@Marco Polo Airport - Venice

A few days ago, I noticed a man wearing a Cubs t-shirt near the Rialto Bridge in Venice. Maybe he was from Chicago I remember thinking, as Harry Carey's voice - "Cubs Win" - echoed through my memory. Everything about him read humility - his stance, his face, and the way he listened to his wife as she pointed to something on the map. This man was lost, unable to maneuver his way properly through the winding alleys and over the various bridges of the city. In a foreign land, he stood, confusion and vulnerability on his face. Far from home, and out of his element, he was completely separated from anything resembling his comfort zone. I remember he exuded a subtle sense of approachability, as if to call out, help me I am lost and my wife expects me to find the way. It was one of many similar encounters I experienced as I ambled along aimlessly through this wonderful city. Seeing this man's essence, his aura, pleased me for some reason. I saw beyond his physical to capture something more. I could see he was humbled by being lost, by being forced to deal with this new place, these new streets, languages, names, smells, customs and norms. He appeared overwhelmed, yet somehow childlike and sweet, with that magical sense of awestruck wonder painted across his countenance. I was drawn to him, not because of his physical form, although it too was inviting, but because I saw and felt an interesting, humbled, and vulnerable soul. He just walked by me in the airport, and the differences nearly knocked me off my bench. He strutted by just now with his chest held high and pushed out, as he checked the boards above the gate for his flight to JFK. As he turned to return to his wife, he moved with a cocky swagger, a distasteful arrogance that spoke to me like a character from the Sopranos. Shy of an hour away from his flight back to the USA, his default essence or aura had returned. This one completely wiping away anything resembling the lost man in the city center from a few days prior. Comfortable now as he prepared to return to his comfort zone - the life, family and friends he left before his vacation, a new man occupied his flesh.

This sight compelled me to yank out my journey and write until my fingers bled, or as the case may be, my flight to London boarded. I wonder how my aura or essence changed as I made my way through my month-long journey? Did I too wear a more humbled mask, one that was more open and exposed? Does this openness of spirit (aura or essence), provide the doorway through which the lessons of the universe make their entry? Is this how the epiphanies find their way into my consciousness? Wow, I like this. And, when I too find my way to safer ground, so to speak, do I shield myself from these gifts? In other words, metaphorically speaking, have I closed my door to the gifts available via universal new experiences, by wearing a different, closed off and cocky mask? The mask that says "been here, done that - nothing more to see, do, or learn". I often think about how I wear my confident, successful, adult mask so often that I fail to see the wonders of the universe I witnessed daily as a young boy.

How do I, how do we collectively, continue our lives in a more humble, childlike state of wonder that we manifest while traveling once we return to our lives back home? I contend that this state of openness (humble vulnerability) we take on during the travel experience, is quite literally what people call LIVING IN THE NOW. We open ourselves to see, feel, and taste the second by second moments of our lives as we open our eyes to see the scenery of each new place, our noses capture foreign smells, our ears hear distance repetitions and unfamiliar sounds, our taste buds fully savor the complexities of differently prepared cuisine, and our skin feels the warmth of the sun more organically. We process these things from a heightened sense when we travel to new places. We are alive, living the now moments. Travel then, delivers to us the gift we seek, living our lives in full consciousness of the moment.

Can it be continued? Can we go through our typical, normal days and still live in this state of perfect awareness and open consciousness? Can we begin to re-appreciate the everyday moments, the usual stuff, the everything we we already know and typically ignore because we are too busy and focused with getting on with the business of our lives - the doing, the achieving, the planning, the plotting, the learning, the worrying about past and future events. What beyond a reasoned and conscious effort to experience the brilliance of now, can be done to stay in the moment?

As I sit and write this at Venice's Marco Polo Airport, my mind is already racing to the future that is not here, now. I wonder about the stack of mail waiting for me, the business concerns, the clients that may need something, my tenants, the planning involved for my next trip (for the month of November!) to Australia. I am being pulled out of now which is scary since I am decidedly focused on trying to write about the exact issue. Our minds go there, toward the future, and formulate events based upon the experiences of our past. This back and forth, from past to future, robs us from our real lives - the ones we are experiencing currently. What is it about vacations, or what most of the world calls being on holiday, that puts us in the now? I think I want to replace the word now, with the word new. This is helping me communicate the essence of the point. If we think of living in the now back home, let's think of living our lives back home in the new. Are not new things, the goal of most vacations - breaking away from the monotony of our lives to do something different, go somewhere foreign, or experience something varied. Through taking vacations and holidays, we break the monotony of the fear-based, anger-based, and angst-based daily lives we lead. So caught up in our past dramas, most of us live through our daily lives with anxious thoughts of our futures.

Completely ignoring our past and/or totally denying plans and goals for our futures, would indeed, be folly. However, what I am considering is a return to the now - the ecstasy we feel on vacation - more often than our current paradigm of preoccupied consideration of the past or preoccupied worry, planning, and anxiety of and for our futures. Speaking of our pasts, maybe we should ask ourselves a simple, pointed question - "what did I learn from the experience, gain from the experience, or realize about the experience that so fascinates, controls, or paralyses me to the point where it predominantly occupies my mind?" Stop reliving it over and over in your mind. Stop projecting it into your future by having it dominate your current thoughts. Simply answer the question - find the reason, the epiphany, the cause, the point of it. Take that thing and digest it, then move on, away from the past preoccupied dominant thought process. Stop savoring it, stop re-living it, stop re-playing it over and over. It is done. It is over. It is gone. It is not real.

Regarding the future. It seems if we are not stuck in the past, most of us are fixated on the future. I have always suggested to people that what has worked for me is to think about what I want in the future. Once I have a visual of that thing, event, outcome - whatever - I then go about taking the actions or steps to have that thing manifest (to get it, to find it, to become it, to achieve it, etc). To me, that is a very straightforward universal law. I have been guilty of losing focus on the process while becoming fixated on the end, the goal, the outcome. During this trip, I easily could have become obsessed with the very real fear of not finding a way to Venice from Prague after my flight got canceled, that I could have lost track of my now moments during the rest of the trip (some 10 days or so). It would have been silly, yet understandable, if I had become so fixated on getting to Venice, that I allowed this fear/concern to diminish my enjoyment of the now moments during my various points of call.

I have seen people, myself included, so caught up in the future - the imagined fear, goal, plan, or concern, that the now moments escape their grasp. This brings me back to a slight return to the concept of rules. When we focus too much on the rule (which is a fear of the imagined future consequence), most of us stop acting in the moment, thus nullifying a potential new/now moment of awareness, the joy of living the beauty and joy of now consciousness. This is not a suggestion to live a life of complete and reckless abandon. I am, however, suggesting that we do what we have to do to slap ourselves out of being the living dead, contently numb, going through our days (past/future focused) without questioning the rules, the norms, the monotonous routines, we all live, that keeps us handcuffed and chained away from the freedom and beauty of being now, living in the current moment.

While in Rijeka, Croatia, I did allow my goal of finding a way to Venice to overshadow my enjoyment of that city. In retrospect (and in reviewing my blog on that day), I realized I lost almost 26 hours of my life, by fretting about the future. I rushed and huffed around that place so focused on finding my way to Venice, finding an Internet cafe, that I nearly failed entirely to stop and take in the now moments the place offered. I barely looked at the town itself or sought out the venues it offered. Other than a 30 minute coffee break at a outside cafe, I hardly even remember the place at all. Luckily, and honestly, I can say that day in Rijeka was probably the only day I lost during the entire journey. Compared to the countless days I waste back home while consumed with my past and enthralled by my ambitious future goals.

