Satisfying wanderlust in Death Valley National Park

For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel's sake. The great affair is to move. - Robert Louis Stevenson

When someone asks me why I traveled somewhere, my answer is usually the same vague, oversimplified question in response: why not?

I recently completed a 1,200-mile road trip to Death Valley National Park for the sole reason of satisfying my inner (chronic) wanderlust. I had originally thought something about the desert was calling me there because I had been thinking about it since June, but it was simply the desire to travel; The need to explore a new place on a long, solo road trip was overwhelming.

Golden Canyon offers a short three-mile round trip hike.

It's amazing how much a solo road trip makes me happy, how much I enjoy camping out of my car under the light of a full moon, of being outside of cell phone coverage in complete silence and going a few days between showers, accumulating the stink of cattle, dogs, sand and sweat. This is essentially a story of how a regular dude travels, as all of you already know.. I didn't pay for accommodation and spent very little on food (a big thanks to my friends and family down there in Tulare County).

According to legend, Death Valley got its name in the winter of 1849 when a group of pioneers climbed out of Panamint Valley, turned around while standing on top of the overlooking mountain and said, "Goodbye, Death Valley." One member of the group had already passed away there.

Earth is home to many hot places, but Death Valley holds the record for hottest temperature ever recorded, at 134 degrees in 1913 at Furnace Creek. I drove through Furnace Creek during my visit, and it's a small oasis surrounded by desolate, barren and rocky terrain. It's as if the environment is constantly baked under extreme temperatures in the summer and melts in the withering heat. As a result, only rock, sand and a few wispy shrubs exist in the hottest areas.

Close to Furnace Creek, home of the hottest temperature ever recorded on Earth.

There is a park entrance fee of $20 and various signs along major roads point to where visitors can pay this fee. But upon my short time in the park, it seems to be based on an honor system because at no time was I specifically asked to pay the fee or actually stop the car to pay it.

The park consists of several mountain ranges and valleys, but Death Valley itself boasts the lowest point in elevation in the Western Hemisphere: 282 feet below sea level at Badwater Basin. This is a massive salt flat which got its name when an explorer riding a donkey couldn't get his animal to drink the water in the small, murky ditch near the edge of the mountain overlooking the plain. He wrote about the "bad water" and the name had stuck to the area.

Above the parking lot and along the reddish-brown rocky cliffside sits a large sign that reads "sea level." I had arrived at this parking lot at Badwater Basin at 5 a.m. and found solitude reading the information signs under the moonlight and light of my tactical flashlight.

The salt in Badwater forms in different shapes, and there is so much of it that the ground looks as if there is a layer of snow. It tastes exactly like the table salt all of us use to season our food at home, and it literally crunches under foot. The salt forms when water rushes down the barren mountainous slopes in flash floods and brings different minerals with it; it's the perfect environment for these salt crystals to grow.

Veins of salt snake around endlessly in Badwater Basin.

Shortly after I arrived, a small group of photographers showed up clutching tripods and cameras presumably to shoot the quickly approaching sunrise over the mountains and salt flat; I eventually followed with my own equipment, thinking that this had to be a convenient coincidence.

During my trek into the basin the sun began to provide light, and I was fortunate enough to see plenty of cloud formations which provided stunning displays of pink, red and purple; it was like the morning sun set the clouds on fire. I was lucky enough to witness this scene in a spot such as this, and was thrilled with the opportunity; the show did not disappoint.

Badwater Basin is a good place for a sunrise photoshoot.

I spent only one night in the park after witnessing the sunset from the Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes. After hiking out of the sand pit in twilight, I drove on into the night. 

Mesquite Flat Sand Dunes provided a nice setting for an evening meal and show.

Having driven for only about 10 minutes, I came across a dirt road leading to Salt Creek where I parked by myself for the night. Salt Creek is a small stream system which flows into the valley floor from the mountains and like most other water sources in the desert, the water is salty. There is a boardwalk which leads visitors on a half-mile loop throughout the creek and provides information about the area. 

I had the boardwalk to myself in the middle of the night under the light of the full moon. Along with the gentle trickle of water and the groan of the boards under my footsteps, I found myself in total silence in the cool darkness. I took that time to focus on my breathing and enjoy being at that place at that moment. 

The desert is so beautiful, and yet there's something sad, melancholy and lonely about it. The word "beautiful" is a bit vague and highly subjective, but perhaps I enjoyed the desert so much because it reflected my inner feelings since I returned from France.

But this is another reminder that the act of travel truly makes me happy. I get my inspiration to write from travel, and operating a camera is much more enjoyable while on the road. Travel (and perhaps riding motorcycles) is the one thing I must be able to do in my life.

Shall I become a truck driver then?

Leaving Cherbourg, Walden and a new filter

15/6 - In two days I'll be back in California. Of course, I still need to pack my things and clean the flat (always leaving these things to the last minute). I'm excited to make the journey back to my hometown!

I saw a video last night where the speakers talked about the importance of simply trying something and putting forth an effort to make it work. If you try but fail, it's not a bad thing because you weren't afraid to give it a go.

