Sunday, November 17, 2013
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Game Changer
My life changed again…in the span of less then five minutes…
One minute, I was sitting in a cold old cottage in Clara, Ireland, and the next minute, my mind was racing to my future…what would happen? But most of all: What will I miss?
I received an email on the 8th of November telling me to call someone that had been bugging me to go back to Alaska; my main concern was to travel until I was over tired, and I had finally gotten there; my body was breaking down slowly at first, but then, I began deteriorating quickly, I couldn’t eat more than once a day if I wanted to…I was cold all of the time, I was actually losing hair! It was time to leave, and I knew it, but without money, what would I do?
So I called the person that emailed me, as he had to me to do. Upon answering the phone, he immediately gave me info in which to buy a ticket to Oregon…I didn’t even ask, and would have never asked in the first place…but since it had been put out on a platter, why not?
I had been having recurring dreams by this time that I was about to get my last ride if I had kept going…I’m sure it was my subconscious playing against me, but something told me it was time to go, especially because this dream had me held up…and in it, something was happening that had made me so scared, I could only inhale quick short breaths, but could not force a scream.
It was time to go…
So I booked a ticket that would have me flying out that Tuesday, the 12th, from Dublin. I got a surprisingly cheap ticket for less than 500$ from STAtravel, and took it as fate.
I arrived in Portland, Oregon at 6:30 p.m. on the 13th, awestruck that I had made it home alive, I guess it all didn’t really hit me until the plane touched down upon arrival in Chicago, my first step on American soil in nine months…I survived a great ordeal, made the best of it, and was able to travel through several countries in Europe, somewhat safely…living off a couple Euros or Pounds a day.
I lived through the domestic slavery, Turkish water…from the tap, Gezi Park Protests in Istanbul, Turkey, through the protests in Sofia, Bulgaria, over 11,000 km hitchhiking, numerous Romanian truck drivers who harassed me, sleeping in random places, divine kindness from SEVERAL strangers, a few days without food, a lightening storm on the island of Lido, just outside Venice in a tent with metal poles, stomping on my dirty laundry while I was in the shower, just to at least semi-wash it…two torn and cheapo ruck sacks, I made countless friends, became weary of a particular country, and anything in it, lit my hand on fire, made the tabloids in Slovakia…
…Did at least one thing I had never done each week…
My faith in humanity is much greater, I now know that I can survive and assimilate to nearly any situation, I have had the trip of a lifetime, and I DO NOT regret one moment of it, ESPECIALLY the domestic slavery…if that had never happened to me, I would have never accomplished all that I had, never learned to entertain myself while sitting for countless hours on the sides of roads…
As I had said earlier: If someone told me last year that I would be sitting in a random field somewhere in Italy hitchhiking, I would have NEVER believed them!
Thank you, God, for everything you have given me, the good and the bad experiences, and for this crazy life that I can proudly accept without hesitation.
One minute, I was sitting in a cold old cottage in Clara, Ireland, and the next minute, my mind was racing to my future…what would happen? But most of all: What will I miss?
I received an email on the 8th of November telling me to call someone that had been bugging me to go back to Alaska; my main concern was to travel until I was over tired, and I had finally gotten there; my body was breaking down slowly at first, but then, I began deteriorating quickly, I couldn’t eat more than once a day if I wanted to…I was cold all of the time, I was actually losing hair! It was time to leave, and I knew it, but without money, what would I do?
So I called the person that emailed me, as he had to me to do. Upon answering the phone, he immediately gave me info in which to buy a ticket to Oregon…I didn’t even ask, and would have never asked in the first place…but since it had been put out on a platter, why not?
I had been having recurring dreams by this time that I was about to get my last ride if I had kept going…I’m sure it was my subconscious playing against me, but something told me it was time to go, especially because this dream had me held up…and in it, something was happening that had made me so scared, I could only inhale quick short breaths, but could not force a scream.
It was time to go…
So I booked a ticket that would have me flying out that Tuesday, the 12th, from Dublin. I got a surprisingly cheap ticket for less than 500$ from STAtravel, and took it as fate.
