Train stations, San Francisco views and more photos

2/3 - One thing I deeply miss about exploring new places is pounding the cold and indifferent streets on foot with a heavy backpack loaded with dirty, smelly clothes, a bottle of water, food, my wrinkled passport and some sort of charging cable to a device with a cracked screen.

I hadn't been able to do that until this previous Sunday when I visited San Francisco for the day to visit an old friend. This was also the first time I had used CalTrain to enter the city; a day pass from Sunnyvale cost only $7, along with a small fee to park my car. The ride from Sunnyvale to the 4th Street CalTrain station in San Francisco took a little less than an hour.

As I stepped off the train and walked towards the station on the platform, between two large and imposing trains, I had a flashback of the train station in Cherbourg. I had been on that platform at all times of the day in all kinds of weather, always the launch or conclusion of some adventure to a new or familiar place. Train stations have a similar effect on me as airports, in that I get feelings of anxiety, nervousness, excitement and giddiness. They are the starting or ending points of developing memories and experiences.

My destination after exiting the train was the Asian Art Museum, about two miles away. So, sporting a broken-in pair of leather Converse and a Nikon D3300 camera in my backpack, I set off on foot. Since it was San Francisco, I kept seeing many opportunities for a photo but I chose to simply observe them; I wanted to just enjoy the walk.

I passed some interesting scenes that made an assault on my senses. On 6th Street, I smelled marijuana among a small crowd of beaten-down and weathered homeless people, with some hurried grafitti decorating the walls along the cracked sidewalk. On Folsom Street, home to one of the biggest fetish and kink festivals in the world once per year, I caught sight of a "Help Wanted" sign in the door of a seedy, dark-colored adult video store. I vaguely wondered about whether the gig is full time and the kind of clients the store serves.

Once I had crossed Market Street and was close to the museum, I had to dodge defeated-looking homeless people sitting on the ground. Some of them had laid there heads right there on cement steps. Some sat against hard, gray walls. It made me wish I could help in some way more long term compared to giving one person the solitary, red apple in my backpack.

The rest of the day was a bit happier, as I met my friend and he got me into the museum for free. Typical admission for an adult non-member is $15 and $25 for special exhibits. I spent a little bit more than two hours in the museum, even after only skimming the later parts of the building.

Every time I go to San Francisco these days, it seems I end up somewhere new. This time, my friend and I found our way to Corona Heights, which is a hill that has a great view of the entire City as well as the Bay. It's a hill that juts up from the urban jungle and once you navigate the many wooden stairs up a gravelly incline, one has rocky hilltop on which to stand or sit. It is a perfect spot to watch a sunrise or sunset.

A few rapid Lyft rides and a Greek gyro later, we found ourselves in The Castro, which has the largest gay population in any city in America, according to the New York Times in 2015. This neighborhood is definitely one of the most colorful places I've entered, as even the crosswalks are a rainbow of colors in contrast to the usual white lines of most everywhere else. I appreciated it because it was so out of the ordinary of everyday life.

That trip was refreshing because it brought back memories of European adventure. It was a small taste of what I have been missing. Though it really was only a day trip, I enjoyed myself nonetheless. It was small injection of travel, a passion of mine.

3/3 - Since my last post, times have been tough. The job hunt was demoralizing; I finally gave in and took a temp warehouse job and accepted a part time paint delivery job, both in Woodland. From not working for the past year and a half, I will go to working 60-70 hours a week.

Talk about culture shock.

I also participated in the local art walk in Woodland a month ago, and I enjoyed the process of setting up a show of my own photography. Some of the photos below were showcased.

Somewhere along I-80 on the way to Reno, NV.

Donner Lake - this was entered into an international photography contest.

Yolo Bypass Wildlife Refuge at sunset

This is a photo of Christmas lights on the outside of a house. I shot through the bottom of a wine glass and then in Photoshop, I inverted the colors and then posterized it to give it the effect of a painting.

I was lucky enough to catch headlights of a large truck with this shot in the country between Woodland and Davis.

Point Isabel is a dog park in the East Bay, facing San Francisco and Marin County. This was the very first shot I took after jumping out of my car in excitement.

