Some Recent Ramblings

Anlerale

2008-05-03T11:11:00.000-07:00

There are many reasons why I live in and love Orange County:
The weather is almost always perfect, there’s a Starbucks on every corner and almost any store you could name that exists west of the Rockies is within a 5 mile radius of my office.

Any those same reasons are why I need to get out of the County every few weeks:
You’ll hear people whine on local radio during one of our 3 rain storms every year, “I moved to Southern California so I wouldn’t have to deal with the rain!” Realty-TV attitude dripping from their mouth; there’s no unfamiliarity in this bloody place and all of those stores mentioned above have created a materialistic culture matched by no county that I’ve ever been to.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the weather, I love my coffee and the stores come in handy – but sometimes, all I really need is friends, family and some “anlerale”.

The idea for the trip had been berthed months earlier as my little sister Ali and her husband Mike decided they were road-tripping to Colorado over spring break to see my other sister Annie and her husband Pete. Pete and Annie live the life that most adventurers dream of: As the directors of the adventure sports ministry at camp Ad-Ra-Ha-Je in Bailey, Colorado, they live in a cabin at 9,000 feet in the Rockies and spend their time ministering to youth and taking them on all sorts of adventure sports adventures in the Rockies. My friend Katie was on spring break as well and the two of us flew out from California and rounded out the group of six.

Our itinerary was simple: pack as many outdoor sports as possible into our 4 day stay in the Rockies and experience some of the much-heralded “anlerale”

We piled into two cars and headed out for a day of climbing at “Bucksnort”. We crossed the freeway and taking the “back way”, we found ourselves on a dirt road following a meandering creek which cut its way through a canyon. Time hadn’t moved in this canyon in 50 years. Old log homes were perched on the hills, some occupied and some looking as though they might tumble down the slope and at a passer-by’s sneeze. Homemade bridges that looked like they wouldn’t support a squirrel running across doubled as driveways over the creek to the creek-side homes. As we rounded one corner, Pete pointed out “There’s the Bucksnort”.

Now, the rock and the saloon are both named the same – I’m not sure which came first. As we drove past the rickety old shack with neon signs in the window, I couldn’t help but salivate in anticipation of whatever the “anlerale” might bring me. We made our way to the rock for a day of 5.7 & 5.8 crack. Crystal-clear skies and 60 degrees made for some fantastic climbing, arm-wrestling and pipe-smoking. Even Ali got on some rock.

After a day of climbing, we drove a couple of miles back up the dirt road, pulled up to the saloon and made our way inside. The old wooden door creaked as we stepped inside. We were greeted by a moose wearing lipstick and a pool table that sat idle waiting for our post dinner game of cut-throat.

We walked in the dining area and were sat by the old German woman that I had heard so much about. We made her repeat every sentence she uttered at least twice. She combined almost every word she said. Sometimes we didn’t know if she was speaking in German with an English accent or the other way around. Trying to decipher what she said reminded me of the time I saw a Japanese guy who spoke no English try to special order something from a Polish speaking vendor in O’Hare airport in Chicago. To this day I (nor the Polish guy) knew what he wanted. At any rate, no one really knows how our German friend got to America or what she is doing at the Bucksnort.

“Wha’llyouguyshave?” she asked.
“What kind of beers do you have?” I asked.
“BudMillerLightHeineken[blah, blah, blah, blah…] Anlerale…”
I interrupted – “You have Anlerale?”
“Suredo” the old German said.
“We’ll have a pitcher of that” I said.

No one really knows of the origins or composition of Anlerale. Our best guess is that what our German friend is trying to say is “Antler Ale”. She informed us that the brew was locally brewed in Golden, Colorado. However, having a pitcher we were unable to confirm this by an address on the bottle. A Google search will reveal a plethora of different breweries with an Antler Ale. Which one our German friend served us will forever remain a mystery. Slightly hoppy and tasting similar to an amber – it was like Sam Adams meets Alaskan Amber: a full-flavored beer that fully satisfied our cravings after a day of hard climbing. We ordered burgers and stuffed our faces until completely sated and waddled our way into the pool room. We took photos, played pool, rubbed our bellies, discussed why the moose was wearing lipstick and thoroughly enjoyed our adventure at the Bucksnort

The Bucksnort Saloon is not a place you’ll find in Orange County. It’s not a place you’ll find on the side on any well marked road. To find places as authentic as this you have wander, or know people who have wandered.

So cheers to wandering and cheers to leaving Orange County and cheers to Anlerale.

Reflections on Joshua Tree

2008-04-08T18:34:00.000-07:00

I don’t think there’s a place that I’ve visited that is as unique as Joshua Tree National Park. The adjectives that come to mind are serene, otherworldly, isolated, busy, timeless, calm, violent, intriguing... The Joshua Tree itself is a rare and unique beast. Growing only in the high deserts of Southern California, it looks jacked and perfect all at the same time. The Joshua tree was named by Mormon pioneers who when seeing the tree thought that it resembled what the Biblical Joshua would have looked like brandishing his sword for battle. Other plants in the Park include Yucca and various other angry plants. I pretty much decided that every growing thing in the park is angry. I’m not sure why that is, but let me illustrate.

Take for example the Joshua Tree – a labyrinth of limbs and outgrowths that follow no particular order. Every square inch of the tree is covered in pricks and points will make the toughest bloque scream. I think I’d rather take a bath in hydrochloric acid (HCL – thanks Mr. Bill) than tumble down the side of a Joshua Tree. Now look at the Yucca plan – giant pricklies (that’s the scientific term) on the end of each leaf. Now look at every other bush or tree that I don’t know the name to and they’re all angry. Each, outfitted with its own unique weapon of destruction. Look at the rock – the reason most people visit Joshua Tree National Park. J-Tree rock is the sharpest rock I’ve ever touched. Two hours on that stuff and your fingers will be screaming for a week – calmed only by an Anderson Valley IPA from the Crossroads Café – just outside of the park.

James and I got up on a brisk December morning and headed out for the 2 ½ hour drive to Josh. There are a couple traditions that must be observed: The Water Canyon Coffee Company and the Crossroads Café. The former is the morning caffeination stop which serves both to get the brain working and to induce the morning slide. The latter is the post climbing feast consisting of the Crossroads burger and a number of Anderson Valley IPAs (the number corresponding directly with the dehydration factor and the how bad your fingers hurt).

We bouldered for about 3 hours on Gunsmoke, the Piano Crack, and a few other problems of which we didn’t know the names and then went to find our campsite. The wind was howling so we tried to find a fairly sheltered place. We headed up to the tallest point in Josh and watched the sun set. The wind had to be blowing in excess of 40 miles per hour up there and with the sun setting – geez, it was downright bitter. Ok, now I can see why some plants might be a little upset. We headed back down the mountain, near frozen and built a raging fire to warm our bones. We drank some Anchor Steem
s, shared some Anchor Steems with our neighbors and passed out for a chilly night under the stars.

With sore hands, we got up the next day and built a fire and made some breakfast. We hiked up Ryan mountain which turned out to be a really good mellow hike – about 2 ½ hours round trip. We snapped some pictures, added a few boulders to the shrine on top of Ryan Mountain and headed back down and back to Orange County.

Book Review: The Worst Journey in the World

2008-03-30T21:15:00.000-07:00

Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyon the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Tennyson,
Ulysses

I recently finished reading "The Worst Journey in the World" by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. ACG tell an heroic tale of loss and courage in Antarctica.

In March of 1912, Robert Scott, Titus Oates, Bill Wilson, Seaman Evans and Birdie Bowers perished of cold and starvation on their return journey from the South Pole. It had been a race to the Pole between the British and Amundsen and the Norwegians which had ended triumphant for Amundsen and his crew, and fatal for the British party.

On June 15, 1910, the Terra Nova set sail from Cardiff bound for Antarctica. The Terra Nova would return to Cardiff on June 14, 1913 with news of the defeat at the hands of the Norwegians and without their Captain Robert Scott and 4 of his best men.

The story is told by Apsley Cherry-Garrard; a 24 year old man at the time the Terra Nova set sail. ACG draws from his experiences and from others' journals to explain the facts, thoughts, emotions and the science behind 3 years in Antarctica. ACG lived to tell the tale of The Worst Journey in the World, which was not the race to the Pole, but the journey a year prior where ACG and Wilson traveled in the dead of winter, through 4 months of darkness and -78 degree cold, over crevasses, at times cheating death, for the sole purpose of recovering for scientific purposes the very first Emperor Penguin egg. ACG describes how at times during the Winter Journey he wished for nothing more than death.

All was not grief in Antarctica. ACG writes, "Those Hut Point [one of the permanent huts constructed in Antarctica] days would prove some of the happiest of my life. Just enough to eat and keep us warm, no more - no frills nor trimmings: there is many a worse and more elaborate life. The necessaries of civilization were luxuries to us...the luxuries of civilization satisfy only those wants which they themselves create."

ACG writes a gripping tale of life, loss, friendship, determination, adventure and science in Antarctica.

If you are a brave man, you will do nothing: if you are fearful you may do much, for none but cowards have need to prove their bravery. Some will tell you that you are mad, and nearly all will say 'What is the use?' For we are a nation of shopkeepers, and no shopkeeper will look at research which does not promise him a financial return within a year. And so you will sledge nearly alone, but those with whom you sledge will not be shopkeepers: that is worth a good deal. If you march your Winter Journeys you will have your reward, so long as all you want is a penguin's egg. - ACG

Yosemite; The Polar Journey

2008-03-23T20:19:00.000-07:00

Factor #1: 5+ hours in vehicle

Factor #2: Friday is becoming Saturday

Factor #3: Euphoria about Yosemite

Result: Impersonations

Bear

Blowfish

Turtle smoking a cigar? (Work with me here. My second guess was a small Chinese woman with a bad joint)

Katie, Jess and I drove to Yosemite Friday night. The plan was to stay in Curry Village with about 17 of Katie’s friends in one tent cabin.

The tentative plan for locating the overstuffed tent cabin (There are probably 800 of these things in Curry Village a

nd opening the door to the wrong tent cabin could present an awkward situation) was for Natalie to leave a not on her car indicating which lucky tent cabin would be hosting 17 college students.

What actually happened was Natalie’s phone worked in the Valley, she texded us the cabin number(s) (thrift had given way to reason and two cabins were reserved) and we found our posse without a hitch.