I arrived in Portland, Oregon at 6:30 p.m. on the 13th, awestruck that I had made it home alive, I guess it all didn’t really hit me until the plane touched down upon arrival in Chicago, my first step on American soil in nine months…I survived a great ordeal, made the best of it, and was able to travel through several countries in Europe, somewhat safely…living off a couple Euros or Pounds a day.
I lived through the domestic slavery, Turkish water…from the tap, Gezi Park Protests in Istanbul, Turkey, through the protests in Sofia, Bulgaria, over 11,000 km hitchhiking, numerous Romanian truck drivers who harassed me, sleeping in random places, divine kindness from SEVERAL strangers, a few days without food, a lightening storm on the island of Lido, just outside Venice in a tent with metal poles, stomping on my dirty laundry while I was in the shower, just to at least semi-wash it…two torn and cheapo ruck sacks, I made countless friends, became weary of a particular country, and anything in it, lit my hand on fire, made the tabloids in Slovakia…
…Did at least one thing I had never done each week…
My faith in humanity is much greater, I now know that I can survive and assimilate to nearly any situation, I have had the trip of a lifetime, and I DO NOT regret one moment of it, ESPECIALLY the domestic slavery…if that had never happened to me, I would have never accomplished all that I had, never learned to entertain myself while sitting for countless hours on the sides of roads…
As I had said earlier: If someone told me last year that I would be sitting in a random field somewhere in Italy hitchhiking, I would have NEVER believed them!
Thank you, God, for everything you have given me, the good and the bad experiences, and for this crazy life that I can proudly accept without hesitation.
 |
| Outside Dublin, Ireland Nov. 11th, 2013 |
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Getting to Bath
Leaving London on November 1st was a bit tricky. There happened to me a lorrie turned over on the 25 (the road on the outer ring of London). Here's how my day started:
I pack up after staying a few nights at my couchsurfing host's place, and beginning my walk of uncertainty to the nearest road towards the road out of town (at this point, I am in Orpington, London). I walk through the rain puddles and come upon an enormous green field, were I take a bit of video and a photo or two!
As I am dragging my horrid pack I bought in Barcelona down the road, a woman pulls over, and offers a ride to the nearest road headed where I am headed. Wow, didnt even stick out my thumb, and someone pulled over! This is where I spot my first badger...All I could remember about badgers were what my friend Maja from Slovakia had told me...pretty freaky stuff! So, scared shitless (I have no idea how aggressive badgers are..I only know from the honey badger videos on youtube at this point) I am put at a bus stop on the side of the road. I wait here until a driver pulls up in a van, a tyre delivery guy.
Immediatly, the tyre guy makes it known to me that I musn't worry about him...he likes "lady boys." Okay, so what, live your life the way you want. He takes me to a hamberger joint, where I basically scarf down a cheeseburger with a fried egg on it (omg yum!) and this is where we discovered, I'm not getting out of town today, thank you, lorrie driver.
So the old man invites me home, where three Latvians live as well. He orders me pizza at the house, then goes back to work, yet again shocking me about how trustworthy people are. I finish the night eating pizza (the sunlight ended quick, lots of rain, so technically, its only 5 pm) and watching a British game show, which I have easily become addicted to.
The next morning, I am awoken at 5 am to go to the old man's work with him, there is a Latvian driver there who will take me to the right spot, and drop me off at a gas station. At the station, I load up on coffee and a muffin...feeling pretty in love with my life at this point, even though I know at any moment, a badger may come at me (is my thinking).
I sit with my coffee and muffing, awaiting my next ride, who turns out to be a young guy in his 20s, he takes me to another gas station further down the road, in my direction. My next ride: a really awesome Welshman who gives me 10 quid and a couple packs of frozen fish (in case I get somewhere with a stove that night). He drops me at the main turnoff to Bath. Next driver: a college professor (the second one to pick me up! The first was in Italy) He takes me all the way in to Bath, where I take the bus up to the hostel I was supposed to be volunteering at.