This bit of Sacramento street photography was total luck, as I saw the two priests hesitate when they saw me taking a photo. I am thankful they kept walking. This has been entered into a photography contest.

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. 

Stretch run in Cherbourg, photo contests and a lighthouse

29/5 - Spring and summer have arrived in Cherbourg, with warmth and humidity. I've begun hearing the sounds of doves, which will always bring back the memory of Grandma Honey's house.

With the trek in Italy finished and no more travel on the horizon before my return to California in a few weeks, it's time to reflect on my time here with the help of hindsight.

As I sit at this cafe surrounded by the sound of British voices and watching horse-drawn carriages carrying tourists recording the ride with their phones, I find it difficult to organize and marshal my thoughts. There are many things I want to say, but I'm not exactly sure how to write them.

You all know the circumstances of my arrival. It was a low point, fresh off six months in the most toxic work environment possible. I was feeling ashamed and guilty of how the previous year in Porterville had played out and how I treated people during that time.

I was dealing with the fact I could not communicate because I didn't speak French. Self confidence was low. It was a difficult first couple of weeks because I had taken myself far outside of my comfort zone.

But, I persevered. I got comfortable in my new surroundings. It was an accomplishment to get the basics of French down to the point where I could "get by" because I started from zero. It was a gutsy decision to take on this adventure and if I could do it, anyone can.

Since I've spent almost two years of my life living in Europe, I can finally say with certainty that I'm ready to go back to California. The ravenous hunger for travel has been satisfied for now, at least around Europe. There are many places I've yet to visit on this continent and I will see them in time; I'm only 27 years old after all.

The thought has been in my head for a while. I've visited 23 countries in my life and seen some amazing things, but I've seen only a tiny fraction of the world (perhaps half of Europe). It's time to branch out. Asia is calling. South America. Africa. Australia.

31/5 - Throughout my time in France, I've written about what I perceived to be my purpose for being here, and how it was in a constant state of flux.

I had some expectations for what I'd focus on while being here, such as improving my work ethic and improving as a person; some of those were dead on. While I had some goals, at the same time I felt lost in the first few weeks here, like I was stagnating again. But I knew my actual purpose would reveal itself in time.

It did.

My second long-term stint in Europe taught me that it's no longer all about me, an only child who has only ever thought about himself. I've learned that true success comes from pulling more weight than necessary, and that's done by putting others first.

I've learned how to put aside my own emotions for the sake of appreciating a situation. Letting emotions of the moment dictate a decision is not OK because logic goes out the window. For this, I will thank world-famous works of art such as the Mona Lisa.

I've learned that when we work, whether it's for a job or personal, 100 percent of our mind, heart and soul must go into it; The intensity must be high. Otherwise, it would be a waste of time not only for myself but for my coworkers, employers and personal goals.

I write this as I sit against a large tree in Emmanuel Liais Park, listening to the fountain of cascading water in the pond and my bare feet in the grass. My time of self-imposed exile is coming to a close, and I can't do much but be thankful for the time I've been given. .

Cherbourg will always be my home. It has been such an important chapter of my life that semi-formed ideas for another tattoo that involve the crest of Cherbourg are floating around in my head. This was also the city where my interest in photography was awakened, and it's been a thrill to learn about the capabilities of this camera.

It has been helpful to enter photography contests and challenges online because I've been able to see the work of photographers much better than me. Their jaw-dropping shots give me inspiration. And short day trips to places close to Cherbourg such as Barfleur and Gatteville Lighthouse also provide plenty of opportunity to compose photos.

Lessons in Rome, statues in Florence and a tower in Pisa

21/5 - A warm, humid thunderstorm battered the city of Rome during the evening of my birthday and morning of the next day. Bolts of lightning bathed the neighborhoods with light during the night and momentarily electrified daytime gray skies.

As I stood inside the Pantheon during this storm, taking shelter from the heavy downpour of rain, lightning struck the sky above and was swiftly followed by the boom of thunder. But this time, the thunder was amplified by the oculus in the dome of the Pantheon, resulting in a thrilling and electrifying roar, like how the sound of a dragster ripping along at 300 mph seems to vibrate in your very chest.