There were many reasons not to move to France: I quit my job and couldn't get one there because of the visa, I didn't speak French, I didn't know anyone, I was laid off from my part time job, the country was unsafe, etc.

But I followed my instinct, which told me to go to France because that's what felt right. In other words, I gave it a try.

Eight months later, I'm glad I drove to the French Consulate in San Francisco four times to sort out the visa. I'm happy I learned basic French in order to get by. I'm proud I made Cherbourg my home during this time. I'm happy I tried.

I didn't fail, either; It was a massive success!

By quitting and moving to France, I removed myself from routine that made me unhappy and feel stuck. I removed myself and did a restart, so to say. Coming here enabled me to examine the inner reaches of my core being in solitude. It's appropriate to say that I was a bit like Henry David Thoreau when he went to live in the forest and wrote Walden.

"I went to live in the forest because I wished to live deliberately, to suck the marrow out of life..."

My forest was a tiny, 3-story flat in a French seaport. Is there really any difference? This comparison only recently came to me, and not once did I ever have the arrogance as to expect to have a Thoreau experience. Hindsight is a funny thing. I certainly feel as though I sucked the marrow out of my time in France, because now I'm a bit more self-aware than before. 

17/6 - I was emotional when I left England for the final time, because I wanted to stay; that was an incredible year and I wanted to keep traveling. My final days in Porterville were difficult because I realized how I had acted and was ashamed of myself.

Leaving the flat in Cherbourg for the final time was remarkably easy. It was strange because this was such a big part of my life, but it wasn't difficult to leave the flat or say goodbye to my friends. There was no longing to stay a few more weeks to see the upcoming music festivals in the area, no inner disappointment that the stay lasted only eight months.

I feel completely satisfied by my time in Normandy. I accomplished everything I set out to do, I learned new skills and have a new hobby. Besides meeting Marie-Amance in person, there wasn't much more I could do.

In other words, it felt right to leave. My head and heart had drifted off to another place once again, leaving my physical body in limbo. At this rate I wonder if I'll ever be able to settle in one spot for more than a year.

Wanderlust is definitely an addiction and I've had my fix for the time being. Because I live with this affliction, I dunno if I'll be able to lead the "normal" life of working a job for 40 years in an office, buying a car, house and whatever else the American Dream involves.

I'm in my element when on the move. I'm a stubborn, nomadic vagabond. I'm a lone wolf perfectly comfortable operating alone in a strange land. Travel gives me purpose and a sense of accomplishment.

Why would I ever move away from that?

There ends my story in France. I want to thank those of you who have followed along on this adventure. You all definitely know a little bit more about what goes on inside my own head. But keep in mind this is merely the end of a chapter, as new travels are approaching quickly.

Les Dunes de Biville

Les Dunes de Biville

22/6 - Greetings from California, and Pacific Standard Time. Thankfully the jetlag is no more. A new piece of photography equipment has joined me here, and the results are in the photo below.

Back home on the banks of the Sacramento River, accompanied by some new equipment.

I created this shot with the help of a neutral density filter, which is a darkly tinted piece of glass that covers the end of the camera lense; Think of it as sunglasses for the camera. By using this filter, I can limit the amount of light that enters the lense during a long-exposure shot in the daytime. The picture above took 20 seconds to complete. Without the filter, the picture would be much too light. 

Valentines Day memories, another fear and a Friends reference

My head spins. Writing this was difficult. I wasn't emotional, but rather it's a subject that floats just outside of my understanding. 

13/2 - Politeness is a gag. Social pressure ties our shoelaces to each other and our hands behinds our backs. The expectations of others form the quicksand in which we're trapped. The high expectations of ourselves form the blindfold which shields our eyes. Guilt is oppression, comparison creates an invisible barrier and falsehoods are landmines, because they harm both ourselves and others.

The willingness to avoid expressing feelings is actually a self-destructive device attached by a tight chain around the throat. Societal "normalcy" is a farce. It's a costume the theater production in which we all have a role.

Remove all of it. What remains?

This is the question I face. Who am I? How do I describe that unencumbered feeling I have while riding a motorcycle, other than it's the greatest high I can think of?

I cannot answer definitively because I'm too wrapped up in self-shame, guilt and impossible expectations of myself. I'm held down by the societal "norms" with which I have been conditioned since birth. I'm limited by learned connotations of certain words.

I have said that I'm selfish. That I'm ashamed of myself and my past actions. That my trek to France was selfish in nature. That I wish to experience selflessness! But as Joey Tribbiani once said to Phoebe Buffay much to her disagreement, there is no such thing as a selfless good deed.

Everything we do is selfish. We wander through life searching for the warm and fuzzy feeling that follows when we do a good deed for another soul, thus making it all about ourselves.

The vicious circle.

But there is good selfish, and bad. My decision to come to France was selfish, but because it was something that I needed to do for myself. It was essential, a need, like water, food and shelter. The way I describe my own selfishness, though, has been tinged with the negative connotation due to my tendency to beat myself up.