One of the reasons for my trip, the more personal, less professional, is that I had an epiphany a year or so ago, that I had lived my whole life so focused on the end goal (success, however defined), that I nearly failed to live my life or appreciate my days at all. Did I even live my life, or simply follow the pre-set, pre-determined pathway that, if followed and achieved, delivers wealth and so-called success? I am thinking that it was an illusionary path because it stole my now. I used my days as a means to an end (gaining wealth and escaping the poverty of my youth). I filled my days with work, then piled on more work outside of my 9-5 to bring in even more wealth and success. Fortunately, one of the things I do to bring in money and gain the power money offers, is also a passion - rebuilding, renovating, beautifying property and real estate. Following this passion, and getting lost in the power of now, perhaps ironically produced the greatest amount of income. When I broke from the 9-5 game plan (you know the one they tell us to follow), is when I discovered daily bliss. But, too much of the time, instead of enjoying the moments doing the creative things I love, I was hell bent on reaching the goals and pre-set items on my to-do list. Future focused, I grew angry and impatient when things did not proceed efficiently along the lines of my plans.

Instead of the plumbing issues being seen as a challenge, or puzzle to solve and learn from, I viewed it as a financial and timeline spoiler. My perspective was wrong. My mind refused to appreciate the moment, the now of the experience and instead, I stressed about my budget and self-appointed deadlines. Repeatedly, after much agonizing over these types of situations (plumbing, electric, city inspections, etc), I did finally just trust in the universe as well as me being a vehicle for universal eventuality. It has not been until lately, that I have been truly able to appreciate the blessings of my life - that I have received the freedom to work as I please, doing the work that pleases me, while being rewarded spiritually and financially in the process.

This trip has re-awakened my deep appreciation - which is a great way of thanking God, the universal force supplying the purposeful, meaningful events and experiences of my personal, specific journey toward revealed or manifested spiritual perfection. I think this trust opens myself to both accept the past as purposeful (although certainly not always pleasurable or even understandable) while offering me the peace to not worry about the future.

My anxiety regarding money certainly stems from having very little of it growing up back in Indiana. As a kid, the lack of material things impressed my mind, much more than the lack of money on the part of my parents impressed my mind that a lack of money limits options in life and leaves people powerless (real or illusionary). If the goal of the game, of life, is money instead of satisfying our basic needs - food, clothing, shelter, love (and soap and water for me, lol), then yes, a lack of monetary abundance limits your power in this paradigm. If Western capitalism has grasped your value system because of the bright future promised by the system of accumulating wealth and buying the toys and trinkets, brands, and stuff, that it controls your now moments by shifting attention to future attainments (as it did mine), there is absolutely no end to this cycle. There will always be bigger and better toys, fancier homes, more expensive clothes and brands - basically, better materialistic items to acquire or experience.

This is where I finally asked myself how much is enough? When was I going to be happy - the happy I always thought (especially as a poor kid) arrived with financial security? When I passed the threshold of what I defined as financial success, and the sky didn't open up, delivering pure bliss and absolute contentment and happiness, I saw the illusion for what it is. I am not unappreciative of the money I earned, but I am realistic about what it offers. For me, it offered me the opportunity to do some self-assessment and evaluation of my life. It has never been about the money and toys to me (as everyone knows I am anything but a label hound or fancy toy purchaser), but it has always been about the freedom and the power money gives to opt out of dominant thought, customs, norms, rules, expectations, conformity, and the like. It has allowed me to shed the frustration and angst associated with trying to be the best little boy/most accomplished man in the world. Instead, I can replace the expected fulfillment of conformity with a pursuit to find my true, authentic self. Personally, I had to gain a bit of financial freedom to understand this lesson. But, wealth is not the only way to this understanding. Your path toward personal freedom may have nothing to do with money at all, especially if money has never been a priority for you. For some, it is reaching an extreme level of education. Once achieved, this person realizes they had the personal power all along to stand up and claim their independence from dominant thought, customs, and beliefs to pursue their own individual life.

An example of this might be found in the Australians I meet throughout my time abroad. They certainly don't wait until they become millionaires before they leave it all behind to check out the world. No, they work enough to save up a piggy bank full, then crack it open, to travel the world until it runs out. Then, they return home and start the process all over again. It's a totally different mind-set about what is important. They work to live. I used to live to work. Compared to this type of audacity, I am pale.

So, all of this philosophizing brings me back to the same starting point. Why do most of us love to travel and see different things? What is it about our human condition that propels us toward wanderlust? If not the fulfillment of being in the now, brought to us via new moments/places/faces/experiences/foods/customs/norms/sights/beliefs/weather -- then what is it? I find myself circling, as is typical of me when I get myself thinking, back to my original questions. If the goal of travel is more now moments, why don't we do it at home. We certainly can, we certainly are capable of doing it?

Venice is for Lovers

So this is the first place on this journey where I have felt a little lonely, perhaps it's the nature of a long trip winding down, but it feels more like Venice itself - so romantic, robust, and alive. Yet, the energy feels (and appears) like a place for couples - literally thousands of them, young and old, walking the streets, riding the gondolas, packed into the ferries, staying in my hotel. I don't give much energy to mistakes, but maybe I made one by staying in the city center. The night manager at my hotel (I love this guy, he's an Italian American, now living back in Italy) told me Mestre, the train stop right before S. Lucia (Venice on the water), is the place for night life and singles whereas City Center is the place for tourists and those services, etc. established to cater to them. Anyway, gives me a thought that next time, maybe I will stay in a place that is more local in taste?

After a few comments from readers, I have been doing some thinking about rules - the ones I have been breaking during my travels - like trespassing, lol. Actually, the thoughts have been more about norms, customs, traditions - rules and laws of this nature. I am beginning to think that rules and guidelines are for the weak minds, or simple minds (hoping that doesn't sound too harsh). Unlimited options (a universe full of potential and unlimited opportunity and routes) cause confusion and disorientation for many who are not ready, capable, or able to maneuver the path of an unstructured existence. Rules give structure - what most people crave. Strong-willed, strong-minded people crave freedom - the freedom to create their own rules, codes, traditions, norms - their own structure. They are not confused by the ambiguity and chaos of the real unlimited potential within their human experience. In fact, realizing that all rules are self-imposed anyway (although most are internalized via an external force - parents, church, governments...), those who thrive in chaos are happy to discover their own, inner voice so they can develop their own structure. Rules suggested (or otherwise) by outside forces are not going to stop me, or control my experience. Society's rules of what is right, may not be right (we have learned this repeatedly throughout history - examples might include the various monarchy governments, religions claiming God's grace, failed governmental theories like communism, civil rights, slavery, lots of things...). What I want to suggest is that I believe you can absolutely opt out of DOMINANT THOUGHT, dominant thinking, to find peace in your life. Thinking will absolutely make it so. That is one of the biggest lessons history teaches us. That is why various governments, churches, parents, teachers, etc all get us to memorize and repeat things. That is why advertisements work - repeated messages make us believe something, even if it is not fact or true. You can do this in reverse. Just think it the way it should be. Repeatedly re-think thoughts the way you want, not the way others have suggested for you. You can control your experience. The people I call The Destroyers offer negative reinforcement to get you to think poorly of something, typically related to your self-body-mind-situation because they are trying to get you to accept yourself as lacking something - something they would like you to fix or resolve with their product, tool, instrument, service, etc. The Builders, on the other hand, offer positiveness and actively give constructive, positive affirmation to help affirm people during their journey. We have a choice. We can use our power to build, change, and manifest full and realized potential in ourselves and others, or we can contribute to the dominant thought pattern which operates to socialize us into common ways, means, and norms - situations that obviously push conformity and strip us of our individuality. We have created a world where dominant thought is actually operating in the opposite direction for our human-spiritual evolution. Instead of freeing us to experience the world as we should, conformity forces us into experiencing the world in the same way. And, the same way is not the way for us to evolve, grow, and unleash our potential. Only through the celebration of our individually authentic selves can we move beyond the common into the sublime.

