter their culture, race, gender, faith, sexual orientation, political affiliation, sports fanaticism, coffee preference, and whatever other way we divide ourselves. Travel has taught me to see beauty in God's creation. In nature, in people, in technology. Travel makes me happy to be alive.</div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xQzocpryCm5jKo6-kg67ebq47WMB_6fT9TURrTFxxI8HnhgbJQpoBC1Sq9LjxpdkQr27l7cLMFjrId-TEI5lkt4hzhLyau6zWy0Xr9vicpHhmBobdHFQfX5E09q0z8FrdoS9sheGxIk/s1600/IMG_2586.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2xQzocpryCm5jKo6-kg67ebq47WMB_6fT9TURrTFxxI8HnhgbJQpoBC1Sq9LjxpdkQr27l7cLMFjrId-TEI5lkt4hzhLyau6zWy0Xr9vicpHhmBobdHFQfX5E09q0z8FrdoS9sheGxIk/s320/IMG_2586.jpg" width="320" /></a>I'm on the road now. I'm living out of my car and have driven over a thousand miles since Feb 1. It is amazing how little you need when everything you need is in your car. Soon I'll be downsizing to a backpack. It's fun to wake up in the morning and wonder what would I fancy today. So far some experiences have remained with me. Drinking the perfect hot chocolate at Ghiradelli square on a cold rainy day in SF. Relaxing in a hot tub overlooking the Pacific at Pigeon Pt. Snowball fights with friends in Tahoe. Driving down Hwy1 in Big Sur on a perfect day with a raging ocean pounding the sandstone cliffs. Catching a street performance in SLO and laughing until my sides hurt. Chasing waterfalls in Portland. Hiking among and hugging the redwoods in Redwood NP.</div>
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<br />I have slept in hostels, Airbnbs, motels, cabins <span style="text-align: center;">and friend's homes. Thanks to Michael, Zach, Brian, Dan, Dan, Troy and Lindsay for opening your homes to me. Friends are the family we choose. True that. I gotta mention this one Airbnb place in Portland. She wasn't at home, so finding the key in her backyard was one treasure hunt with the fear of someone calling the cops on me. Trying to read her identity from her home decor was another big puzzle. My conclusion was hipster-hippie vegan lesbian Catholic. And her bathroom takes the cake. There is a full size window next to the shower without a curtain. I guess she likes an audience during showers? Thankfully the window fogged up pretty quickly once the shower was running.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Over the next few months I plan to hit up Hawaii, Australia, Europe and Goa. May my energy and money last the entire trip. And may God help me find Him in all things at all times.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br />Peace</span><br />
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-90053868898797663082015-08-10T20:23:00.001-07:002015-08-10T20:52:34.758-07:00Answering the call of Mt Whitney<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOlNwpMoZ_1n6k_6h4YPJkR4TVRueoi1VpGaGeopvXBjg048meRLMJ3fXhIHbLfNvoA6tui5s_mwxDL6eOF3tpxzrN8tLKTOHHcIMldIUnRIXX19otfQpHBrRLGWvxOqr4EaRHvZ5Uj8/s1600/IMG_9189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><strike><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhOlNwpMoZ_1n6k_6h4YPJkR4TVRueoi1VpGaGeopvXBjg048meRLMJ3fXhIHbLfNvoA6tui5s_mwxDL6eOF3tpxzrN8tLKTOHHcIMldIUnRIXX19otfQpHBrRLGWvxOqr4EaRHvZ5Uj8/s200/IMG_9189.JPG" width="200" /></strike></a></div>
Why do you want to climb Whitney? "Because it's there." That's adapting Mallory's famous words about Mt Everest. This was the 4th year that I was going to attempt to summit Whitney. The last three years were unsuccessful due to various reasons including last year when we hit by a thunderstorm. Was 2015 going to be it? The weather forecast called for 40% chance of rain the following day. My friend's altimeter on his watch was beeping with pressure fluctuations. Was that a sign of the storm? Another guy had seen a red moon. Apocalypse anyone?<br />
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The day dawned bright and clear, we got an early start at 7:30am and I was feeling alive. Despite having a pack weighing in at 43 lbs, I was hiking at a brisk pace. I briefly stopped to chat with a guy <br />