Because of this, another question comes to mind. How can we truly know who or what we are when we are hopelessly contaminated by self-bias? How do we know what's actually true and real about ourselves? How do we actually know if we're generous or courageous? Loving and adventurous? Brave or cowardly? What is actually real?

And a thought just hit me. Specific details about something I can't fathom are unimportant. What matters is what I know, right here right now.

So, my name is Michael. I'm 26 years old. I'm a writer. I'm a lover. I'm a man who has visited 20 countries and is still immature in many ways. I have trouble expressing myself, particularly with positive emotions, but they're there! However, I'm learning about myself and what I'm doing in this life. I am who I need to be and everyday I will be better at becoming the person I am meant to be.

14/2 - My next flight has been booked. After two previous failed attempts, I'm headed to Oslo, Norway next month. Finally.

I first tried to fly to Oslo in 2015 while I lived in England, but my dissertation got in the way. I tried again a couple of months ago. This time I wanted to fly to Tromso in the far north of Norway in an effort to catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights, but alas I was indecisive.

Norway is one of the most beautiful and mysterious countries I can think of. It's the one place that keeps eluding me, like a thought that's impossible to put into spoken or written words. Its sharp and jagged mountains and fjords are like a silent, majestic beast, forever guarding Scandinavia. Like the Isle of Skye in Scotland, the wildness and ruggedness represent me at my core being. Wild. Primal. Beautiful yet chaotic.

The wildness of Norway will grace me someday, but not this time. I will spend three days in Oslo visiting one of my parents' old exchange students and his family.

15/2 - Yesterday was Valentines Day. As a part of my effort to let the past go, I thought back to one such Feb. 14 when I lived in Visalia, California. Instead of feeling awful, I laughed at my younger self and his severe lack of compassion.

I had been on a couple of dates with a woman that January. She took me to a couple editions of the Loud Mouth Poetry Slam, which was held in a back room of a pizza parlor. She was a beautiful woman. Gentle. Peaceful. Kind. Smile for days. She deserved nothing but the best.

She had even shared one of her poems in front of the whole room. She was a total Goddess for doing that and much stronger than me. I never got the balls to stand up and share my own poems.

I'm writing in hindsight. At the time I didn't feel a spark. I wasn't attracted to her.

On our final date, which was right before Valentines Day, I decided to break it off with her so as not to lead her on and play with her feelings. In my mind, I was doing something to protect her from me. But I was also doing it knowing that her grandfather had recently passed away. She was emotional. She needed a rock to lean upon. She needed a comforting presence. That person...was not me.

I gave her the gutless go-to line we spineless men always use in this situation. "I hope you understand, but I think we should just be friends."

She was rock-solid in the moment, playing it casual. But even then I knew she was crushed into a million tiny pieces because I could see it in her eyes...I never spoke to her again. Think about it. I broke up with a woman a day before Valentines Day who had just lost her grandfather.

This memory came back to me because I wish to make peace with it. It's part of my past and I accept it. I accept that I was (and am, to an extent) cold. I don't mean to be. Sometimes my actions just signify that I'm a jerk. So, please, laugh at my past. I definitely am.

And recall to the first paragraph in this post when I wrote about "the expectations of ourselves," because this is important. I have such high expectations of myself that I'm afraid of letting myself down. It's a fear! 

I write about myself as if I'm a scumbag who hasn't even remotely come close to minimum expectations. There are ideas in my head about what I should be doing at this point in my life, and none of them feature me in my current situation. I do compare myself to others and what they've accomplished.

Discard all of that. Time to rewire my thinking.

This is not a race. I'm exactly where I should be, nowhere else. I was meant to move to France and meet the most interesting person in the world, to know him on a deep level:

Me.

Suddenly, the sole purpose of learning French seems so shallow now.

Until next time.

Couchsurfers, swimming and Needles Lookout

27/8 - I'm officially in another transition phase of my life. I'm physically still here in Porterville, but my mind and heart have been long gone and can be found elsewhere, far away.

My time at the newspaper is coming to a close, as Sept. 19 will be my final day. I also registered for the Foreign Services Officer test, which will be Oct. 3 in Sacramento. And of course, I will apply for the French visa in San Francisco on Sept. 16. Luckily, Marie-Amance gave me everything I need from her for that process.

Like during my final two weeks in England, I'm thinking ahead. I know my time here in Porterville is closing out, and it's a little bittersweet. While I will say it was a mistake to return to the Valley, I will never say it was a waste of time. My time in Porterville has definitely been productive, and I have grown as a person. Like that dead-of-night thunderstorm over the Isle of Wight a year ago, I feel like the past year is already fading away into a memory. But since there is no weather here besides heat, a more appropriate comparison would be the cloud of smoke from a wildfire slowly disappearing throughout a week.

28/8 - I hosted Evgeny via Couchsurfing last night. He is bald with a beard, and his accent is thick. He lives in Los Angeles but is originally from Moscow, Russia. He's been in California for the past four months and said everything is much different to Russia, including how many oranges there are compared to apples. It's funny how a traveler makes you appreciate things in the states more, like driving habits here. Apparently people drive much safer here compared to Moscow, and the traffic in LA is better than Moscow. Ok then!