Forcing myself into situations where I have to re-evaluate my own personal biases and prejudices has been a godsend on this journey. Each individual can provide a contrast to the prevailing opinion. Thus, free your mind and spirit from the pre-programming it has received, from a past understanding, or should I say mis-understanding. What if evil is not some devil, but a force that actually strives to keep you closed off, shut off from the magical, powerful power of having original thoughts or experiences that contradict the norms, rules, dominant thought? Maybe it is so because through these, we become more evolved, closer to our perfect state of total understanding and consciousness of the now, the moment, the essential gift of life. The now moments are the only true, real life experiences we have outside of our dreams, fears, and pre-conceived notions.

A strategy to consider is this. Always assume the opposite is true in able to discern the actual truth. Pose the question in reverse - this will help you analyze what people are trying to tell/sell you. Real truths are true even when you try this trick, because the opposites are too false or far fetched, or can be proven easily wrong or incorrect. Just because someone offers a truth, or just because you have read something, or you believe it based on what you learned from an authority figure, does not make it so. Personal proof is sometimes necessary. Proof helps facilitate the process of your evolution. You may not find that the rule applies to your personal journey. We have to be able to let people test rules on their own. We have to empower each other to reach outside conformity to find themselves, to find their voice, spirit, way.

Okay, well, see what a little wine and a bunch of lovey-dovey couples can do to a solo traveling person's mind. These are some raw thoughts. Let me know what you think.

I am not lost, just in the middle of finding a new adventure

Finally made it to Venice after a full day, plus two hours of travel. The ferry from Split arrived in Rijeka around 7 AM. From Rijeka, I boarded a bus to the Italian city of Trieste at 2 PM. From Trieste, I boarded a train at 6:45 PM that took me to Venice Menstre Station arriving at just about 9 PM - this was one stop short of the Venice by the water (as I call it). From Menstre train station, I purchased a 1 Euro ticket to get back on the train at 9:45 to go one more stop. This one, dumped me right into the canal (well, almost) just around 10 PM - 26 hours after boarding the ferry in Split. Immediately, the day/plus adventure proved worth it as the energy, smell, and warmth that is Italy, embraced me. I am sure I could have done his journey via an easier, and perhaps more direct route, but something about making it happen on the fly pleased me. As I sat at Menstre station, waiting for the last leg of my journey (Amazing Race reference), I began to feel very fortunate yet again as I watched the people mill about, conducting their lives. I sat being contemplative of my lot in life, this past few weeks offered what I had hoped, and Venice was going to end this trip nicely.

I had some snafus along the way, especially Wells Fargo deciding to turn off my ATM card four days before my trip ended. This is the second time they have done this, telling me perhaps it is time to absolutely switch my personal bank (and my dough) to Gillmore, a nice little local bank in Los Angeles where I have my business accounts. After finding it impossible to use the international 800 number they provided on the back of the card, I ended up having to use my iPhone (at a crazy rate, which is total theft) to get someone from Wells Fargo on the line. After losing my temper a little, they re-activated the card. Nothing offers panic more than being in a foreign city with no access to their currency. I have US dollars, but the banks had closed (at 4 pm?), and I could not find any Cambio places to change money into Euros. After the resolution, I settled myself with a little meditation on the train to Venice.

Since I had not booked any hotels on-line before arriving, this too provided another chance to test my nerves, patience, and travel resolve. I found an Internet cafe right near the train station (ah, civilization working magic), where I did a quick search. Since it was now after 10 PM, nothing on-line would let me book a room for the night. Thus, I had to drag myself from place to place to find a hotel with availability. Lucky for me, the economic downturn has caused a tourist drought in Venice (although today, walking the city I would not have noticed it). I found a place posthaste, an amazing hotel - Adriatico Hotel on Lista di Sagna 224. They completed overhauled the place to make it venetian modern - clean surfaces, sharp lines, nice stone finishings done without the typical dramatic Venetian flair, terrazzo floors. Anyway, the room is European in size (read, tiny) but has an en suite bathroom/shower and all the amenities I need.

In Venice, of course, I am working - doing research and finding inspiration for my design work. Since my registered trademark design is called, "Mediterranean Zen" - what other place could I encounter more sensational objects of desire than Venice? Today, I have taken hundreds of pictures of colors, architecture, doors/windows, construction methods, landscaping, etc. I am completely excited to put some of this to work back in LA for myself and/or clients. Even though I was here about 6 years ago, I have found a plethora of new buildings and sight that inspire me. That was the whole point of ending the trip here. So, on that note, I feel completely satisfied.

Rijeka, Croatia

I would not say this is my favorite place. After visiting cities along the way that cater to visitors, I finally found one that does not. All I wanted was to find an Internet cafe so that I could plan out the final few days of the trip (these cafes have been ubiquitous sites throughout my journey thus far), but this wish proved far more difficult than I had imagined. Just to put this into perspective. The ferry disembarkation (is this a word) process put me on ground at 7:10 AM Rijeka time. I walked the city until 10 AM to find a place to gain access to the Internet. And, this one is a Internet club for members. Apparently, the city (large compared to Split) had two Internet cafes, but due to the economy, they have closed down. I chose to visit this northern city because it traveled the most north of any ferry I could find out of Split. And, I need to make it to Venice for my flight back to LA, so I figured, this made sense. In any case, I begged the lady to let use the computer. Even though I am not a member, she obliged, thankfully, so here I sit. My feet hurt yet again, but now after a moment to rest, I am finding my spirit back in yen. The search for an Internet site reminded me of the Amazing Race. I jumped off the ferry, walked to the bus station (should be one around there, right?), traveled quickly to the train station (certainly a nice spot to set up an Internet cafe, tourists and all), then, finally, gave up and started asking random passersby. After I gave up and decided to head back to the bus station to sit for 6 hours until my bus to Trieste, Italy takes off, I happened upon this place. More life lessons for me.

So, the ferry from Split to Rijeka was basically uneventful, minus the guilt I felt by purchasing a sleeping cabin. I can't even blame it on my age as I am far from the only geezer backpacking across Europe, or traveling in this ferry. In fact, plenty of people much older than I, slept on the floor - all over the ferry they spread themselves out, eager to claim their piece of real estate on the ground. Everyone had these little sleeping mats, obviously not ferry virgins. At night, when I climbed into my relatively luxurious bed, I felt like I was being a bad traveler by not roughing it more. All these Grams and Gramps slept on the dirty red carpet outside my cabin while I wrapped myself up in the cozy sheets. Had I known this was the norm, maybe I would have done it this way as well? My cabin mate was a bit of a grumpy-puss, he barely said hello and turned off the cabin lights at 9 PM. I entertained myself above deck, but as the night grew darker, I headed off to bed, realizing I would not be able to see anything as we journeyed north along the coast. I jumped down from my bed at 5 AM, eager to watch the sunrise. I had to wait an hour, so much for the early bird, eh? The start of the day turned out worth the wait, I watched the sun peak over the horizon near 6 AM, then headed off to enjoy the breakfast that came with my cabin purchase (all the perks!). Modest and minimal, but enough to get me started, the breakfast ended with a young German 4 year old spilling orange juice all over the table. And, unlike what would happen in families I know, the father just laughed, looked at me and spoke some German, saying to me, hey, he's a kid.

The bus leaves in an hour, so off I go to trek back across town to the bus terminal. More later.

Diocletian's Palace - Split

Fresh, after a 12 hour sleep, I journeyed off to find new adventure. A quick right turn off the street of my apartment, put me in the heart of old town Split - filled with tourists, shops selling ice-cream, trinkets suitable for suitcases, and sundry other wares for people to drag home. Luckily, I only packed a small backpack, so no one gets anything, sorry. Not spending time searching for little items (typically manufactured in China anyway) had freed up my mind, time, and spirit to experience the place. If you are reading this blog, consider this my gift to you from where I am discovering both myself and another culture. I hope this offers more than a magnet for your fridge.