Long story short, the old guy trying to be trendy at the Backpacker's hostel was a douche to say the least. He had no idea what I was talking about, couldn't be bothered to offer any help, and kept changing his stories...after standing by the road with a sign for Bristol for over 4 hours in the freezing rain, a kid approaches me, and in a weird way attempts to help, by asking me to lie to his parents, telling them I was a foreign exchange student he went to school with...needless to say, I was uncomfortable with this so I stayed elsewhere for the next few nights.
On November 5th, Guy Fawkes Day, I headed out towards Fishguard.
I pack up after staying a few nights at my couchsurfing host's place, and beginning my walk of uncertainty to the nearest road towards the road out of town (at this point, I am in Orpington, London). I walk through the rain puddles and come upon an enormous green field, were I take a bit of video and a photo or two!
Immediatly, the tyre guy makes it known to me that I musn't worry about him...he likes "lady boys." Okay, so what, live your life the way you want. He takes me to a hamberger joint, where I basically scarf down a cheeseburger with a fried egg on it (omg yum!) and this is where we discovered, I'm not getting out of town today, thank you, lorrie driver.
So the old man invites me home, where three Latvians live as well. He orders me pizza at the house, then goes back to work, yet again shocking me about how trustworthy people are. I finish the night eating pizza (the sunlight ended quick, lots of rain, so technically, its only 5 pm) and watching a British game show, which I have easily become addicted to.
The next morning, I am awoken at 5 am to go to the old man's work with him, there is a Latvian driver there who will take me to the right spot, and drop me off at a gas station. At the station, I load up on coffee and a muffin...feeling pretty in love with my life at this point, even though I know at any moment, a badger may come at me (is my thinking).
I sit with my coffee and muffing, awaiting my next ride, who turns out to be a young guy in his 20s, he takes me to another gas station further down the road, in my direction. My next ride: a really awesome Welshman who gives me 10 quid and a couple packs of frozen fish (in case I get somewhere with a stove that night). He drops me at the main turnoff to Bath. Next driver: a college professor (the second one to pick me up! The first was in Italy) He takes me all the way in to Bath, where I take the bus up to the hostel I was supposed to be volunteering at.
Long story short, the old guy trying to be trendy at the Backpacker's hostel was a douche to say the least. He had no idea what I was talking about, couldn't be bothered to offer any help, and kept changing his stories...after standing by the road with a sign for Bristol for over 4 hours in the freezing rain, a kid approaches me, and in a weird way attempts to help, by asking me to lie to his parents, telling them I was a foreign exchange student he went to school with...needless to say, I was uncomfortable with this so I stayed elsewhere for the next few nights.
On November 5th, Guy Fawkes Day, I headed out towards Fishguard.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
Breaking Through UK Customs
On October 27, I headed out towards the UK, knowing that I may
possibly pass through border control, due to my lack of funds. I took a
bus from Charles De Gaulle in Paris to London Victoria Station, It was
quite a nice ride, lets recap the night before I hopped on the bus…
Due to the people Marina and I were couch surfing with, we needed to rush out as soon as possible (the people had new plans), so I headed to Charles De Gaulle to catch the last bus to London, while Marina stayed behind to find a new host for herself. Needless to say, I didn’t make the last bus. Each pass from Paris to Charles De Gaulle is about 10 Euro, and as I had quite little money, I decided not to go through the fuss of transfers and such, as my new bag is yet again breaking down, the Paris transport is insanely confusing and often unmarked, and just plain not caring where I would sleep that night.
So the night of the 27th, I ended up harassed by French immigration, who decided I was okay, and should sleep at the airport…which I ended up doing. I slept a couple hours, and awoke to a large crown of people speaking Arabic. I decided to check out the buzz, it was about 2 a.m. on the 28th and people were gathering to meet loved ones, who were apparently coming in from a flight from the East. Dates, figs, and other Arabic goodies were being passed around, as well as tea, and were shared with me. I guess I became excited for these people, who had created their own welcome party, complete with food and music, in the terminal I decided to sleep in. At about 5 a.m. they were gone, and the terminal was empty and quiet again.