I only hosted him for one night. This morning Evgeny was back on his motorcycle on his way to Sequoia National Park, Yosemite and eventually Burning Man. I'm glad I had the chance to give him some advice as to where to go and what to see; after all, I'm a traveler helping a fellow traveler. I'm also happy to be his first Couchsurfing host.

One more aspect of my life that is going through a transformation is the fact I joined a health club which houses an indoor swimming pool. It's time to treat my body right and get fit again. Swimming as a workout is tough! It's easier on your body in terms of impact, but there's the fact you can't breathe freely like you can when running. I feel it's more fun than running as well.

One other benefit of the gym is the fact it's the perfect release of frustration that builds up as a result of living in Porterville and the Central Valley...

1/9 - The flight to Paris is booked for Oct. 17. There are only a few more things I need for the visa application and then I'm ready to head off to San Francisco in a couple of weeks for the appointment at the French consulate. I still need travel insurance and a couple of application forms. I got passport photos taken a couple of days ago, but they look more like mugshots.

7/9 - I've had a pair of French couples Couchsurf with me over the past three days. While it was a pleasure to host Emma and her husband because we exchanged stories discussed language and they helped me with my French pronunciation, Cieline and her friend arrived late at night and were shy. It wasn't nearly as fun talking to Cieline and her friend because they were so shy and quiet, whereas Emma and Antoine were outgoing and talkative. They also brought homemade crepes and jams and shared them.

Both couples were around my age and were traveling through the Sequoia National Park, Yosemite and around California. I'm happy to give a little bit of advice to travelers regarding what to do around here.

As for my own hiking adventures, I went to Needles Lookout this past weekend in the Sequoia National Forest. It was a short hike (4.5 miles) but it was at high elevation, above 7,000 feet. The draw of this hike was the fire lookout perched precariously on a tall group of rock spires which provides an awe-inspiring view of the surrounding mountains. Unfortunately, the lookout burned down some years ago but the stairwell up to the concrete base still remains. There is a gate which blocks the stairwell, but it's not locked. So, while carefully climbing the steps, I opened the gate and proceeded to the top.

The walkway felt sturdy for the most part, but it had that rust color on the metal, and I felt a small amount of vertigo at the very top, as if I'd lose my balance based on the sheer drop on either side of me.

 

With all of the swimming and hiking I'm doing, I feel refreshed. It's a throwback to when I was in Spain and Finland, because of the fact I'm using a sauna several times a week as well. I feel better, I have more energy, hikes are easier and I can swim farther. I also look better! So, here's to the transition phase of my life. 

Visa process, stolen information and California hiking

27/7 - I failed the test I took in Los Angeles.

The passing mark was 70, and I scored 65. Eleven out of the 26 people who took it passed. I'm not disappointed though, because I do not want to live in Los Angeles.

On to France. I need to visit the French consulate in person to apply for the visa, and it has to be at the one in San Francisco because I live in that jurisdiction. However, I live closer to the one in Los Angeles. My appointment is set for Sept. 16. This was disappointing because I want to get this process over with, and it probably means I won't take the Foreign Services test in Paris. But no worries, because airline tickets are still cheap in October, should I be issued the visa by then.

2/8 - The visa process is painfully complex. I need some 13 items required for the in-person application in San Francisco, including copies of everything. The consulate wants to see two months of bank statements, a promise that I won't engage in commercial activity during my stay (get a French job?), a letter of invitation from Marie-Amance as well as proof of lease agreement, the cost of the visa, some other application forms, my passport and the actual thumb from my right hand, among other things.

So between now and Sept. 16, I'm stuck in limbo. There is plenty for me to do to prepare for both France and the upcoming Foreign Services Officer test, such as learning some basics of French and reading books on the recommended reading list, but all of this is taking away from other aspects of my life. Something needs to give. If I'm not putting in my full attention and effort into something, I should just walk away from it. But, that innate fear of walking away is present. It's a huge commitment to step away, one that takes courage.

As for the FSO test, I cannot register for it until Aug. 23. On one hand, I'm glad I know all of these dates and ahead of everything, but I'm restless. I want to register and see where I take it. I want to get this process started! It could be the beginning of an amazing time in my life.

6/8 - I grew up camping among Redwood trees. I now live close to Giant Sequoia trees. Even though I know the immense size of these trees and enjoy showing them to other people, the sight of them never gets old. Sequoias are like those larger-than-life landmarks found throughout the world that are so immense they look fake. They are as impressive after they fall over because you can see the massive-yet-shallow root system. And when they fall over a trail and crash, it's an amazing scene. Chaotic and messy, yet awe-inspiring and beautiful.

9/8 - It appears I'm the victim of a form of identity fraud. Someone has somehow gotten my debit card information and gone on a spending spree. Luckily, they only spent $80 at a TJMaxx. I have taken care of the situation by notifying the bank and changing my card information. It's a minor inconvenience. However, I'm still annoyed for one simple fact. If you're going to steal card information, at least treat yourself to something nice. Don't go to TJMaxx!