To escape the morning down-pour, I slipped down a flight of stairs in old town to find myself standing in the basement halls of an old Roman summer palace. This place, Diocletian's Palace, erected sometime in the 7th century, was actually the start of what became known as Split. The caverns in which I wandered, took my breath away. I have been fortunate enough to have seen some of the marvels of Roman engineering relating to buildings, but nothing such as this. In fact, this is considered one of the best preserved examples of Roman building in the world. Basically, I was in the foundation/basement of the palace that once existed above me. And, considering the magnificence of the basement architecture, I can only imagine the beauty that once existed above me. Over the centuries, the palace took on various incarnations and people built and re-built new structures following wars and battles and the ravages of time itself. What was thought is that people over time, dug holes into the ground and discovered huge holes (the basements) that were used for waste materials of the cities that had developed above. It was this waste that preserved the structure. In 1950, when the waste was removed, moder man discovered this hidden gem or ancient Roman architecture. I spent a little too long down in these basements and was beginning to feel a need for some vitamin D. The sun was calling.

I considered returning to the scene of my original crime - the abandoned villa from the day prior, but opted to just hit the main beach instead. I wanted to take a new route to the beach, so I followed some people carrying towels and hats up a very large and rambling set of stairs. Up, up it went. So, up, up went I. Finally, at the top, I realized I now stood almost at the top of the small mountain side on the left of the city while facing the sea port. A restaurant at the top took full advantage of the view and tourists and locals enjoyed some drinks. I continued walking the path on what turned into a hike similar to Runyon Canyon for the LA readers. I kept wondering when the road would take a turn left, down the mountain toward the beach. After an hour of waling the path, that continued at exactly the same level near the crown of the mountain, I stopped. On the ground, beneath me was an amazing army of large black ants. I squatted to watch a particularly ambitious little guy try to move a piece of material probably twenty times his size. None of his little ant friends wanted to assist him (so much for strength in numbers). I picked up the piece of leaf and carried it, and him, to the mouth of the nest. I placed him down and, after a moment to regain his bearings, he pulled the leaf into the hole. Content with my good deed for the day, I look down at the water, hearing the song of it's soul. Resolved, I knew what I had to do. I needed to climb down the mountain side.

Lucky for me, various trees and bushes allowed me to grip and grab my way down as I slid, climbed, and rolled (just a little) toward the bottom. Ill-equipped for hiking, wearing flip-flops and a bathing suit, I must have been quite the sight coming down the side of this mountain in search of the ocean. I think I was my only witness, thank God. Finally, after a few minor flesh wounds, I arrived at terra firma, a flat piece of land just behind the mansions which were built to capture the view of the ocean. A few turns and some pedestrians stairways later, I found the rocky beach. And now because of my scrapes, I needed the healing properties of the ocean. As I revealed prior, the beach scene was too family friendly for me - too many kids screaming and splashing - but I went with the flow anyway and accepted this situation. I followed and old Croatian man into the water, by maneuvering the rocky beach, then floated out as he was doing. The ocean was crisp, not cold, and I loved tasting the salt water as a tiny amount made its way past my lips. Paranoid about leaving my belongings (money, credit, etc) on the rocks at the shore, I returned to find everything in place.

I made my way back to town around 4 pm - the sun still high in the sky and warm. On the way, I passed an entrance to what looked like a private beach/pool club (I know this from my view while climbing down the mountain). Just then, two very determined and regal looking women passed me, heading through the gates. Like lightening, I caught the tail of their passing and confidently walked right behind them into the facility. Sure enough, it worked - just like in the movies. I was excited to have pulled this off because the place offered a view that took the wind from my lungs. I could not believe the beauty. There was a large pool to the left of me and I walked down a large concrete platform that hung over something and ended with the ocean itself. It was like those infinity pools back in LA. People spread their towels all over this area and were jumping in and out of the water. I continued past the ladies who so graciously provided my entrance to find a bar/lounge area with tables also sitting right at the ocean. People here were playing cards, taking drinks, smoking, relaxing. I noticed a ladder coming up from the ocean, and then a man climbed up. Then, a woman walked over near the ladder where a few giant rocks came up out of the ocean. She climbed on top and dove into the blue water. This, I noticed was the ritual. I took a table, ordered a beer, peeled off my shorts, paraded my pale speedo wearing ass across the bar, climbed up onto the rocks, made my pose, then dove head first into the deep Croatian sea. I swam happily like a dolphin until my arms and legs tired from the activity. Once up and off the ladder, I returned to my beer. For the next three plus hours, I enjoyed a couple more beers and repeated the pattern of going in and out of the water, just like the locals. At the beginning of sunset, when the sun had almost dropped behind the horizon, I made my exit, content with the brilliance of my day.

Train to Split

I received the same Hollywood treatment again on the train, although this time, from pure luck, as no one else showed to share my cabin with me. Since I had not slept the evening prior, I immediately plopped down on the lower bed and fell fast asleep, losing the first 6 hours of the journey. Had the 2 year old in the cabin next to mine not been so damn loud, playing with this cars and trucks and running up and down the hallway outside the cabins, I suspect I would have enjoyed several hours more. Somewhat refreshed, I pulled out my book and began reading to pass the time - only 15 hours more to go. I had pre-packed a few sandwiches from the breakfast buffet at the hotel figuring I might need some nourishment on the train and unsure of the food that might be offered aboard. A few bites here and there, a few pages more, and repeat. This mixed with getting up and looking out the open window probably twenty times, completed my day on the train. The most notable situation occurred while reading. I had folded the second bed up to allow more room for me below, not realizing that I should have attached the strap. As the train made a corner and hit a rough patch of rail, the bed slammed down onto my head, knocking me to the ground, dazed. I still have a headache from this and am hoping not to go the route of Natasha Richardson from the blow. If something happens to me, at least I can help document the cause here. Around 8pm, I turned off my lights and decided to sleep. The night went slowly as I did not sleep well, too many stops and noises at the various cities from Prague to Split. Finally, somewhere in early morning, I managed to sleep deeply enough that the wake-up know at my door at 5:30 AM shocked me into consciousness. Thirty minutes until Split. I jumped up and refreshed myself as best as possible in the small sink in my cabin. I wanted to watch the landscape and see the welcome into Croatia. My initial reaction, Croatia reminded me or Greece and a little of Turkey. Comparisons to other places seems to be the way my mind works. The arrival into any city via train can sometimes skew perception, so I held out a final verdict until I got my feet on the ground. As the train traveled along the ocean side, however, I could not help but think the place somewhat beautiful, though not elegant. When we arrived at Split train station - next to the bus station, and the port for cruise ships, boats, sail boats, ferry boats, I got a chance to see the Split, Split wants to present. This area was much more picturesque. The facades of the buildings rebuilt and the grounds more manicured than the sights I had seen traveling into the city. Tourist stalls selling tourist junk peppered the walk from the port/station area. I stopped for a coffee (yes, I have been drinking a little this trip), since I had to kill a couple of hours before my apartment was ready. At 9:30 I met Iris at Apartment Iris, the place I had found on the internet while in Prague. The apartment was upstairs, on top of another structure just off one of the main streets just west of the train station. Modest at best, the apartment suited me. I had my own bathroom, kitchen, bed, closet - all the essentials needed.

