My Five-Year Plan

I realize it's important to have goals in life. If you don't have goals then you end up working at the Audi/Volkswagen dealership for the rest of your life driving the customer service shuttle. So this morning, while I was taking an outside shower in the rain in the Hamptons, I started thinking about my five-year plan, and how I need to have a five-year plan regardless of how much or how quickly it will change in the future. So here it is:

1) Hour one

Drive back to Manhattan with Scott, Grant and Peter, stopping at Chipotle on the way.

2) Week one

Get back to Seattle, see my family and enroll in a TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) course that guarantees job placement upon completion. Courses that start on August 20th and September 5th. Live with my parents and also sometimes sleep at the studio on Capitol Hill where I'm still paying rent.

3) Month one

Work extensively on my tan in the quickly diminishing Pacific Northwest sun while also doing weekends at the TEFL course. If possible do yard work on Bainbridge Island to make money, maintain fitness and work on tan.

4) Year one

Teach English in either Colombia or China. Win-win situation: If I'm in Colombia my Spanish will be further solidified and I will also adopt a lilting Colombian accent, my favorite accent of all the Spanish-speaking countries. If I teach English in China I will learn some Mandarin and become approximately 73% more employable.

5) Year two (and also part of year one)

Go to Africa to see my sister and her family. Possibly live there for a short time and work on learning Portuguese. Also, go back to school and finish my Master's Degree in Spanish, translating poems by Heriberto Yepez while continuing to study French or starting a new language.

6) Year three

Move to Alaska. Live in a hut. Write the Great American Novel.

6) Years four and five

Continue to travel, visiting such places as: Western Africa, Tajikistan, Tristan da Cunha, Perth, Indonesia and New Caldonia. Continue to study Chinese and also possibly Arabic or Farsi. Garden. Own land. Get married.

So that's the plan, and no matter what happens these are the main goals:

Work hard.

Get married.

Speak at least two languages other than English fluently, be conversational in at least two more and emergency capable in two more than that.

Travel to every continent.

Make a concerted attempt at writing a book.

Live off the land for at least a week (but preferable a month or a year).

Run naked on a beach in Alaska.

Getting Bumped

I have never flown first class in my life. I am determined to do it before the year is up, and not by buying a first class ticket but by requesting an upgrade or somehow getting "bumped." The infamous "bump." You always hear about people getting "bumped" up to first class. The airline overbooked the coach section or an employee was just feeling particularly generous. But I've never been bumped!

It's my turn to get bumped.

The Times I Got Yelled At in Russia

The Russian people are the country's greatest and worse asset. In my time in Russia I met some amazingly kind and considerate people, and also some true jerks. One thing with Russians is that pleasantries, small talk, chit-chat, etc. don't exist. Russians are direct. They tell you what they want and how they feel in the same moment they are wanting and feeling it. I will never forget when a girl named Anna in our program from St. Petersburg asked a girl she didn't know who she sat down by us, with no other prelude: "Who are you? Where are you from?"

I got yelled at quite a bit in Russia. Russians were always unsatisfied with my Russian language-speaking abilities and generally liked to tell me about it in a strong, annoyed voice. Here is an brief outline of the times I got yelled at in Russia:

1) The bus driver from Finland

Technically this happened in Finland but it was the beginning of my Russia trip so I'll include it. He wanted me to stack a suitcase on top of another suitcase and I just plain didn't understand. So he yelled at me in Finnish. And I yelled back in English. Then we became friends.

2) Trying to use the bathroom on a train

Two women were cleaning a bathroom but I thought once they were done I could go in and use it. But they were telling me in Russian to use the bathroom at the other end of the wagon. Which of course I didn't understand so I just pointed at the bathroom and said timidly, "Now?" They got annoyed and raised their voices and pointed towards the other bathroom and I threw my arms up and said in English, "OK I got it! Chill out! I don't speak Russian!" and they said in English "Yes, yes, yes."

3) Waiting for the other bathroom

After getting yelled at by the ladies trying to use the first bathroom I waited patiently for the bathroom on the other end. Just as the guy in the bathroom was coming out another Russian sidled in front of me, paid me no mind, and started to go in I grabbed him by the shoulder and said in English, "Hey, I was waiting here." whereupon he brushed my hand off, said something loudly and angrily in Russian, and then went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I wanted to cry/beat him up.

4) Internet cafe in the Moscow airport

The floor had just been mopped and I walked on it. In retrospect I probably should've asked if it was OK to go in, but I was trying to do as the Russians do where if you want something, you just take it. But then a lady came walking after me and pointed harshly at the floor and undoubtedly said something to the effect of, "You ignorant, useless American. Can't you see we were cleaning this?" I replied innocently, "Internet?"

There were other times. Plenty of other times. But I don't remember them specifically. Granted, I met some wonderful Russians, too. But I'm still glad to be back in the US of A. Elated. I got picked up yesterday by my friend Scott's brothers yesterday and we immediately drove to Chipotle and ate burritos the size of footballs. It was glorious and I don't regret leaving Russia for a minute. Maybe I'll go back there one day. Or maybe not.

Diez Minutos

I have decided to become a bit of a mystic for the next 10 minutes. I am trying to decide whether or not to fly to New York tomorrow. But I want a clear signal, and I am looking to the environment and people around me for that signal. If I leave the internet cafe for instance, and someone stops me and says, "Mark, you should go to New York," then I will most likely go to New York. But if something tells me I should stay I will do that, too. I vowed to wait until tonight to make this decision. But I might break that rule. Rules are meant to be broken, after all.

So I'll give it 10 minutes, starting now. And if there is no clear signal, well, I'll probably give it some more time. And if there STILL is no clear signal I will probably buy a ticket to New York. I would feel a bit like I'm giving up on Yaroslavi and Russia, but sometimes you have to know when to get out.

10 minutes starting now....

