Jim Morrison, mastering emotions and a familiar museum in Paris

14/5 - We hear all the time advice about keeping our emotions in check. Mastering them. Until recently, I had never truly understood this concept or how to accomplish it.

Diego and I visited The Louvre art museum in Paris this weekend. It's world famous for obvious reasons, because the Mona Lisa is there. This was my third time visiting, and I enjoyed it much more than the other two because I finally understood this concept; It was a breakthrough of sorts.

I hated my two previous experiences inside the Louvre because I let outside influences bother me. The sheer numbers of people, the camera phones, the jostling, the stressful environment of fighting crowds of people to see artistic masterpieces overwhelmed me in the past. It was sensory overload.

My idea of an art museum is a quiet, calm place where one can contemplate the piece on the wall. It should be a place where anxieties vanish. The Louvre is not this place. It's fast-paced, like the city of Paris itself. But then again, there is nothing typical about The Louvre.

This time, however, I controlled my own emotions and how much outside factors got to me inside the museum. I reminded myself that I can't control how many people are there or what they do. I caught myself getting stressed a few times, because I personally don't understand the point of taking a picture of a painting when you can Google it and get a better image. But I digress.

Diego and I strolled at our own pace, looking at the art. I took a few deep breaths and muted those around me; I began to feel separate from them. The large groups of tourists all craning their necks and stretching their cameras in the air at an attempt to get a picture became simply another feature of the museum.

This left me with yet another opportunity to study the Mona Lisa from about 20 feet away, behind and right to the rock-concert-like mosh pit of people. I noticed she had no eyebrows. The background of the painting was blurry. Her wrists looked swollen. The size of the painting was larger than I had remembered it, but still entirely unremarkable to me.

This experience helped me contemplate the concept of being in control of emotions, rather than vice versa.

As humans we're going to succumb to fits of anger, annoyance, rage, sadness, indifference, joy, ecstasy and so on. We should recognize those emotions and let them flow. What we should not do is allow them to influence decisions. We should wait until those emotions burn out so we can make a decision during a more stable, logical mindset.

I learned inside The Louvre that my annoyance, anxiety and anger shouldn't prevent me from enjoying the museum. I shouldn't let them form my opinion of the gallery. During my two previous visits, those negative emotions dictated my experience and opinion.

17/5 - This is a story of one of my most unique travel experiences, and it involves a graveyard.

Before taking flight later in the day, Diego and I visited Pere Lachaise Cemetery in Paris. There are many famous names buried here, including the playwrite Oscar Wilde. But my biggest draw was Jim Morrison, the lead singer of The Doors, who died in 1971 in Paris after being found dead in his bathtub in his 4th District apartment. My favorite song from this band is Riders on the Storm.

This cemetery is centuries old, and there are many large gravestones and memorials crowding one another, among small dirt trails between them. It's quite a big place, and finding particular graves can be difficult as was Morrison's.

Diego and I walked along the cobblestone pathway, which curved to the left and uphill. Clutching a map of the cemetery, we turned our heads this way and that in the general area along with two other women also looking for the same grave. Not until a man pointed it out to us did we find it.

Morrison's grave is tucked behind several other larger memorials and is easy to miss, but the many gifts of colorful flowers gives it away. Diego and I found a metal fence in front of the grave, to keep people from getting too close. We jumped over it while several other people watched (and one commented on my legitimate camera).

Diego asked me if I had anything to say to Mr. Morrison. After a pause I said, "Jim Morrison, Rider on the Storm, we salute you."

I've been listening to The Doors a lot ever since then, and the band seems much more real and closer to me than before.

A cruise, a photo and some humble pie

8/3 - As the violin and piano dueled, the lights on the Eiffel Tower seemed to be in the same chaotic tune, blinking quickly with frequency. 

As he sat there, transfixed by the sight, he was reminded by how fortunate he was. His parents sat opposite of him and without their help and influence, he would not have been on the boat then, or six years ago during a much different time. He owed everything to them.

Without his parents' help, he wouldn't be infected with the chronic travel sickness he is today. Without them, Planet Earth wouldn't have shrunk. Without them, he wouldn't have connections on every continent in the world (besides Antarctica). 

This was a first for him. Paris is a familiar city, as are the cheeses, escargot and merlot wine. But the fine dining on the Seine River, piano and violin, were not. At times, the melancholy sounds emanating from the instruments seemed appropriate during the cruise, however cliche they came across. All of this combined to humble him because if its absolute bliss. 

As they sailed down the Seine, he was again reminded of his desire to live in the City of Love, how he ached for a companion to sit next to him while he drew her close with his arm. Paris, just then, had passed London as the city he'd most like to inhabit.

10/3 - It was an honor and a pleasure to show my parents around Normandy and Paris. I've been lucky enough to be able to live here and visit Paris many times, but it was satisfying to help others see all of it for the first time. 

Perhaps it was fitting, then, that our last few moments together were spent battling the current of rush-hour metro foot traffic. I watched them struggle to get their luggage through the ticket barrier, then watched until they turned a corner and disappeared.

I had been waiting months to host them, excited to show them my new home. It seemed we were closer than ever, despite being farther away in distance. It seems they too have caught the travel bug, finally. 

France has been a place of firsts for me, and the discovery of photography has been another. There was one photo during the past week in Paris at the Palace of Versaille, that shocked even myself. I had never done anything like it. 

I found myself in a room with a work of art acting as the ceiling. I went to sit on the ground in the corner because it felt right. I'm starting to see that I can see a picture before I actually take out the camera; sometimes they look better in my head, other times not. 