15/8 - In total, someone stole more than $300 from my account. I got the money back, but I no longer have a debit card. This has been a minor inconvenience and something to learn from. From now on I will be wary of gas stations, and I'll definitely use more cash.

I've been going on difficult hikes for the past three weeks. This past weekend Spencer and I went to Los Padres National Forest along Highway 1 and hiked the Salmon Creek Trail. There was a total of 2,400 feet of elevation, most of which was in the first mile. That 8-mile hike was brutal, but beautiful. I find it funny how I loathed hiking as a kid when my parents dragged me along on day trips. I hated it! But now as an adult, I love it. I relish the challenge. They're also beautiful!

Saturday was also my first time in San Luis Obispo. This is the home of Cal Poly, a university several of my high school friends went to. I heard plenty about SLO, but had not been there. On Saturday I found out what all the fuss is about. The weather is cool, there are stores that aren't chains and the woman are drop dead gorgeous! I lost count of how many tall, slender, fit, beautiful women I saw in those few hours, and none of them had four or five children running around everywhere! It was yet another reminder of how shocking it is I still live in Porterville. I'm physically still here; my body can be found in Porterville. But my mind and my heart are long gone in different locations.

It was also another reminder how invigorating it is to not only travel, but to leave the Central Valley, if only for a day. I felt refreshed! What might have been a totally normal day in SLO, was culture shock to Spencer and I. We're not used to eating good food in cool, comfortable weather, appreciating the form and the curves of the female body. Porterville just doesn't have any of that!

Poole, Cherbourg, Paris and a close call at Heathrow

23/6 - Poole was a pleasantly familiar place. And since it's relatively small and compact, you run into people on the street quite often, such as Bill. It was fun to catch up with old friends, such as Joanna and Tim. The three of us went out for dinner and drinks, which felt like old times.

Every Tuesday during the summer in Poole, hundreds of motorcycles descend upon the Quay and park in one spot, creating a mass of two-wheeled machines. It never fails to make me envious seeing those bikes, knowing the kind of roads around Poole riders must use to get there. It was a complete coincidence I arrived in Poole on Tuesday, but I certainly don't regret it.

I hopped on the ferry to Cherbourg yesterday morning, another familiar practice. It was foggy and damp in Poole, which was typical English weather. But just like flying, riding the ferry gave me a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Travel in general does that for me.

In Cherbourg I met up and stayed with another former Couchsurfing friend: Marie-Amance. She once again collected me from the ferry terminal in Cherbourg and gave me the key to her flat because she had to return to work for a few hours. Her flat looked just as I remembered it: tiny, cramped kitchen, steep, spiraling staircase that blocks the closet, the second-floor living room and her room on the third floor. It was during these few hours in her flat by myself that were some of the most relaxed I was since coming to Europe last week. It was total bliss to read my book while listing to gentle rain through the wide-open window on the second floor.

Later that evening, Marie-Amance returned home and proceeded to cook dinner out of what little food she had around the kitchen. She made a casserole with tuna, tomatoes and olives, and crepes for dessert along with different jams, syrup and sugar. We spent the evening enjoying the crepes, the conversation and discussing other matters, one of which blew my mind.

Since Marie-Amance will go to England for a year to study at university, she offered to let me stay in her flat for 200 Euros a month while she's gone. That's an incredible opportunity, nevermind the fact I don't speak French or am illegal to work in France. The big question is whether I'd be able to survive there. What would I do for a job if I don't speak French? But, it would be a great opportunity to learn French in a small-ish town in the north of France. It would present some massive challenges, but I'd like to see if I could handle those difficulties.

Cherbourg is a small city, and one with not a lot of opportunity in terms of work, even for French citizens. But it's a quiet, calm place filled with the scent of sea water and the squawks of seagulls. It also has a certain charm to the look of the city. I could see myself living there, but there is much research and thought to be done about that decision.

I went to bed that night in the flat listening to the thunder and heavy rain of that storm, seeing the flashes of light and feeling Marie-Amance's friendly black cat snuggle up next to me on the bed. It was a peaceful moment; in fact, my time in Cherbourg felt safe and familiar, and it was one of those times I made sure to appreciate being in the moment.

After leaving Cherbourg this morning (Thursday), I rode the train three hours to Paris and immediately met up with Magda, my friend from Bournemouth University. This is our second time meeting in Paris, and we also crossed paths in California at the end of last year. Magda lives in a house (more like a mansion, really) in Croissy Sur-Seine, a suburb on the west side of Paris. The home is obviously old, but it's a beautiful place, with three floors and a basement. There is a wide space on the roof to sunbathe during the day and drink under the stars at night.

The tip of the Eiffel Tower can be seen at night, thanks to its revolving spotlight. So with the spotlight periodically shining our way and a near-full moon lighting up the sky above the glow of Paris, I had a short but meaningful conversation with Magda and her roommates on the roof on Thursday. Since the attacks in Paris, people seem to be more aware of their surroundings. I heard stories of people looking others in the eyes while riding the metro, suspicious of who might be the next person to murder others. Just walking around Paris and the metro, and one can see soldiers with assault rifles patrolling metro stations or security guards armed with metal detectors guarding entrances to shopping malls. But, Paris is still a thriving, alive metropolis, a place I'd greatly love to move to.