Internet Overload

I think I figured out the internet cafe that had me so befuddled the other day. I'm referring to the one where a guy who looked vaguely Armenian and was wearing sunglasses indoors charged me 50 rubles, handed me a coke, and told me to use the computers. I am here again today, and I asked the girl, since I now know how to say this, "How much does one hour of internet cost?" She motioned towards the drinks and made it clear that I had to buy a drink, and that after buying the drink I could use the internet, seemingly for as long as I want. So I bought a lemon-flavored mineral water, which cost 50 rubles, and now here I am at the internet. It's actually not a bad deal, and I no longer hate this place. You pay 50 rubles (about 2 bucks), get a drink and get to use the internet for as long as you want. The girl is pretty nice, albeit smoking a cigarette two feet from my face, and the internet is fast!

I think most people come here to gamble online. That's what the girl next to me is doing and also what the patron two computers down from me is doing. I think by Russian standards 50 rubles is a pretty big rip off for internet. This is not, after all, an "internet cafe". This is an "internet club". There is a difference in Russia, and the difference is that internet cafes are cheap and generally well-lit and frequented by young people, whereas internet clubs are expensive, gloomy, usually filled with smoke, and the computers are set up to make online gambling as easily as possible, often with a set of buttons by the keyboard expressly for that purpose. But like I said, I'm not complaining about this place. It might be my new favorite place in Yaroslavi, just after the banks of the mighty Volga, of course.

I am actually starting to learn Russian. I am almost afraid to type those very words for fear I'll jinx it, but I am actually starting to learn Russian. Like I've mentioned, the girl working at the hostel speaks no English. And now that I've started learning some verbs and how to conjugate them, I can say some simple things. I was just now extremely proud of myself because I told her, in Russian, without help, "I'm going to look for internet." This, after my days of silence and frustration, is a veritable novel streaming from my mouth. Like I just recited the Declaration of Independence from heart -- but in Russian. I feel empowered. I can actually communicate. I know the word for "liar" and "crazy" and the verbs "to smoke", "to be able to," "to love," "to hate." Combine these words and you can actually start to make some sentences.

This experience has made me appreciate what it's like to learn a language from zero and also what it would be like to teach someone who has no knowledge of a language. Now I know that if I ever teach Spanish 101 the first verbs I will teach my students will be "to love" and "to hate." Sure, it's important to know things like "to walk," "to give", "to want," etc. But they're not fun to talk about. Everyone, however, likes to talk about what they love and hate. And it opens up new worlds. I love icecream! I hate spagehtti! I love music! I love dancing! I hate peppers! These are things that are actually fun to say, and they are relatively simple. These are the things that little kids say, and when you're learning a language, you're effectively a little kid.

My search for formal Russian classes continues and unfortunately continues to be fruitless. The one place I found wants 600 rubles for 45 minutes, which is over 20 dollars for 45 minutes. If I did three hours of class a day it would add up. So I have a rudimentary plan, though my plans are always changing and could very well change by later tonight. But for now the plan is this: Give Yaroslavi and myself two more days. If by Tuesday night I haven't found Russian classes and I don't feel like I'm really learning, then I get a morning train to Moscow and possibly a nonstop flight to New York. The only cost 650 dollars non stop on Transaero, which to me is a not horrible deal. Then I could fly to Seattle using frequent flier miles for free.

But this is only a very rudimentary idea. I don't want to give up on Russia yet. I'm learning, I'm having a good time. And let's face it: it's not every day you're in Russia. I don't want to leave early and then regret it.

Poka, poka, for now, komrades. Poka, poka.

The Banks of the Mighty Volga

Looking back on the last post I realize I sounded a bit hysterical. Or at least agitated. But now I feel better. My sickness has abated somewhat save some soreness on the tip of my tongue and things went considerably better last night. I did hit a bit of a low point during the day though. I found myself checking flights to Seattle, part of me just wanting to go to Moscow and get on the next possible plane. It's a good thing I didn't buy a ticket to Seattle though, even if it's just because tickets for whatever reason are much cheaper to Vancouver. This is almost never the case, but it happens sometimes. But an excuse to go to Vancouver is always welcome, so I won't mind if it stays that way. And I'm sure a 28 hour Air Berlin flight with stops in Berlin and Dusseldorf would be an adventure.

Right now I'm at another internet cafe. It smells like cigarettes. The internet is slow. It is rare that the internet in Russia be as fast as internet in other places. Internet here definitely isn't as commonplace. The hostel I'm at right now doesn't have internet, which is rare for a hostel. But it's good. Keeps me from staring at a computer screen all day and checking flights on Expedia.

My Russian lesson went well yestereday! I was hoping she would speak more Russian to me but she wanted to practice her English and it's understandable given my Russian is close to nonexistent. But I learned how to conjugate some verbs and I learned some more useful expressions and when I got back I was able to speak a bit to the girl at the hostel who speaks no English at all. I asked her if she had sisters and brothers and a dog. I asked her if she had a husband and I think she communicated to me that she had a boyfriend but that she dumped him. But I also might not have been understanding at all. Most of Russian for me is just a big guess.

After dinner I walked down to the banks of the Volga River. It was beautiful. The sun was setting and there were couples locked in passionate embraces and a man fishing while lazily smoking a cigarette. There were groups of kids laughing and drinking bottles of beer and the whole environment was generally very amiable. I sat for a long time watching the sky get red and then darker and darker and then I walked back to the hostel, but not before getting some strawberry ice cream on the way.

Today I feel in much better spirits, though it's a weekend and I can take no Russian class so it will be a test of my fortitude to not get bored or depressed and get on a train to Moscow and then a flight somewhere far away. But I'm sure I'll be fine. The hostel is starting to feel like home now and I've been cooking there, too. Even eating vegetables, which I'm sure my mother will be delighted to hear. Green beans, to be specific. Broccoli was too expensive.

I want to write more but better get going. I'm afraid the chain-smoking, techno-listening employee might try to overcharge me and at 60 rubles an hour the price is already steep.