But this picture was lucky. I took only two or three shots. As a result, my mother looks regal, like a model of a sophisticated photoshoot. 

I now have the fortune of keeping this camera for the next few months so I can practice with it. It will be fun to take it to Norway. 

But now, it's time for me to head south to Vichy, for the week of language exchange with the Reichmanns.

Prague, John Lennon and a jazz band

19/1 - The Greek philosopher Socrates preferred spoken word over the written word.

We can squeeze much more meaning out of what is spoken. We can take note of rises or falls in the tone of voice to emphasize a point. We can observe the speaker's face or body while speaking, because much of communication comes through body language. And sometimes, listening to a great speaker tell a story is much more captivating than reading. With the written word, it's final. What's there is there, and nothing can be added. No additional meaning can be extracted. Socrates also believed the written word gives one an "illusion" of knowledge, which means we think we're experts after reading so much about a given subject. Only experience provides that.

I think Socrates would have approved of Karel, the Czech walking tour guide who gave us some background information during a three-hour glimpse of Prague. He bounced up and down on his feet. He was always moving from side to side. Single words were emphasized with forceful nods of his head, and he'd roll the "r" sound and make certain words sound Scottish. Karel would have fit right in on a theater stage giving a monologue or soliloquy because his speaking was intense; it seized attention and refused to let go. It seemed right for all of us to form a semi-circle around him during his speeches.

Karel showed us some of the older Synagogues in the Jewish Quarter of Prague.

This brings me to...me. I spent a couple of nights in Prague, the capital of Czech Republic! I hadn't known much about it before arriving, but I do know I had never heard a bad thing about the city. During the tour for example, I learned of some familiar everyday things that have Czech origins, such as the word "robot" and contact lenses.

Prague marks two things for me. This is the 20th country I've visited in my life (this number excludes countries I've only seen in the airport, like Sweden and Latvia). This was also the first time I have been offered cocaine to buy on the street. A kid a little bit shorter and darker than me approached me on my way back to the hostel during my first night. I pretended to be French during this brief conversation, but I don't know if he bought it (though I'm sure he did). The coke was good stuff. Colombian. I never bothered to ask for a price. As someone with a heart condition, I will never touch cocaine. I politely declined and chuckled to myself a few moments later because of the absurd things that happen to me sometimes during travel. This has been a theme on this trip because I was boldly approached three times in Krakow by women offering drink specials in an attempt to attract me to a nearby gentleman's club.

Prague is an everlasting city in an area that seems to be in perpetual motion; this has been the Czech Republic since 1993, after Slovakia peacefully left Czechoslovakia. It has seen communism, the icy clutches of Nazi concentration camps, monarchy and democracy. Karel said Prague has been in at least six different states in the past century!

The Czechs are particularly proud of having a democracy now, as there are whole photograph exhibits in the Dox Centre for Contemporary Art dedicated to Vaclav Havel, the country's first president who passed away in 2011. I saw several photos of him meeting Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush in the late '80s and '90s, and Prague's airport (which is one of the most calm and relaxed airports I've visited; there was hardly any traffic) is named after Havel.

This is the outside of Dox Centre for Contemporary Art. One of Havel's quotes is here: "The tragedy of modern man is not that he knows less and less about the meaning of his own life, but that it bothers him less and less.

Despite the large turnover, Prague continues to be beautiful and unique. It's a mish-mash of different architecture and colors, and its skyline is filled with spiky towers and castles. Karel even showed us a museum near the city center dedicated to the concept of cubism, even in the very structure of the building itself. As I left the train station upon arrival in Prague, I noticed something about the buildings. They're like a selection of ice creams with how many colors one can see - white, yellow, light blue, pistachio green, mocha brown.

Charles Bridge is Prague's first bridge. It's a cesspool of tourists, including me. The castle where the president lives is in the background.

Another thing I noticed (quite a lot, actually) is how bone-chillingly cold it is here! During the tour yesterday, our group endured a temperature of -12 degrees Celsius, or close to 10 degrees Fahrenheit. I thought Krakow was cold. But, I guess that's Central Europe for you. In fact, during the whole five-hour train ride from Bohumin to Prague (I took a bus from Krakow to Bohumin; I couldn't tell you when we crossed the border from Poland), I saw nothing but a blanket of snow, sometimes as much as a foot deep.

But compared to my previous adventures in Paris and Krakow, Prague has been a wind down of sorts.

I haven't had any profound experiences here. I've just been enjoying some of the views and a glass of local beer (or three). They are cheap here, with 100 koruna (CZK) converting to less than $5 USD. So even though I drank two fudging fantastic stout beers last night for 118 CZK, which is a bit pricey for Prague, I still spent only about $5. I would have to pay more than that for one average beer in Paris.

20/1 - Prague reminds me of Lisbon because of the millions upon millions of tiles used to construct sidewalks and their designs. But, like Lisbon, time has given the sidewalks an uneven surface, so you have to watch your step.

The most notable thing that happened during my stay in Prague happened after I had checked out of the hostel. As I walked through the Old Town square, there was a jazz band playing. I stood there for 10 minutes. I closed my eyes, captured by the muted trumpet, alto saxophone, standing bass and steel guitar. I smiled. This was life. Travel and music. Peace and contentment. All in one brief moment.