The roar of thunder made me giggle out loud among the large crowd of people, and it was a special moment because not often does one get to experience a strong thunderstorm inside the Pantheon in Rome. It was meant to be that way. I will remember that roar for a long time.

I've come to Italy with Diego for a week to visit Rome and Florence. It has been one of my favorite adventures already since I came back to Europe, because I've had the fortune of seeing so many world-famous works of art and my newfound understanding of how to control my emotions.

Thanks to my revelation at The Louvre with Diego, the spectacles of Rome and Florence and the crowds that come with them have not produced stress. The only thing I've felt has been goosebumps, either from sheer size or exhibitions of virtuoso artistry. It has been surreal to see ancient, massive, stone structures built almost 2,000 years ago.

Rome is known as the city to which all roads lead. I had never visited a city with such an ancient feeling, and I'd gladly go again. This area is also the headquarters of Christianity because Pope Francis lives in nearby Vatican City (within the city limits of Rome), and one can see nuns and priests taking a stroll at all hours of the day. 

The Collosseum. The Pantheon. Trevi Fountain. Vatican City. St. Peter's Basilica. The Statue of David. Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo. Rafael. So much art! So much size! History! Culture!

It's cultural overload. Italy, the destination of artists' dreams, has been a blast to the senses because things become mashed together. Modern technology fuses with ancient ruins. Languages blend together.

Since I can understand Italian a little bit when spoken, I have been thinking in Spanish. But French is still in the mix because I respond with French words or pronounce Italian words with a French accent. And on one occasion, while enjoying a beer during the thunderstorm, the German word for Sunday came out of my mouth.

The city of Rome itself feels old in every way, as if some parts could do with an upgrade. Trash gets separated from bins, metro trains are completely tagged with graffiti and street signs are difficult to find and read because they're the color of marble, which blends in with buildings. You can find marble statues everywhere, all in a different state of wear. A lot can happen in 2,000 years to a piece of marble.

But the fact you can find ancient ruins in the center of town and actually touch them is a thrill. The Collosseum is one example, as the colossal structure, made up of thin bricks painstakingly placed on top of each other, made my fingers tingle when I touched the 2,000-year-old walls. It was at one time decorated with marble, an elegant behemoth of a stadium that boggles the mind because you have to wonder how something like that was constructed so long ago.

This has also been a trip that featured severe spontaneity, as we spent lunch in Pisa after taking a quick train from Florence. Seeing the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person was fun because it's another one of those landmarks we've always seen in books or on television throughout our lives. Diego and I lounged in the shade with our heads on our bags as we examined the tower. I also enjoyed watching many other people get their version of a holding-up-the-tower picture. 

I had never been to a.place quite like the Sistine Chapel in Vatican City (yet another country). With each wall and ceiling panel entirely covered by the work of Michelangelo, something that took 10 years to complete, the room is a swirl of color and biblical references. At all times there are hundreds of tourists inside the chapel, craning their necks upwards to examine the pieces on the ceiling, including The Creation of Mankind. And at all times they're under the stern eyes of Vatican security who sometimes sharply command, "silencio" into a loudspeaker and remind everyone that no photos are allowed.

Like the Mona Lisa, The Creation of Mankind is another painting that seemed smaller than in my imagination. It's just one of many scenes on the ceiling, but it's in the center. The crack that appears near the two sets if fingertips made me wonder if it was intentional or just a result of age.

Michelangelo's Statue of David in Florence was surreal because it's a perfect representation of the human body, with each vein and muscle clearly and cleanly set, but I can't fathom how someone can reach that kind of perfection with marble.. It was as if an actual human were standing on the plinth instead of stone. I have never seen a statue that detailed before.

We spent a few days in Florence, sampling gelato, eating our fill of pasta and pizza and seeing Leonardo da Vinci paintings at the Uffizi Gallery. Though the center of Florence feels uncomfortably touristy, there's still so much history there to be enjoyed and many statues to examine throughout the maze of city streets. 

We also had the opportunity to attend mass at the Duomo of Florence, the city's massive cathedral. The service was in Italian, and though I understood words here and there, the program also offered translations in English, Spanish and French.