For anyone who’s never been cross-county skiing, it’s not as easy as you might think. I’ve downhill skied for years and might fall once or twice in a day. On our 6 mile loop to Dewey Point, I face-planted, bruised my shin with my skis, whacked people with my poles and nearly took out a tree…or maybe the other way around, a la Sonny. We climbed up hill, fell down hill, dodged trees and skied through a huge meadow. As we approached the Point, someone commented, “Don’t ski off the point”. “Ok”, I said. I’m not gonna lie, I hadn’t really thought about skiing

off the point. We hugged the middle of the chute heading down to the point. When we arrived I looked back and noted that it really would have been very easy to ski off the point. With mounds and mounts of snow, it was impossible to decipher where the end of sold ground was and where a large overhanging snow drift began.

Our reward for 2 hours of work was a sweeping winter view from Dewey Point. After photos, high-fives, beef jerky, peanut butter, chocolate, carrots, and anything else that passers-by might hand out to us, we headed back. On the way out to Dewey Point, we stopped over

and over to dig our heads out of the snow after face planting. I’d say between 17 people, there where a combi

ned 1,237 falls (if you count the times where will gave out and people scooted, crab walked, or rolled down hills). On the way back, I witnessed 5 total falls. That’s a delta of 1,232 if you’re counting. I’m not sure what the difference was, but we raced back to the lodge.

Top 5 Reasons to visit the Valley during winter:

Fewer Turons
Bears are still in hibernation
Coffee tastes even better when it’s less than 30 degrees
Driving in ice
Watching the stars in the meadow on hard-packed snow

Thoughts About Death at 11,000 Feet

2007-11-06T19:29:00.000-08:00

"Will I die?"
"Will the trail out of this wilderness be too covered in snow to find?"
"Will I freeze?"
"Will we be on the news?"
"Will I make my flight out of here?"
"What will I do if I have to pee during the night?"

These were some of the thoughts that had gone through my head during the night. It was 3:45 am - I was still awake in our tent as the wind whipped over the top of the mountain and sounded like a freight train coming down into the valley. How did I get myself in this situation?

Less than 24 hours earlier I was in Phoenix in the comfort of 80 degree sunshine and my rental car - in less than 24 hours (if I didn't die), I'd be on my way to the wasteland of a swamp turned one of the top destinations in the country berthed by a man with a penchant for making giant happy mice and cheap imitations of places in the world that really are worthy of travel (Orlando).

I had flown into Denver late Friday night. Annie picked me up at the airport...we crashed for about 6 hours in preparation for our Saturday of outdoor hedonism. In true hedonistic fashion, we made giant pancakes, gorged ourselves on orange juice and set out to conquer some boulders. After a morning of bouldering, we stopped by the Boulder Running Company for some employee discount shopping...then headed up the hill for our trail run through the forest.

After traversing aspens, bombing down singletrack, and waddling on some fire roads, we made it back to the camp, met up with Pete, and began packing for our camping trip. On the way up, Pete divulged that the forecast was for 5-8 inches of snow and driving winds.

"Have you ever camped in anything like that?" I inquired, assuming a simple "Yeah, no problem".
"Uh, nothing quite like that."
Hmmm..."reassuring", I thought.

We drove about 45 minutes from Camp Ad-Ra-Ha-Je which is in Bailey, Colorado up to the trailhead at about 10,000 feet. We parked the truck and unloaded our packs for the 2 mile trek into the wilderness. Pete has a way of underestimating danger...call it confidence, call it leadership, call it whatever - but know that when Pete expresses concern - you should be concerned.

"I hope the bog isn't too bad" Pete said on the drive up. Translated, "Joe will be taking his non gor-tex trail running shoes off and running through the near freezing water in the bog in his bare feet".

After about an hour of trekking, we reached the valley. We had hiked through the bog, over a creek and around a mountain into the valley, which was shaped like half of a big saucer. Breaking through the trees, we had amazing views of the night sky, and the guidance of a full moon.

The next three hours consisted of finding a place to pitch our tent, cooking dinner - chicken burritos, starting a campfire, smoking cigars, drinking wine, and discussing things pertaining to life and Godliness. About mid-way though our cigars, the wind starting picking up, and the snow started flying. We put out our fire and retreated to our tent.

The temperature had dropped to about 10 degrees and the wind was howling in excess of 30 miles per hour. Wind chill? You do the math. We got into our polar pods and attempted to go to sleep...

"Will I die?" I kept thinking to myself.
"What if the wind blows the cover off of the tent?" "What if I have to pee?" It was so bloody cold outside, I think I would have rather pissed in my pants. With 5-8 inche

s of snow forecasted, I was sure we'd end up lost in the morning blizzard, looking for the trail...in a white wilderness - that is if could even shovel ourselves out of the tent in the morning.

At 3:45, I finally drifted into the lala land. Pete's alarm went off at 7. No one wanted to look how much snow was actually outside - the howling wind had pelted our tent all night long with driving snow - I was sure that the snow would be up to the top of our tent.

Pete opened the tent and let the chilling morning wind inside - and to our surprise, only about 3 inches of snow. We were greeted with complete morning stillness and a fresh blanked of snow, which allowed for a glorious hike out and back down the mountain to top it off with round two of the world's biggest pancakes.

2007-10-15T18:54:00.000-07:00

As our train rolled out of

Italy

, our intense sweating finally began to subside. The only thing that could make me happy at this point would be to lie naked on a glacier in the middle of blizzard for 24 to 48 hours.

Only about 3 hours into Switzerland, we had a 20 minute “layover” on a train platform. Exiting the train we were overjoyed at temperatures in the mid-50’s. Literally, a 40 degree drop in no more than 3 hours. It was bliss. I was giddy. Now, the only thing on my mind was Swiss chocolate.

Benny hadn’t shaved in about 2 weeks. Being Romanian, (Side Note: Romanians are actually considered to be more of Latin decent than anything else. Although no one really knows exactly where we (I’m 50% Romanian) came from, most Romanians trace their lineage back to Roman soldiers somewhere between 100-300 AD made their way into Romania and made babies with the “locals”), Benny – unfortunately for him – looks like a terrorist with more than 8 days of facial growth. There’s really no other way to say it. Even though I’m half, I look like I’m straight off of the Viking ship. So when the guards came walking through the train to stamp our passports, I handed mine over, gave a little half-smile-grin-head-nod type of delivery; the guard stamped my passport and moved on.

As I peered two rows up as the two guards stopped to question Benny, the guards said something on their radio in German…translated “Call in Larry for reinforcements, we may have a terrorist on our hands”. A third guard appeared through the door. (Another Side Note: The Swiss take National security very seriously). Here’s the situation: one guard studying Benny’s passport; the second guard intensely questioning Benny about everything except the type of cheese he ate for dinner; the third guard locked and loaded with his hand on the holster.

Yes, they racially profile in Switzerland.

As our train motored through Switzerland towards Interlaken, our faces were glued to the windows. If you’ve ever been to the Yosemite Valley – picture the 5,000 foot sheer granite faces of El Capitan and Half Dome. Now multiply those and place them all over Switzerland. Then add lakes everywhere. Then add massive snow-covered alpine peaks on top of all of the sheer granite walls. Then add traditional Swiss mountain homes separated by vast lush green valleys. Welcome to Switzerland. The pictures will not even come close to doing justice to what we saw.

Our final destination: The Mountain Hostel in Gimmelwald (Gee-mel-vald). The transportation to the Hostel was equally charming – the Swiss are masters at transportation, details and logistics. The route was as follows:

Take the train to Interlaken Ost – change trains to Lauterbrennen

Exit train in Lauterbrennen – take bus to the end of the Valley

Exit bus at the gondola tramway.

Take gondola to the top of the cliff (This part is equivalent to taking a gondola from the Yosemite Valley floor to the top of El Capitan in about 5 minutes)

Exit the gondola – walk about 50 yards to the entrance of the Mountain Hostel, perched on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the valley. This would be our home for the next four days.

Reasons to come to the Mountain Hostel:

Switzerland is gorgeous and the Mountain Hostel is right in the middle of it.
23 Franks per night
50 Beds in a small mountain hut = meeting lots of people from all over the world
Petra & Walter – the owners of the hut are supposedly really cool people – they were on holiday while we were there...so Veronica manned the hut – and fell in love with Benny (more on that later).
Trails into the Alps begin as you walk out of the hut. 30 minutes to Interlaken – which is second only to New Zealand in adventure sports. Anything you want is right there: Mountaineering, Canyoning, Mountain Biking, Skiing, Hiking, Climbing, Bungee Jumping, Sky Diving…the list goes on…

Here’s how it works in the hostel:

You wake up at about 9 o’clock, either because: 1) The melodic hum of 10-15 dudes snoring has ceased (bring ear plugs), 2) You see the sun, or 3) The air is so thick with the night’s breath that suffocation begins to set in. You then take to your activities for the day – hiking to the top of the Schilthorn (as featured in Bond 007 On Her Majesty’s Secret Service), taking a trip down to Interlaken, or some other mountain activity. After everyone has completely spent themselves from a day in the mountains, everyone reconvenes at the hostel. The night sessions generally begins with a soak in the hot tub. Then the food, drinks and games begin. Some of our best times of the whole trip were our nights in the Mountain Hostel – waiting in line for the internet, talking with people from all over the world, and pounding on the tables at 1 am in the midst of an intense game of BS.

Veronica ran the place while Petra & Walter were on Holiday. Veronica loved Benny. One night (morning) about 2 am Benny, Seth and I had finished a night of table-pounding, card-playing, wine-drinking fun…and we retired to the bar to talk to Veronica. Veronica posed the question to us, “what do you guys really look for in a girl?” We kind of looked at each other. “Well, I guess it’s kind of hard to really sum up”, I said. “I mean, there are a lot of things…” I said. She was looking for a synopsis that we just were able to provide.

“It’s easy”, she said. “You just need to find a girl who you can steal horses with.”

Silence.

We all looked at each other. Then we thought about it for a while. More looks at each other. We were all thinking the same thing. “She’s right.” In order to steal horses, you have to be fun, smart, adventurous, be able to work together as a team…you’ve just gotta click with someone. “Stealing horses.” Who would’ve thought? Thanks to Veronica and her German wisdom, the three of us came back to the States looking for a girl we can steal horses with.

We learned a lot in that little mountain hut and we vowed we’d get back there some day.