At 7a.m. the ticket office opened, I could now finally buy my ticket to London, which the bus would leave in an hour. I get to the office, and find that they only accept cards, and I only have cash. Imagine my disappointment when I realize that I may have just slept very little and uncomfortably at the airport, only to find out there may not have now been a reason for it! An airport took pity on me, and offered to help, giant weight lifted from my shoulders!
My next issue is worrying about British customs. We get through the French border with no issues, and climb back off the bus to enter into England, just before the tunnel under the Channel. Americans were separated from the rest of the group, and while everyone else was ushered through, no questions asked, Americans had to fill out paperwork, and go through quite rough questioning.
With my luck, I got the harshest officer. I watched as all of the other Americans passed through the line smoothly, while I was being held behind, being pulled through harsher and harsher questions. It was then that I decided that I would be okay with being stopped at the border; that may mean a ticket home for me. For some reason that day was the day I had chosen to not lie to customs at all, poor lady probably didn’t know how to respond to someone being so painfully truthful.
“How much money do you have in your pocket?”
“How much at your disposal?”
“How long will you be here?”
“With whom are you staying?”
“How do you know them?”
“Why did you spend one month in Romania? Three months in Turkey? Two months in Slovakia?”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“How have you funded your trip?”
“Look me in the eye, and promise me you wont work in the UK.”
“Stop smiling and promise you wont work here.”
Due to the people Marina and I were couch surfing with, we needed to rush out as soon as possible (the people had new plans), so I headed to Charles De Gaulle to catch the last bus to London, while Marina stayed behind to find a new host for herself. Needless to say, I didn’t make the last bus. Each pass from Paris to Charles De Gaulle is about 10 Euro, and as I had quite little money, I decided not to go through the fuss of transfers and such, as my new bag is yet again breaking down, the Paris transport is insanely confusing and often unmarked, and just plain not caring where I would sleep that night.
So the night of the 27th, I ended up harassed by French immigration, who decided I was okay, and should sleep at the airport…which I ended up doing. I slept a couple hours, and awoke to a large crown of people speaking Arabic. I decided to check out the buzz, it was about 2 a.m. on the 28th and people were gathering to meet loved ones, who were apparently coming in from a flight from the East. Dates, figs, and other Arabic goodies were being passed around, as well as tea, and were shared with me. I guess I became excited for these people, who had created their own welcome party, complete with food and music, in the terminal I decided to sleep in. At about 5 a.m. they were gone, and the terminal was empty and quiet again.
At 7a.m. the ticket office opened, I could now finally buy my ticket to London, which the bus would leave in an hour. I get to the office, and find that they only accept cards, and I only have cash. Imagine my disappointment when I realize that I may have just slept very little and uncomfortably at the airport, only to find out there may not have now been a reason for it! An airport took pity on me, and offered to help, giant weight lifted from my shoulders!
My next issue is worrying about British customs. We get through the French border with no issues, and climb back off the bus to enter into England, just before the tunnel under the Channel. Americans were separated from the rest of the group, and while everyone else was ushered through, no questions asked, Americans had to fill out paperwork, and go through quite rough questioning.
With my luck, I got the harshest officer. I watched as all of the other Americans passed through the line smoothly, while I was being held behind, being pulled through harsher and harsher questions. It was then that I decided that I would be okay with being stopped at the border; that may mean a ticket home for me. For some reason that day was the day I had chosen to not lie to customs at all, poor lady probably didn’t know how to respond to someone being so painfully truthful.
“How much money do you have in your pocket?”
“How much at your disposal?”
“How long will you be here?”
“With whom are you staying?”
“How do you know them?”
“Why did you spend one month in Romania? Three months in Turkey? Two months in Slovakia?”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“How have you funded your trip?”
“Look me in the eye, and promise me you wont work in the UK.”
“Stop smiling and promise you wont work here.”
Can you believe it? I answered every
question truthful, and the bat let me through, I was shocked, but I
think it may be partially due to the fact that my Schengen visa would
expire in a couple hours. Or I had a friendly smile? 
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