My goal for the final few hours in Prague was to find Lennon Wall, a large stretch of wall near Charles Bridge where it's legal to paint anything you want on it. There are messages of peace, and of course John Lennon's face at the top. This wall was used as a form of protest and resistance during Prague's communism days. These days it's little better than a tourist attraction good for a selfie (or eight). But, the messages still ring true. Love each other. Be true to yourself. Enjoy the journey. Don't worry.

Lennon Wall is literally a blank canvass, but one that won't hold your message for long.

My visit to Prague had its moments, but it wasn't as intense as Paris or Krakow. I didn't arrive expecting to have the kind of experiences I did in the aforementioned cities. I was tired so I took it easy, opting for relaxing with a beer by the pub window, perfect for people watching. It was also difficult to explore more of the city on foot because of the low temperatures. So, I didn't feel quite as fulfilled as I did in Paris and Krakow, but that moment with the jazz band made up for it.

21/1 - I'm back in France, but I need to spend one final night in Paris because I missed my train. This means one night in a hostel. It's frustrating, because I just want to go home. There is always a point during travel when it becomes a bit old, when all you want to do is go home and check out. This is me now. But, the sudden change of plan was something that seemed appropriate. I had to laugh while battling the Paris metro, because that's all I can do. 

And speaking of the Paris metro, it's a madhouse. It's like an anthill, with millions of inhabitants intent on nothing more than catching their respective trains. Each and every person walks with pace and intent, and this creates a stream of humanity much like an angry stretch of river rapids. Any form of hesitation will result in a mushroom cloud of shame, or at least a few bumped shoulders.

22/1 – I’ve returned to Cherbourg after having to spend an unexpected night in a hostel in Paris because I missed my train. In total, this was 12 days of travel, at least 12 hours riding trains, four hours on two different airplanes, three countries, three Couchsurfing hosts, 18 hours of French tutoring, some icy temperatures and one melancholy tour.

I’m not disappointed that it has finished; rather, I’m happy that it happened to me because now I have those memories and stories. And quite frankly, I’m glad to be home in Cherbourg - despite the temperature of the flat having nosedived while I was away - because I was tired. I was looking forward to doing nothing for once, letting my mind wander, slacken and relax in my own quiet space, like taking off my shoes and loosening the tie after a long day of work.

This is because sometimes to travel means to work. I got lost plenty of times in Prague’s narrow, cobblestone-lined maze that calls itself the Old Town and had to figure out how to return to a more familiar area. It was difficult for me to orientate myself in that city, much more than others, but I’m not sure why. I walked in the completely wrong direction for long periods of time, thus losing myself entirely. I figured out Krakow eventually, but not Prague. Perhaps the collision of so many different political eras, building architecture, skyline spires and history in Prague creates a sort of invisible, undetectable force that causes one to lose their sense of direction. Or, I was just stupid.

I was also cold for long stretches at a time, in Paris, Krakow and Prague, and sometimes with wet socks and feet from traversing snow, so I had to endure the effects and put them out of my mind. I had to instantly change tactics in Paris. Twice. Though one situation was much more serious than the other, I had to overcome that brief but intense moment of sheer panic. Often we notice that when the person we’re traveling with submits to panic and despair, we strangely become calmer. I’ve noticed that before as well, such as on that road trip with Danny a couple of years ago.

It's nice to have a travel partner, but what if we’re traveling alone? Who (or what) will help us return to clear thinking after an unexpected alteration of plans?

This, my friends, is difficult, because in these situations we can only rely on ourselves. We have to have an iron will, an ability to not let anything rattle us, but we also must relax and let that moment of peril pass. Over time, I’ve learned to laugh at the situation as it unfolds. It’s a way I’ve found to appreciate being in the moment, because the circumstances always improve. Countless instances of bad luck have turned out to be great stories in the future, so I remind myself of that in order to keep a level head.

We must also learn to harness the burst of adrenaline that results from panic. If used correctly, it helps us focus and zero in on possible solutions to a problem, but incorrect implementation results in lashing out at complete strangers who have no control over the mediocre hand we’ve just been dealt, along with anger and extreme stress.

Here ends my latest adventure. I hope you all enjoyed following it and the raw emotion which poured from my writing. I just need to commit to a new trip now!

Nudism, French lessons and maturation in Paris

13/1 - This story begins with a nudist.

Some of you may remember when I Couchsurfed with a nudist in Madrid in 2015. For the past three nights in Paris, my Couchsurfing host was...a nudist! But this time, I stripped all the way down. But rather than be self-conscious, I was a bit surprised at how comfortable I felt to simply sit in the nude while eating, watching television or drinking a glass of wine with another person.

It takes one to be secure with one's own body to exist naked in the moment. For some, the absence of clothing equates to the absence of security. We are all more vulnerable sans clothes, because there is nowhere to hide and nothing to lose; the naked skin is the foundation of our Selves.

My host, Marco, was a former rugby player and is someone who seems to relish the opportunity to prove someone wrong, even his girlfriend. I won't go into detail, but he's about as comfortable being nude as one can possibly be, and it made for some rather memorable moments. 

Anyway, I'm in Paris until Monday morning. During this time, I'm taking quite intense French lessons from Marie-Amance's father, Phil. He's from Montreal, Canada but has lived in France for more than 40 years. Our lessons take place in his apartment in the 18th District of Paris. It's little bigger than a studio because his bed and the kitchen table sit in the same room, and the kitchen and bathroom are almost as big as each other. Phil's narrow balcony provides a view of one of the spires of Sacre Couer Basilica.

We've spent three hours per day for the past three days chatting in French, pouring over textbooks, drilling specific sounds, emphasizing verb tenses, conjugating and repeating, repeating, REPEATING. 