It's adventures like these that cannot happen in hotels while traveling. I am immensely thankful to have friends in all of these places who are happy to share their homes for a night. I am lucky to be able to stay in these areas and feel so familiar with the cities.

25/6 - It wouldn't be a normal travel day back to Porterville without drama for me. No step went smoothly, starting in Paris and being squashed in rush-hour traffic on the metro. Then, my passport was retained and I was detained in a side area, again, by the UK border patrol before boarding the Eurostar train from Paris to London. It all has to do with the UK student visa; I must find a way to get it out of my passport.

Fortunately they let me through, but the actual train was an hour late by the time we arrived in London at St. Pancras. With the hour-long tube ride into Heathrow, this meant I had about 90 minutes to check in, get through security and find my gate. Luckily, I checked my bag about three minutes before the cut-off time of one hour before the flight. Talking to the lady at check-in revealed she loves this kind of thrill and adrenaline rush as well.

After getting through light security, I got a bite to eat before going to the gate. However, I misjudged how far my gate was, which was about 15 minutes away on foot when I had just 25 minutes before the flight left. So with my passport in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other, and a heavy backpack, I sprinted the way to my gate. I had never had that close of a call with a flight, besides the time I completely missed my flight from Barcelona.

To top it all off, when I got onto the plane I found out the flight was delayed by about 50 minutes. You can imagine the surge of annoyance I experienced for making that kind of effort, all for naught.

Currently I'm about 30 miles from Bakersfield, CA, my adventure almost complete. I have never, and will never, regret traveling. It always ends up memorable in some way. Here's to the next one (though I have nothing planned for the future).

The 100th post: humility, German Couchsurfers and a brilliant decision

20/4 - This is the 100th post of Adventure Time with Mike.

I've been waiting to write this post, to save it for an epic journey. But I need to keep writing, especially because my next big trip isn't for another month.

To think I've reached 100 posts on here...It's crazy. It started as a way to inform family and friends of how I was doing during my early days in England, but it turned into a fully fledged travel blog. I feel grateful for the advice from others to start a blog because now I can look back, read old posts and feel nostalgic.

This blog has documented a whole year in England and the many adventures of mine throughout Europe. It keeps records of several first-time experiences such as being in a nude photoshoot, playing American football, volunteering far away from home and discovering the unknown joys of meeting total strangers and sleeping on their couch for the night.

It would be fair to say some of my trips and adventures were done with the blog in mind, so I could show others my experiences and hopefully inspire them to do the same, to make their dreams come true as well. In the past year-and-a-half, I've been called a nutter, a real character and incredibly adventurous. I take those as genuine compliments because life just isn't that fun if you're not going to new places, experiencing new things and taking risks. After all, I'm all about collecting memories and fascinating stories.

The definition of an adventure for me has slowly evolved, even since I first arrived in England on Sept. 14, 2014. Then it was going on a trek into an unknown country, far away from home. These days, an adventure can be had right here in Porterville, but I still very much desire to travel far and wide.

With the help of another friend, I recently discovered an application called Geocaching. This is an app that is essentially a map for a huge scavenger hunt. You can find several areas in your own city where a Geocache is hidden, which is like a capsule one can hide in an area and leave notes inside. When another person finds it, they can sign their name, add a note or leave something in it for the next person to find. There are certain hints and directions on the app for finding each cache, and your phone can be used as a compass but it's only accurate to within 30 feet. At that point you're on your own, and that's when you have to really pay attention to everything you see on the ground.

I went to three sites yesterday around Porterville and Strathmore, and I only found one. It was in an alleyway off of Main Street stuck to the side of an electricity meter, but it took me several moments to realize what it actually was. This cache was an old twist cap to a plastic bottle with a magnet on the bottom. It was gray, and it perfectly blended in with the box on which it was stuck. Inside was a couple of little pieces of paper with the names and initials of all of the people who had found it.

These caches can be anything. My friend said she found one in an old chapstick cannister and a bullet casing. This reminds me of portkeys from the world of Harry Potter. I enjoy this because it's the simple pleasure of searching for a tiny trinket and being able to sign your name, though the search can be quite difficult and frustrating. It's cool to be a part of that community.

I've also just finished hosting Monika and Peter through Couchsurfing for two nights. They are from Bavaria in Germany and are traveling through California and Nevada for a couple of weeks. When they left my house, they started their journey towards Death Valley. They took a full day to go around the Sequoia National Park and see some of the things I saw on Sunday, such as Moro Rock. I gave them advice on what they could see on the way to Death Valley, such as Red Rock Canyon State Park.

I cooked them breakfast and was simply a friendly and welcoming host, something the two appreciated. I also told them to pay it forward whenever they have a guest at their place, whenever that may be. It feels good to help fellow travelers during their journey, as other people have done that for me. I guess this blog influenced that.