I unpacked, and after a quick nap (not even sure how I was still tired), I put on my bathing suit and headed to the water. I looked at a map which had showed a couple of beaches to the west, and decided to walk along the coast. Beaches here are not sandy; they are rocky. I found the two beaches from the map and continued after briefly stopping, but being annoyed by the noise of children and families. At the end of the second beach, I was stopped by a large natural wall that had been augmented with cement blocks to increase the impediment by 10 additional feet. Faced with an obstacle, true to form, I managed a way around it. I pulled myself up to see a deserted landing below. That's where I wanted to be - alone on the side of the ocean in Croatia. I climbed to the right, over the large wall and found myself hanging off a rocky cliff - below me, the place I wanted to be. Lucky, I am still athletic (and daring) enough to hang and hold and use my feet as the way down proved far too difficult for the faint of heart. At the final point, where I had no additional footings, I jumped, landing hard on my feet. Minus a few cuts on my knees, I was safe and sound on the ground finally.

To be alone on a man-made concrete beach-type platform in Croatia pleased me deeply. I peeled off my shorts and walked around alone in my speedo on this narrow piece of earth and smiled. I breathed in the ocean air and followed the steps into the pool someone had created to break the waves. From here, I swam through the opening into the rougher waters of Croatia. Clear, with a hint of green, I could see the rocky bottom. I made my way further into the ocean, away from my private oasis and happily floated and paddled my way for some time before heading back to shore. Back up the concrete stairs, I took a nap in the sun, knowing full well, I would regret it later (the sun does not like my skin or visa versa).

A man in a motorized row boat woke me from my nap. He wanted me to help him make land, I guess, but I could not understand his Croatian language. When he got close enough he threw me his rope, and as directed, I pulled him to the cliff side as I imagined he wanted. Once close enough, he tossed another rope, this one from the back of his vessel. When the boat was touching the rocks beneath me, he jumped up onto the platform and tried to find a place to tie his boat. The choppy water was crashing his boat against the rocks now somewhat forcefully. Deciding against his initial thought, he jumped back on board, then yelled at me to toss the ropes back inside. I did this as instructed and he was off again, back to where he traveled. He was the only disturbance to my otherwise peaceful day alone with the sea.

Getting out of my paradise proved even more precarious. The wall, from where I now stood, was insurmountable. I found a staircase to the north of me and climbed them to find a very nice, although somewhat abandoned summer house of some sort. To the right of me, I noticed a guard who was standing above where I had been sunbathing. He was looking down the 50 foot drop, watching the water crash against the rocks. I am unsure how I avoided his view (either directly below him at the edge of the ocean, or now just twenty-five feet to his north), but he paid not attention to me at all. I hastened a path toward what I thought was the road, only to find a large, locked gate and another wall that enclosed this compound. I walked the land surrounding this home, careful to avoid the guard, searching for a different way out of the estate grounds. Nothing seemed doable, so I headed back to the gate. There I found the large gate for cars locked as well as the pedestrian access locked and chained as well. The vertical bars disallowed an easy climb, leaving me with the only option left (short of getting caught and asking the guard to let me out) - climbing the wall. Luckily, I did not need to fell a tree because I found one that had grown, somewhat leaning toward the wall. I got on it, and as best I could in my flip-flops, pulled with all my strength to lift myself to the top of the wall. All those pull-ups at the gym finally did me some good. I made it up and over and onto the sidewalk in front, much to the surprise of a tiny bag lady, busing herself with collecting plastic bottles from a nearby trashcan. I made pretend I belonged and walked back toward the city center.

My first night in Croatia, I opted to make my own dinner since I realized how much I missed this ritual. I had shopped earlier that day at the outdoor large market, buying tomatoes, grapes, peppers, plums, some kind of lettuce (which tasted deliciously spicy), and onions. At the meat market, I found some meat-stuffed pasta and sausage. I thought of my friend Karni, and also purchased some local white wine for my meal. Back at the apartment, I combined everything together with a pinch of sea salt and created a feast.

Spring Park 2

After our afternoon drink and excursion around the castle hill, Giovanni bid me farewell, and headed back to his apartment outside the city center. Before he left, he informed me about a nice park, nestled near the river, just outside the city center that mostly locals and long term visitors utilize. The area, called Vysehrad, boasted a massive public green space as well as a smaller cathedral, similar to the one on near the castle that we had investigated that morning. Empowered by my newly discovered public transit prowess, I ventured on my own down into the metro to find the stop for this park. Turned out easier than I had expected, just one stop from the station where I had entered. I exited the station and tried to follow the people, but upon exit, they seemed to scatter in every direction. I headed off toward the river, considering Giovanni had told me that the park and church could be located there. After taking what turned out to be the very long route, I found my prize. The park, filled with families and couples walking hand-to-hand, delivered a peaceful paradise compared to the tourist mobs elsewhere in Prague. I strolled along, appreciating this park - watching people play tennis, eying dogs doing their thing, listening to children beg for ice-cream, and savoring the overall tranquility. I found the church easily, the peaks revealing its location. A large cemetery, to the right of the church, invited me in for a what I thought would be a quick walkabout. As is customary for me, I wandered up and down the crammed graveyard, reading the enormous headstones and appreciating the small landscapes which are planted directly over many of the older plots. Something magically poetic, these robust plants growing on top of the deceased, reminded me about the chain of life. Compelled, I photographed the monuments and statutes, the little gardens, with the cathedral itself serving as a wonderful background.

After some time at the cemetery, I found myself sitting on a wall, observing the action on the river below me. From here, I spied an amazing vantage point for the castle/cathedral too the right, far off in the distance. Below, rowers navigated the river to the south. Pedestrians did their best to find their way to and from their destinations. Lost in my thoughts and considering my good fortune, I sat. After an hour, I made my way back to the hotel for a nap.

Giovanni sent me a text, I discovered when I awoke. He wanted me to meet him at the Cechuv Most tram stop on the castle side of the river at 9:45 PM. We had discussed doing dinner earlier that day, but I did not hold out much hope, considering people sometime flake and change their minds once they get back into their minds and personal routines. Excited to have a plan, for this was my last night, and I had decided to stay awake until my morning train which I would need to depart the hotel for at around 7:30 AM. Although Giovanni told me the trams/metro from my hotel would take me 15 minutes, the journey ended up consuming nearly 45 minutes, leaving me a half-hour late at our meeting location. I felt a bit stressed, one of the few times during this overall journey, due to my tardiness. When the tram stopped at Cechuv Most, I spied Giovanni waiting for me. He had changed his shorts and t-shirt, as had I, into a pair of jeans and a light sweater. Too funny, I amused myself, as I greeted him with a peck on either side of his face. Quickly, he led me to the north, along the river and informed me that he wanted to share another piece of Prague heaven. After a 10 minute walk, we crossed the street, to the left, to find a large set of stairs heading up the hill. We followed a few other people, heading the same way, and at the top of the staircase, found a large expanse of space that housed multiple restaurants and bars, each with enough seating for what seemed like hundreds of people. I loved this spot immediately. From here, I could see a complete view of the city at night - one of the most stunningly fantastic of this, or any, trip. I certainly understand what the tour books mean when they tell travelers that Prague must be viewed at night.

Giovanni and I sat at a table, it was now 10:30 and most of the restaurants had stopped serving food. We inquired about a meal, and the hostess did a little sweet-talking with the cook (who did his thing at an outside grill/kitchen to our right). She informed us that yes, we could eat, but that we had to be quick about it. The male server, customarily rude like all servers in this city, tossed us the menus and immediately asked for our order. This, before we could even open the menu. It made me laugh and Giovanni informed me that this was typical Czech service, especially for tourists. I had previously encountered this same type of service, but had tried to dismiss it. His confirmation of my initial perception, saddened me. I remarked about how much better the Czechs would do with tourists (and thus the capitalistic dollars we offer), if they only grasped they importance of proper service and attitude. Since tourism is probably one of the largest sources of revenue, it seems odd that many of those involved in its delivery are so cold. Nonetheless, we did not allow their attitude to disrupt our nice meal. I ordered a lamb skewer and Giovanni a chicken ceasar salad - both were delicious, as we shared bites.

