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?

More photos and a painted house

04/10 - Welcome to Fall.

What a summer. The house painting job is essentially done, and I've been reflecting on its effect on me and how it mirrored my attitude in France about coming back to California and the job search.

I grossly underestimated both, in hindsight. I thought each would be a bit easier to do, and quicker. But what really happened was that I put too much pressure on myself and suffered for it. I paralyzed myself with both via the fear of failure.

The accompanying anxiety was unexpected. The frustrations, the anger, the emptiness, the hopelessness.

The Depression.

A veritable roller coaster of emotions.

By no means am I past it. I'm still seeing the therapist once per week as well as giving my time to the animal shelter and senior center.

While working today around the house and reinstalling the down-spouts, I accepted a sort of bitter truth. We need work more than work needs us.

I hate work and have never liked going to a job. But, work keeps me sane. If nothing else, work provides the mind with a distraction from the shit popping off within it during non-work hours.

For me, travel provides that distraction and it's something I truly enjoy. Without it for much of the past several months since June, there has been little to distract myself from the chaotic cacophony of crap inside my own head.

Writing has become a rare practice. Photography, however, seems to serve as a temporary distraction; It pulls me out of that funk. Adventures with the camera usually end up highly enjoyable, such as during a recent trip through San Jose and later Treasure Island and Yerba Buena Island.

To get the above shot of the Bay Bridge and San Francisco, I did a bit of trespassing in what seemed to be a United States Coast Guard compound at the top of Yerba Buena. With the camera in one hand and the tripod in the other, I cautiously stepped through the gate with a sign that clearly read, "USCG vehicles only."

After a period of caution and being as quiet as possible, I found the spot I was looking for. I waded through some tall, dry grass, climbed down through a large, rusty hole in the chain-link fence and sat down on a wooden board most likely put there by a fellow photographer long ago, and set up my tripod.

As I sat on that spot directly above the noisy gauntlet known as I-80 (with a small handful of other photographers stationed around me), I watched the sky change from bright orange directly after sunset to the inky blackness of night. The City itself lit up. I saw colorful reflections of the buildings in the bay. The Bay Bridge became a living, breathing organism made of light.

I was there for at least an hour. Time slips away with the camera. Needless to say, I'm glad I stayed that long.

05/10 - I badly miss France. But the photography continues. Here are a few more shots I'd like to share with you all.

Madison Avenue overpass in Sacramento

Above Lake Berryessa

Horsetail Falls 

Self-portrait at the San Jose Museum of Art

San Jose Municipal Rose Garden

New photos, volunteerism and life in California

12/8 - Welcome to another look inside my mind.

It's now two months since I returned from France. The job hunt is in full force and busy crushing my spirit like an industrial trash compactor slowly compressing the frame of an old, rusty car.

I've done a bit of traveling since I've returned, such as to Los Angeles, Reno, Pacifica and San Francisco; my home state boasts traffic as insufferable as ever, but it's all worth the struggles. There hasn't been any airplane rides since June, though.

To pass my time, I'm volunteering at the local animal shelter a few hours a week, joined the Lions Club and lending my driving skills to the Community Care Car, which is essentially a taxi seniors can use to get to their medical appointments. After a year of reflection, I now understand that my individual selfishness brought on by being an only child can be mitigated with volunteerism; I'm putting others before myself and my own needs for a change.

These past two months have been more difficult than I expected, though. I've become overwhelmed with the job hunt and conflicting ideas of what I should be doing at this point in my life, and what I'm actually doing. I've come to define myself based on the fact I don't have a paying job, I rely on my parents for everything now and can't do the things I want to do.

In reality, this shit shouldn't matter. But it does in my head, and I've defined myself on these perceived negative aspects of my life at the moment. This has driven down my mood.

19/8 - For the first time in my life, I'm seeing a psychotherapist.

It's been nice to talk openly to a professional about the stuff I think about myself on a daily basis. I've written here before about vulnerability and shame, and the therapist shared a TED Talk with me regarding those ideas.

In that speech, the speaker studied the concept of shame and vulnerability; she was an expert. She talked about how vulnerability is the most accurate measurement of courage. She pointed out that shame is cultivated through silence, secrecy and judgement, and it made total sense to me.

Among some of the things we talked about, one of the most important so far is the concept of self-compassion. It's a skill I've forgotten because I've gotten used to other people assuring me that I'm a good person. Sometimes, I need to remind myself that I'm doing good work.

While in France, I learned of a Buddhist concept called "Dharma" which refers to one's purpose in the here and now. Earlier today I thought of it again, and wondered if my downturn in mood corresponded with the fact I lost sight of my purpose for here and now, which is to paint my parents' house, help them out in any way I can and volunteer while I look for a job.

I was living too much in the future, comparing myself to others and feeling a particularly poisonous emotion: envy; along the way I lost sight of my Dharma. That resulted in several weeks of the kind of depression I've felt only once before: in 2011 while attending the University of Nevada, Reno.

Anyway, not having written for two months means there are several new photos I'd like to share with all of you. I'm starting to see that photography is a brilliant distraction from whatever I'm feeling, as I've discussed briefly before.

It's fun to see how this camera can make mundane things become...unmundane.

Downtown Los Angeles

Reno, at the Circus Circus

Fort Baker on the north side of San Francisco bay

The Ranger at the Yolo County Fair

Truckee River along I-80

21/8 - I've been putting too much pressure on myself. I'm just going to relax. Be positive, set goals and never quit. It's all I can do. 

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.