Florence, Italy

2007-10-07T16:24:00.000-07:00

At about 4 am, I awoke to the smell of cigarettes and Italian men chatting, not the sort of 4 am whispering that one might expect, but rather full intense dialogue…what about I don’t know…but whatever their minds had conjured up on that July morning at 4 am, judging from their gut-busting laughter, it was apparently quite funny . Thankfully, I had brought along a two week supply of ear plugs – Note: If you’re planning a trip to Europe, it’s quite possibly the best $4 you’ll spend. At any rate, lying on my seeping bag on the deck of the ship, I opened one eye and did my best groggy-eyed-one-eye-open glare at the Italian men. They had no idea I was glaring at them, nor did they care; I pushed my ear plugs in a little further, rolled over and want back into la-la land.

At 6:45 am the ferry was right on schedule having left the harbor in Senj, Croatia at 8 pm and eased into Ancona, Italy at 7 am the next morning. Not that it wasn’t hot in Croatia, but the euphoria (there’s that word again) of the place provided the feeling that we were perpetually under one of those misting machines that you see outside restaurants in Phoenix or Vegas. Italy was a little different; being only 6:45 in the am and sweating, I was already longing for Switzerland.

Arriving in Ancona, our plan was to head to Florence for a day…maybe longer if we liked it. Personally, I was hoping for less than a day and I figured with the heat, it wouldn’t be that difficult to convince the boys of the same. We had our passports stamped and exited the ship in Ancona…we wanted breakfast, having not eaten since 5 the previous day…but we figured we should head to the train station first and check the schedule. It turned out that a train was leaving in 30 minutes so we purchased our tickets and waited for the train.

Generally speaking, Italian trains just plain suck…this particular train ride turned out to be our worst. We were smelly (Let’s recap the activities since my last shower – Dinner in Dubrovnik, a night of clubbing in Dubrovnik, 3 hours of sleep, a 5 hour car ride to Senj, public transportation in Senj, walking around 100 degree Senj for an afternoon, seriously contemplating jumping into the disgusting water of the Senj Harbor, Dinner in Senj, an overnight ferry ride to Italy). Now, smelly, dehydrated, exhausted and starving, we boarded an hour and a half Italian train ride from Ancona to Bolonga where temperatures on the train approached 90 degrees. I felt like an animal on this train. My stink level was approaching 8. The average stink level of persons on the train was a 9.2.

We changed trains in Bolonga and headed to Florence. Our connection time was about 15 minutes…enough time to put a Euro in the machine and wait for an espresso to come out. Everywhere we went in Europe, the coffee was amazing – except for the coin operated espresso machine on the train platform in Bolonga…which made me wonder if there was an old Italian man locked inside the machine mixing espresso beans, refined sugar, runoff from the train platform after the last rain, and diesel fuel. My brain told me it was caffeine, and for that, I was grateful.

We rolled into Florence at about 1 pm. (If you’re counting, it’s now been 20 hours since we’ve eaten anything). Anyone who knows me knows that because of my freakish obsession with exhausting myself with a ridiculous number of sporting activities, I’ve trained my body to eat every two hours. After 20 hours, my stomach had not only eaten itself, but it was beginning to feed on some of my internal organs.

Exiting the train station, the last thing I wanted to do was talk to an Italian man trying to rip us off. For whatever reason, we listened. The Franz Family Bed & Breakfast. Ok, how much? “75 Euros” We turn away and discuss among ourselves. “60 Euros” I said. Mr. Franz apparently thought that was funny – because he started laughing at me (we were still a little naive about Italians at this point). “This room is safe, clean, and right downtown” (At least that was Benny’s translation of Mr. Franz). “75 Euros” He said again. We all looked at each other. “Ok, we’ll take a look”.

This room turned out to be one of our best decisions of the whole trip. If you’re counting, I was approaching two days of no shower…now came one of the toughest decisions of the whole trip…shower or go eat? Figuring I’d probably kill someone with my stench, I chose to lather up. At 4 pm – tired, dehydrated, starving, but no longer stinky, we headed down for some grub.

The temperature felt like 120 degrees. The air was thick. The first street-side café we found was a pizza place – we looked at the menu…pizza for 8 Euros…ok. That’s reasonable. Side note: I know my disdain for the international status of the dollar has been well documented in my Europe blogs but think about it this way: imagine taking a trip to New York City, spending a weekend there (lodging, food, transportation, entertainment) and then multiply your total expenditures by 1.4. Welcome to Florence.

Ok, I know we’re in Italy, but the last thing I wanted at this point was more alcohol. “Coke Lite” I said. The waitress brought me a nice refreshing Diet Coke in a can. It was everything I had hoped it would be.

We got the bill. Now, I had learned in our friendly little town of Senj, Croatia to examine the bill very carefully – our server had tried to charge me for 2L of wine when I drank 0.2L. (If I had drunk 2L of wine, he could have charged me his salary and I wouldn’t have noticed).

Back to Italy, I examined the bill: First charge 6 Euros for something we couldn’t identify – I told the server – “We didn’t have this.” “That’s the seating charge”, she said – which is a nice way of saying – “That’s $9 that we’re charging you because you’re American, stupid tourists, and because we can.” I scrolled down the bill a little farther. “Coke Lite – 4 Euros”. Remember our friendly little exchange rate? If you round up – that’s $6 for a can of Coke. We walked out of our little pizza place with a bad taste in our mouths.

From that point on I was angry. Angry at Italians. Angry at Florence. Angry at the street vendors. Angry at the heat. Angry at all of the garbage on the streets. Angry at all of the men in their little white capri pants. Angry about the exchange rate. Angry at the beautiful architecture and the history of Florence. I think I was even angry at the Pope at one point.

We went back to our little bed and breakfast for a nap. What a difference three hours of sleep can make. The sun was setting, we felt refreshed and we headed out for a night in Florence. As the sun set, we walked around and snapped as many pictures as we could. We didn’t really have a plan. We grabbed some gelato, grabbed a sandwich, grabbed a beer and then started walking.

We found a little club that was getting going early…it was about 9 pm. Right next to the river, there was a hotel, and set up in front of the hotel was a DJ. People crowded the street…really having no concern whatsoever that cars might want to drive through. We saw police and they didn’t seem to care. I guess that people control the streets there. Anyway, we grabbed beers and perched ourselves on the wall by the river and talked…watched people…talked about people…and discussed the propriety of men wearing white or salmon capri pants. Little did we know that our little perch on the wall would end up being a smorgasbord of entertainment for the evening.

The first plot began as a man on a motorcycle sped through the crowd of people, nearly killing someone…a policeman was quick on the scene and issued the gentleman a ticket. Just then tall ridiculously gorgeous Italian woman walked out of the hotel in a white dress and high heels. We watched her hike up her dress, hop on a scooter and blast away in her high heels. “That was cool” we thought.

Not to be outdone, an equally gorgeous woman and her semi-attractive friend (which became a hot point of discussion between the three of us as to whether or not this girl was “hot”) began honking her horn. Her little Volkswagen was wedged between a car in front, a car behind, the sidewalk and hotel to her right and another car illegally parked to the left. We examined the situation. “No way out” we said. The girls didn’t really know what to do…so they honked and honked and honked. The honking went on for 30 to 40 minutes.

To our right – hundreds of people; thumping club mixes; dancing on the streets…to our left – the continual sound of a Volkswagen horn.

Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better two girls stumbled up in front of the hotel and took the keys to their car from the valet man. One girl sort of fell into the driver’s seat…and then just fell over. The three of peered at the two girls, interested in what was going to happen with this new sub-plot. Just then, the girl who wasn’t passed out panicked, looked across the street and started to screaming “help!” at all interested parties. We looked at each other, set our beers down and sort of anxiously trotted towards the car. Just as we got there the passed-out chick half opened her eyes and started laughing. The concierge from the hotel rushed her a glass of water so we turned around and walked back. As we moseyed back to our riverside perch, the girl sat up and hurled all over the street.

A few minutes later, the two girls drove away; meanwhile the honking continued to our left. After about the ten minutes the tow truck finally arrived to tow away the illegally parked car. The girls finally got their Volkswagen out and we all cheered as they drove away.

We left our perch on the wall, truly fulfilled with our night’s entertainment. I’m not gonna lie though, none of us shed a tear when we boarded the train the next morning bound for the Alps.

Goodbye Croatia

2007-08-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

Ok, so my last blog ended by arriving in Dubrovnik. Well, because I was a little over excited about Dubrovnik, I began my Europe blogging with Dubrovnik. Soooo…scroll way down to the bottom of my blog to see how great Dubrovnik really was. My Dubrovnik blog ended with “We clubbed it up, Croatian-style in Dubrovnik and capped off, what was my favorite stop on our trip.” So let’s pick up there…

2:31am – Cotter and Yours Truly on the dance floor with by Ash and Ola – our two Polish friends we had met earlier – ok, rewind about 2 1/2 hours.

12:13am – “Do you have a light?”

The three of us looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders, “sorry”, we said. As Ola leaned over to light Ash’s cigarette, Benny piped up, “Hey, they had a light, why did they ask us?” Cotter, myself, Ola and Ash all fixed our eyes on Benny. Nobody said a word. Cotter and I made eye contact, we gave each other that half-head-turn-eyes raised-partial smirk “idiot” look. Despite Benny’s calling them out on trying to flirt with us, they were cool about it. Definitely one of the classic moments on our trip.

Ok, so 2:31 – back to the dance floor. “Cotter!” I yelled over the thumping remixes of 90’s rock. “Dude, we gotta roll” We did the old back-away, point to the watch, give the painful “we gotta go” look to the girls…they kissed us on the cheek. “Dude!” I yelled again. “Where’s Benny?”

We combed the club in search of our Benny. Fortunately we happened to run into him near the door. The boys didn’t want to leave…but I knew that we needed to have the car back to Split by noon the next day, and I knew I’d be driving and we figured we could seep until about 5:45…you don’t have to be a mathematician to realize that the next day was going to be brutal.

5:45am – back to the same old drill. Cotter and Benny take turns being passed out in the back and keeping me from being passed out in the front. We retraced our path back up the coastline – absolutely gorgeous coastline. It was Saturday so the beaches were packed. We gawked at the glorious islands in the distance and whipped around mountain switchbacks. For me in the Peugeot, the mountain driving was bliss. For Benny the equation was as follows: too much Ozujsko (Aaaz-Jew-Sko) + 3 hours of sleep + back seat of car + morning sun + mountain switchbacks + my driving = Puke.

Not a great day for Benny.

After about 5 hours in the car, we rolled up to the airport in Split. We returned our car to Eurocar and hopped on a bus headed for the port of Split. Getting off the bus, we were greeted by mobs of people hoping to rent us a Sobe for the night. We turned down about 15 people and headed over to get our ferry tickets.