After dinner, we followed custom and ordered some travel beers - plastic cups filled with Budweiser (which was actually invented here by Czechs and brought to the US where it enjoys market dominance). The recipe is essentially the same in both countries I am told by locals. We wandered to the right and found a place on the ground among the masses of others who had beat us to the ritual. There we talked and talked, Giovanni quite happy to share time and space with someone he said was open and warm. After nearly a year in Czech, he was feeling extremely homesick, wanting to be back among his culture of warmth, openness, and love. His assessment of the Czech people certainly matched my own. A ride on the tram or metro revealed only stone faces, people lost in some kind of perpetual funk? Perhaps the transition out of communism and into capitalism, complete with the expected growing pains of such a profound cultural and social movement in a relatively short period of time, is causing this angst. I felt it in Hungary too, but it seems more profound here in Prague.

Around 4 AM, Giovanni, who had been so gracious to help me stay awake all night, called it quits. He had to work the next day, at the hotel we watched from across the river, and needed to gain at least a few hours of sleep. We wandered a different path to find the bottom this time, ending at the tram station by the bridge. Giovanni checked the night tram schedule and as the tram approached instructed me to get on board. Rushed, I barely was able to say goodbye or thanks. I left this nice Italian man on river bank as my tram tore into the night. After about a minute, I realized the tram was not going the way Giovanni had hoped, back toward the city center, and instead was taking me deeper into suburbia. After a little panic, I pressed the button and jumped off, making tracks quickly to return to the bridge. I crossed the bridge by foot, hoping to find another tram station there, on the correct side of the river. I boarded the next tram, filled with drunk, obnoxious American tourists, and did my best to pretend that I was Czech so that they did not pull me into a conversation. Twelve stops later and then two blocks by foot, I arrived back at Hotel Saint George. It was now 5:30 AM. Breakfast starts at 7, and I needed to head to train station at 7:30. My plan was working nicely.

Spring Park

I spent my last day in Prague with Giovanni, a young Italian guy spending a year here completing a preceptorship at a local 5 star hotel. He asked me to meet him outside the Malostranska metro station on the castle side of the river. The perfect chance, I reasoned, to give the underground in Prague a test run. Two blocks north of my hotel is the red line, and another block north is the green line entrance. Malostranska sits near the end of the green line, so I gathered my camera, map, money, and chapstick, then exited toward the Museum at Wenceslas Square. From there, I descended into the earth, uncertain about the result of my trip. Inside the metro station, I located the ticket machine. Too many options on the automated machine confused me, so I simply purchased the most expensive one, feeling that would be the safest bet. I gathered the change and ticket from the drawer at the bottom of the machine and looked for my next move. The escalators took me deeper into the earth, finally stopping at a platform that opened up to an east and west side. I was heading West, toward the river and castle, so I joined the queue and waited. Within seconds, the train arrived. It delivered me to Malostranska station about 4 minutes later. I made it safely, with time to spare before we were to meet.

Outside the station, the one closest to the castle and the cathederal (at the base of the hill), I took a place on the large, black granite steps and waited for Giovanni. Countless tourists passed by, speaking languages from English to Korean to Russian. I watched them all, each group more different and uniquely interesting. The sun had decided to make an appearance in spite of the rain called for in the weather forecast, making the black t-shirt I had selected seem a bit stupid at the moment. About five minutes late, Giovanni appeared, a small backpack hanging from his back. We did the traditional European, kiss, kiss, hello, then he lead me to the tram that would take us up to the castle (where was he to give me this tip the first day when I walked all the way to the top on my blistered feet?). Apparently, just like in Budapest, a pass purchased for the metro works on the trams as well. We arrived at the back side of the castle and catherderal. Luckily, he had never been inside the church either, so we decided to brave what he thought would be a terribly long line. Turns out, the line to get into the church was short; and the entrance free. Bonus. The cathederal's inner chambers glowed from the sun pouring through the enormous stained glass windows. The catholic church spared no expense on this place. True to form, every possible gaudy accent was added - gold, silver, colorful paints, terrazzo tiles, mosaics, and more - yet somehow it all worked against the mostly gray granite stone walls. We spent twenty minutes looking at the church, then headed outside, the weight of the place upon us.

As we exited the church, we heard music to the left of us, signalling the changing of the castle guards. When we got close enough to see the action, we noticed that the commotion was actually just a bunch of palace guards on motorcycles doing a synchronized performance to the band playing outside the castle. I pulled out my camera to film this exercise - quite impressive - for anyone who would watch. This too grew tiresome after what seemed like twenty minutes of motorcycle circles, crossed paths, and follow the leader. We exited for a beer at an outside cafe his friend had told him about just past the castle up the hill a little.

Prague, 4:30 AM

Well, a few hours to go before the train to Split, so I figured I could get caught up on the blog - lots to share now as I fear the internet access in Croatia may not be so easily found. The last couple of days have been a blur, a tired cliche yes, yet somehow it seems the most appropriate description.

Yesterday, I befriended a tour guide here in Prage. His name is Lukas. Born in the Ukraine, he has been here since he was five years old. He took me to lunch, for some authentic Czech cuisine. I ordered the Goulash (even though the Hungarians told me that goulash was their traditional dish?). The food arrived on a large platter - in the middle, a pool of brown gravy covered some type of meat, while the sides showcased two versions of potato creations. On the left side, two potato pancakes rested with a bit of green sprinkled on top, and on the left, were two potato dumplings. I tore into the food, and after a bite of everything, decided the only thing really worth eating were the potato pancakes. If I could get the recipe, I would make these every week. The goulash, lukewarm and uninspired, left me longing for the amazing Hungarian version. The potato dumplings, strangly named, seemed like balls of warmed-up Wonderbread. The offerings, basic and bland, certainly did not win me over to adding Czech food to my favorites list. Lucky for Thailand, their cuisine remains at my top.

The conversation with Lukas made up for the average food. His aunt worked for the KGB back during the days before Perestroika and Glasnost (you remember Mikhail Gorbachev right?) and was one of the party loyalists who read the incoming and outgoing mail. She was responsible for taking a black marker to the portions of letters that were deemed unacceptable, for whatever reason. I laughed whe Lukas said that sometimes, she simply tossed entire letters, when too full of censored information. Since his family still lives in the Ukraine, I could not help myself but inquire regarding their views of the new Russia. Following the collapese of the former USSR, Ukraine became its own independent state, no longer under the control of the Russians. I was curious to see what his parents and family tell him about the changes, and whether or not they like capitalism over communism. As expected, based upon all that I have read, his family is mixed. They enjoy the freedoms - and, most of all the materialism capitalism offers. However, his family is bitter about the loss of basics like jobs, housing, healthcare, cars, heat, and food that used to be provided under the Soviet system. As expected, the old are transitioning slower while the younger citizens have embraced materialism with great zest.

Later that day, I befriended Michael, my first full-blooded Czech friend. He invited me to dinner (although it was understood that as the visiting tourist, I would pay). A traditional Czech pub, located at the mouth of the Charles Bridge served as our destination point. Michael worked at a Bohemian Crystal shop (one of the few remaining Czech industries) selling crystal chandeliers, art objects, and other brick-a-brack to curious tourists. I learned that his goal in sharing dinner with me was to improve his American English so that he could better do his job by communicating better in colliquial English. When we sat, Michael mentioned that food was a passion. Sure to his word, I realized this kid could eat. Three beers, a basket of bread, and a large seared tuna entre later, and still he wanted more. I was beginning to see the forrest through the proverbial trees. He pursuaded me to order the traditional pork platter (cannot remember the name). When it arrived, I noticed a large piece of sliced ham, a 14 inch piece of sausage, and a lean/boneless pork chop - smothered in red cabage with a different type of potato pancakes than the ones I received at lunch. After a few forkfuls, I came to the same conclusion as before - not my favorite. Following what turned out to be a very expensive dinner (I think he may get kickbacks from this place?), we wandered around old town at night. During the journey, I ended up buying him a gelato, and yes, belive it or not, another ice cream concoction from McDonalds of all places.

