ON THE WRITE PATH: travel journal for Around-the-World in 2015, 16, 18. |
|
For there are many paths. A tlog. A travel blog. A keeping-track of my trials, er.. travels. February 26, 2015 until ... June 18,2015. January 12, 2016 until February 15, 2016. November 13 to 30 2018 ... 2019, 2020: Taiwain. I went nowhere in 2021. 2022: Portugal, Thailand. Will include: Hawai'i, Japan, Australia, South Africa, Untied Arab Emirates, Portugal, Norway, Ireland and... (2015) ... Norway and Estonia (2016), México (2018), Taiwan, Balkans, Baltics, Turkey, Costa Rica, Nicaragua. Vi får se. "Where I have traveled, stayed and visited. Over 181 places." |
| I was in deep anguish at a school in the Great Lakes. I will not mention it. I despised my roommate; the feeling was mutual. I couldn't drop out unless I wanted a one-way ticket to Viet Nam. My draft number was #49. I was a goner. I decided to switch schools. I had been invited to visit Yale that January (my only stay in Connecticut) and I knew I wanted to move to a university that was a ... university. I voraciously consumed college brochures. Oh, how naive I was! I told my father I was going to visit Kansas. My parents must've known how desperate I was. I had never been west of Ohio Rte 7. My father changed his vacation to March and he drove there in the '68 Dodge Polara (a car I really liked). This was special because we weren't that close (my father tried; I was just unreachable). So... first time: Indiana, flat as a pancake Illinnoy, Misery, to Dorothy's home where the highway signs were marked by sunflowers, then back through Oklahoma, Cotton Plant, ArKansas, loooong Taenihseeee, West VA and the cold cold Spring of the North. I only got to visit U. Kansas. My father refused to stop when we drove right past U. Tennessee. So with no other option I chose to become a Jayhawk. I showed up at Kansas University in August. Can't anyone say heat stroke? My family dropped me off while they continued to the Grand Canyon. I've never been there. This road trip may have saved my life. I couldn't stay where I was in spite of how lovely the region was with it waterfalls and walnut trees, the lovely view of the Beautiful Valley. My first semester as a Jayhawk was basking in the sun and healing in the warmth of the friendly people that called Kansas their home. ~310 words Posted in "Blogville " 2874 |
| I'm practicing my breathing today. I'm not all here. I'm a ghost moving among grandchildren unseen and left to my musings as I sit in the guest house, the hosts young enough to be my children, their own children full grown. I'm invisible, watching time eddy around street vendors and travelers frolicking in groups. I gather my thoughts, as if I could hold them, pretend that the movement around me could be woven into a new life, one full of the promise of tomorrow. I'm in Bang Saen dreaming of crabs hidden in the mangroves of Ang Sila, the monkeys of Khao Sam Muk, the walk to the temple of Wat Ko Loi in Si Racha. Or I'm in Phimai taking photos among the ruins of the Khmer. A ghost with a camera. Or I'm wherever there is life ... I'm just not here. I listen to Radio Rad (FM 89.5) in Khon Kaen to try to stay wake. The dishes are washed and I started on the refrigerator. Angie thinks I really need to get back to cleaning. So does Travis. Dalton wanted to visit yesterday; but, I said no. I'm not ready for visitors. I just don't want to be here. My friend Ann from Washington is in Paris. Anna Maria from Estonia is there too, visiting Isla. Cecilie from Tromso is in Oslo (but I know she'd rather be in Paris). If I left tomorrow could I see them all? I'd settle for Portugal. I'm practicing my breathing but I did eat. And I've had a couple cups of coffee. I guess I'm not going to have much trouble finding coffee in Thailand (chorreado like in Costa Rica). The culture has some passive/aggressive aspects in common with Costa Rica. This isn't good news; but, at least I know from experience how important it is to not share what I think. Do ghosts have voices? I'd love to find out. I'm in Maha Sarakham on a rainy day reminiscing about Wat Photaram and its Thai Noi inscriptions as I write my name in centuries old cursive. And I'm drinking coffee at Elefin in Roi Et gazing across the lake. Do ghosts drink? Do they remember their name? ~370 words Posted in "Blogville " 2872 |