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who seemed bursting with a joy that was contagious. I told him about my three previous failed attempts. He promised to send positive energy my way and said that I would make it this time. I decided that I was gonna summit on day 1 itself. All that interval run training was coming good and I made it to trail camp at 11:30am. I had hiked 6.3miles, 3800 ft in about 4 hours. I emptied my pack, had a quick lunch and refilled my water. I gave myself 7 hours to summit and be back at trail camp. That would be 9 miles and 2500 ft climbing. Doable. And I was off. </div>
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I was feeling good, though the altitude was affecting me. The previous night I had slept at 5000 ft, not exactly at a high enough elevation to acclimate. Trail camp is at 12000 ft. I was getting a slight headache and was feeling a little short of breath. The smoke from a wildfire was irritating my throat. <br />
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But I stayed focused on a steady pace with a 10min break every hour. The scenery was stunning. Eastern Sierra is spectacular with a stark beauty of ragged mountains and deep blue lakes. I finally made it to Trailcrest and there was slight downhill of 200 feet that felt great after the 99 switchbacks of climbing. The fork in the trail marked 1.9 miles to go. The summit was in sight. But those last 1.9 miles took a good 2 hours. I had underestimated that hiking gets exponentially difficult as you climb higher. I stuck with my hourly breaks, but I was getting nervous about the time. Everyone was descending. I estimated that I had to summit by 4pm to have a good chance of making it to camp by dark. I reminded myself of the positive energy that was wished to me eons back. I kept my body fueled with water and food. Finally, after almost 9 hours of hiking, the little hut at the summit came into view. What a glorious sight it was! I had summited Mt Whitney! </div>
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I was elated. I was on top of the world or on the top of continental US at least. Fabulous views in all directions, slightly blocked out by the smoke. I took a few pictures and soaked in the magnificent scenery. I wrote my name in the register and took a picture of it for good measure. Time to head back as I didn't want to hike in the dark. I made good ground until I came to the slight uphill of 200 ft. I could barely move. Every step was excruciating. My head was throbbing. I was a little concerned about falling into a stupor and losing my way. So I tried to stay alert by doing math problems. At one point, I wanted to sit and rest, but I was worried that I might not be able to stand again. So I just leaned against a rock and caught by breath. I remembered the positive energy wished on to me. I think that guy was God. He had taken me to the top and would take me back down. I dragged myself to trail crest after which the trail would be all downhill. After a mighty struggle I made it to Trailcrest. As I descended I got my wind back and picked up my hiking speed. I reached trail camp just after 7pm. A long 12 hour hike was done. It was time to bask in the glory of achieving </div>
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something thousands of people do every year. But hey, I had earned it. And I had earned a good night's rest without the need to rise at 3am the following morning to summit.</div>
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The next day I woke up at sunrise. There she was bathed in morning light. I snapped a few pictures of the glory of God's creation. I packed up and headed down. Goodbye Whitney, it was nice meeting you. Someday we might meet again.</div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-6508297431903862982015-04-04T10:23:00.000-07:002015-04-05T16:22:53.367-07:00Running a Marathon, the whole 46,145 yards<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Marathon, the ultimate endurance
race, the common bucket list item, the new years resolution, the
passion, the ego booster, the masochist's hobby. I finally thought,
why not?<span style="font-size: small;"> </span>The
idea to run a marathon came from a mixture of ego, vanity, Facebook,
bucket list, 2014 new years resolutions, etc.