And though Florence feels too touristy, it still offers the chance to see a beautiful sunset along the Arno River. I took close to 100 pictures while standing on this bridge in the evening, surrounded by tourists with similar accents to mine. It was a wonderful moment, though, because I was able to witness something gorgeous in the capital of Tuscany.

25/5 - The journey back from Rome has been a long and frustrating one. Some of the issues along the way have been self inflicted, like not paying attention to whether a hostel only takes cash, to having to endure horrendous traffic, thus making me late for a connecting train.

I feel those surges of annoyance, but the key for me is to actually focus on my breath. That reels me in and brings me back to right now.

But, this is travel, and frustration is part of the adventure. The need for cool, critical thinking in the moment is vital, otherwise I'd be lost and shouting at someone out of anger.

Italy was an excellent adventure and though I saw some amazing stuff, the most important thing I took from the trip.was about myself. I learned how to be a part of a team. Though I may be carrying my own weight, the other person in your group may need help with theirs so it's my duty to assist.

During my final days in Porterville, I saw how my upbringing as an only child may have prevented me from learning this earlier on in life. As an only child, I only had to think about myself. I never had to share anything. I never had to split a burden with others. I saw how this was a possible reason why I'm not the vest roommate.

While in Italy, I saw that for the success of the two of us to be possible, I had to set aside my own ego and pride for having packed light, and help Diego carry his ever-expanding bags. Since this was his first time in Europe, the souvenirs he bought slowly fattened his bags, eventually making them painful to carry for one person.

But for the first time during either of my stints in Europe, I'm feeling slightly homesick. I'm done traveling for now. My time here is up. Like I said several months ago, I was like crepe batter cooking on the hot plate at the bakery in Cherbourg. I've fully formed now and ready to serve another purpose.

Road tripping in France and Switzerland with a familiar face

19/4 - It was around this time six months ago that I moved to France.

Six months in France.

So, to celebrate, I went on a road trip with my old friend Danny and his dog, Rocky over the Easter weekend. This was our third such road trip together, but this time we took a somewhat familiar route by driving south through France and ending in Basel, Switzerland.

It had been almost two years since the two of us drove north to Loch Ness, Scotland from Bournemouth, England, and exactly two years since we drove south to Italy, a distance of 2,200 miles. This time, I met him in Calais, after taking a train from Cherbourg and meeting total strangers in Caen to carpool four hours to Calais.

Though the trips were separated by two years, I noticed things haven't changed much with either of us. My emotions, the cause of so much anger and stress during my time in Milan and Genova, Italy, are still there. I'm still prone to submitting to moments of anger and annoyance, though this time they were much less noteworthy.

While my travel partner relies on his phone's GPS to a fault at times, there were moments when it seriously helped on this trip. Though there are many tolls throughout the major motorways of France, it helped us navigate in such a way where we avoided all tolls on our way back north by using smaller roadways, windy paths through damp and cloudy mountains, and one-lane roads through sleepy villages. It also helped us avoid the €50 toll at the Swiss border by simply leaving the highway and driving through the city streets of Saint-Louis, France to cross the border into Switzerland.

Both of us have accomplished a little bit since leaving Bournemouth University. We've grown into different people and collected vastly different experiences and stories, but we're still great friends. Though we do get along, there are times when we royally piss each other off like that couple who nitpick every aspect of each other.

The biggest difference now, though, is the newfound interest in photography for both of us. Danny uses a Nikon D5100 and I have the Pentax K-30, both DSLR cameras but with different capabilities, especially in regards to lenses.

I practiced with Danny's Nikon D5100.

The last time we pounded the open road, I didn't have the desire to stop every hour or so to take a picture. This time, however, I've been known to stop in random places and snap shots, such as when I waded into a field of yellow rapeseed flowers near Strasbourg, under a stormy sky. My pants got wet, my socks became soggy and my shirt attracted tiny yellow debris, but I snagged a cool picture or two.

This was a better idea in my head, and I never noticed the water droplets on my lense.

I didn't know the rapeseed flowers would be wet.

During the last road trip, I didn't have a child-like wonder of the sky. During this trip, the several hours driving in the general area of Nancy gave us a view of a spectacle in the sky, something that distracted me from my driving duties. The rays of the sun found ways around the clouds and down to the ground providing a natural spotlight for the ground below, like fingers from the sky curiously touching an unknown substance. It was incredible, and I was itching to pull the car over on the side of the road and put the camera to work.