For 54 Euros, we got our tickets the Italy. We would board the ferry at 8pm, it would push off at 9pm and it would arrive in Italy the next morning at 7am. Perfect. We covered our lodging for the night and our transportation back to Italy.

Having secured our tickets, we headed out to explore Split. My two Croatian advisors (Danny & Amy) had told me “Split is a hole” and “Split from Split”, respectively. However, as the largest coastal city and port in Croatia, we had to go to Split to 1) drop off the car, and 2) catch the ferry.

Being pretty tore up from the drive and from the night before, we wandered through the street vendors in the oppressive Split head looking for, well, I’m not sure what we were looking for. Cotter was looking for a Croatia soccer jersey which he ultimately decided that he would never actually wear…so he didn’t buy it. I was hot, sweating, tired and looking for nothing and Benny, well, he felt like crap.

We finally decided that we’d go find a place to get out of the sun, sip some espresso and just chill. We sat, read, sweated, read, sweated some more, talked about how hot it was, discussed finding a beach, sweated some more, realized there was no beach, talked about jumping in the water where the ships came in, actually went and looked at the water where the ships came, thought better about jumping in the water where the ships came in, continued to sweat.

At five o’clock, we were hungry again. We decided that we would try to spend all of our Kuna before we left Croatia, so we wandered down an alleyway, looked a few menus, and finally decided on a place. It was early, so we were the first at dinner. We looked at the menu and ordered the beef. Not really knowing what it was and, after the waiter walked away, I realized that he never asked me how I wanted it cooked. To my delight the “beef” turned out to be a filet and it was cooked, well, like a filet should be cooked – just enough not to keep you up at night (medium-rare with the emphasis on the “rare”).

The bill came and we added up all of our Kuna. Just short. We topped our bill off with a few Euros and a couple George Washingtons and we were on our way.

Traveling through security, we had our passports stamped and we boarded the ship. In contrast to our earlier speedier boat, this was a massive ship with lots of people. We pushed off at 9pm…played some cards, talked to our British friends for a while, had some wine that we picked up before boarding, and staked out our deck space where we’d sleep for the night.

Being exhausted from our ridiculous day, we put our ear plugs in and put our bags on the deck. If you’re looking for the antithesis of light pollution, the middle of the Adriatic Sea is it. We saw billions of stars. It was a scene, for me at least, rivaled only by laying in the meadow in the Yosemite Valley in the middle of the night. Truly inspiring. To top it off, the sweltering heat we’d endured that day subsided out at sea and we were treated with a cool night’s breeze. Sleeping, on the deck, at sea, with a cool breeze, under a sky full of stars, it was a blissful way to end our in the land of the Croats. Goodbye Croatia.

9 Hours to Dubrovnik

2007-08-17T22:42:00.000-07:00

Leaving Plitvice, we headed back through the serene valley that we had passed through on our way. The road snaked back and forth around the house-less, development-less country side. I would compare this Croatian valley visually to what you might find in the central coast area just north of Santa Barbara. We saw very few cars and very few people – just gorgeous unblemished countryside.

There were, however, the lucky few who lived there. Most of which kept their houses in immaculate condition, adorned with flowers and landscaping. One of which was the lady who sold us goat cheese and plum brandy. We first noticed these “stands” on the side of the road on the way to Senj. At first we didn’t know what they were, but then realized that they were locals who would make their own cheese, oils and brandy and set up a road-side shop in their from lawns. About an hour after leaving Plitvice, I whipped off to the side of the road to look at the stand of items for sale. Benny, already passed out in the back seat, lifted his head – “are we in Dubrovnik?”. No, buddy, still got about 6 hours to go. The truth is we didn’t know how far we really had to go. It became a joke – the question: “How long will it take us to get to Croatia?” Answer: “5-6 hours”, one guys said. “10-12 hours” another person said. “5-10 hours" Another said. We really had no idea how long it would take us to get there. Anyway – back to the roadside stand.

In front of me was an assortment of cheeses, oils, brandies and other spirits that I figured I had no business even asking what they were. I asked if I could try the different cheeses – she had goat cheese, “smoked” and “not smoked” – she said in her best English. I tried them both. She also had cow cheese, “smoked” and “not smoked” – I tried them both. After deciding on the “not smoked” goat cheese and the plumb brandy (“Sljivovica”), I asked, “how much”? “40 Kuna for the Sljivovica and 80 for the cheese…120 Kuna”. I thought about it for a second…doing the math…let’s see, carry the one…yada yada (which is how most mental math conversions went while we were in Europe)…ok, so that’s like $22. “Ok”, I said. We drove away, stoked about our purchase…I figured, walk into Ralphs and buy a bottle of brandy and a giant wheel of goat cheese and you’re gonna spend at least $30, right? The reality is that just by the sheer fact that I didn’t negotiate with her at all, I probably could have gotten it for less – but I didn’t care. Happy to contribute to the Croatian economy, we got back in our Peugeot and blasted for Dubrovnik.

We were happy to find the Tollway – part of Croatia’s new infrastructure. The sign was posted a 130 km/hr max. One guy we had met in Pula told us we could go “the limit plus 10%”. We did the math – ok, that’s 143 km/hr. I pegged it on 150 and just cruised.

After cruising at 150 km/hr for a few hours, we had a good feeling we’d get to Dubrovnik that night. After driving 400 or 500 kilometers, the Tollway ended. The plan is to extend the Tollway all the way to Dubrovnik, maybe next trip it’ll be finished, but for now, they’re still blasting through the southern hills of Croatia.

We were a little disappointed at first, but after about a half hour of canyon switchbacks, we were treated to what I call – “Big Sur meets Barbados”. We got on to what is equivalent to their Highway 1 along the coast. The windy coastline road had sweeping views of the amazingly blue Adriatic Sea under which the giant cliffs sank below. For the next few hours, we drove south – weaving in and out of slower traffic – at one point, we almost had a head-on collision, which was fairly sobering. The driving in Croatia, although not quite paralleling what I witnessed in Tijuana, was still quite reckless.

As we passed through beach town after beach town – we realized two things, 1) once again, Croatian women are beautiful, and 2) Croatians love 90’s rock remixes. We had the windows down, the radio cranked as loud as our Peugeot would play, and we were jammin’ to songs we hadn’t heard for years. I think our favorite was when “I don’t want to Rock, DJ” came on. We jammed for a while…when the song was over, the DJ came on the radio and said in what sounded to us like his best Count Dracula voice, “I don’t want to rock DJ”. We laughed about that the rest of the trip. Ok, so I guess you had to be there.

After driving a while longer Cotter had to pee. I kept looking for a spot to pull off the road where he could pee in the bushes, but, hey - this isn't Reno, you can't just piss wherever you want. Finally, we whipped around a corner and the sign said “Briste”. “Briste!” I said. “That’s where Daniel and Iva live.” Just then I saw a turn off and pulled off. We parked the car, got out and looked around. We were in a total beach town. Picture Laguna, or Malibu. A small beach city framed by giant hills behind and the ocean in front. “Now what?” I said. “They didn’t really want us to stop.” Cotter said. “Well, let’s at least go find a pisser.” I added. I don’t think we were really about to knock on anyone’s door, but we were stoked to actually be in Briste. We followed a little windy road down to the beach and approached the largest structure in town, which was the beach hotel. We walked towards the hotel and Cotter said, “Hey, there’s Daniel”. “Shut up, dude, you’re stupid”, I kindly said. “No seriously!” Sure enough, Daniel and Iva were on the hotel balcony having a beer.

Shocked and still feeling a little weird about running into the same people 3 times in Croatia – we joined them for a beer. Side note: One interesting thing about Croatia is that they have a Zero Tolerance law about drinking and driving. .000001% alcohol in your blood will get you arrested. With that in mind, I abstained. We hung out with Daniel and Iva for a while, traded emails and a few laughs, and then hit the road.

A few hours (and 10 minutes in Bosnia) later, we finally made it Dubrovnik at about 10 pm. We stopped and knocked on the doors of a few Sobes with no luck. We parked the car and started walking. We probably only walked about 100 yards and we looked up at a sign “VIP Backpacker’s hostel”. Done. We were beat. Our stay in Dubrovnik had just begun.

Plitvice

2007-08-14T22:23:00.000-07:00

We woke up in Senj the next morning at about 6 AM. It was a little painful, I’m gonna be honest, but we had an aggressive plan for the day: Drive to Plitvice (Pleet-veet-chay), walk the National Park, and drive all the way to Dubrovnik in the southern tip of Croatia. And in order to beat the heat and the crowds (Think Yosemite in August) and make it all the way to Dubrovnik, we needed to head out early.

The drill was the usual, I drive, and Ben and Seth take turns being passed out in the back and doing their best to keep me from being passed out in the front. We put a few liters of petrol in our ride and hit the road. We followed mountain switchbacks in the dense morning fog most of the way from coastal Senj to Plitvice National Park, which is hidden in the central valley’s hills.

We probably passed through 50 small country towns on our way to Plitvice – most of them consisted of well kept stone houses, a few markets, flowers, and roadside merchants selling their homemade cheese, oils, and brandy.

I’m not sure what about us screamed “tourist” louder – our giant “Europe” backpacks, our ever-present cameras, or my “Hrvatska” t-shirt that I wore so proudly…which would be equivalent to a Japanese tourist walking around Yosemite taking pictures of everything, talking in Japanese and wearing a gaudy “America” t-shirt. Ok, so we stood out a little.

About 1 hour into our drive, we finally found coffee. We walked into a very local café in a small Croatian farming town and asked (in English, of course) for 3 espressos. I tried not to make eye contact, but across the bar, which I could barely see through the plume of early morning cigarette smoke, all eyes were on us. It was as if someone just walked into a cowboy bar in West Texas and ordered a diet sprite and a salad.

Escaping unscathed with our caffeine, we hit the road again, bound for Plitvice. We passed through more small towns and gorgeous countryside that I couldn’t help but think how California developers would be salivating over. The terrain got increasingly rugged until we finally arrived at Plitvice.

My two Croatia advisors – Danny Parker and my climbing friend Amy – had both dubbed Plitvice a “can’t miss”. We arrived at the park, walked into the welcome center and ordered more espresso and some pastries.