My brain is dead. At the moment I feel mentally tired, as if my mind has been thoroughly beaten with a meat tenderizer and then squeezed of its remaining juices of knowledge and ability, like a sopping-wet rag being wrung of its moisture. 

14/1 - Some of you may remember that I Couchsurfed with a man named Pascal in 2015 when I visited Paris with Angel. I'm again staying with him for my final few days in the city. His apartment is just as I remembered it: every inch of wall space is taken up with some sort of book, artwork, knick-knack, ivy, porcelain frog or phrase, yet the flat is spotless. You could eat off the floor!

My first time in Paris was in 2010 during my first trip to London. I hated it because of how helpless I felt when trying to communicate. The city was beautiful and the sight of the Eiffel Tower wondrous because it's sheer size made you feel as if it was simply part of a backdrop, but some of the thrill was eliminated because I was so unsure about the simple act of speaking. I hadn't taken just a step outside of my comfort zone, but a giant leap to the point where I couldn't even see my comfort zone anymore.

Nowadays, I'm quite comfortable. I can actually communicate! I can read things in the metro. I can understand simple announcements. It's fine to open my mouth here to speak, because people sometimes automatically switch to English for me. But, the Eiffel Tower itself is under much more security since the terrorist attacks. One must go through security if they wish to simply walk into the plaza directly underneath the tower. Those metal detectors are symbols of a country shaken to the core by mindless attacks so much that "normal" life is no longer normal.

But as Pascal said, I might be enjoying Paris more now compared to six years ago because I'm more mature. It's fine for me to travel alone in an unfamiliar place now, whereas before I needed to stick myself to another person who knew the local language. But that's correct. Paris is now a familiar city, in every sense. It's not like I'm traveling in the typical sense; I'm just visiting a large city once again in which I have business.

As for today's French lesson with Phil, it went much smoother because I actually ate breakfast instead of only drinking a lonely cup of coffee. Pascal was kind enough to offer toast, jam and tea. So, I didn't feel slow or stupid, and it was much easier to carry on a conversation in French.

And speaking of French, it was never one of those languages I envisioned myself learning when I was younger, like the idea of living in France. But, life is a chaotic adventure, a frenzied machine with a mind of its own that shifts and shimmies on the road we think on which we travel. But at random moments that contraption has been known to suddenly veer off course.

I'm living in France and studying the language on my own because, well, that's how it's supposed to be. It's what I should be doing at this moment. I will not question this. 

15/1 - Today was my final lesson with Phil, and I'm tired. I'd be happy to return to Cherbourg tonight because I'm mentally exhausted, but alas I still have six more days of adventures. 

Pascal is the director of a dance organization, and he invited me to a dance performance of sorts. It was headlined by Nadia Vadori-Gauthier, a woman who is known for dancing in tribute to the terrorist attack on Charlie Hebdo a couple of years ago. During her tribute, Vadori-Gauthier filmed herself dancing every day for two years, even if it were just for a minute.

In one of her clips, which made me laugh, she had set up shop in a restaurant booth with bobble-heads of Donald trump and Hillary Clinton. She incorporated the bobble-heads into her dance and became a bobble-head herself at times. In other videos she danced in the middle of traffic, along a blank stretch of wall and on top of a table in a crowded lecture hall while the class was in session.

The recital took place in a small studio under the streets of Paris in the dance organization headquarters. Pascal said the space was much too small for the amount of people who showed up, which was about 150 people. There were theater seating on one side of the stage, which rose up maybe 10 rows. Other people were forced to sit on the ground on two other sides of the stage, including me.

The style of dance could be described as interpretive. It ranged from a group of eight performers twitching violently while humming in tune with each other, but then strolling away to the sidelines while whistling, to a man and woman executing a sort of ballet. Each wore gray T-shirts, jeans and danced with bare feet on the black floor, and the sound of their feet making contact with the floor was the only sound during these few moments. It was a thing of beauty when he would take her into his arms and she would stretch, thus showcasing her delicate-yet-powerful female form.

Programs like this are just a tiny part of what makes Paris such a great city. In 2015, I wrote about how the city offers a surprise around each and every corner, like a grab bag of Christmas poppers. It's a cultural capital of Europe, and a place that will eventually open the mind to previously unknown experiences. Even Pascal, who has lived in Paris for 37 years, said he still discovers new things about his home.

In 2015, I fell in love with Paris. In 2017, I simply fostered the relationship.

My time in Paris is finished. The next stop on this journey will be to Krakow, Poland where there is snow on the ground amid below-freezing temperatures. The purpose of my visit here is not a happy one: I'll visit Auschwitz, a place much colder than the weather in the deepest part of winter in the North Pole.

Light Bulbs in Lisbon

Before I begin, please keep in mind that my camera does not do the city justice. You all are being short-changed with these photos.

I will remember Lisbon, Portugal with fond memories because it is one of the most unique cities I've visited, and for its role in more self-discovery.

It's as simple as the fragrant smoke that emanates from countless carts pushing Castanhas (roasted chestnuts). The Castanhas are roasted until the shell turns white and brittle, and the nut itself almost tastes sweet from the cooking.

Lisbon's individuality comes from every single uneven cobblestone that makes up the streets, every intricate tile design that forms a footpath (which most of the time cause the sidewalks to form humps, cracks and flaws, thus making walking a challenge) or wall, every narrow staircase between homes that sit on the hills above the river.