The idea was just the beginning. The race is long after that.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikppaMkKiCT7Vkqq57giidHG62V2-Hb94EN2BrYn9kbwiqKLr5h5xqxgvPG_nQMFCTaFqBq4rEIyxzl7aA5BzlgyRMLP8XfNNA92ImB0zFcsZGkZ0mfD1Mlq2EDJxZOsBvrF4GjOQ6hsw/s1600/248494_186783649_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikppaMkKiCT7Vkqq57giidHG62V2-Hb94EN2BrYn9kbwiqKLr5h5xqxgvPG_nQMFCTaFqBq4rEIyxzl7aA5BzlgyRMLP8XfNNA92ImB0zFcsZGkZ0mfD1Mlq2EDJxZOsBvrF4GjOQ6hsw/s1600/248494_186783649_XLarge.jpg" height="200" width="149" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alright,
I got the idea. Next up, which one? Schedule, logistics and level of
difficulty were considered. I finally settled on Napa as it would
give me a few months to train, it was within driving distance and it
was a flat course. Also March would mean cooler temperatures, which
would help my cause. Now for shoes. I started with Vibram Five Finger
as I had enjoyed running barefoot in the past. But my feet were pulp
after 7-8 miles on asphalt. I needed the padding. So I decided to go
with Asics Electro 33. Now running shoes are a religion
and I will not get into that debate. You have all sorts of theories
as to what works. I went for low price, minimal sole and light
weight. Now I was ready to hit the ground running.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaW_etKO4bz5ickgPI_zC0vkJ4jK6pu0a_6j9T3przvqCbdBNVyrs_zf4YPTknscK117l1CwFgtcXZfNbFudh58PUgZd-UAn8xj4Kt4-7HVX2IcTvY3xBsf6GIJaGrkwKTWwJWEJIS2C0/s1600/248494_186866524_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHRCJrP9de7dnUJVrRTVtP99QtWgpc_g46XT6EidKZCUulgORXNL4E-kC_mndOVcyJIThXJY_TlKKRXo_Kt3sDWWPax7VnrxBNQuPg2Gtw6pKAulpT1ci1eQgZY0-SWNS56eTF2rhmo8/s1600/BIG_32502013W1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaW_etKO4bz5ickgPI_zC0vkJ4jK6pu0a_6j9T3przvqCbdBNVyrs_zf4YPTknscK117l1CwFgtcXZfNbFudh58PUgZd-UAn8xj4Kt4-7HVX2IcTvY3xBsf6GIJaGrkwKTWwJWEJIS2C0/s1600/248494_186866524_XLarge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaW_etKO4bz5ickgPI_zC0vkJ4jK6pu0a_6j9T3przvqCbdBNVyrs_zf4YPTknscK117l1CwFgtcXZfNbFudh58PUgZd-UAn8xj4Kt4-7HVX2IcTvY3xBsf6GIJaGrkwKTWwJWEJIS2C0/s1600/248494_186866524_XLarge.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHRCJrP9de7dnUJVrRTVtP99QtWgpc_g46XT6EidKZCUulgORXNL4E-kC_mndOVcyJIThXJY_TlKKRXo_Kt3sDWWPax7VnrxBNQuPg2Gtw6pKAulpT1ci1eQgZY0-SWNS56eTF2rhmo8/s1600/BIG_32502013W1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So how to choose a marathon training
plan? Depends on how long will your training stretch and how many
days a week you are willing to train. I made a hybrid plan after
looking at a few websites. My goal was a 3:59:59 marathon. The
training definitely tested my resolve. Running in the pre dawn
darkness on cold winter mornings can make you question your sanity.
Weekends had to be planned around long runs. Food had to be planned
starting the previous night. One Sunday morning, I started running at
6am in the hope of the beating the rain forecast for 9am. I had 18
miles scheduled. It was cold and windy, but I was determined. A few
minutes in, and the heavens open up. Here I was running in the rain.
I couldn't run fast enough to keep myself warm and I started
shivering. I felt like a moron. I questioned the purpose of this
endeavor. I thought about a warm bed and a cup of hot chocolate. I
eventually put mind over matter and slogged on for nearly 3 hours. I
was cold and tired, but I felt accomplished. Life can be that way.
You have your aims and goals. The going gets tough, and that's when
the tough get going. You are done only when you decide you are done.