And speaking of the Sequoia National Park, it was great to explore my own state a little bit more this past weekend. I hiked to the top of Little Baldy and Big Baldy, and climbed the steps of Moro Rock as well. California is such a massive place, and there's no wonder why it's world famous. I should feel lucky to live here and call this state my home. I may call Porterville and the Central Valley a terrible place to live sometimes, but I really am fortunate.

So here's to the 100th post of Adventure Time with Mike (formerly known as American in Bournemouth). The decision to start the blog and fill it with my stories has been life-altering. But I say with hopeful humility that I feel grateful to have had all of these opportunities documented in the previous 99 posts. It didn't turn out quite the way I intended or expected, but this is how life is. I'll just embrace it and roll with it.

Here's to another 100 posts to this blog.

Epiphanies, meeting an old friend and San Francisco

1/3 - I learned something about myself this weekend; it was an epiphany, if you will.

When it comes to traveling, I don't overthink anything. I book the plane tickets and figure out where I'll stay just a few days before, if not the same day. It's the spontaneity I love about that. In fact, I underthink traveling sometimes, but my adventures have pretty much always turned out memorable and successful. I don't care how safe that area is. I don't care about every single noteworthy spot. I hate to plan every step of the way; just being there is the thrill for me, and a great story always seems to come out of it.

When it comes to women, I overthink every step of the way which is why I've had minimal success with the opposite sex throughout my life. I overanalyze and care too much. Now, if only I could adopt the travel mindset when talking to women or asking them out for a date. That would (theoretically, in my head) make it easier on me. There's never spontaneity with women. I always end up hanging back and thinking too much, psyching myself out of talking to females. I don't relate to them, nor do I completely understand them, but I'm attracted to women. If anything that comes from this, it's this:

Overthinking murders spontaneity.

I spent the weekend in the Bay Area because Danny was visiting from the United Kingdom for work. This is the guy with whom I went on two epic road trips and we've seen each other at our worst, so it was good to hang out with him, even if it was only for a few hours in Mountain View.

We spent a few hours catching up and talking about old times in England at Bournemouth. While I do miss seeing my friends from there, living in the dorm and traveling everywhere, I'm at peace with the fact I moved back to California. I've said this many times before, but I took total and complete advantage of that year abroad; I have no regrets.

We drove around in his brand new Camaro convertible and visited the Google headquarters. The campus is neat because there are bicycles for employee use called "Google bikes." It seemed like a great place to work, though we never saw the inside of the building.

And after Danny had to leave for work, I drove a bit farther north to South San Francisco where I screwed around in the San Bruno Mountain State Park, where I did a bit of walking and shooting pictures with the GoPro. It's always such a thrill to get out in nature, to a place where you can hear yourself think and shirk all adult responsibility if only for a few hours. The mountain I hiked overlooked San Francisco and Daly City. It was a clear day, except for the fog that shrouded the Bay Bridge.

Later, I took BART into the city to have lunch with a friend. San Francisco is always fun to visit, to wander around on foot. It's very colorful, like Dublin is, and one of the most fun things to do in the city is to sit back and people-watch (there's no shortage of characters in San Francisco).

The short encounter with Danny and the trek into San Francisco made me realize something else: I could be doing a lot better in terms of work and the way I present myself. Perhaps I'm too comfortable in this spot. I haven't set any goals for myself in the near future, and that's part of the reason why my Coast Guard application is still very much unfinished. It's also why I haven't applied to anywhere else for work, or even explored openings. It's also the reason I show up to work in a T-shirt, jeans, ratty shoes and a beard that has grown out of control.

I'm cheating myself, all because I've fallen into a routine that is comfortable. I'm not shooting for more, which is unfortunate...

In other news, my trip to Chicago is booked. I'll only be there for three nights, but it should be a great time. I've heard nothing but good things about that city.

Couchsurfing, inspired drinking and self-examination

15/2 - Friday was yet another chapter in my Couchsurfing story. I hosted Jan, a German traveling through California Friday night after I got off work. He's just like me in that he doesn't plan where he's going to stay long in advance; he figures it out when the time comes.

I hosted him on just a few hours of notice, so before I went home I picked up some beer to share with him. As a traveler myself, I understand how it feels not being able to find a place to sleep for the night. That's why I hosted him, as a fellow traveler and human being. If not for me, he would have slept in his car. The time he was there we just had a few beers and traded travel stories, and I gave him a sleeping bag, pillows and blankets and he slept next to the electric fireplace.

The best thing about it was the fact he was grateful for my hosting him on such short notice. The encounter wasn't long at all, but it still feels great to meet new people and help a fellow human.

My weekend, while not as epic and memorable as the previous one, wasn't bad at all. I rode the Ducati up to Springville, but the smog and haze was so bad it dampened the ride a bit. Considering that, it was great to drive north to Sacramento and out of the smog. It was there in midtown Sacramento where I discovered a German beer garden and met up with my coworker and his girlfriend. It was the first time we had properly hung out outside of work and had a few drinks. It's great to have someone there who's my age.