The streetcars and trolleys that snake their way up these hills remind me of San Francisco, as well as Ponte 25 de Abril, the structure that looks strikingly similar to the Golden Gate bridge.

Even the hostel in which I stayed provided simple yet powerful moments, and they consisted of eating carrot and ginger soup whipped up by one of the cooks while mingling at the kitchen table with people from Australia, America, France, South Africa, Venezuela and Portugal, among other places. It was like eating with family!

One of my favorite moments of this brief trip was when my friend and I sat down for a coffee in a tiny, random cafe found after snaking our way down the hill using those staircases that make up the neighborhood. The walls were painted a cobalt blue and a green parrot in a cage near the register occasionally squawked. And in the narrow entrance sat a jug of Ginjinha, a liquor infused with cherries (reminds me of sweet cough syrup), to entice passers-by to consider the cafe.

Part of Lisbon's charm is how colorful it is, from the color of rooftops to the many examples of graffiti art in the more local neighborhoods. It's also a game to see how many hidden, minuscule cafes there are among the twists, stairwells, shadowy corners and outcrops. 

This trip was much more than shallow tourist traps. I see it as an extension of my ongoing, never-ending education. Before coming to Lisbon I had known little about Portugal and her people, but I am confident in saying that I know more than I did. Among my other activities was visiting the Estadio da Luz (home stadium of SL Benfica, one of Portugal's largest football clubs whose mascot is a bald eagle) and stumbling upon a modern art museum which featured the most cheeky work of art I've seen in Europe, because it is essentially the artist teasing everyone else with the prospect of an abstract thought.

This trip also helped me learn about something I have been subconsciously searching for throughout the past six years or so. Before I left for France, a friend of mine suggested that the reason I move around so much is because I have yet to find what I'm looking for; At the time, I had no idea what that could mean. After some deep conversation while riding a train in Benfica and reflection in the airport, I do now.

I have been searching for equilibrium. How to achieve equilibrium, though, is another question entirely.

11/12 - It was a long travel day, but I'm back in Cherbourg. As with any of my traveling, it's a bit bittersweet to have completed another journey. But, it was still enjoyable to spend an afternoon in Paris waiting for my train, even though my stress levels rose while navigating the sheer amount of tourists the city presents. They are like a wave sometimes, especially when I visited Sacre-Coeur Cathedral today. 

There were moments when I caught myself stewing with annoyance because that takes me out of the present. At those points, I breathe, and step back. 

The rest of the day was spent in the south-eastern part of the city, where I watched Arsenal FC, my favorite football club, in a bar that is known to support AFC. Many of the Gooners inside were singing and chanting. Great way to end the trip. 

Future career prospects, leading up to France and a former Ducati owner

9/7 - This is the twilight of my time in Porterville.

Subconsciously, I'm already planning on living in Cherbourg. I'm keeping my options open by sending out resumes, but the prospect of living in France seems to be the most real idea right now. Along with another career possibility, the way forward is clear. It will cost $110 for a long-stay visa in France (stays more than 90 days).

I want to chase a career as a Foreign Services Officer (FSO) with the State Department. This essentially means being a diplomat who represents the United States all over the world. I watched a video last week about the career, and I was in awe for a full 12 minutes. I saw myself in each of those people, and I very much want to chase that path. I was inspired.

The first step is to register for a FSO test. The next window to take this test is in October, so that gives me three months to study. I took the practice test last week, and with zero preparation I scored a 92; a passing mark was 100. Knowing this made me a bit more confident, but I still want to give myself the best chance possible of passing it.

This all fits in with moving to France as well. During the next testing window, I can take the test in Paris. The move would not interfere with this process, which will be long. The test is the first step, and there are nine in all. It'll be a long road for sure, but the most important thing that matters is that I finally know what I want to do with my life. It's too bad I didn't realize this when I was still in school, but it's better late than never.

17/9 - Goodbye, Ducati.

I sold the Ducati today, finally. While I took a huge hit on it, I still got a good chunk of money that will help with future plans, most notably France. That bike gave me some excellent fun, but it was time to move on. The lesson learned from being a Ducati owner is to do more extensive research on a make and model, including making sure I will be able to afford to maintain it. No regrets! I'll even have another motorcycle video in the next few weeks for you all to feast your eyes upon.

On Wednesday I will make another trek to Los Angeles, this time for a test that could lead to an interview if I pass. This is with the LA Community College District for the Public Information Officer position. I'd like to see where this goes because it's a good career opportunity, but the list of positive reasons to move to France keeps growing. But, if all goes well I will have a choice between Los Angeles and France.

One aspect of France that is so enticing is the fact I'll live by myself for the first time in my life. I have never not had a roommate. Add to that the fact I will live within walking distance of the train station and ferry terminal, and this is something that just seems right. I'm a traveler, and Cherbourg is the perfect base to do that. This is the way forward. It feels right, especially because of the fact I can fly to Paris from Oakland, CA for $265 on Tuesday, Sept. 6.

I have been in a much better mood lately and can tolerate Porterville. In fact I'm looking at the positives about the city again, which is of course the location. There are some good hikes just on the edge of the city and great people here. All of this stems from the fact I can now see a way out of Porterville; I will leave this place soon. Also, there are new people starting at work, so the stressful chapter is likely behind me, likely to be looked back upon and laughed at.

Finally, my parents visited this weekend; it's always great to see them. They even got the chance to see the ranch in Springville and meet Mr. Boo, Spirit and the rest of the cattle and horses that call it home. But most importantly, they brought me a handful of bottles of wine. Cheers!