Bye for now, Komrades

The Swankiest Hotel in all of Oblast

Why am I checking flights to London from Moscow right now? I was supposed to travel to China. I was supposed to go through Mongolia and find myself wearing funny hats and speaking Mandarin and living in a monastery in the woods meditating over a plate of steamed broccoli. I was supposed to get a job teaching English in Vietname, get fired after two weeks for only teaching the different meanings of the word "sick" and then head south to Indo and Australia. Maybe West Papa New Guinea. But instead I'm trying to find the LOT Polish Airline website because they have the cheapest tickets to London from Moscow. Do I really want Chipotle that bad? Or do I really just want to be able to speak some English.

I have 13 minutes left at the Ring Hotel here in Yaroslav', Russia, so I must make this brief. I want to learn Russian. But it has been hard. Only the big towns have Russian schools. But I finally found a woman named Ulianna who will teach me Russian tonight for one hour. If I don't start learning a lot of Russian -- soon -- then I'm getting the hell out of here. I am here to learn. I am not here to spend lots of money on Solyanka and ordering expensive things on the money just because it's the only item that contains the word "chicken."

I am starting to feel better. I am not as tired as before and now more or less convinced that I don't have scurvy. But just to be sure I'll go get some orange juice from the supermarket after I'm done here. And continue to try to find the Russian school. The hostel is interesting here. Most of the people staying in it are Russian and don't even look at you in the hallways. I think the Russians are pretty reserved. The girl working the front desk's name is Janna (I think) and she's very nice but speaks almost no English. I tried to ask her which water I should use to boil spaghetti last night and she said "No problem", turned on the burner, and walked away.

There is always a good chance I will go to Africa. Maybe in September. Or something. But if I do that I need to know what to do till then. Not just spend money. Maybe I can get a job teaching English in Uzbekistan. Or maybe I can get a job at MacDonald's here. Or maybe I should just buy the longest train ticket it's possible to buy and see what happens. The skies the limit. Or I guess LOT Polish Airilines is the limit.

What Good?

Every day I am astounded by how badly I need to learn Russian. Just the basics. How to say "How much?" for example. In the internet cafe I'm in I tried to buy a half hour of internet and the owner said "Money money" in English and I gave him what I knew was too much and to rectify the situation he reached into the fridge and handed me a coke. "But I don't want a coke," I said, and he grunted and motioned towards the computer, as if saying "OK, you go ahead now. Internet. You have a coke and internet. You're happy."

Before this I was eating at a cafe the girl working at my hostel recommended. I successfully ordered soup as an appetizer and then soup as an entree. I tried to order something chicken as an entree, even showing the girl the word for chicken in my dictionary (whose pronunciation still eludes me), but what I got was patently pork. At the end of the meal I tried to ask for the bill, and the girl brought me a cup of "fine Ceylon tea." So I guess I need to learn Russian.

But things are looking up! After St. Petersburg I got on a train to Vologda where I met Alexey, an amiable Russian doctor 28 years of age. He was very excited to practice his English. We spent most of the train ride having an impromptu Russian lesson and then him reading from "The Grapes of Wrath" and me correcting his pronunciation. The word "wrath," incidentally, is almost impossible for Russians to say.

Alexey was very nice. Once in Vologda he took me around with his family to a cafe and then a monastery. The family treated me to lunch. His sister, Anya, lived in Vancouver and even studied briefly at the University of Washington this last spring! Her English was far superior to Alexeys but Alexeys was still good. He really wanted me to go back to St. Petersburg and live with him for a few weeks so he could improve his English and we could go fishing. But I told him I would probably keep heading east.

And then I got sick. Really sick. I'm still sick. My throat is screwed up. It's swollen and my glands are swollen and my ears hurt and weirdest of all my gums are swollen. My gums are extremely sensitive. I hope it's not serious.

But things are looking up. I feel measurably better today and took a train to Yaroslavi, a town about 3.5 hours south of Vologda. It's an agreeable little town of about 600,000 people. I'm the only one in my hostel dorm room so far, and it looks like I'll definitely be able to study Russian here. I'm taking it one day at a time and happily drinking my coke in this internet cafe. The owner just walked by drinking a coke of his own and wearing sunglasses (it's dark in here) and said "Yes, of course!" in English and slapped me on the shoulder.

I love Russia.

Worthless, Worthless Frenchman

I was awakened last night at I don't know what hour by a drunk Frenchman coming into our hostel dorm room. He had been out all night "partying." When he laid down in the bed next to mine I could smell the alcohol on his breath and so I got up and changed positions so that my head was at the other end of the bed. That's how thick the air was with alcohol. Then he pulls out a thing of crackers and starts eating them slowly and loudly, one cracker at a time. Crunch (chew, chew, chew) crunch! (chew, chew, chew) like an elephant. I sat up and just stared at him and watched his nearly lifeless hand reaching for the crackers. He had his eyes closed and I'm pretty sure he won't remember it this morning. But I will, of course. You just lost big points with me, French people.

Vanilla Milkshakes in St. Petersburg

I've been up all night hanging out with Roman, possibly the most hospitable human on the face of the planet. First he asked me where I was going, what I wanted to see, and then he suggested a town I might like. He said it was an old Russian town, not too big. We were looking at train ticket prices and I decided I wanted to go there. I told him "Let's buy it. I don't want to know where it is, or anything about it. Let's just buy the ticket." So now tomorrow I'm going to a town called Вологда, and I have pretty much no idea where it is (pronounced roughly "Bologda"). He tried to point it out on the map to me and I waved my hands and covered my face and said "I don't want to know anything about it!" and he looked confused by this strange American gesturing wildly. The only thing I do know is that tomorrow I will get on a train at 8:40 in the evening. I have a bed on the train. Between 8 and 9 the next morning I will be in Bololgda. And it will be great.

The trip to St. Petersburg from Finland was eventful. The bus driver and I got off to a bad start, him yelling at me in Finnish to put a suitcase on top of another suitcase and me yelling back "I don't speak Finnish! I don't speak Finnish!" But then he found out I was American and tensions eased. I think he's sick of Russians because he has to deal with them all the time and they never speak Finnish and he doesn't speak Russian. But with me could excuse the lack of Finnish.