On the plus side, I got to know my neighborhood very well. Running
endless laps on the side streets introduced me to yard sales,
friendly neighbors, pretty gardens, annoying dogs and rude drivers.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I used Mapmyrun to track my training. I
thought it served the purpose without too many distractions. I highly
recommend cold showers and ice baths for a quicker recovery after
each workout. At one point, a few weeks into the training, I
experienced sharp knee pain. I thought I had hit my limit at 12
miles, but it turned out my shoes were worn out. I'd advice new shoes
after about 200 miles. I'd also suggest biking and weight training to
help your knees. Oatmeal served well for a pre training meal and
Cliff bars for snacks during longer runs. Three weeks before the
marathon you begin your taper. A couple of days before the race, you
load up on carbs and protein and avoid any exercise.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHRCJrP9de7dnUJVrRTVtP99QtWgpc_g46XT6EidKZCUulgORXNL4E-kC_mndOVcyJIThXJY_TlKKRXo_Kt3sDWWPax7VnrxBNQuPg2Gtw6pKAulpT1ci1eQgZY0-SWNS56eTF2rhmo8/s1600/BIG_32502013W1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGHRCJrP9de7dnUJVrRTVtP99QtWgpc_g46XT6EidKZCUulgORXNL4E-kC_mndOVcyJIThXJY_TlKKRXo_Kt3sDWWPax7VnrxBNQuPg2Gtw6pKAulpT1ci1eQgZY0-SWNS56eTF2rhmo8/s1600/BIG_32502013W1.jpg" height="106" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, it was D-day! All the months
of training had come to this. I was at the pinnacle of my fitness. I
was pumped. It was time to get a run for my money. A few short
speeches and we were off! I was feeling good. The numerous
photographers and the cheering spectators lining the course made me
feel like a celebrity. I waved and smiled. I high fived random
people. I felt light and happy. Every step took me closer. I had some
difficulty in pacing myself as I didn't have my watch and there were
no clocks or pacers to be seen anywhere. I decided to ask my fellow
runners every now and then to help me keep a steady pace. And then it
came, I hit the proverbial wall at 20 miles. I was tiring out. This
was the farthest I had ever run. I was wilting in the late morning
heat. Where was that second wind? I stopped to take a drink. I
couldn't start again! My legs simply refused. Eventually, I managed
to stumble forward. I had to put mind over matter. I didn't want to
stop again lest I might not be able to start again. My legs felt
like jelly. I closed my eyes and I prayed hard. I cussed. I
remembered all those hours of training. I thought about my goal of
3:59:59. I thought of my ego. I had never pushed myself that much
before. And then the final stretch, the end was in sight. I saw the
clock and my heart sank. It was 4:04. For a brief instant, I thought
I'd have to do it again. But my tired legs kicked that thought into
oblivion. Never again! Never have I been in that much pain. At the
end of the race I thanked God for carrying me through, but also asked
for forgiveness for cussing so much.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have great respect for all marathon
runners, Ironman triathletes and others who do masochistic feats. But
I am done. given that it's my first marathon it is also my PR. I
needed to use <a href="http://www.msnbc.com/the-last-word/online-calculator-adjusts-paul-ryan-tim">Paul Ryan's calculator</a> to get a sub 4hr time. And since
I like quitting when I'm in front, it was also my last marathon.
There are lots of could haves and should haves. But I can't go
through this again. I gave it my 100% on race day and I can't see
myself going through months of training again. I learned that the
race is no place for an ego boost, as people two or three times my
age passed me. In fact the race is with yourself and your goals. As
it is said, “a moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory”. Well
not exactly a moment, and not exactly a lifetime as well, but
still... Wanna run?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Training schedule</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingeTd-4u-4LC7fSdoi7saMT86WSGtOcfw1dURtZOCQLh1gO8wukWJ7HvU41uEpmVSgQiW5zXqlUGyR30GjDA1iIXkZT85aS2EbL1-G6X9FvR-bfA-x02Xl148oP3Q1Ghlk1z2-g8GR_Y/s1600/Fullscreen+capture+442015+102106+AM.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEingeTd-4u-4LC7fSdoi7saMT86WSGtOcfw1dURtZOCQLh1gO8wukWJ7HvU41uEpmVSgQiW5zXqlUGyR30GjDA1iIXkZT85aS2EbL1-G6X9FvR-bfA-x02Xl148oP3Q1Ghlk1z2-g8GR_Y/s1600/Fullscreen+capture+442015+102106+AM.bmp.jpg" height="215" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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my epic and extended stay at the amazing BH2 at BPGC, I have yearned
for more hostel experiences. Of course the hostels I now frequent are
for travel purposes rather than a dorm during college. Hostels
are and always will be a mixed bag. The places and the people have
their quirks and characters that make them fun. It's a wonderfully
communal way of spending a night. It is a cheap and convenient way to
stay on budget when traveling alone. I've only stayed at hostels in
the US so far, though I have heard it's more of a thing in Europe.</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9fsA18LaCievociUbDyfHmP7Aa0znZwIpP6gmuv2qIEdf8DDOu1AD8MaZH6JgfYBRGdFlvQ1Fo3ky50UCrRLDls1cFkvatfUw6LgcYjekkwTdTqN2cgBCFJs9zKinjZAVzJZ7JnYFGw/s1600/hostel-dorm-room.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit9fsA18LaCievociUbDyfHmP7Aa0znZwIpP6gmuv2qIEdf8DDOu1AD8MaZH6JgfYBRGdFlvQ1Fo3ky50UCrRLDls1cFkvatfUw6LgcYjekkwTdTqN2cgBCFJs9zKinjZAVzJZ7JnYFGw/s1600/hostel-dorm-room.jpeg" height="219" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">Hostellers
are a motley group of people. But they tend to the more laid back,
new age spirituality kind who talk about finding themselves, the
universe conversing with their soul, karma of their past lives, etc.