Colmar - taken through the bars of a fence.

There was one point, just after sunset, when we drove along a long, straightaway road, next to several wind turbines in an open, green field. There were no trees. It would have been the perfect spot to shoot the sunset, but we were an hour late so the only thing breaking the black sky was some dark purple clouds on the horizon.

21/4 - It's also just about two years since Danny and I took that road trip from Bournemouth all the way down to Italy. For the past week, we've been driving, and driving...and driving. Or to put it more accurately, I've been driving because of Danny's lack of skill with the manual transmission.

Mont St. Michel is swamped with tourists during warm weather, but it's always fun to visit.

I've shown Danny the World War II sites in Normandy such as Omaha Beach, Utah Beach, Normandy American Cemetery, Pointe du Hoc and other tiny villages in the area. I showed him Mont St. Michel; it was my third time here and it was the warmest visit yet, despite the place crawling with tourists. However, that was Danny's birthday! Just like when my parents were here, it was fun to see the reactions of a person visiting for the first time. 

I've taken other photos of Les Braves, but not with the added benefit of a good camera!

When we arrived back in Cherbourg that evening, we witnessed the sunset from the top of the hill overlooking the city. It was magnificent, like when I looked upon Big Ben in London, in 2014, for the first time in a couple of years. From the wide angle, the thin clouds crisscrossed the light-blue sky, which eventually turned to pink, orange and red on the horizon. But from a closer view, the sky was nothing but orange and red. This 135mm lens makes all the difference because it can zoom in.

Taken from the top of Cherbourg at sunset.

There were many stops during the week: Strasbourg, Colmar, Basel, Kayserberg, castle ruins, and a bird show. There were big cities, touristy villages and opportunities to explore the area alone.  But the best part was having the opportunity to show a good friend my newest home.

Chateau de Kintzheim, once a castle, is now a bird sanctuary.

Kayserberg is a village nestled between two hills. There is a winery on the southern hill. 

There are castle ruins in Kayserberg, but I stumbled upon hiking trails which led me to this view. 

It also showed me that both of us admire what the other is doing. Danny is working in England and commutes to London once per week. He's supporting himself while traveling to many different places with his dog. He's ambitious with many business opportunities in his head and stays disciplined enough to steadily complete them. I, of course, have spent the past six months living in France, in near solitude, learning a new language and aspects of myself (and doing a little bit of travel). We each have respect for what the other is up to.

I also saw how Spanish is still a part of me, because I could understand the conversation between Danny and his mother. It reminded me that this has become a forgotten skill, one that needs attention. This will be something to work on over the summer.

22/4 - Danny left Cherbourg.

It was a blast showing my home to another friend. But as with most of my activities during my time here, I'm suddenly on the other side of it, looking back and reflecting. This is the temporary moment when I'm not quite sure what to do with myself, possibly because I feel melancholy that another adventure has passed. But I'm not sad that those road trips are finished.

As with everything so far, I'm just happy I was able to experience them.

There are other adventures on the horizon for me; until next time. 

A quick trip to London

9/4 - I went to London for a job interview last week. Rather than writing about it, I created a video blog. Obviously, my strength in communication comes from writing, not speaking. 

Some clarity has come as a result of the trek to London, because the idea of going back to California feels right. My time in Cherbourg is up, and I've achieved what I needed to achieve. 

Island hopping in Oslo, vibrant sunsets and a happy country

27/3 - How does one describe Oslo and the country of Norway?

According to the World Happiness Report, Norway replaced Denmark at the top of the list this year, closely followed by Iceland and Switzerland. Some of the things that made these Scandinavians so happy were their caring, freedom, generosity, honesty, income, health and good governance.

It came across as a hugely progressive, futuristic city. Downtown is designed around providing footpaths for people. Vehicle and foot traffic have been separated to some extent, as the highways are a snaking system of curvy and smooth underground tunnels.