After about 15 minutes in the bus he offered me a strawberry, and I gladly accepted. Then, when we crossed into Russia, he found out I did speak a little bit of Finnish and the floodgates opened. We spent the next 2 hours having the most broken conversation it's possible for two humans to have. He would speak in Finnish and I would say, "Uh huh, OK, yep". And then eventually he would say "Did you understand?" and would smile sadly and say, "No, sorry."

We did manage to communicate a few things, like how he had lived in Moscow for a year and how I had studied in Savonlinna for 3 weeks. I told him my sister lived in Africa and that I might go visit her. At one point he asked what the word for bridge was (silta) and I thought he had said hedgehog (silli), so I said "Hedgehog! Hedgehog!" and again he looked confused. He gestured to the construction workers up ahead and it clicked for me and I said "Ohhhhhh -- bridge". I thought we were talking about hedgehogs. There's lots of hedgehogs in Finland.

St. Petersburg has been overwhelming. It's a national holiday here so everyone is dressed up like sailors, because apparently the holiday is to commemorate mariners. I honestly thought it was just Russian fashion, but the girl at the hostel set me straight. After checking into the hostel I immediately went and bought a Russian dictionary. The words are of course in Cyrilic but after some work on the bus and some work here (comparing MacDonald's in latin to МакДоналдс in cyrilic, for example) I can sort of read the language. My accent is awful and I have no idea where the stress lies in the words, but I can sort of read it. Which is a good start. Tomorrow my goal is to take a Russian course, whatever the cost, before getting on my train tomorrow evening.

About 30 minutes ago I went to the ATM to get cash and then afterward got a vanilla milkshake at Carl's Junior. I could be in California right now. Instead I'm in St. Petersburg. And will write more tomorrow.

Strawberry Ice Cream

Free late night Savonlinnan internet found! It's located in the hotel Seurahuone and it's on the bottom level in the corner and it's completely free. I am of course not staying here but I pulled the foreigner card by speaking to the reception in English who then either assumed I'm staying at the hotel or more likely just doesn't care that I'm using the internet.

Last night I spent picking up cans. I walked around with two grocery bags and when I saw beer cans and cider cans I picked them up, emptied them, and put them in my bag. After a while my bag started to stink and it started to make me sort of nauseous, but luckily at that point I had probably about 5 euros under my belt and felt good enough to quit.

Tomorrow I go to Russia. I am excited about this. I also don't care. I have found through traveling that most places are pretty much the same. Finland is essentially Minnesota albeit with people speaking in a barbaric tongue and dancing like polar bears standing on their hind legs.

Cuba is essentially Florida except with a dictator, tons of Russian cars, buildings in ruins, lots and lots of extremely poor people, and absolutely no American influence. So I guess the analogy breaks down. What I mean to say is that you build up a place in your mind, like I have done with Russia, give it all sorts of mystique, and then you get there and you realize it's like a lot of other places. There's people going to work, there's waiters out having cigarettes on their 10 minute breaks, there's rich people having coffee, there's homeless people begging. Some of the customs change and the money changes and the language might change, but most places are essential the same. Most places.

Tonight is my last night in Savonlinna. I am celebrating by eating everything in my fridge and also taking myself out for ice cream. I love that term "taking yourself out". It sounds so nice. What it really means is that I have no friends here. I would love to go with someone else but everyone has left. So I go by myself. I go and get a strawberry cone, hopefully successfully order in Finnish, and then sit by the water and eat it. I look at the sky on fire to the west and wonder what other people are doing. I wonder what Barry is doing at home and what my parents are doing. I wonder what my sister is doing in Africa. I wonder if I should go to Africa. I wonder if my brother is in Juneau right now flying. I wonder what kind of words my three year old niece has learned. I wonder how my twin nephews are doing. I wonder what my sister Lynn is doing. And then I finish my icecream and I walk home, and thus will have passed my last night in Finland.

The bus ride tomorrow is 8 hours long. This is because it makes lots of stops and also because going through customs is a huge hassle. You have to go through Finnish customs and then through Russian customs. The Russian part is ostensibly harder. They look at you and inspect your visa and wonder why you have a beard. They wonder why you would want to go to Russia, especially alone. They wonder why you have a skateboard strapped to your back.

The days in Finland are already getting noticeably shorter. When I get here it would still be really light right now, but now it is almost dark. And now at night it gets genuinely dark. Real dark. Night dark. The kind of dark you associate with night. This means it's time for me to start heading south. St. Petersburg is slightly south of where I am, and Moscow is slightly south of that. And then maybe China and who the hell knows. I certainly don't. And I'm thankful for that.

Everybody is Leaving

The course here in Finland has come to an end. Almost everyone has left. The dorms are eerily silent. The only thing you can here is the sound of the washing machines washing my clothes. This is the 4th time I have washed my purple UW shorts without wearing them. Ever since I left them in a locker in a Helsinki hostel after swimming for four days without giving them time to dry out, they have been impregnated with an unremovable funk that has rendered them unwearable.

I am sitting at the computers where I would often check my email between classes or more often than not during class. Things feel sort of normal, but also completely not. There is no one here. Downstairs in the cafeteria there is food in the hot trays waiting under the lamps for students that will never come. It's as if the lady working there cooked for everyone today not remembering that everyone was leaving today. I think she made chicken nuggets. They look delicious.

I am once again fasting. I missed my fast day this Wednesday because we had the end of the year dinner where I piled my plate high with several pounds of food and then finished it off with some apple pastry and delcious vanilla icecream, so now I have to fast today. To make matters worse, I was up eating candy last night until 1am which means I have to wait until 1am before I eat tonight. And most likely around 1am I will be too tired to even want to eat, which will kill all the excitement I've been building up all day about eating in the first place. Either way it will be good, though. Or I will be asleep.