I must confess I rarely mention that I'm an engineer and have a
office job. I think it stops conversation as I appear to be elitist.
I have had numerous random experiences at hostels. I was offered weed
on one occasion. Once my room had no floor but was just sand. Another
time, the hostel had an outdoor hotub overlooking the Pacific, a
million dollar view for $5. Then in this hostel above a nightclub, I
had Kanye lullaby me to sleep. You have no idea who your roommates
will be. I always carry ear plugs and eye covers so that I can zone
out when I need the zzz's. </span>
</span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNww_JPc0DVk5Hvp33pUG12TETh-UsO5GqCOspkEJWBbEDDBO-8qd2wb-Awiwst9M2QJyCn0oiilIwiqTjrPzwHdttxriWkVDPsnLJtzv0HbyUJ5HDgI37xXsrccSSUJm820Oy_s8e7KE/s1600/IMG_7025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNww_JPc0DVk5Hvp33pUG12TETh-UsO5GqCOspkEJWBbEDDBO-8qd2wb-Awiwst9M2QJyCn0oiilIwiqTjrPzwHdttxriWkVDPsnLJtzv0HbyUJ5HDgI37xXsrccSSUJm820Oy_s8e7KE/s1600/IMG_7025.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I
think the best part is meeting people and listening to their stories
of life, travel and adventure. These are people I'd never meet in my
friend circles from a tech job and Church. It opens your mind and
broadens your horizons. It enriches your life experience vicariously.
You connect with a complete stranger over the most random thing. As
an Indian, I'm the exotic guy who has lived their eastern
spirituality. I politely mention that I'm Catholic but helpfully joke
that I had a pet snake and rode an elephant to school as a kid. I
once met a biker from NZ who biked in the Yukon territory and Alaska
for months. Then there was this girl who moved from Wisconsin to
Puerto Rico in search of finding a calling in the tropical paradise.
I came across a Chinese girl who spoke better Spanish than English
because of all her travels in Latin America. Once, a hostel host
mailed me a $20 bill as a refund for the key deposit. Money I had
thought lost after we had checked out before he had woken up. I was
pleasantly surprised by his integrity.</span></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTAu5NUeNRS69c5mGGcATMBUQU8fnupMUwg2uBlNCdZb631hcpkV2vmrvkpOdXmzP-7Hl0Re7drZOwp9KPe9-XQMfgWDTA5Kn_B4c-TKOR5Lezr24cbEvzONft3XzbQgGFwJvdS33RUY/s1600/IMG_7030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTAu5NUeNRS69c5mGGcATMBUQU8fnupMUwg2uBlNCdZb631hcpkV2vmrvkpOdXmzP-7Hl0Re7drZOwp9KPe9-XQMfgWDTA5Kn_B4c-TKOR5Lezr24cbEvzONft3XzbQgGFwJvdS33RUY/s1600/IMG_7030.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of
all my hostel adventures, one will always remain etched in my memory.
Last December, I was driving after dark on a cold rainy night on Hwy
101 in the remote NW corner of Washington state. The Google Maps
voice said “You have arrived”. I thought to myself, “Where?”.