18/7 - The first day at work knowing one person in particular was gone forever was excellent. The mood in the office was so relaxed and our spirits were higher. It goes to show how much the atmosphere and chemistry of a workplace can be improved by removing a cancer.

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).

Adios to Kaichi, Poole and an encounter with an old friend

19/6 - I start off by admitting I have writer's block. I've been running off of the minimum amount of sleep during this trip to London; last night I had a total of two hours of sleep. But, it's all been worth it.

This weekend was a learning experience because my kids showed me how to write my name in Japanese. In the language, I am Maikeru (Mah-ee-ke-roo). On Saturday we were stuck in a classroom doing cultural activities, and just like last year it was a great way to break down language barriers. But unlike last year, my kids have been speaking to me in English with enthusiasm, without me having to facilitate anything.

But over the past few days I've noticed how Nono and Tatsuki have grown in confidence in terms of speaking English to me. The two are comfortable now. It really helps that they understand I am patient with them while they speak to me and search for that hard-to-find word. I've also shown I will help them finish a sentence for them if they need it.

I've enjoyed seeing how Shunsuke is the outgoing jock of the group, to how Ryunosuke is the shy and introverted one. I rarely hear him speak, but I know he is pretty good at composing music based on his oral presentation. Arima is...I'm not sure how to say it. The word that immediately comes to mind is "square." He follows all the rules and sometimes is a bit serious when Shunsuke teases him. I guess you could say he's a bit rigid. But, he speaks a lot and puts forth a great effort. I found out recently he joined the tennis club at school and lasted exactly one day because he didn't like the physical exertion tennis forces from you.

Nozomi was impressed when I used chopsticks while eating Chinese food in Chinatown today. She and Nono are very talkative now and so expressive it's a bit funny when I reveal some incredible fact of information, such as when I showed them my driver licence when I was 16 years old and had long hair. Yuma is a bit more reserved, but she constantly smiles and is nice to be around. Tatsuki is eager to speak English as well, and he has been known to troll with his group mates with a completely straight face, such as when he was trying to convince Shunsuke to drink watermelon juice at dinner today. None of them liked the juice!

We have just one more full day with this program, and it simply flew by. I highly enjoyed my second encounter with Kaichi High School and its students and do hope to participate again next year. I've noticed I'm more comfortable around the students as well because I already know how this turns out. No worries, no stress.

It also helps to not secretly take my group to Piccadilly Circus and later be caught by teachers, like last year...

20/6 - I've forged much better connections with the kids this week compared to last year. Most of them have been asking for my Facebook information or phone number, so I will probably keep in contact more with this group.

As with last year, I saw how competitive Japanese kids are when they play sports. We played Dodgebee today, a cross between dodgeball and frisbee. These kids are diving on the floor, jumping for everything and sprinting; it's impressive to see. The game was very fun, especially because I have the simple talent of throwing a frisbee correctly.

During the farewell party, the group gave me a thank-you poster with notes from all seven of the kids, along with my Japanese name spelled out in Kanji. It was incredibly cool, and something that did not happen last year. I smiled the whole time I read the notes, confirming what I thought about the elevated confidence of everyone. It was a great feeling to know it was a positive experience for the kids.

21/6 - The kids left Brunel University for good this morning, but not before I met them for breakfast one last time. I finally gave them my gift, which was a hand-written note for everyone along with chopsticks and British candy. But then I felt my gift was a tad too simple when I realized they were going to give me even more gifts! I now have plenty of Japanese candy and food, and Shunsuke actually signed a baseball he played with at Kaichi and gave it to me. That was the coolest thing I could have imagined.

With just a few more moments left with the kids, I taught them games they can play on the coach to the airport and in the airplane, and gave Arima and Shunsuke chest bumps. I wasn't emotional to see them go like many other people were, but I was happy and proud to have helped these kids improve their English and their confidence. I gave the kids my contact information and encouraged them to keep in contact, so I know it won't have been the final time we saw each other. I expect at least one of them to reach out; if not, it's no big deal.

 This year helping Kaichi was a massive success and I hope to do it again next year. While I took part with the selfish wish of traveling, I also had a positive impact on kids from another country. I want to make the world a better place, if even for just one person. I accomplished that goal for seven kids over five days; we traveled from opposite ends of the world to meet up in London, and it was a fantastic fit. Perhaps fate meant for an American and seven Japanese teenagers to meet up and accomplish something positive in a world filled with negativity. Here's to next year's Kaichi High School students.

After I left Brunel bogged down with so many gifts, I currently find myself in a familiar place: Poole. Being here is a welcome flashback to a year of my life, spent in a foreign place forging connections from all over the world and manufacturing crazy stories.

It is a place Bill and I terrorized the local pubs, such as the Jolly Sailor. In fact, I ran into Bill on High Street about 10 minutes after getting off the train. He's been sober since I left, and it's probably a good thing I'm not here to drink with him. I think that's why he didn't return my phone call when I first got into London. While it would have been nice to grab a coffee and catch up, I understand. He wasn't trying to be rude; it's just how British people are to avoid being too forward with someone.

Here's to the travel during the rest of the week to Cherbourg and Paris, and back to California.

Revelations, England and a new understanding

1/6 - After talking with a friend today, she helped me reach more enlightenment about myself: I love control.

This is why I enjoy traveling. What it really boils down to, I enjoy the control of going where I want, when I want. I love the planning. I love controlling how I get there and in which fashion. That's why I enjoy traveling alone, because I don't have to cede control to another person. That's why I'm rarely stressed when I travel by myself: I'm the one making decisions.