On Sunday I will go to Russia. I will take a bus that takes over 8 hours and then I will be in St. Petersburg with absolutely no idea what I am going to do or where I am going to go. It will be great. I will be lonely. It's hard to underestimate the heart-crushing loneliness that can be experience after spending three weeks with the same people every day, always having people to hang out with and activities to do, always swimming and walking around town and getting icecream. But it will be good for me. I need this loneliness. Mabye it will help me figure out what I want to do. Maybe it will make me buy a plane ticket to Africa. Or maybe it will make me go to Mongolia and lose my mind.

The only thing I have really been thinking about all day is Chipotle. I want to eat Chipotle so bad right now. But there is no Chipotle in Finland. In fact, there is only one Chipotle on this side of the water and it's in London. And I'm not going to London. Though I did just check flights.

But I better go now. Bo and Mike are about to get on a bus to Helsinki where they will eventually catch flights to the US. I have to play floor hockey at 4pm with the Finns and also do my situps and pullups for the day. And fast. And go the post office. And clean my room. And bask in beautiful loneliness.

The Time We Almost Went to Russia

I am currently at a forestry museum about 30 miles southeast of Savonlinna, and I am not happy. I hate museums. Why are we at a forestry museum when instead we could be out in the forest? Insead of walking around the museum I have found this computer with free internet where I can do some low-level blogging. I also found Andrey, one of the Russian guys in the program, sitting in the entryway with his computer doing some work so I have been talking to him, too.

Yesterday Bo and I tried to go to Russia. We failed. We made it to the border, could see a tiny Russian flag in the distance, but didn't get to the actual actual border. We took a 50 minute train to Parikkala and then walked about 10 kilometers in the heat before a green van with bear insignia on the side of it pulled up to us and asked us what we were doing. We said we were walking in the countryside. They asked us if we were aware we were so close to the Russian border and we said yes and asked if we could see it. They said we couldn't go within 200 meters of it or they would have to give us a hefty fine. Then they took Bo's information from his ID and drove off.

After more walking we finally made it to the actual border patrol office. There a guy let us fill up our water bottles and then said he would just take us in his van to the border. He was very nice and didn't speak much English. When I told him in Finnish that we were studying Finnish his face lit up and he said "You speak Finnish! Let's speak Finnish then!" But he soon found out that our Finnish was very limited.

He drove us to the no-man's land near the border and let us get out and take photos. He said last year they caught about 6 people trying to sneak in from Russia illegally. When someone tries to sneak in illegally from Russia, they are questioned and then sent back to Russia, free of charge. When someone tries to sneak into Russia from Finland, they are held in Russian prision and then eventually sent home. He told us that a while back a German guy rode tried to ride his bike across the border. The Finns didn't see him and before it was too late he was in the custody of the Russians, who kept him in Russia for a month before sending him back to Germany. So it was probably a good thing we didn't get too close to the border on our own.

Russia's mystique continues to grow for me and my visa should be in the mail any day now. I would like to study Russian in St. Petersburg for a week or two and then head east towards Mongolia but we'll see what happens. Mabye I will be lonely amidst all the Russians and maybe I will have to celebrate my 28th birthday relatively alone. Or maybe I will be in a Russian wheat field drinking vodka and singing Russian folk music! It's always 50-50.

Tough Dough

Tomorrow Bo and I might try to sneak into Russia. It won't really be sneaking, since I'm pretty sure there won't even be a fence there, so you could say that tomorrow we might just try to "go to Russia."

Savonlinna is about 40 miles from Russia. To get there you (ostensibly) take a train to Parikkala, about an hour and directly towards the Russian border, and then walk a few kilometers. At some point you either probably say to yourself "I'm in Russia now" or stumble across a Russian farmer plowing his fields and yelling at his horses in Russian. Or yelling at his tractor.

Things have become somewhat routine around here. But good routine. We still swim extensively and my diet has still included fasting on a regular basis. I have also learned how to make pizza from scratch. My first attempt was a disaster. Instead of putting the sugar in with the yeast I put it in the flower and the dough barely rose at all. When we made "pulla" the other day (bread buns) our teacher kept callling the dough "duff". This sounded hilarious but makes sense seeing as you would pronounce the word "tough" "tuff." English is a hard language.

Today I might play floor hockey. I played last Friday and sweated more than I have sweated in five years. I was running all over the place and at one point accidentally gauged an Italian girl in the hand with my finger nails and she started bleeding. Then she got hit in the nose by the ball and started bleeding from the nose. She was having a good time.

I'm going to skip the afternoon lecture today. It's on Finnish music. The teaching is atrocious. She says everything in Finnish and then immediately translates it to English. So effectively she says everything twice. It is pointless and awful and instead of going I will spend the day on the beach eating cashews and swimming and lying in the sun.

Finland!

Sauna and Sausage

I write to you now from the hallway the University of Eastern Finland in Savonlinna, Finland, where I am currently supposed to be in class learning how to use the passive voice in Finnish. But I had to get out. The teacher, though being incredibly sweet and nice and well-meaning, is terrible. Today we had to examine a text about what kids do during summer vacation in Finland. Instead of us reading the text aloud to practice our pronunciation (which in the case of 99% of us is somewhere between "bad" and "awful"), she read the text. Then, instead of asking us what various words meant and trying to get us to think about them, she explained all the words. Then, instead of making us look for the passive voice constructions and identify them, she pointed them out. And finally, instead of having us try to explain what these constructions meant, she explained them. So needless to say I am currently taking a "bathroom break" which will probably last in the neighborhood of 15 minutes.

This is not to say the class hasn't been productive. It has. I have been drawing a beautiful drawing using thousands of small, alternatingly spaced hyphens, sometimes switching the directions of the hyphens or their density, and what started as a simple mindless doodle is now taking the form of a beautiful chalice, which I will undoubtedly give to one of my new CIMO friends as a gift and a token of American craftsmanship and hospitality.

Yesterday we went in the sauna. I was excited because it was supposed to be a true Finnish sauna experience, but it was basically like any other sauna in the United States. The only thing different was that Bo and I ripped branches off a birch tree and formed them in the shape of a sort of mini broom with which traditionally the Finns rap against their skin to clean themselves and further exfoliate their pores. But of course Bo and I just ended up whipping each other as hard as we could.