We started our journey. Taking a long bus type of car with a bunch of connected cars, they shuttled us to the top of the falls. Plitvice is essentially several miles of lakes that cascade down through a series of waterfalls and rivers. The water is an unbelievable blue color that is so striking, it’s hard to believe that it’s real and it’s equally hard to believe that fish actually live in the water. After reaching the top, we begin about a 5 mile walk on a mix of elevated boardwalk and trails, following the lakes and cascades all the way to the bottom.

The next few hours, there’s not a lot to say. I don’t know how to say it…words can’t capture it. Pictures can’t even capture it. Cotter said it was the most beautiful place he’d ever been. I said it was in my top 5, although I balked when challenged to provide a more beautiful place. I just said “I like rocks” – which I do…but as water goes – I’ve never seen anything like it.

We spent the next few hours walking, taking pictures, and just simply in awe…awe of the beauty of the country…but more importantly awe of its Creator. I can’t be in a place like that without it being a spiritual experience – Plitvice is place you just have to see to believe.

More than satisfied with the 90 Kuna entrance fee ($16), we ate cheeseburgers from the local concession stand and hit the road – bound for Dubrovnik. We had a long drive ahead of us, but we were determined to get to Dubrovnik, or maybe Briste, or maybe…the side of the road.

The Senj Detour

2007-08-11T22:08:00.000-07:00

After a glorious night sleep and a shower that sort of worked, the lady’s husband came to meet us at our pre-arranged time…9AM. We handed him the key, thanked him, and give him a 5 Euro tip – since we had such a great night (and we felt a little bad about knocking 40% off of his original price).

We headed our for what became our typical breakfast: 1) double espresso macchiato, 2) a year’s worth of second-hand smoke (Croatian’s like their smoke), and 3) off to a market to find pastries and yogurt. I did everything in my power to find “active cultures” everyday…and I found the yogurt in Europe to be quite different from the States. It’s much more liquid than ours…no spoon required – just drink it…and it’s good. Ah! Give me Euro-yogurt!

We walked around the market for a while and then decided to begin our search for a car. After Budget, Avis, and the local guy “Hector” who needless to say, didn’t do one-way rentals – we were still car-less. “There are no cars for rent in Pula” – all sold out. Zut alors. After much walking, Eurocar said they had one car – at the airport. Our driver picked us up and took us to the airport. As we made our way to the Eurocar booth, Seth spotted our friends Daniel and Iva – we did see them again, just not where we thought. Long story short, Daniel and Iva had reserved a car but due to a mix-up, they were unable to rent it. Forced to wait for the bus, we suddenly had a car available to us. I felt a little bad about stealing their car…but I justified it because someone else would have rented it anyway…or something like that. At any rate, we laughed with them about running into them again, once again, and, half-jokingly we said “see you in Briste”.

We hopped into our Peugeot and started driving. We didn’t know where we were going…our next stop was Plitvice – the National Park that was a “can’t miss” from my Croatian advisors Danny Parker and my climbing friend Amy, both of whom had spent a fair amount of time in Croatia. As we cruised down the highway, we were impressed with the highways – all of the infrastructure in Croatia seemed to be very solid. There was construction everywhere … roads… bridges… tunnels. The roads were new, nice and clean. Everything was clean in Croatia (in stark contrast to Italy). We made our way through a billion tunnels (Croatians don’t go around their mountains, they blast through them).

The terrain was rolling shrub-covered hills. We drove and drove, stopping at roadside pit-stops for shots of espresso – which usually set us back about 5 Kunas. We were nearing Plitvice, but it was getting late. Wanting to 1) have a nice place to stay for the night – since it was the 4^th of July, and 2) have the full Plitvice experience, we pulled out the map and decided to head to a coastal town called Senj.

We had passed a large hillside with sweeping views of the Adriatic, which was going to be our bed for the night – but we had heard (and seen) that a huge storm was coming in…so we decided to find a Sobe for the night. We stopped at, what effectively was a Sobe broker and asked the girl if any rooms were available. After a short phone call she said “take a left at the gas station and it’s the second house on the left…ask for Maria”. Fair enough, we thought.

We made our way up the hill…found what we figured was the place and knocked on the door. “Hello” she said. Maria was probably in her late 40’s – she lived in a small but nice house with gorgeous views of the Adriatic. “Call me Momma Maria” she said. Maria had extensive burns all over her body. Burn scars on her face, scars on her legs and arms…one of her ears was half gone. It was hard not to look. I couldn’t help but wonder if something had happened to her during the war. It appeared that she lived alone in this house by the sea.

We gave her 42 Euros and she showed us to our quarters. It was the standard – one double bed and one single. Also standard was a balcony with views of the Adriatic Sea and one of the many islands off the coast of Croatia. We were treated with one of the most amazing sunsets I’ve ever seen…it was downright ridiculous.

We considered our night on the balcony at Momma Maria’s to be one of our favorite nights of the whole trip. Two bottles of Vino, Bread and Cheese, and toasting to America on her birthday in Senj, it was pretty remarkable. We talked, wrote, read what we wrote, laughed at each other for what we wrote, and probably made a little too much noise. A glorious night in Senj and another glorious night in Croatia.

Welcome to Croatia

2007-08-07T21:48:00.000-07:00

We boarded the ship for a three hour tour (pun intended, ok…sorry, that was really bad). It’ll get better, I promise. We arrived in Pula, Croatia at about 8:30, right as the sun was setting. There was this euphoria (I know I’ve used that word in every blog, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it) all around us as we walked off the ship.

For me, I think the euphoria stemmed from the fact that I had wanted to come to Croatia for so long – and I was finally there. Also, we felt like we were exploring…we were in a small Croatian city, we didn’t know if anyone would speak English, we didn’t know where we would sleep, where we would eat, we didn’t know anything – we (well, in our minds at least) were true adventurers. We fancied ourselves up there with Columbus, Sir Edmond Hillary and Brad Washburn.

Quite a few people have asked me “Why Croatia?” For me, it’s an easy answer. I remember reading an article about 3 years ago about Croatia – I think it was in Outside Magazine. The article detailed how the country had taken huge strides to recover since the war ended in the early 90’s. I remember being enamored with the article, the passion of the people, the beauty of the country, a country returning to its feet after communism. From that point on, I gobbled up every article I could find on Croatia. I read “Balkan Ghosts” by Robert Kaplan which is a fascinating (and sobering) book. When Ben and I finally decided that we were going to Europe, I said, “I want to go to Croatia and Switzerland…besides that, I don’t care”. The culmination of all of that helped to contribute to my well-documented euphoria.

Exiting the ship, we asked a couple to take a picture of us – as we talked to them we found out they were Canadian, from Ottawa. Daniel, born in Canada and Iva – originally from Bosnia but grew up in a small town in southern Croatia and moved to Canada in her teens. We talked for a while when they, seemingly out of duty and a little nervous about the proposition, invited us to stay at their house. “We don’t have a cell…how will we find you?” Iva said, “When you get to Briste, just ask any of the locals…tell them my last name and they’ll point you to our house”. Ben, Seth and I all looked at each other at the same time. “Ok, sure” we all thought. We figured we’d never see them again.

Walking off the dock toward the city, we were immediately greeted with the other Roman Coliseum – and far better preserved than the Coliseum in Rome. The sun was setting over the Adriatic, providing a perfect setting to snap some pictures of the Coliseum. We ran across the street, gawked at the massive ancient structure, snapped some pictures in true tourist fashion. Then the sun set. “Now what?” We all looked at each other.

We had found a campsite in our Croatia book that was about ½ hour walk from the dock – but first, we headed into the city to get some Kuna. Quiz: A Kuna is: 1) A small furry animal that lives in rotting tree stumps and is prepared as a Croatian delicacy, 2) Croatian slang for “woman”, or 3) the local currency.

If you answered 3, give yourself 25 points. 1 Kuna = $.18 (although by the time anyone reads this, the Dollar will probably be worth less than the Peso). A really nice girl sitting in an odd looking booth (for what reason we still don’t know) directed us to a cool little promenade where all of the locals were hanging out. We found cafes, pizza shops, fish restaurants, Roman ruins and tons of local people.

As we were walked to find a place to eat, a lady approached as and asked (in very good English) if we need a place to stay. She was probably in her late 30’s, her husband also – both very athletic looking. Her son, probably 11, was dressed in his Adidas basketball gear. We were planning to camp, but before the guys could say no I said “we’ll take a look”. I figured, what could it hurt? I get some looks from Ben and Seth for that one. After walking to the other end of the promenade she turned into an apartment right on the strip. At first, I felt a little nervous about the building – but when I reminded myself that there was an 11 year old boy with us, my fears subsided.

We walked up four flights of old marble stairs that leaned so badly one way that we had to hold on to the railing not to fall. The room was sweltering hot, probably hadn’t been opened in several days. “50 Euros”, she said. I could tell she was a little unsure of herself. We told her thanks, but we’re going to camp.

About an hour later as we gobbled down pizza, I told the guys that I thought there was room in the lady’s price. “If we don’t stay there, no one will stay there” I remember saying. Just then the lady and her husband came walking by – “30 Euros”, I blurted our as they walked by. Her husband turned up his nose at us, thinking to himself “cheap, rich Americans”…they walked away. Shocked, I said sorry guys – I had really thought 30 Euros would do it. About 5 minutes later (and I could tell after a fairly intense discussion) the lady came back and said it’s a deal.

As we sat and finished our pizza – it really hit us – the beauty of Croatian women. As people walked up and down the promenade, we just kept looking at each and saying, “this is a joke”.

The next part of our evening was so bizarre, I don’t even know how to describe it. We were turning the key to go into our apartment and we heard this chanting and marching coming down the street. The next thing I knew, we were surrounded with people carrying candles and two fellas who were dressed up in their best “death” costumes. The candle-bearers, death-men, and hordes of people passed…we snapped some pictures and then followed the lady up to our rooms. Apparently this was part of an Israeli drama that was going on…we looked at our watch: 11PM – I asked Seth, “what day is it?” “Tuesday”, he said. Who puts on a drama at 11PM on a random Tuesday in July? We looked at each other blankly. Fair enough, I thought.

We put our stuff in the apartment and the lady said – “oh, there’s a balcony”. The lady then led us through the green scary door with the big key, up the broken scary stairs with no lights and cob webs (I thought the odds were 50/50 we would never exit the green scary door). We walked out onto an old stone balcony that overlooked the drama in the courtyard below. We were stoked to find such a cool authentic place to stay for the night. As one of the tallest buildings in the small city, I imagined this stone and brick balcony as sniper’s nest 15 years ago during the war. We watched the drama from our crow’s nest.