Inside McDonalds, I found an expensive camera and case sitting on the counter. Immediately, I sensed Michael wanted it for himself as he explained that the staff at McDonalds would just keep it since they don't make a lot of money. Now, after being burglarized twice - and losing all of my electronics (computers, phones, cameras, etc), I know how important pictures are once they are gone. I simply had to find the owner. I kept the camera and did not let Michael touch it, even though he asked a few times. We looked through the pictures to see if there was one of a hotel or anything that could help me identify the owner. Nothing significant, just a bunch of tourist shots, could offer me much assistance. Then, Michael offered to take the camera and leave his information with McDonalds in case the owner returned. Now, I have to admit, I did not believe him. So, I said, I would leave my business card with McDonalds. I instructed the workers that if the owner returned, to give her my business card so that I could return it. An hour later, my phone rang, but I could not retrive it from my pocket quickly enough. When I tried to return the call, my phone could not connect. Back at the hotel later the next day, I found an email from the owner letting me know that she was leaving Prague at 10AM and hoped to get her camera back. The hotel helped me call her (too late) and I learned she was already on her way to the airport. I assured Anette (her name) that I would send it to her in Norway once I return to Los Angeles (since I told her I did not trust to send it from Croatia or Czech). She was so funny over the phone, telling me that she only wanted the disc (since the photos are irreplacable) and that I could keep the camera. I let her know that I had a very nice camera already - she would be receiving her camera and disc from me. When I checked facebook today, I noticed that she had sent me a friend request. Now I have a friend in Norway, my first!

This and That and Some More...

The travel situation worked itself out nicely. After deciding that the flights are just too expensive an option, since I am on Smike International, Inc., business and I have to answer to the CEO (he's a real frugal character),I investigated the train option further (thanks for the advice Patrick). I did find a direct (meaning same train all the way, but about 50 stops) one to Split, Croatia from Prague. Considering I had such a lovely time on the train from Budapest to Prague, I am hoping for the Hollywood treatment yet again, especially since this one will be nearly an entire day, about 21 hours. I stopped off at the book store to pick up a book and am actually excited to see if I can get through the book during the train ride. Normally, I would be very upset right about now, considering things are not working according to my pre-set plan of action. Those of you who know me well can attest to my temper, so I am finding my newfound calm a little frightening in that it is a place a I rarely traveled. Acceptance can be amazingly, refeshingly relaxing. Basically, I lose a day of being somewhere, except for the train, and since this trip is so long, that's fine.

While checking out old town Prague, or Praha, as is used here, I dashed into the liquor store to buy some gum (really, that was the intention). However, I noticed a large section of Absinthe. Now, I have had the stuff that they sell in America which has been reformulated to pass our tough FDA regualtions (bit of sarcasm here) and it is nothing like the legendary stuff of history books. To be fair, other countries have banned the real thing as well for health reasons. I think they say Van Gough cut off his ear after drinking it, so that tells you something. Well, tell me no and that makes me want to try it (within reason mama). I asked the worker to sell me the best, most authentic stuff. He, of course, seemed happy to comply. I paid about $13 USD for a small bottle, read airplane size bottle, of the stuff and ventured back to a quaint little park hidded just off the main touristy part of old town. I found this park because I had been eyeing some real estate to renovate nearby. I sat on a white park bench and opened my treasure, anxious to discover the mystery of Absinthe. Did I mention I had purchased some gum? I unscrewed the cap and took a sniff at the bottle. It smelled of roots and black licorice/anise. We mostly know of it as candy, but the candy is made from the dried root of a European leguminous plant (Glycyrrhiza glabra) with the extract of this plant used for Absinthe. Another ingredient offering flavor is wormwood, are you getting the picture here? It is typically green, though this Czech version was light brown and still had the roots and floaters in the bottle (I guess like the worm in Tequila). I tiled back the tiny bottle and as the first few drops entered my mouth I felt the gag refex immediately. The liquid burned as it slid down my throat and further into my digestive track. I swear I could feel the path it took as it finally found a resting spot in my stomach. I waited a moment to see if anything out of the ordinary occured. Nothing. I tilted it back again, then repeated this about ten more times before I finally finished the stuff. Each time, I washed it down with the water I had so smartly picked up along with the gum. I had to chew two pieces before the tase of the Absinthe subsided. I sat and waited, then realized it was just a scam. This stuff too was a pale imitation, and not even authentically green! Nevertheless, it was mildly amusing, sitting in the park, pretending to be bad with my covert consumption of Absinthe.

On the walk, sometime after the Absinthe, it happened. Not a reaction to it, but a wonderful experience with a fellow artist. At least I think this actually happened, lol. I typically wander aimlessly when I travel because I always find the best encounters this way. This day, it happened again, just by meandering with no destination in mind. I came across a man, up on a ladder doing some painting. Upon further investigation, I realized he was creating a faux wood effect over the entire entrance to a hotel. Now, I have been doing this for over a decade in my homes (and homes of my clients) in Los Angeles, so this situation proved most exciting. I immediately took out my camera and starting taking pictures, much to the interest of this laborer. He stopped, then looked at me admiring his craft. Then, like I would have done in this situation, he tried to communciate with me, sensing ourselves simpatico. He spoke no English, and I no Czech, but we somehow managed to speed the next fifteen minutes together, "discussing" his craft. He showed me his formula (much like my own) and even showed me his secret ingredient, something I never ever, ever would have considered or thought about as something to use. This alone, this gift from him to me, completely made my trip worth it. I am eager to try his formula. He even showed me the European tools the master craftsmen have been using to perfect their technique for jobs in the major European museums and other historic sites. After WWII, a lot of rebuilding took place and many materials had to be "faux" for cost and availability reasons. In any case, I think I can replicate his tools as well when I return. I traveled back the next day to inspect his job (cannot stop being a designer even when I am trying to investigate real estate), and was amazed by his brillant work.

Another design element that must be discussed here, due to my shock about it, is the ubiquitous use of 2x2 inch cut granite stones which are placed together on the ground tightly, forming walkways, driveways, sidewalks, entrances, and the list continues. They use different colors to form various patterns on the ground, making the miles upons miles a typical tourist journeys not so horrible as the artwork beneath their feet entertains the mind. They use this material instead of concrete - even the curbs are larger cut pieces of stone. The roads, of course are made of granite and other hard stone cut into probably 6x6 inch pieces. I had really forgotten this aspect of European cities, and still marvel at the availability here of the materials I use (and pay dearly for) during my renovation work back home. I am probably one of the few tourists who even cares about such matters, but it is part of what I love about being here, walking on such beauty, carved from the earth and placed back artistically.

Prague

Out of the train station before 7 AM, I looked right, then left, unsure of my direction. From the map I had printed off in Budapest, it appeared as if my hotel in Prague was south of the train station. My directionally-challenged mind, however, struggled to find north. The morning air, crisp and pleasant, pleased my still sleepy mind since the Tylenol PM remained ever so slightly active in my system. I pulled out the plums, ubiquitious throughout Budapest at stands and shops everywhere, wiped the moisture off onto my jacket, then bite into the soft fruit. The plum's skin broke easily and the tart meat spread as my teeth tore into it, pulling the fruit in half with one quick motion. I chewed the fruit as I made my way to the left of the station, figuring that was south. A few pedestrians passed me, or me them, as I wandered south on Wilsonova (which, luckily for me, turned into Mezibranska and then into Sokolska). At the midpoint between the train station and my hotel, I found the famous St. Wenceslas Square. A stunning museum stood opposite the square, and on the side where I walked, a spectacular monument shot into the sky - a giant horesman in the air. 7 AM on a Sunday morning, a universally quiet time, provided me a rare opportunity (I learned this later) to enjoy this area almost alone. The sun had barely risen, only a few souls wandered about (perhaps from the night prior?), and the noise of the city barely begain to speak. Peaceful perfection.