The sauna was accompanied by a "traditional" Finnish meal, AKA dishes stolen from other countries like pasta salad topped off with something "truly" Finnish in the form of various types of sausage, even though the sausages were just store-bought and resembled something you might see on a hot dog cart at a baseball game that has been sitting there for several hours.

But hey, who am I to complain? Free sauna, swimming in the lake, free dinner? We roasted the sausages ourselves over an open fire and sat and talked and ate till our heart's content. Even though it was a school outing we were encouraged to bring beer if we wanted it or cider or whatever we wanted to drink. If people wanted to smoke they could as long as they put their butts in an appropriate receptacle afterward. This would never happen in the US. You could never have alcohol on a school outing. But the Finns treat it as no big deal, expect us to be responsible and I think people appreciate that responsibility and respect and respond accordingly. No one getting hammered drunk and falling over or trying to put their hand in the suana coals. People are a lot more benign when you take away the taboos involved with drinking that exist in the US, but that is an entirely different story.

Anyway, I better get back to class. It's been at least 10 minute and probably more. Today is a great day because I am fasting all day which means we will have a feast at midnight and also because today I am going to make a very concerted effort to submit the required forms to apply for my Russian visa.

But for now back to class!

How to Pick Berries in Finland: A Tutorial

The first thing recommended for picking berries in Finland is the time of day to go. Mornings are best, because the heat of day hasn't fully set in and if it's a weekday the trails are less likely to be crowded. Mornings are also best because as soon as one starts bending his/her back to pick berries motivation decreases exponentially.

The most common berries in Finland are blueberries and strawberries. Of these, blueberries are by far the most common. There is also apparently a berry called a "cloudberry", but I have never seen them and it is altogether possible that they don't exist. To pick blueberries, you want to be as far away from the road as possible. If you can describe your location using the words "forested glen," then you're probably on the right track. Blueberries loathe civilization. Strawberries, on the other hand, are just the opposite. Strawberries yearn to be part of the hustle and bustle of the modern world, but are also extremely shy. They like to grow close to roads but not without the cover of tall grasses and/or other shrubs. There is a patch growing by the parking lot of the supermarket near my dorm room here, as if the strawberries are desperate to see what's going on but too shy to take part in the action. For whatever reason, strawberries also seem to like to grow on an incline. This is probably also testament to the fact that they want a view of what's happening but also the inaccesibility that only a hill provides. In this way they are just like the Finns themselves, shy but always wanting to participate, eagerly anticipating the slightest invitation.

If you are going to pick berries in Finland, be sensitive to the wildlife. Today I saw a man walking with ski poles, huffing and wide-eyed like he had just run a half-marathon, and I was sure to give him a generous berth. Later I thought I saw a black bear standing on it's hind legs but it was just a large Finnish woman wearing a dark blouse and bending over a patch of blueberries, pawing at them greedily.

Your berry picking is over when your basket or strainer is more red than blue, as strawberries are much harder to find and require more effort. Don't be ashamed if you don't find strawberries on your first attempt. Try a few phrases in Finnish directed at the forest or feign that you genuinely don't care about finding them. When you least expect it, there they will be. Also, stick to the roads. Unless of course you're looking for blueberries, then stick to the glens. Any glen will do, just make sure to watch out for ski-pole wielding Finns.

Mother Russia

"I think I will give you a punch in the face."

"Do you think you are humorous?"

Two things the Russian girl just said to Bo during class.

Smoking in the Boys Room

Mikä päivää tänään on? I am sitting at the computers with Bo and Liis, a girl from Estonia, and I keep asking Liis over and over Mikä päivää tänään on? which means, what day is it? When she starts to respond I cut her off and say Mikä päivää tänään on? This has generally been how things with Finnish have gone since I've been there.

The first day of class was a joke. We spent at least 2 hours learning everyone's name. It is my opinion that if you are teacher and something is taking too long you need to take evasive action to make it shorter. Or you lose your students. Say OK we'll finish this tomorrow. And then don't finish. It doesn't matter. Do whatever you have to do. Just don't spend 2 hours in the sweltering (see: pleasant) Finnish heat trying to learn everyone's name.

But now class started at 13:15 and it is 13:17. I am two minutes late. I can hear the teacher talking in Finnish but I won't need to pay attention because she'll just repeat in English immediately after. Another gripe I have. I need to be like the German guy who wears black boots and just does whatever he wants. Durning the naming exercise earlier he just stepped outside the circle and started smoking a cigarette. Ahh, zee Germans.

Mansikkoita

Bo and are about 21 hours into a 24 hour feast. I am very excited to eat. Nothing sounds better to me right now than food going into my body. Smells have been intensified. The Finnish guy next to me was just eating some pastries with rice pudding inside and I could smell every molecule of them. I was salivating. And now they are drinking beer and wine and even that sounds like a decent way to get full.

What prompted this fast? Estonia. We were very unhealthy in Estonia. We drank quite a bit of alcohol, due to the fact that every time we met of a group of people we were offered drinks and we didn't want to be rude, and were constantly eating due to the fact that things were so much cheaper than in Finland. So after several days of Estonian decadence we were more than due for a cleanse.

To break our fast we have decided to eat only fruit. We bought melons and strawberries and grapes and all of it sounds semi-divine right now. One thing in Finland is you weigh your own fruit and the machine spits out a label showing exactly how much it costs. I scorned this at first but now I love it. It makes you feel like you work there, which means you feel slightly productive. Plus the girl at the cash register promised to only speak Finnish to us starting tomorrow. Or rather she will speak English but we will speak only Finnish. Because she wants to practice our English.

I am excited for the program to start tomorrow and I am excited to make new friends and go swimming and go sailing and go fishing and go skateboarding and have a good three weeks in Savolinna. It all starts at tonight at midnight with a bushel of strawberries. It's going to be great.