We smoked cigars and pipes, looked at the stars, talked for an hour or so on the balcony. We were pretty much in shock about what had transpired. Fat and happy and excited about Croatia, we retreated to our crow’s nest for the night – next stop, Plitvice.

18 Hours in Venice

2007-07-29T23:18:00.000-07:00

My first post about Dubrovnik was actually the 4^th day of our trip. So let me rewind and take more of a chronological approach from this point forward.

First, let me explain something about “jet lag”. This was my first time traveling anywhere where some form of jet lag could result – although I swear those Monday mornings on the East coast are a form of jet lag after traveling from the West coast on Sunday. Anyway, before I left, people told me to take sleeping pills, eat some crazy herbal flower, stand on my head…yadayadayada. I did none of the above and I had no jet lag. Here’s what I did (unintentionally, but it worked), which is what I call the recipe for beating jet lag:

Get 4 hours of sleep each of the two nights before travel
Travel for 29 hours with two flights and an 8 hour train ride
Sleep 3 of the 29 hours traveling
Go to sleep at destination at 1AM
Wake up at 9AM the next day feeling great

If you’re counting, that’s 11 hours of sleep in 77 prior to arriving. So the moral of the story is – get really tired and you won’t have any problem sleeping.

I arrived in Zurich feeling very tired. The first thing I noticed about Zurich was that it’s clean. Really clean. The second thing I noticed about Zurich is that everyone is fit. You’re hard pressed to find more than a couple overweight people in Zurich (I’m still haven’t figured out why considering all of the cheese and chocolate they eat). The third thing I noticed about Zurich is that it’s cold. It was July 2 – I was in some plaid shorts looking like a total goober and freezing my arse off on the 50 degree, rainy July day. Hopping on a train in Zurich, I cruised (first class – which is worth it, I highly recommend it) through the Alps and down into Italy.

Ben, who is Romania and lived in Romania until he was about 7, had spent a couple of weeks in Romania with his mom – visiting family and friends. Seth had joined Ben in Budapest, Hungary when Ben’s mom flew home and the two of them spent 4 days in Budapest. Our plan was to meet in Venice on the night of July 2. None of us had brought a cell phone, so I (who am generally not an anxious person) can honestly say that I had a lot of anxiety about whether or not I’d be able to find them in Venice.

8 hours later I arrived in Venice, walked out of the train station, and saw Cotter’s big smiling face – which was a huge sigh of relief (I had had visions of sleeping on the floor at the train stations). At that point, the trip (for me at least) had begun.

“It’s Impossible”, the guy working at the hotel kept telling us in his thick Italian accent. Well, it’s not really “impossible”, I said, one of us could just sleep on the floor. Cotter and Benny had checked in to a 2 person room, thinking that one of us could just sleep on the floor or a cot or something. When the guy working the desk saw 3 of us walk in, he started telling us it was “impossible” for us to get 3 in a room. After debating with this guy and his manager for 15 minutes, we started to realize (through some shoddy broken English) that there was a city ordinance that did not allow more people to stay in a room that was designated for a certain number of people. Hence, “impossible”. The pissed off manager essentially “fined” us 10 Euros for taking a shower in the room and kicked us out. From that point on, anything we didn’t think we could do was coined “impossible” in our thickest Italian accent.

We grabbed some beers and started walking around looking for a room to rent. After about 30 minutes we found a room with 3 beds for 87 Euros – definitely our most expensive night of the trip. If there’s one thing we learned about Italyh the Dollar in the tank right now. – it’s expensive, especially wit Towards the end of our trip, I believe the Dollar was down to about $1.45 for 1 Euro. Painful.

I was pretty euphoric the first night in Venice. We walked around, took pictures, found a little café – had coffee…just wandered around talking to people and taking pictures.

What really epitomized our trip, and, one of the reasons that I loved it so much was that we had a general itinerary, but we had no reservations and no concrete plan. We figured we’d just “figure it out” – and we did. So about 5 hours after I arrived, we were retiring to our 87 Euro glorified hostel room and we didn’t have a concrete plan for getting to Croatia the next day. We knew we wanted to go, but we weren’t really sure how we’d get there. Should we take the ferry from Venice to Pula? Should we take a train to Anconand take a ferry all the way to Dubrovnik? a

What we did have was a map and some ferry schedules. We looked at maps, ferry schedules, car rentals, and prices and 5 minutes later, we had made a decision. In about 15 hours, we’d catch a ferry to Pula, Croatia, we’d camp for the night, rent a car the next day and take off. Done.

The next morning we had breakfast a café, walked around Venice and visited St. Mark’s Square. There were a billion pigeons in St. Mark’s Square. I individually hated every one of them. There was this kid who was laying the ground letting birds eat stuff off of him. The kid was weird – so I took a picture of him, partly because he was weird and partly because I was thinking about my sister Annie, who, (don’t get me wrong, I’m not a bird lover by any means) has an unnatural abhorrence for all things foul. Hey sis, this one’s for you ;)

After getting our fill of the birds, we headed off for some lunch – a Panini of course, and off to find some gelato. Although we talked to tons of people, we didn’t take a lot of pictures with people. One girl we did take a picture with was Valentina. She was sitting on the dock – writing and tanning at the same time. We wandered her way, found out she was studying English (she was Italian) – so we invited her to come to Croatia with us. She said she couldn’t leave her classes so we took a picture with her and went on our way.

We headed to the port to board our ship. At 5 PM we pushed off from the dock, bound for Croatia.

Croatia (Part I)

2007-07-18T19:07:00.000-07:00

If a picture says 1,000 words - then let this tell the story of Dubrovnik. Ok, so maybe it's a little trite to suggest that a picture of me jumping into the Adriatic in any way signifies anything about Dubrovnik - it's simply a "belligerent American" (which is how we referred to ourselves on this trip) mindlessly and reckless trying to get a little thrill (which I did and, yes, I have health insurance). I will admit though that one of the highlights of the trip was roaming the city walls of the Old City, looking for new places to cliff jump.

Constructed in the late 12th century and situated on the coastal southern tip of Croatia, the Old City of Dubrovnik was a leading trading center for centuries. The world watched in horror as the Old City (Stari Grad) of Dubrovnik was blasted by over 2,000 shells in 1991 and 1992 during the civil war that ravaged the former Yugoslavia, causing damage to 68% of the 824 buildings in the Old City. We noticed no effects of the shelling as the Croatians had carefully and meticulously restored the Old City to her former glory.

Let's get this out of the way...Croatian women are beautiful - there's really no other way around that. We pretty much referred to it as a "joke" the entire time. I mean, really it was a big joke. With that said, as three Christian young men, we did our best - and were quite successful.

From the slick marble city streets to the cathedrals, the architecture in Dubrovnik was intricate and stunning. The city walls jet out of the Adriatic forming a barrier about a half mile square protecting the city from invaders. We wandered around the city during the day, cliff jumping, wandering through the old city streets looking for cool retro Croatia T-Shirts and, of course you can't forget the backpacker's patches - which we picked up in every country to sew on our packs.

We found the fish in Croatia to be prepared slightly different than we were used to, but good nonetheless. After wandering around the Old City for a day, we headed off to find a Sobe - Croatia has a huge network of people who have converted a room in their home to a guest room - and they denote it with a sign out front that says "Sobe". If you walk down any Croatian street near a tourist location, you'll see Sobe after Sobe. We would walk up any house with a Sobe sign, knock on the door and see if they had a room available. That was probably one of the coolest things about Croatia - we didn't have to book or worry about hotels or hostels - we just knocked on people's doors and found places to stay.

After leaving the Old City, the 2nd house we came to had a Sobe sign. We secured our room for the night with 45 Euros and headed off to jump off of more stuff. Cotter, pictured below - poses in mid-air.

Our Sobe turned out to be amazing - we had an epic view of the Adriatic from where we had our dinner. Trying to conserve money, many of our dinners consisted of some sort of sandwich we threw together at a local market, cheese, and wine. The girls at this market were kind enough to make us sandwiches to go. 3 sandwiches, a bar of chocolate and a bottle of Croatian wine = 70 Kuna, or about $13. The girls at the market were also kind enough to laugh hysterically at us the entire time we were in the market...we still don't know why, but we found that to be a common theme...so we just laughed along - because if we were laughing too, then, in our minds at least, they were laughing with us and not at us.

After a some dinner and a shower, we headed down to the city to enjoy a Dubrovnik sunset. We watched the sun set below the sea and toasted a glorious Dubrovnik day. After the sunset, we headed back within the city walls for some espresso. European coffee is good. It was kind of hard to put our finger on the different coffee experience we were having...but we decided that for Europeans, coffee is more of an "event" than it is here in the States. Something to be savored, not guzzled. I'm not sure, maybe we were just sort of euphoric about the whole thing - either way, we loved it.
None of the three of us are the clubbing type, but being in Europe for over 2 weeks, we figured we had to go "out" at least once. So we "put our shirts on" as we said (each of us brought one nice shirt which were collectively referred to as "our shirts"). Anytime someone wanted to look a little more than a scummy, smelly, American backpacker - they would suggest that we put "our shirts" on and go out.
At any rate, we headed back to the room to put our shirts on. Being my little brother's birthday, I had promised before I left that I would propose a toast to him with Croatian Plum brandy "Slijvovica" (the Croatian locals are famous for distilling their own, so we figured, when in Rome...). I had picked up the brandy from a farmer on the side of the road on our way to Dubrovnik for 40 Kunas = about $7.50 US. It was...powerful...to say the least - but we forced it down as I proposed a toast to James.
Feeling warm, we headed to Club Latina (which is a misnomer because there's nothing Latina about it...Croatians love to dance to remixes of 90's rock music). We clubbed it up, Croatian-style in Dubrovnik and capped off, what was my favorite stop on our trip.

Europe

2007-06-30T07:39:00.001-07:00

It's 8:07 on Saturday morning and I'm sitting at home, eating a egg-mushroom-turkey-onion & feta scramble and waiting for the UPS man to bring my Eurail pass - obviously and important part of my trip. I'm waiting for my overnight Saturday delivery...one that cost me $40, but notwithstanding...I wait...and hope that it arrives before I leave for Zurich Sunday morning. I watched via the tracking log as my Pass traveled from Northbrook, IL to Chicago last night...arrived in Louisville at 12:05AM...4:48AM departure from Louisville...5:39AM arrival in Ontario (CA, that is)...7:37 arrival in Anaheim...7:38 "out for delivery". I mean, how cool are computers? Which leads me to my next point: How did I get myself into this debacle?