Honestly, I felt as if I were cheating on a lover, my appreciation for Budapest still so strong. The pull of Prague's old town grabbed me forcefully, it's buildings and architecture so profoundly beautiful. To remain focused on finding my hotel proved difficult, my eyes kept stealing glances to the right, intoxicated by the sights. Resolved, I moved quickly south, excited that the course to the new hotel appeared so easy. Ten minutes later, after walking from one side of the street to the other via odd pedestrian walkways that ended with metal rails compeling me to cross, walk a little more, and then re-cross at the next block, I found Hotel Staint George, exactly where is appeared on my map. Miracles happen.

Inside the hotel, I did not have much hope for an early check-in, but inquired nonetheless. The extremely handsome Czech boy at the desk greeted me as his replacement, a more stern looking woman, was taking over from his night shift. After a minute or two, they found my reservation and informed me that the room was ready. Perfect. I found my way to floor 4, and room 403. I dropped my bag, took off my belt, and softly placed my body onto the little-itty-bitty twin bed. A glace around the room proved quick - the standard single room no more or less than the pictures from the internet, quality similar to a Ramada or Best Western type hotel in the states. This bed would do for now, my tired mind reasoned, but would have to be upgraded later. I crashed for another two hours and found consciousness again around 9 AM, still early for a Sunday.

Had I not know instinctively from my walk earlier that morning, I certainly would have figured out where to be by following the swarms of tourists heading toward Wenceslas Square. By now, the time reached nearly 11 AM, and the tourists thrived, gathering in masses and scurrying like ants in every direction. Immediately, I understood what the travel brochures meant when they spoke of Europe during the summer tourist high season. I could not believe the amount of people milling about this place. Nothing in Budapest prepared me for this. Yes, Prague would be a different experience. I shoved my map back into my pocket and simply followed the masses, like a sheep heading to slaughter I thought, then laughed at myself. So much for rugged individualism and finding my own course here. I probably could not have broken from the mass had I wanted to, the crowds so intense and the streets of old town so narrow. The pack broke when it arrived in Old Town Square, room now to disperse and set a new course alone perhaps? I could not ignore the Astronomical Clock as I entered the square because it had just begun to sing - small doors mid-way up the tower opened and animated characters moved from inside to out while music played for the tourists. I grabbed my camera and caught the last few seconds of this routine before the clock turned 11 AM and the show ended. I suppose this display occurs every hour, but I did not want to wait around for round two. The second sight on the tourist list appeared to be the Charles Bridge. Again, ample signs and gangs of tourists lead the way.

It took me about an hour to make this assessment: The Czechs have certainly mastered the art of marketing their city to tourists. The old world charm, sophistication, and architectural elegance communicate ambiance while the shops, bars, and restaurants cement the overall sensual mood. A few too many junky tourist shops sour the overall feeling for me, but hey, capitalism, regardless of it's many positives, is not pretty. The crowds delivered me to Charles Bridge, the famous gateway over the Vltava River (Moldan, in English I think). From here, across the river on the hill, sat the Prague Castle - Glorious. Ambitious. Stately. Stunning. Breath-taking. Again, the pull from the other side of the bridge nearly betrayed the beauty of the bridge itself. I wanted to appreciate the movement from point A to point B, so I forced myself to focus on each step, so that I could take in every detail across the water. A kid, dressed in a Knight's costume greeted me at the mouth of the bridge. I could tell he thought his job was as silly as I did and we shared a laugh. Other tourists took pictures with him. A make-shift band, playing for money, had established a spot on the brige, filling the air with the elegance of classical music. Small boats and ferries made their way down the river. Lovers took pictures from the bridge. Artists peddled their crafts. Still, I looked up, to both sides of the river now. A Thousand years of history before me, many men had traveled these steps, looked at both sides of this old town, and I hope, appreciated it's beauty. Romanesque, Gothic, Baroque, Neo-Classical, Art Nouveau - so many styles of buildings peppered the city scape. The overwhelming diversity, yet simpathetic brillance of styles, paralyzed me. All I could do was look, appreciate, and smile.

On the castle side of the river, some government agency must have passed an ordinance that all roofs must be topped with terra cotta tiles. The sea of orange, almost blinding, started at the shore and rose to nearly castle-level at the top. Speaking of the top, the Prague Castle and St Vitus Catherdral absolutely dominate the panorama of the city. Countless paintings and pictures have captured, or have attempted to catch, its elegance. Considering Czech history, the fact that these monuments still stand certainly seems remarkable and a testiment to her people.

I grabbed a two dollar beer and walked the streets on the castle side, again necessarily following the tourist packs. I could see the path to the castle went right, so instead I opted to venture left, away from the sheep. A quiet street provided me the opportunity to check out some Antik Shops (just like it sounds). I tried on handful of art-deco men's rings, just for giggles. I stopped buying these things years ago because I never end up wearing them once I return from my trips. However, I still enjoy the process of trying them on, wondering whose hands (and what life) they had once belonged to during another place and time in history. Many of these rings were beautifully crafted and contained monograms in the stones. They were very personal and I felt honored to wear them.

Outside the stores, the sun warmed me and lured me higher to the castle. I made my way up the hill. At the top, I found my prize. The view of the castle and the cathederal, though amazing, were easier to grasp from below. Magnificent nonetheless, I walked around, snapping photos and people-watching. Below me, the sea of terra cotta roofs moved with the rambling hillside, and this vantage point offered a different, equally beautiful, view of the topography. Across the river, the old town architecture dazzled once again. My eyes scanned the panorama, stopping at each interesting building to fully appreciate the structure and tone. Just as a sculpture or painting, the artists who created these masterpieces certainly had a piont of view and a story to tell. Discovering each of these things can be joyfully fulfilling. Lost in my own space, I barely noticed a young couple watching me watch the city. They spoke Enlglish and said something about me being alone. Sometimes I forget that mine in not a course for the faint at heart. I think it saddened her that I was by myself in Prague. Part of me wanted to tell her that sometimes people who are with other people are more alone (distant, paralyzed, unsure, afraid) than those of us who are content in our own skin. But, I let her be her, then went on my way.

Prague

Testing my Theory

Right on the heels of discussing, no right and no wrong, no good and no bad - just relativity, I am faced with a travel situation (notice I did not say problem). I have been in Prague now for two days and haven't told you anything about it yet. I decided I would stay here until Thursday morning and take the Sky Europe flight from Prague to Split, Croatia (getting back to my original plan to see Croatia afterall). I booked the flight, found a hotel with a water view in Split, and booked it, then went about my business sightseeing in Prague for the last couple of days. I'll get to this part in a minute. This morning, however, the lovely attendant at my hotel (Hotel Saint George) here in Prague informed me that the airport has grounded all Sky Europe flights out of the republic since the struggling Sky Europe has failed to pay airport fees for some time now. Getting a last minute flight from Prague to Split on a major European carrier is anywhere from $700 to $2000, as of this morning. Trains from here to there are a little complicated, and from what I can ascertain from my internet search, not direct. This eventually may be my alternative if the flight situation does not resolve itself quickly. Learning from my time and contemplation during this trip, I am repsonding much more calmly than I expected. This situation with Sky Europe, although not part of my plan, is out of my complete control. All I can do is process the information, and react to resolve the situation to meet my original plan, or accept the situation as is, and stay in Prague longer. Keep reading to find out the resolution.