Here I was stopped on a pitch dark highway. There was no sign of
civilization. Suddenly I spotted a small sign that read “Hostel”
and a narrow unlit driveway leading up besides it. I pulled up slowly
to a small house with a dim porch light. I pondered whether I should
go in or just drive off? I chose the former, thinking that if he has
a website, he must be legit. Yeah, sound logic! An old man opened the
door, which creaked on it's hinges. I greeted him nervously and
peeped inside. It was his house. It was messy but looked clean. We
exchanged what could pass off as pleasantries and I asked if he had
any other guests. He replied none and mumbled something about off
season. The last guest was a week before me. I took a deep breath,
hoped he made it out alive and went to fetch my bag from the car.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkX42hLQaFUKygyOif9SUcKIxnzR-R3Tdrtsrc7hq0k9F3aTx027HlJk7UQx-rtZ2ujp8mAT40l5yPWqIiIMbOMai3OqluvmlU0VemEdZMPn2nYlDx6Nl9mFKOO0VWK90gAyFa7vqlpo/s1600/11232011-Rain-Forest-Hostel-Olympic-National-Park-Web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkX42hLQaFUKygyOif9SUcKIxnzR-R3Tdrtsrc7hq0k9F3aTx027HlJk7UQx-rtZ2ujp8mAT40l5yPWqIiIMbOMai3OqluvmlU0VemEdZMPn2nYlDx6Nl9mFKOO0VWK90gAyFa7vqlpo/s1600/11232011-Rain-Forest-Hostel-Olympic-National-Park-Web.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
charge for the night was $13 and an additional 50 cents for a towel.
I took the towel just so that I wouldn't be stuck with the number 13
in that creepy place. And there was the requirement of 20 minutes of
chores which could be substituted if you paid an additional $5. I
took the chores, which he said would be done in the morning. I
inquired the time he woke up. He said he would be up when I was. I
wasn't sure if that was funny or creepy. After some conversation I
concluded that he was the kind of guy who was dissatisfied with the
world for no specific reason and was trying to live off the grid. I
retired early party due to fatigue and also to end the awkward
sporadic conversation. The creaking and groaning of the house was
magnified in the absolute stillness of the night. The creep factor
was increased by the darknedd. I told myself to trust God and trust
me. Somehow I managed to sleep peacefully.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #222222;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The
next morning when I woke up, Jim was already up. I asked him what my
20 min chores were. He told me to vacuum a few rooms. And he actually
watched me do it as I tried to be diligent in getting under the
tables and around the furniture. Finally I was done and I drove off
into the pre dawn darkness. Back on Hwy 101, I wondered whether that
was just a dream. Sometimes reality can be stranger than dreams.</span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #222222;">I'm
not sure if I'll ever make it back to Jim's hostel, but I'll
definitely stay in hostels on my future travels. Hostels are a
paradigm of “Life is a box of chocolates, you never know what
you're gonna get.” Unless of course it is a glass box, which is
what Yelp can do sometimes. But still, I live in the hope of being
pleasantly surprised on my travels.</span><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmDTLgSxd5sownskHg7Jn6OpLSP9d2gRDmCzhS0iZZjwjOc_7EisF9U6iHPTGhyG9EdLn9YkfZdsEmrd94hdVnq6euv4ztukG0755osWfDGwo98IXRpSMw5qwc0yHurfzbccBc8ClIvs/s1600/IMG_1090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNmDTLgSxd5sownskHg7Jn6OpLSP9d2gRDmCzhS0iZZjwjOc_7EisF9U6iHPTGhyG9EdLn9YkfZdsEmrd94hdVnq6euv4ztukG0755osWfDGwo98IXRpSMw5qwc0yHurfzbccBc8ClIvs/s1600/IMG_1090.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></span></div>
Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-84853299647547211642014-07-13T16:01:00.002-07:002014-07-13T19:45:46.832-07:00Lost coast is found<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Last
Fourth of July, I celebrated Independence day by wandering wild and
free on California's Lost Coast. It is a hike in paradise. The rugged,
wild and desolate beaches are part of the last remaining stretch of
undeveloped coastline of the West Coast of the US. The hike is one long
walk on the beach with waves singing to you and the wind caressing you.
The blue ocean shimmers in the summer sun and you thank your stars for your
chance to be in heaven.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDY29DDTNxaTnc8fx3cYwRJMBu27eUo8UJx-1V9ovilXQLja3zbtus59RqbwlXsIiM5zos32xi4prwuQbYiDTC8XjXQwQIvYF0yqArULYU6iyzBvNhD0ZMX-V2gligoIvvEdaUE74bBnc/s1600/IMG_3741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDY29DDTNxaTnc8fx3cYwRJMBu27eUo8UJx-1V9ovilXQLja3zbtus59RqbwlXsIiM5zos32xi4prwuQbYiDTC8XjXQwQIvYF0yqArULYU6iyzBvNhD0ZMX-V2gligoIvvEdaUE74bBnc/s1600/IMG_3741.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
incredible beauty moves you to wonder, to believe in something
deeper, something higher. There's something magical about staring
into the blue ocean, smelling the salt and listening to the waves.