My perception of Switzerland in general and even more specifically Swiss trains is sort of the cutting edge of technology. Switzerland has the most highly secured banks in the world, Swiss Francs are the most difficult to counterfeit and Swiss trains, well, I've heard the stories. So why am I having train documents overnighted from Chicago? As Ronnie explained to me on the phone yesterday, "although the trains are very sophisticated, since the trains travel multiple countries, there is is currently no way to do e-tickets." I might be an idiot, but my plane travels from Orange County to Newark, NJ to Zurich (multiple countries) and I didn't seem to have a problem printing an e-ticket for that. So Thursday - I'm halfway through the pass and ticket booking process when I get to "shipping options" - no e-ticket. No way to print anything out. I read further, "all pases are paper tickets and must be mailed". Scrambling, I search through about 13 pages of the web site and finally locate the US Eurail phone number - thinking I'll be able to talk to someone who will help me book this ticket.

"Sorry, I can't confirm you on that train, Italy's computers are closed for the night." Huh? Who "closes" their computers? Again, aren't we the e-commerce age where everything just works 24-7? "Yes, Sir - the computers in Italy close for the night at 10:30" - which is 2:30 Chicago time, which is 12:30 in OC and I look at the clock - 3:21.

In the end, at 2:05 Chicago time on Friday, I finally got the ticket booked and it began on its journey - which brings me back to where I am now - 8:30AM Saturday, sitting in my living room, waiting the knock on the door.

Hopefully, this isn't indicative of the way my trip will go: or maybe hopefully it will be. The best stories are when things go wrong. We're certainly leaving opportunity for things to go wrong. Of the 14 days that we'll spend in Europe, we currently have three nights "booked" - two at a mountain hostel in Switzerland and one with Nadine's family - a friend that my parents had as a foreign exchange student for a year (I'm very curious to see where she lives in Switzerland and how Eureka must have been, well, hell compared to the glorious Swiss Alps where she grew up). I'll certainly blog about that when I get back. Lodging for the rest of the night we decided - "We'll just figure it out" (famous last words).

The "plan" for the trip is as follows: Fly into Zurch on Monday morning - catch a train (this is where the rail pass comes in) to Venice, Italy (about a 8 hour train ride through the Alps). Meet my buddies Ben & Seth in Venice (they're currently in Budapest). Stay one day in Venice and catch a ferry across the Adriatic to Pula, Croatia.

Pula has the most preserved Roman Coliseum anywhere. I'd like to see that. From there - the journey begins. We will likely rent a car to go Plitvice (pictured) - which from what I understand is a can't-miss. Croatia's most treasured National Park is an oasis of lakes and waterfalls. From there, we'll likely camp, find a house to stay in (Croatians are known for converting a portion of their homes into private rooms to rent to travelers) or sleep on the side of the road somewhere. From Plitvice, we'll likely travel to Dubrovnik (pictured)- Croatia's most beautiful and cultural city - with old stone city walls that jet out of the Adriatic. From Dubrovnik, we'll likely head north to Split to drop the car off and catch a ferry back to Italy.

We plan to spend a day in Florence before heading up to Switzerland to beat the heat. We've really left Switzerland wide open. I'm hoping to go see the Matterhorn one day. We'll spend a couple days in Interlaken and the mountain hostel (pictured) in Gimmelwald (www.gimmelwald.com). From there, we'll likely head to Lucern to visit Nadine and her family. After we leave there, we'll have 3 or 4 days until we fly home out of Frankfurt, Germany. We'll either spend more time in Switzerland, head to Austria, or head to Germany for the final couple of days.

I'm looking forward to the adventure, the food, the beverages, the people, the experiences, the pictures...I could go on and on. Hopefully, I'll return. And hopefully, I'll return with some great pictures and some great stories...and hopefully, this rail pass will show up.

Irrational Exuberance, The Subprime Mess and Luke 12; "I Will Build Bigger Barns"

2007-06-24T21:11:00.000-07:00

I recently read a few articles about the perils facing Bear Stearns Cos. regarding some highly leveraged bets they made on the subprime mortgage industry. Bear Stearns is in hot water as subprime defaults have skyrocketed, causing huge losses in Bear Stearn's hedge funds. The market was down sharply late last week as investors worried that the subprime mess in the housing market is worse than previously thought.

I'm by no means an expert in anything housing, but as a conservative, logical, and in most cases a "value" investor, I've been voicing the pending housing doom since 2003. The data show that 2 years of housing boom continued, peaking in 2005. The last few years, however, have been a sobering reminder of what happens when investors get caught up in greed and, as Alan Greenspan so famously said "Irrational Exuberance". Greenspan, in 1996 gave the speech concerning the technology-driven stock market boom of the late 90's. The same holds true for the housing market of the 2000's.

Personally, I'm quite interested in the state of the housing market as a 2003 grad, I was a few years too late to capitalize on the price appreciation of the last few years, which has left me to continually monitor housing, looking for a time to buy. Recently I came across some data that made me believe the worst of it is not quite over:
From 1985 to 1990, California housing increased by about 75%. In the early 90's, there was a correction - followed by 8 years of depreciation/stagnation. In other words, housing was valued the same in 1998 as it was in 1990. From 1998 to Q1 2006, the California index almost tripled! Which has been followed by a fairly flat 2006. With the Fed concerned about inflation and interest rates rising, one can only guess what will happen next.

The point of this post is not to discuss what I think will happen next (there are a billion housing indexes and articles out there - help yourself). The above discussion is what ultimately reminded me what the Bible says about all of this...

Last Sunday at Mark Dever's church (Capitol Hill Baptist in Washington, DC), Mark touched on Luke 12:13-21 which is a parable about a man who had a few years of plenty and said to himself "I will tear down my barns and build larger one, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years to come; take your ease, eat, drink and me merry.'" But God said to him, "You fool! This very night your soul is required of you; and now who will own what you have prepared?" Now after listening to this, I was immediately confused. Doesn't God require us to be good stewards of what he's given us? Is this not exactly what Joseph did in Egypt when he build large grain storage for the 7 years of famine? Why not "build bigger barns" and open up the bubbly?!

This lead my back to to Matthew 25:14-30 where Jesus tells the parable of the 3 slaves whom were entrusted their master's possessions. The slaves who made returns on their master's money were rewarded, and the slave who "hid the money in the ground" and returned it to his master upon return was chastised - which provides proof that we are supposed to make returns and be profitable with what we've been given.

But then James throws a curve ball at us in James 4:13 "Come now, you who say, 'Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a city, and spend a year there and engage in business and make a profit.' Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away. Instead, you ought to say, 'If the Lord wills, we will live and also do this or that.'"

So what gives? Should we try to "make a profit"? Should we engage in business? I think the answer lies in the intent.

Matthew 6:19-21 says "where your treasure is, there your heart will be also" and further I Timothy 6:10 says "For the love of money is the root of all sorts of evil..."

I think the Lord is telling us through his Book that we are required to be good stewards of what He's given us. I think we are required to be savvy "Be shrewd as serpents and innocent as doves". But I think, more importantly, we must understand that all things are God's and the moment we think that we have done anything on our own, we will be humbled. We are stewards, not owners. "If the Lord wills", we will do this and that.

What does all of this have to do with subprime mortgages, Alan Greenspan, and the California housing market? We as Christians need to be very careful not to get caught up in greed or, as the world refers to it "Irrational Exuberance", but rather we should be smart, savvy, and God-honoring with our finances. "If the Lord wills", we will be profitable with what he's given us and we will then be required to use it for His glory.

How did this happen?

2007-06-22T21:31:00.001-07:00

How did this happen? playing in my kitchen, chopping vegetables, seasoning steak, drinking wine and listening to Nora Jones. Next thing I know, I'm taking a picture of my dinner. Now, lest you find this to be the most pathetic post of all time and forever place my blog in blog purgatory, please - I promise, this won't happen again. But while I'm here...let's finish.

On the Menu (and quite easy, I might add):
- Australian Free Range Ribeye seasoned with seasoning salt and a tremendous amount of pepper - medium rare.
- Vegetables: Mushrooms, Asparagus, Sweet Potatoes (cut into wedges) and Red Onions - all basted with olive oil and (again) a tremendous amount of pepper and grilled for 15 minutes in foil. On the side is a strawberry-walnut salad. All pared with a 2005 Rhone de Robles red wine from Paso Robles, CA. Yes, I cooked only for myself, unfortunately. Yes, I'm writing about food at 9:45 on a Friday night. Oh well, sometimes, after a long week, being alone with Nora, some rare beef and a fine wine can be just perfect. And tonight is one of those nights.

406 miles, a Tight Hammy, and Snakes; A Pink Fanny Pack Waddles By

2007-06-20T11:38:00.000-07:00

This is round two of my lunchtime turkey sandwich, blueberries and cottage cheese blogging. I was think about running - how bizarre it really is...how to some, the idea of running generates flashbacks of high school PE, waddling around a track in short shorts in complete agony, trying not to pass out or get passed by the fat kid. To others (like myself) running is bliss. If you fall into the category of the former, you might want to stop reading our of sheer boredom or haunting memories...but if you fall into the latter, read on because I'm going to post my top 10 runs of all time and I'd love to get some feedback of other's favorite runs.

I've tried to understand what it is about running that is so addictive...and I'm not sure that I've nailed it down yet - but I think it in large part can be summed up in 1) Endorphins, 2) Exertion, and 3) Exploration. The endorphin high that is generated by running hard is quite addicting. Maybe it's just me, but I need to exert myself pretty much every day to keep my mind clear - that's another thing: I do the clearest thinking on my long runs. And 3) - running is a fantastic way to explore the beach, mountains or cities.

With that said, here are my top 10 runs of all time...if you're ever in any of these areas - check out these runs.

1) Madonna Hill - San Louis Obispo, CA
I found this trail by just running out of my hotel and wandering until I found a park, then a trail - I followed the trail across a barren meadow until the trail meandered to the right and climbed Madonna Hill. I ran the ridge line of Madonna Hill for about a mile until the trail descended back down the other side. The rolling rocky terrain and cool ocean breezes made me think this is what Ireland would be like. It was about a 6 mile loop.

2) LaJolla Canyon - Malibu, CA
This is an absolutely fantastic trail. I did this one in the XTerra Scramble Race - 18K. 2-3 miles were on a ridge with sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean. 2-3 miles were in a gorgeous high meadow on the back side of the mountain. Really fantastic.