I Love Estonia

I finally met up with Bo and we are in Estonia, which I love. It is officially now one of my favorite countries I have ever visited. In Helsinki you can easily spend 6 dollars on a bottle of water. If you tried to give someone 6 dollars for a bottle of water in Estonia, they would probably hit you.

Bo and I went to a beach town called Parnu, basically the California of the Baltics. We swam in the water and then asked some people on the beach if they knew of any place that might not be completely booked and a girl said, "Let me just make a call." She called her mom who owned a hotel and a few minutes later we were on our way to an apartment that turned out to be impossibly nice, fully furnished complete with a book on modern Swedish cooking, for 77 euros. Somewhat pricey but this was also one of the nicest places I have ever stayed. Then we hit the town where communication instantly broke down.

Unlike Finland where everyone speaks English and often times as well or better than you, in Estonia there are many people who speak little to no English. In the beach town we bought sausage from a guy in the street and he literally did not speak a word of it. He shook his head angrily when we would try to speak English to him. I wanted a half a piece of sausage and I kept pointing at the sausage and every time I would point at the sausage he would take his knife and cut off a piece for me to sample. I was trying to communicate that I in fact wanted to buy the whole thing and not just have him hand-feed me tiny morsels for the next 15 minutes, but he did not understand me. I tried Finnish too, but that seemed just to agitate him even more. Finally I convinced him that I wanted to buy it and he charged me 2.50 euros and we were on our way. Everyone happy and me with more sausage than I could ever possibly eat.

Now we are in a smaller town called Viljandi and our room is beautiful and has a balcony and only cost us 40 euros. We're going to the beach in a second and I can't wait. I love Estonia.

Suomenlinna Blues

Today I went to Suomenlinna, an island a 20 minute ferry ride from downtown Helsinki that is known for its fortress and also its soft serve vanilla icecream. I went there with my friend Sonia, who, despite being born of an American dad and Finnish mom and speaking both languages perfectly, is actually Italian. Well, she was raised in Italy. To make matters more strange, she now makes her living as a French teacher.

Anyway, Sonia is currently in Helsinki so she decided to show me Suomenlinna. We walked around the south end of the island, checked out the cannons, and then I swam briefly in the Baltic Sea, my first time ever doing the breaststroke in this body of water. Afterward I went to look for the Russian Embassy, which basically looked like a grey version of the white house, flanked by gates on all sides and adorned with a hammer and sickle (I have no idea how to spell that) on top. But it was closed. On the door a sign said to go to a different address about a half hour walk away to the third floor of a building on a side street that looked difficult to find. Once I did get there I finally got in after waiting until some people in the building came out, and then knocked on the door which was opened by three Russian girls.

These were stereotypical Russian girls. They were wearing high heels. I have no idea why. I spoked to the first one and when she heard me speaking English she sent for another one, apparently the only English speaker in the group, and we discussed visa options. She said I needed to fill out an application online and go to a travel agency. She seemed very excited to be speaking English.

Afterward I got a beer and roamed the streets, just because it is legal here in Finland. The beer tasted like Stella Artois, which means it basically tasted like chemicals, which basically means I'll get into a fight in the next 15 minutes. I still have not received my bag from Icelandair (I haven't mentioned yet that it got lost) which means I still haven't used deodorant. I smell.

Smakkest betur!

I have precisely 250 Icelandic Krona in my pocket and 17 minutes to use the internet. That means 17 means of staring squinty-eyed at a screen in a room that is somehow dark despite the fact that it has no blinds and the sun hasn't set yet. It's 10pm. Everyone around me is speaking Icelandic and playing first-person shooter games except for one guy who appears to be reading the news. Icelandic is a weird-sounding language. It's soft. It sounds like a mix of German and Arabic and Finnish and English mixed with whispering and a hint of baby-babble. I'm convinced that if I approached an Icelandic person and just started cooing like a pigeon that would be able to derive some kind of significance from it. I have only learned two phrases so far, but I'm very happy with this considering I have not be trying at all. The first phrase is "good day", which basically sounds like "good dog" in English, and the second is "smakkest betur" which means "tastes better". I'm also pretty sure the word "Pida" means "Wait."

Tomorrow I go to Helsinki, a place where I actually do speak a bit of the language. But not much. In my year of Finnish at UW I mostly learned how to tell my friend Bo he looked like a girl. Or that he looked like other things. I was a master of the verb construction "to look like". I once told the one Finnish person in the UW French Department as a way of a conversation starter, "Hello, I look like a farmer" which was met with a hearty guffaw. But I'm sure I'll still speak mostly English. In the grand scheme of things my Finnish is basically non-existent. It will be nice to get away from the wind though, and hopefully into some weather that is actually somewhat summer like. The wind here in Iceland is like nothing I've ever seen. I felt like I was skydiving uphill when I went hiking earlier. My cheeks were actually being puffed up with air despite my attempts to maintain a normal facial expression. So in this way, I am very excited for Finland. The only thing I need to do now is figure out what 275 krona can buy, especially because I haven't eaten dinner. I could murder a slice of pizza right now. Or some Indian food. Or some Thai. Maybe some Nepalese.

Smakkest betur!

The Joys of Public Transportation

If I wanted to I could hear English all day. You get on a five hour flight to New York, another five hour flight to Reykjavik, you expect the exotic, and the guy checking you in to the hostel is from...Cleveland. What gives? And to top it off the hostel costs 3,800 krona for a dorm bed. A dorm bed! Thats like 35 dollars, and the guy checking me in isnt even Icelandic -- his name is Michael and he's from the Buckeye State.

But anyway. Luckily I am not confined to the confines of my ever so chic hostel where the breakfast looks delicious but costs 10 dollars. I can roam where I please, which is exactly what I did today, taking two buses to scale a mountain on the north side of the bay just north or Reykjavik. The buses were great. It seems standard in Iceland that at every three stops or so the bus let on about 50 kindergartners accompanied by about 5 chaperons. But this is the best part. The kids whistle in Icelandic. The kids play in Icelandic. And the kids sing in Icelandic. On the way back from the mountain a gaggle of kids burst into song and were singing songs I had grown up singing, albeit with Icelandic lyrics. It was perfect.