10/6 - I'm beginning to understand what I really want to do with my life. I desire a career working in international relations. For example, this whole week I was looking forward to a job interview with the British Consulate in Los Angeles. This would have been for a position called Politics and Public Information Officer.

Unfortunately, the recruiter did not call me when I thought she would. I got my hopes up fantasizing about having a career that would involve international relations, traveling, living in a big city, etc. I felt cheated when the recruiter didn't call. I was angry. I was depressed. I was dumbfounded. All day yesterday I couldn't get out of that haze of disappointment.

But, within the past few minutes I have had another epiphany. I was so upset about that situation because this is what I want to do with my life. I saw an opportunity I dearly wanted, and it passed me by. Out of disappointment comes realization and enlightenment. I have a new purpose and goal. This has given me a new fire and enabled me to cheer up considerably. A career within the international community is something that fits me perfectly, and that is where my focus will be. I think joining the United Nations is a suitable goal.

In other news, my trip to England is coming up quickly. I still only have a rough plan of what I'll do after leaving London. I know I want to take the train to Poole to stay with an old friend and then take the ferry to Cherbourg, and eventually a train to Paris where I will meet another friend from Poole.

I am still trying to find a host for my first night in London, and I still need to buy tickets for the trains and ferries. But I'm looking forward to another adventure and to meet up with some old friends.

13/6 - It's the eve of another adventure. I fly to England tomorrow! Most of my plans are relatively solid, but I still don't have a place to stay at in London Tuesday evening. And in Paris, I'll stay with Magda, an old friend from Bournemouth who now lives in Paris. This'll be another long travel day, as I will drive from Sacramento to Porterville and then Los Angeles in the morning. Here's to travel.

Also, Nikolaj and Edward go home to Denmark and Norway on Tuesday because their exchange program has ended. It has been excellent to get to know them. But they are now legitimate travelers, and it is their duty to host other travelers when needed. They are a part of this community now.

14/6 - Well, I have a hostel in London for my first night there. But I'm going into this trip a little bit unprepared because I still haven't informed my bank that I'm going overseas, as of this writing. Perhaps that's why I can't buy a Eurostar ticket yet.

Farewell to Paris, a cultural mecca

6/9 - 6 September, 2015: the day I fell in love with Paris. This was one of those days when everything added up to create one perfect day. There was nothing I'd change about it, as every pause, every decision to turn left or right, every decision to stop and listen to live street music turned out to be a brilliant decision that added to a day that compares with the best, made-for-forevor-memory adventures.

I can see why Parisiens say they fell in love with this city; no matter where you go, there is some sort of history, some sort of culture, some sort of art just waiting around the corner to be explored.

I leave Paris having had the complete opposite experience from 5 years ago. It was much more enjoyable. It didn't feel as if this was a foreign place; in fact, I was comfortable. Though one would think Spanish is of no use in France, I think it's a big reason why my time has been so much better. There are numerous Spanish and French words that are similar to each other, and because of that I can understand a little bit of written French. 

I've written about how adventures can only be an adventure if it is unplanned. You can't plan befriending a group of 4 Japanese law students visiting from Japan, going to dinner with them and helping them get comfortable speaking English with us. It was just like with the Kaichi students; it helps to simplify your language and speak slowly and clearly. Add in the reassurement that it's OK to make mistakes while speaking as long as others understand what you want to communicate, and they were very appreciative. We spent the afternoon and evening with them and got their contact information. When I visit Japan, I will now have a guide. Add that to the list of new countries I want to visit because I have contacts there now. Perhaps a Taiwan-Japan trip could be in the works in one year.

Though I left with a different perception of Paris, my view of the Louvre remains unchanged. I knew 5 years ago if only I visited again, expecting the crowds, I'd enjoy it more. Nope. It's a rip-your-hair-out stressful situation, especially around the Mona Lisa. The painting is behind glass, and there is a barrier 5 feet in every direction. Against this barrier is a massive crowd made up of all walks of life, each person craning their neck and sticking their camera in the air hoping to get a good picture; it's as if they're watching a rock concert. Especially on the first floor, there are waves upon waves of groups of tourists, intent on nothing besides snapping a picture. There are crowds blocking staircases, couples standing in the middle of paths, taking pictures and people simply walking around, recording with a selfie stick.

FUCK selfie sticks.

A selfie stick is a useful tool when you're doing something amazing, like jumping a motorcycle over a canyon, driving a car straight into a flaming stack of barrels and then flipping in the air while flames lick the side paneling or skydiving and then flying straight through a rock tunnel on the side of a steep and jagged mountain, not when you're standing in line for a museum. It makes you look stupid and narcissistic.

An art museum shouldn't make you feel this way, and this is why the Louvre is not the best art gallery in Paris; that honor goes to the Picasso Museum. So I decided to head towards a quieter and much less populated part of the museum, an area in which I knew my favorite painting is located. It's a French piece depicting Gabrielle d'Estrees. I remember it from 5 years ago because it's the most unique and thought-provoking painting in the museum (in my eyes). Needless to say, after communicating with museum employees in sign language, I was very excited to come across it again.

Having seen my favorite painting, the trip was a success. This just goes to show that the whole point of traveling is to meet completely random people, make new friendships and see the world, and all of this expands your mind while shrinking the world. If you have a chance to go somewhere, anywhere, new, take it. 