There's something mysterious about the fog clinging to the hillside
and settling over the ocean. There's something soothing about feeling
the soft sand under your feet as you soak in a gorgeous sunset.
Someday life will be perfect like this, but today I'll settle for
this temporary perfection.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsw5cbQ_LSGbZk9K42vTEKHfYr1ft_anmVfCzZyIYE4RgSfOlZkB2EdM-4mbswbgtMQQYuThKRXQv2YvHQCbIYBgmkJN3qicUZ31GdXvtIpM8rBgKAxDeAxvNp0BS7_lHJP832zYMBlrU/s1600/IMG_3875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsw5cbQ_LSGbZk9K42vTEKHfYr1ft_anmVfCzZyIYE4RgSfOlZkB2EdM-4mbswbgtMQQYuThKRXQv2YvHQCbIYBgmkJN3qicUZ31GdXvtIpM8rBgKAxDeAxvNp0BS7_lHJP832zYMBlrU/s1600/IMG_3875.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">The
hike from Mattole to Shelter Cove covers 25 miles of magnificent
scenery. The Pacific, as blue as it can be, on your right and soaring
cliffs and golden hills on your left. You hike to the rhythm of the
waves with rocks crackling under your boots. You hike in the soft
sand, leaving behind footprints soon to be wiped away by the tide.
You hike on trails through open grasslands. You cross numerous creeks
and streams which make great spots for snack breaks. The seagulls skim over
ocean, wild and free. The sea lions lounge in the sun, grunting as
you pass by. The otters glide smoothly over the waves, the hare looks
at you out of curiosity and the snake slithers away as you reach for
your camera. The beautiful driftwood littering the beaches is more
forgiving to your slow reflexes with the camera. Your day starts with the
mysterious fog clinging to everything around you until the sun blazes
through. You day ends with a magnificent sunset over the Pacific.
Camping on the beach is a dream come true. You
end a perfect day of hiking with a dip in the ocean and a rinse in a
stream. Chow down some delicious pasta on the beach and soak in a
beautiful sunset. The waves lull you to sleep as you dream of another
day in paradise. </span>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDy4AI18oXQlGkIQ9VDd414SxKHYm5K7yYcyB-2DMiFc4s9MjGFtW2mQkYvX6ctG8Cf9ByN9bFg1ACueVxgPkmpWc6aBz_2r_moWpv8NIXLCBeD82atyn8MyVkIo5I-2dv7BcFapcsfyk/s1600/IMG_3790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDy4AI18oXQlGkIQ9VDd414SxKHYm5K7yYcyB-2DMiFc4s9MjGFtW2mQkYvX6ctG8Cf9ByN9bFg1ACueVxgPkmpWc6aBz_2r_moWpv8NIXLCBeD82atyn8MyVkIo5I-2dv7BcFapcsfyk/s1600/IMG_3790.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Some
useful tips on the logistics of the trip. Get a map to know the locations of the
creeks. I purchased the map by Wilderness Press. The creeks are
basically where you can camp at night. The map also shows the
'impassable at high tide zones'. Make sure you check the tide tables for the day of your hike.
I'd say for safety, you should not be in those zones 4 hours on
either side of the high tide time. Obviously the ideal situation is
hiking in the zones when the tide is going out. But if you have a
tight schedule and the high tide times are not at the opportune
times, use my 4 hour rule of thumb. We camped at Spanish Creek on the
first night and at Gitchell Creek on the second night. That was about
10.5 miles on day, 10 miles on day 2 and 4 miles on day 3. Most
people hike in the north-south direction as the prevailing winds in
the summer are from the north west. For that, you need to park your car at
Shelter Cove and take a shuttle to Mattole. Blu with <a href="http://lostcoastadventures.com/">Lost Coast Adventures</a> was our shuttle guy. Super nice and friendly. The shuttle
schedule depends on the tides so you can cross those high-tide-impassable zones at low
tides. Call Blu to discuss your trip. As for gear, in addition to the standard backpacking gear, you might also need water shoes as there
are no bridges across the streams. But this year being a drought
year, the streams were running pretty low and we could ford the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">streams by hopping on rocks. And bring a giant thrash bag for all
your gear that you can't fit in your tent. The overnight fog will
give everything that is exposed, a thorough soaking.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Hope
you find yourself at the lost coast sometime. Life is a beach, go
play in the sand. </span>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">More pictures can be found at </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10202471721850279.1073741842.1111549502&type=1&l=a41f52db50</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4739545324949288133.post-86923416527803000992014-03-01T16:06:00.001-08:002014-03-02T17:09:32.429-08:00Book Review: Sinner, The Catholic Guy's Funny, Feeble Attempts to Be a Faithful Catholic<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Being a Catholic isn't easy. You have
the devil, you have people and you have yourself getting in the way.