Continuing my exploration of California, my family and I hiked Rockville Hill in Fairfield on Sunday. Dad and I both used GoPros on our foreheads, and we hiked about five miles. It was fantastic to be outside in the warmth and clear air. It's not often it's as clear as that was in the Central Valley.

Finally, I did some day drinking with an old friend of mine in Davis before making the trek back to Porterville. It was here where I did my best to inspire my friend to do something big with his life, such as travel, to get out of his funk that has bogged him down since he broke up with his girlfriend. He's been very cynical of everything lately, so I told him to shut the f**k up, stop thinking about everything that could go wrong and just do it. Sometimes, inspiration comes in the form of flat-out bluntness.

22/2 - Life in Porterville these days has been enjoyable because I'm spending a lot of time analyzing why I am the way I am. I'm trying to figure out what I really want, both from a woman and with life, and it has been enlightening. This examination of myself has made me more self-confident, and I've noticed I have been sticking up for myself more. Maybe this is just all part of maturing, but I like where it's going.

My latest adventure was a short-and-sweet trek to Lower Coffee Camp in the Sequoia National Forest. There I messed around on the edge of the Tule River with a GoPro on my forehead, scrambling over granite boulders and slowly navigating the brush beside the river. The best part was finding a comfortable spot on top of some granite and lying down on the opposite end of a waterfall that spilled into a large pool. It was there I faced the sky, focused on my breathing while listening to the rush of water and let the time melt away, with everything turned off and me being disconnected, if only for an hour or two.

Curtain call on the year in England

8/9 - Today was my final full day in England.

It was spent visiting with some remaining friends and completing errands a person does right before they move, such as close down bank accounts and return library books. I walked through Bournemouth square, along the beach and onto the pier, something I had never done before, knowing this would be my final time seeing this place, in the sunlight and in the foreseeable future.

I met my dissertation advisor on campus, and I realised again that would be my final time stepping onto Talbot campus. Of course, there's a sense of awe there, the knowledge you should cherish this moment on a university campus that was so embarrassingly subpar. My advisor told me two things: (1 This past year was the second cohort ever for sport management at BU; this means it's a very young program, and the four of us in that program this year were guinea pigs. I asked why we were charged so much for a program that had such obvious flaws. And (2, as far as he is concerned, my dissertation earned a passing grade. It just needs to go through a second marker.

This meeting was great because I was able to apologise for being a complete dickhead to him throughout the summer while I struggled to understand how to write a thesis. There were no worries with him, so my time with him as my advisor ended on a high note. There's nothing to feel bad about.

I also spent a bit of time with Coach Charlie. The Bobcats begin practice for this upcoming season on Sunday, so I just missed out on it. It would have been great to get a few practices in, but I'm satisfied. I can now say (truthfully) I played college football!

I had lunch at 7Bone with Viral and Sammy as a last hurrah. I can't think of another place in Bournemouth I'd rather go for a last meal. Those burgers are fat, juicy and absolutely messy, and they're perfect in every way possible. They're the complete opposite of typical British food, which is unseasoned, bland and badly cooked.

This year at Bournemouth University in England turned out so different from what I expected. It turned out to be much better than anything I would have ever planned for 18 months ago. I thought this program would be like a full-time job, allowing for nothing but studying and writing papers; just the thought of living in England made me excited back then.

Fast forward 18 months, and what I got was a program that was not only incredibly soft, but it allowed me to do what I truly love to do: travel. It allowed me to visit 14 countries. Because of this program, I lived in Spain for a month. By participating in this program, I had the opportunity to see Lionel Messi score a hat trick in person in Barcelona, ride a horse on the beach in France, take a motorcycle 721 miles through Wales and into Snowdonia, go on two road trips to the Highlands of Scotland and down to Genoa in Italy, host Japanese High School students for a week in London, learn new sports, meet new people from all over the world and learn bits and pieces from several new languages. I got much more than I bargained for, and to think about how lucky I am that this happened to me is a little bit overwhelming.

I can't help but think about what I'm going back to in California and wonder whether I'm making the right choice, whether I'm taking a step back and going to the exact same situation I was in before. But I'm also at peace with that choice because I know things will be very different. I accomplished everything I wanted to during this year, and a little bit more. Porterville will be different. I'll travel more, and I still have Kenya to look forward to during Christmas. After that, my future is foggy, one that figures to split into many different directions representing what my next life choice will be. It obviously got much more complicated with all of the places and people I want to visit, and it's very difficult to decide what I want to do next.

This was the most incredible year of my life, and credit has to be made to my many friends to who made that possible. I hope to do something else big and challenging with my life very soon. I also have to thank Dave, a former member of the Recorder. If he hadn't royally pissed me off during my first stint there, I wouldn't have decided "fuck it, I'm going to England!" So, thank you, sir.

For those of you who have followed this blog over the year, I want to thank you for reading. I hope it has inspired you to do whatever the hell it is you want to do. This won't be the final entry in this blog (of course not!) but it's the end of Europe for me. It's the curtain call for American in Bournemouth. The name will obviously have to be changed once I get back to California (American in America doesn't seem very catchy to me).