On and off ramps are spiraling underground tunnels, like an adventure ride at a theme park. Roads entering the city are subjected to an electronic toll and the air feels and tastes fresh and clear because of so many totally-electric Tesla-brand cars (a machine that sells for around 100k USD) using the streets. If someone owns an electric car, they're given free charging and parking within the city. 

Compared to other cities, Oslo isn't huge; it's a little bigger than Sacramento. But its skyline features the 1952 Olympic ski jump which overlooks the city, and steeper-than-they-look mountains which surround the city.

Blond and blue-eyed locals seem to smile more here, despite the fact Oslo is one of the world's most expensive cities. According to The Telegraph newspaper, it comes in as the 11th most expensive city in the world; It was No. 1 in 2014. A half pint of beer from a local brewery costs about $10 USD. The currency is the Norwegian Kroner, and the exchange rate is about nine Kroner to one dollar.

It's so expensive because there are high taxes for many things. For example, you pay tax when taking a taxi, about $10 USD, and that's just to get in the cab. The people who earn the most money are taxed roughly 50 percent. Speeding tickets, given out when cameras on the highhway catch a driver going 10 kph over the limit, are steep and harsh, around $1,000 USD.

Because of the high taxes, Norwegians are known to cross into Sweden, which is about an hour away from Oslo, to buy in bulk because the prices are much lower. There is a large shopping center about 10 minutes across the border into Sweden, and one can see Norwegians load up large shopping carts with multiples of everything, including sugary drinks and candy.

Besides a handful of newer skyscrapers and the new opera house, Oslo is not an architecturally stunning metropolis. But what it lacks in terms of a skyline, it makes up for in practicality and stunning natural beauty. 

It may just be a case of the grass is greener on the other side, but sunsets here seem to be shockingly vibrant. It's like Mother Nature approves of Oslo so much that she smiles each night and gently caresses the city and surrounding mountains with strokes of yellow, orange, red, pink and purple. People, no matter where they come from, stand transfixed by the nightly spectacle.

So, I sit here on the island of Hovedøya, by myself, with a perfect view of the city and surrounding islands. It was just a six-minute ferry ride, but I have successfully found solitude within a capital city. The sounds of traffic and construction have faded into the distance, and have been replaced by the squawks of seagulls, chirps of birds high in the trees and the dull moan of the occasional boat.

I shed my jacket, shirt, shoes and socks, rolled up the bottom of my pants and soaked up the warmth of the sun on my own little spot on this planet at this moment of time. This was my holy-shit-I'm-doing-this moment, something that was absolutely free yet invariably a moment of my own.

I meditated on this spot for 10 minutes, focusing on my breathing. I felt the warmth of the sun, listened to the birds and splashes of water. I felt the slight breeze greet my face and chest, and the hard rock against my ankle. The slightest of bluish-purple hues enveloped the world.

28/3 - The adventure on the islands of Oslofjord was one of my favorite times of the three days in Norway because it let me explore out in nature and in solitude. 

After hiking around Hovedøya in total solitude and chatting with a Filipino woman named Janice, the ferry unexpectedly set off for the other islands in the chain, much to my pleasure. 

The boat made six stops in all, but I decided to hop off on the island of Lindøya where I had one hour before the ferry returned. This island is home to a miniature neighborhood of red, green and yellow summer cabins. As I walked between the structures, I was struck by the apparent lack of other humans in the general vicinity. Curtains were drawn and the only sound of footsteps came from my own. 

As I explored a small, private dock complete with the smallest lighthouse I've ever seen, expecting to hear a voice warning me to back away, I found a rickety garden bench at the foot of one crooked and faded dock, along with a small coffee table. I took a seat, put up my feet and had an unobstructed view of Oslofjord.

I was speechless at the sight of the setting sun and its reflection in the water, straight ahead of me. I was also amazed that I had a portion of a Scandinavian island, in early spring, with a beautiful view all to myself. I never expected to find myself in that spot, but it's funny how traveling goes sometimes.

My maiden voyage into Norway was a success, despite the fact I've once again missed my ultimate goal: the Northern Lights. I will visit Oslo in the future but the next time I will head farther north, into the icy, rugged, jaw-dropping arctic Norwegian mountains, for a chance to catch a glimpse of one of the most spectacular natural events.

Until next time.