Lino Rulli embodies the struggle of the guy next door living a
Catholic life. This book makes you laugh, makes you cry and makes you
cringe as you read Lino stumbling and fumbling his way through life.
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BU4-chIWFNA3fda5ioRudk7oFY3IgVNSB7F17mXNg-Iouad6Rse65qcRMZb2K5T8jAEcinE_6lq2XhxBTCVzjzYndjsLIqyMDA1A2k62lCjcDZvAW15RfuDfaO5eg5A4H8bCwJ_PGY4/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BU4-chIWFNA3fda5ioRudk7oFY3IgVNSB7F17mXNg-Iouad6Rse65qcRMZb2K5T8jAEcinE_6lq2XhxBTCVzjzYndjsLIqyMDA1A2k62lCjcDZvAW15RfuDfaO5eg5A4H8bCwJ_PGY4/s1600/download.jpg" /></a>Lino has an uncanny way of making you
think in between his one liners. On soul mates "I can't imagine
a loving God who counts the hairs on my head, loves me, and then
says: 'I’ve created a soul mate for you.. good luck finding her.'"
We have to trust God in being our wingman, but we have to be willing
to take chances. On failure, "lots of people put their failures
in the not-God's-plan category instead of the
I-suck-at-that-category." We have to take responsibility for
ourselves and suck it up sometimes. On temptation, "I fought, I
struggled, I won-and I didn't give into temptation. Not exactly on my
way to canonization, but I'm always grateful to God when I don't
fall." We should celebrate the minor victories in our lives with
God. On confession, "don't imagine you will confess something
original to the priest. That's the sin of pride." This one
cracked me up. Yes, the priest has heard every possible sin under the
sun and the stars (if you prefer sinning by night).</div>
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Lino is brutally honest with his
failings at finding a mate, with his pride after winning the Emmy,
with his youthful misadventures (hilarious) and with his big nose.
The chapter on him meeting the Pope is absolutely hilarious. I really
wish I was there through that awkward episode. Or I wish JP-II wrote
a chapter about his meeting with Lino. But the chapter also made me
really want to visit the Vatican someday. Not that praying at the
Vatican is any better than praying at home. But maybe it is just the
ambiance that makes you feel closer to God.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-TyD9Srf4KAJyHCfR4LGbf2GAzdqsTHqCVczYz5HJFQWHr8SiHG8WVoM965lTwfw8XU6UaFuY5YzZ_QfdzpjGlbCh7_j15OYxUJBWUkhrFuTf52qlzuHARgAB_c5HeICCiIr0RsC1Rk/s1600/mza_5156493420209027133.170x170-75.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA-TyD9Srf4KAJyHCfR4LGbf2GAzdqsTHqCVczYz5HJFQWHr8SiHG8WVoM965lTwfw8XU6UaFuY5YzZ_QfdzpjGlbCh7_j15OYxUJBWUkhrFuTf52qlzuHARgAB_c5HeICCiIr0RsC1Rk/s1600/mza_5156493420209027133.170x170-75.jpg" /></a>This book has confirmed that "In
the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone." (St John
of the Cross). At the end of my life I want Jesus to say, as Lino
writes, "Eternal life goes to Daniel. Well done my good and
faith full servant." Lino makes Catholicism seem like a simple
yet profound journey. I think I will see my faith in a more joyful
way from here on. </div>
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You can also check out his talk show at https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/catholic-guy-shows-podcast/id364049421?mt=2<https: catholic-guy-shows-podcast="" id364049421="" itunes.apple.com="" mt="2" podcast="" us=""></https:></div>
Dannyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16610564487279373318noreply@blogger.com0