Sex museums in Paris, Disney and taking myself too seriously

2/9 - Paris has already been eventful. This is Angel's first time in Paris, and it's fun to see her squeal with delight at the sight of everything so new to her. It's also her first time Couchsurfing; she's lucky because our host, Pascal, is awesome! He's lived in this apartment for 30 years, so every inch of wall space is taken up by books, music or some sort of painting. There is ivy growing in the corners by the window, and best of all the flat is spotlessly clean. 

Pascal cooked some dinner for us after he finished with a massage appointment, and we shared the wine we brought for him as a thank-you gift for hosting, bought at a small, local shop from a dealer who says he only sells wine that is completely natural with no chemicals. We then shared some cheese and wine, one of my favorite snacks when in France, and many stories of travel, our school and some of politics. 

It turns out Pascal practices kung-fu as a way to keep active. He's 58 but looks 43. He walks as if he's in no particular hurry as if he's drifting along, and his hips move a little bit more than normal. Pascal is a person who likes to make contact on the shoulder or arm while in conversation, and he talked about not being a little bit scared of the perfect image portrayed by the Disneyland parks. It sounds as if the French really aren't that into Disneyland. But in all seriousness, this was an awesome place to stay, and Pascal was a perfect host. A total success.   

I had another moment today, a is-this-really-happening kind of moment. It was right around the time when I was eating escargot (snails in a garlic and butter sauce) while listening to an accordian in Paris. 

We visited the crypts of Notre Dame Cathedral, and while out front I took a small piece of bread from an older man and let the finches eat it right out of my hand. At points there were four birds attached to my hand. 

We attached locks to the love bridge, which is covered with thousands of locks to signify love, and Angel's Disney preconceptions of Paris were shattered when we took a stroll down the neighbourhood with Moulin Rouge and endless sex shops, strip clubs and sketchy groups of dudes who just watch you as you walk by. We took a break by entering an erotic museum and watching old, 1930s-era porn that gives new meaning to "Garden Tourism." 

3/9 - Certain cities have distinctive smells. Bruges smelled of Belgian waffles and ocean air. Milan and London have a stale, smoggy odor. Paris? You can't get away from cigarette smoke. People everywhere walk around with a fag, puffing. My friend Magda has smoked much more since she moved back to Paris in June. Perhaps this is one of the reasons people say they fell in love with this city. Magda and Pascal both said that; Paris has a unique smell, and it's alive. I like it much more than I did fove years ago, but maybe that's because the French were much less willing to speak English then. Now, as long as you try to speak French, they'll automatically switch to English for you.

They say Disneyland is where magic happens. That may be true for other Disney parks around the world, but Disneyland Paris is the black sheep of these parks. It doesn't make a profit and the French aren't the most enthusiastic about it. In the words of Angel and I, this park is "janky." It has the same rides as the parks in California and Florida, but there's really nothing new about it.

One goes to Disneyland to escape everyday life and to experience the illusion of magic. You'll get that, but as long as you bring plenty of money and have the patience to wait in exaggerated lines for everything, including for something as simple as a scoop of ice cream. After a couple of hours of that, it really is soul-crushing, and the inside of my head was like that girl who had a loud panic attack in the Haunted Mansion ride, probably because she was claustrophobic. Add in the presence of droning everything-is-snowflakes-and-sunshine-in-a-field-of-blossoms music, and my desire to retun has essentially been annihilated. But in an effort to be positive and not ruin Angel's time, I posed with Mickey Mouse and Spiderman.

I left Angel to continue her Disney geek-out (it later took her two hours to return because the trains just kept going) so I could meet up with Magda, whom I hadn't seen since June. But before I saw her I was distracted by a protest in the streets by French farmers and their hundreds of tractors. They were protesting the low prices of meat set by the government, and the noise from their horns and their scoops scraping the asphalt, mixed with the cheers and appreciative whoops of spectators made for some loud and eye-catching shenanigans.

Today is the first time I have used Airbnb. It's like Couchsurfing, but you pay the host and it's more like having a hotel room. It's less personal and you do it just to have a room, not to meet people. Like how I scored with Pascal with CS, Angel scored with Remy and his family as we have an amazing room with a balcony that wraps around two sides of the room on the fifth floor of the building. We have a home theater, ironing board, iron, hangars, kitchen and anything else we need until Monday. We have been incredibly lucky so far, and hopefully it continues.

4/9 - After miraculously finding Angel in the park this morning and talking to her, I realised I shouldn't take myself so seriously. I had to stop being a Disney hater and start acting like a kid. 

So from there I rode rides I remember well from childhood, like Thunder Mountain, Space Mountain and Star Tours. Everything is the same, except it's all in French. Thunder Mountain is a brilliant ride because the layout and scenery adds so much to the excitement. There's also the thrill of not knowing what will happen in the pitch black. I also surprised my friends by staying until closing time when the park put on a performance featuring sounds, film, water, fire, fireworks and the princess castle that assaulted the senses. 

5/9 - Today was a cross between seeing culture such as Van Gogh and Claude Monet paintings, and trying to shop while under the watchful eyes of suited Emporio Armani emplyees and doormen who know you have no shot of being able to afford anything, let alone the €850 blazer.

We went to the Arc de Triomph where we climbed stairs to the top to see all of Paris, and the Eiffel Tower. The best part was Angel's ecstatic reaction to seeing a famous landmark like that for the first time. I was like that 5 years ago when I first saw it. The Tower is incredible because it's one of those things in the world that looks so big, grand and beautiful it looks fake. So here's to traveling and its ability to make otherworldly landmarks seem normal.