3) San Francisco, CA
One morning in San Francisco, I waddled out of my hotel near fisherman's wharf before dawn and began running toward the Golden Gate Bridge. As I waddled toward the bridge in the early morning darkness, a full moon appeared to be perched atop one of the columns of the Golden Gate Bridge. To this day, I wish I had a picture of that scene. The out and back was about 7 miles. It was a truly memorable run.

4) Somewhere Near Wooburn, MA
After my first day of work at a property outside of Boston, I threw on my Asics and headed out, not having any idea where I was going. It was a crisp fall day in the 50 degree range. I ran on a small trail around gorgeous brick houses, a medical facility and a school. It was old-school east coast at it's best.

5) Napa Valley Marathon - Napa, CA
This might be a posting of it's own at some point but to summarize: High point - first 17 miles, galloping down a winding road through gorgeous vineyards in Napa. Low point - Being passed by a guy wearing a pink fanny pack at mile 22 as I truly found out what it means to "bonk". Needless to say - this one was 26.2 miles.

6) An unnamed trail near Highlands Ranch, CO
This is a crisp (40s) early morning run in Colorado in early October. I followed a trail not far from my hotel as it wandered through trees and an open field.

7) River Trail - Portland, OR
Runs always seem more serene in the early morning. This one followed the river trail through the early morning fog down the river and across an old black draw bridge that was very eerie to run across.

8) The Puget Sound - Seattle , WA
Not far to the south of pier 67, a dirt trail begins and follows The Sound for, well, I don't know because I never got to the end - but I think it was go on for quite a while.

9) Crystal Cove State Park - Newport Coast, CA (Pictured above)
This is one of my favorite runs of all time. a 10 mile loop that covers beaches, canyons, and ridgelines.

10) Torrey Pines Reserve - La Jolla, CA
The Torrey Pines bluffs provide sweeping views of the Pacific Ocean. Dirt trails provide a soft surface and bomber hills provide all you can handle.

Ok, so I'm guessing no one is reading anymore - but if you are, post a comment and tell me you favorite runs - or just tell me I'm an idiot. Either way.

Waddle on, friend.

A Breath of Humid Air

2007-06-19T12:01:00.000-07:00

"Buzz"
"Hello?"
"Mark, it's Ken Barbic."
"Yeah, come on up."
"Click"
We opened the door and headed up the stairway and back in time into the world of Mark Dever.

I have to admit I thought it a little odd that we were going to visit the pastor of a church at 11:53 on a Saturday night...even more, we were going to visit the pastor of a church at 11:53 on a Saturday night unannounced. I didn't really know anything about Mark Dever but I was excited to meet him as several people had told me how lucky I was to be able to visit his church.

As we walked up the back stairway I didn't know that Mark had received his Doctorate of Philosophy from Cambridge University. I didn't know that I was marching up the stairs that John Piper had recently trodden up to sit and debate theology with Mark. I didn't know that Mark was the founder of ministry called 9Marks Ministries and the author of several books.

We reached the top of the stairs and entered Mark's study...A 15 by 30 crow's nest with computers, couches, and four walls lined with books (which I came to find out was only 1/3 of his library). Mark, with a weekend beard and messed up hair sat pecking away at his computer. In the study were 4 other guys, probably between the ages of 25-30. Paul, a recent graduate of Duke, sat on the couch with long southern-boy hair and a Brooks Brothers striped tie half loosed (it was 11:53 on a Saturday night, after all) reading John Owen. Justin, a paralegal for the General Counsel greeted us kindly and began firing all kinds of questions about our jobs, our home church, and what we were doing in the area. Two other fellas sat on the couch reading other theology books they had pulled off the shelves.

Ken, our tour guide as it were was used to this. He himself had spent countless hours in this study reading, talking, and even had the good fortune to be in the study with his jaw on the floor as Mark and John Piper stormed into the study to discuss and debate a recent book. Jeff and myself felt as though we had gone back in time. It was as if we were at some elite Ivy League fraternity. In a sense, we were. But in lieu of girls and alcohol, this fraternity had Owen and Jonathan Edwards.

"Alright" Mark stood up and piped. "It's 12:15 and I have to say goodnight, unless you want to stay and critique tomorrow's sermon." Justin and Paul volunteered to stay and listen to Mark as he preached through the next morning's sermon. We said our goodbyes and filed down the stairs, feeling that we had just experienced something surreal.

The next morning was much the same. A very formal church service filled with ancient hymns, dark suits, and a fella in the choir who (I kid you not) looked exactly like Ferris Bueller. As the old pews creaked, Mark stoically preached for over an hour in the ancient and beautiful old church building, just blocks from the White House. After the service, the congregation of 500 mingled in the sanctuary for 45 minutes - and showed no signs of leaving as we fled to stuff our faces with giant burritos from Chipotle. It was certainly a memorable experience and I would recommend anyone who is in the DC area to visit Capitol Hill Baptist Church.

That was a piece of my recent trip to DC. We also played golf at Augustine Golf Club (pictured above), ate a ridiculous amount of beef at a Brazilian BBQ in the District, drank a fine Pinot Noir from a Santa Barbara winery called Steele (I would highly recommend this Pinot) and smoked tobacco products until 2AM while debating girls, golf, and things pertaining to life and godliness.

I found the people in Northern Virginia to be very kind, outgoing, and somewhat Southern. Although a bit humid, compared to the suffocating materialism of the OC, it was certainly a breath of fresh air.

A Few Thoughts about...TV...and girls

2007-05-18T11:03:00.000-07:00

Monday, May 14, 1:50PM - Text Received: "Hey stranger, how have you been?". Thinking to myself..."haven't seen this girl in awhile", I respond: "Coffee tonight?". 10 minutes later - Text Received: "Aww I have bachelor (The reality TV show where a collection of chicks vie for one dude by making out on national tv) night tonight...what are you up to this weekend?"

- Two Days Later -

Another friend (girl) of mine and I had planned on catching up this week.
Email from me: "What's the plan? My Bulls are playing tonight...Claim Jumper happy hour?" Response: "That could be a very good idea. What time? I just need to be home by 7 so I can get in last week's Grey's episode before The Office comes on!"

Now...hmmm...where do I even start with this. Not that I feel as though I have a tremendous amount to offer to society in general or, specifically these two girls...but, well, two friends basically said "When I can fit you around my TV schedule, we'll get together."

I'll admit, I like The Office as much as the next guy...but Isn't it the principle here? Maybe I'm unemotional. I watched Grey's Anatomy for a season...then every episode started to just run together. Then I realized that there was a lot of cool stuff out there that I could be doing instead.

I certainly don't want to tell people what to do with their time...but the TV phenomenon and it's prevalence in society is a little more than I can handle. TV boycott? I don't think I'd go that far...

I guess the question is what truly excites us? And as I think about it, we all have our vices. They just take different shapes. For these two girls, their vices took the form of TV shows...and it just happened that I ran into two girls with the same vice in three days and it, well, just took me back a little.

But at the same time, I can remember several times turning down requests to hang out because I was going running, or climbing, or golfing, or whatever.

TV for one person, sports for the next. We all have them. Which, I guess brings me back to the beginning: and I suppose I should remove the log from my own eye first.

Thoughts from a pipe

2007-05-10T19:50:00.000-07:00

The evidence of this blog will prove that I don't know what I'm doing here on the internet. Why does this entry even exist as I sit here at 8:04 PM on Thursday, May 10, 2007? Why is there a picture of myself smoking a pipe? Who am I and what do I intend to accomplish with this blog. I'm going to unravel the factors that led to me sitting in front of my computer on this May evening in Tustin and writing.

A few years back, I knew nothing about the internet, web pages, photographs or blogs (I still don't). I didn't know that I liked to write. I still don't know if I do. Here goes (we accountants like to write in organized lists)

Factor #1 - My Pipe
This is certainly tops on my list. Last summer, my brother James came to visit me in here in California, having recently returned from Iraq. We spent a week exploring Southern California as only small-town goobers turned rock climbing fanatics from hickville, Illinois can. Before James came, he told me that he had a "gift" for me from Iraq. I don't really like gifts to be honest...why? That's another story I suppose, but I figured he was going to surprise me with some rolled up tobacco from Havana, Cuba that he had purchased legally in Iraq and smuggle illegally back to the states in some undisclosed body-cavity (we Chally brothers have always had a fondness for smoking and it's become an accepted, all-purpose gift). At any rate, I picked him up from John Wayne airport after leaving work on that sunny afternoon and as we sped out of the airport immediately toward our first destination - Corona del Mar and Gary's Deli for some carne asada tacos (with guac, of course) and down to the beach for some rock climbing - he, with a sheepish grin on his face pulled a red case out of his green army-issue pack. Still not knowing what the surprise might be, I took the red case and opened it, only to find what I can honestly say to this day is the tops on the totem pole of gifts I've received - a tiger head-carved meerschaum pipe. James proceeded to launch into stories about the Turkish man in the marketplace who sold him my new prized possession. I didn't need any convincing. Bowls and bowls of tobacco did the convincing. Which brings me to Factor #1 - what I found with my pipe is that I loved to smoke it, and when I smoked it, I loved to talk, and I loved to think, and I loved to write - which I never knew I did. So my pipe-smoking takes two forms - one is to enjoy with great friends and spend evenings talking. The other is equally as sweet when It's just me, my pipe, and a journal. I never knew I enjoyed to write...and I still don't know that I do - but with the pipe in hand, the words just flow.

Factor #2 - My July Trip to Europe
As I plan to travel to Switzerland, Italy, Croatia and a few other places this summer, I felt the desire to document my trip. Along with purchasing additional memory cards for my camera and a video camera, I felt the need for a place to share those pictures and video (I don't know if I can even put video on this). But anyway, I wanted to create a site that would allow me to write about my travels.

Factor #3 - Dreamweaver
I took a couple classes this spring - one where I learned how to write html and another where I learned how to use Dreamweaver to create a web site - pretty cool stuff. Before those classes, I knew nothing about web pages, code or how a browser worked (and I still don't know much, but enough to be dangerous). Anyway, that got me over the "I don't know anything about the internet" phase.

Factor#4 - Other People's Blogs
My aunt and my sister-in-law created blogs in the last few months and my little brother posted a blog on his myspace site - all of which were very cool. The four factors listed above plus recently reading an amazing book about Brad Washburn containing many of his photojournalistic writings inspired me to create this blog. Will this be the only entry? Maybe. I hope not, this could be kinda cool.