Back in Reykjavik I'm at an internet cafe that looks like it's frequented by people who would otherwise be hanging out in their parents' basements. It's almost empty and 35 minutes of internet cost me just over 3 dollars. I have actually no idea what the exchange rate is but I'm pretty sure it's around 100 krona to the dollar.

I had no idea what to expect with Iceland, but I'm enjoying it so far. It reminds me of a combination of Scotland and Alaska. Or Washington and Alaska. Or basically just the coast of Washington because it's always cold and windy and the air smells of salt. The people have been very nice so far. I asked the bus driver how to get to the center of town and he looked at my feet and said "You take that one and put it in front of the other one..." before bursting out laughing and grabbing my arm jovially.

I just bought what I thought was going to be Apple pop but it turned out to be Orange pop. I think I really really need a nap.

Snow and Mud in the Cascade Mountains

We got stuck. In the mud. In the snow and the mud and the snow. We never thought we were going to get out. As the sun set over the North Cascades I thought to myself "Hold on a second...is this bear country?" We were in the car for what seemed like hours. We talked about magnetic fields and what's going to happen in the year 2012. The dog slept peacefully in the back seat. This was all a game to her. But it wasn't a game to us. It was survival.

The minutes turned into hours and still we talked. I peaked my head out the car window and saw a sea of stars. Stars sown in the sky. Planted by hand. Thousands plucked from their strings and strewn across the heavens.

And still us in the snow and the mud and the snow.

Finally the trees to the left of the car lit up with light. I thought it was a UFO. The light got brighter and brighter and then I realized it was just the truck we had called to help us. A trusty friend with a trusty truck. Where I had struggled for several hours using rocks to pound other rocks under the tire he got us out in two minutes. The adventure was over. We were not going to die. And we were out of bear country.

Summer on Mount Smile

Today I walked way too far. My back has been ailing me lately. I should probably take it easy. Instead I walked at least 7 miles.

I might be exaggerating but when Jean-Claude was taking me to the trail head we were driving for at least 10 minutes. Quickly. When we were getting to the trailhead he said, Ive only seen two bears since Ive been living here. Plus, theyre just black bears. This was very comforting.

I walked to the "top" of Mont Sourire or Mount Smile in English. It took about 10 minutes and the whole time I was singing a Brandenburg concierto and saying "Salut les ours" just to make sure any bears heard me as I wandered into their territory. At the top I took a few pictures, talked a little more to myself, and began the trip back down.

To begin the real trip.

I walked for so long. The whole time a horsefly was making a home in my hair, or laying eggs, or vomiting, or just resting, or whatever it is horseflies do when they land on you. I couldnt get rid of it no matter how hard I tried, thus proving that man has not conquered nature. We can build dams and put out forest fires but if a fly wants to land on you repeatedly for several hours as your skin begins to boil in the hot Quebecois sun, there is basically nothing you can do. You are at its mercy.

Finally after I thought my back might fold in half I finally saw the bridge that signalled the entry into town, albeit with at least another mile of walking. Back at my hotel room I stretched and got ready to go jump in the lake when I noticed it was already 430 and the internet cafe closes at 500. So here I am. I just witnessed a conversation between the lady here who barely speaks English and two older men who barely speak French. There were complicated words like router and satellite used and I`m pretty sure no one understood anyone. Such can be the joys of communication.

Now it`s off to eat some pizza, lots and lots of pizza, and then finally jump in the lake. I love being on vacation.

Salut!

Monsieur La Fleur!

Yesterday I was trying to hitchhike from Sainte Agathe des Monts to Saint Donat, Quebec. I had been standing by the side of the road for about two minutes with my achilles tendinosis-riddled thumb thrust in the air when a brown Isuzu Trooper pulled to the side of the road. His name was Remi La Fleur and now we are more or less best friends despite the fact that I only understand about 30% of what he says.

Remi was probably in his 60s and going to precisely the town that I wanted to go to, Saint Donat, a little town of 4,000 whose population swells to 20,000 in the summer when people from all over Montreal come to spend the summer along lake Archambault and other area lakes in their chalets and cabins.

The bugs here are awful. For me, at this moment, they are more or less its defining feature, due in large part to the various open wounds along both of my forearms. I am completely bored out of my mind here. I am killing time. I dont know why I booked my ticket out of Quebec for so late. Today my day will most likely consist of swimming off the dock of my hotel, walking to the grocery store, and watching bad American sitcoms dubbed in French. But it is of course not all that bad. It is beautiful here. Cheese curds are plentiful. I am speaking a good amount of French. My entire car ride yesterday with Monsieur La Fleur was in French and also my conversation with Jean-Claude when I checked into the hotel. And the hotel is beautiful. It`s cheap -- 50 bucks a night -- and has a huge lawn extending down to a dock where one can swim and frolick in the water if one so desires. Yesterday I ate horribly. Pizza, fries, a cheeseburger, vanilla softserve dipped in chocolate, so of course today I feel guilty and have vowed to go the whole day without eating refined sugar. This will most likely last until about 2pm when I decide that the miles of walking I`ve done more than warrant the consumption of some kind of sweet good and I spend the rest of the day gorging myself on Twizzlers and icecream while watching more horrible Quebecois television. Last night I watched Top Gun. It was by far the highlight of my night. Except of when Goose died.

One more thing: the owner of the internet cafe I`m in is currently sitting at his computer smoking. Only in Quebec...

A Day With Porter

I love flying new airlines. I love flying in general. Jetsetting from one destination to the next, even if the destinations aren't terribly exotic. Air travel, no matter what, is always exotic because, well, you are flying through the air.

Today my friend Jenny and I had the privilege of flying Porter Airlines, a relatively new airline based out of Toronto that serves destinations in the eastern United States and Canada, including such out of the way seasonal destinations as Myrtle Beach.

The firs plus about Porter in Newark where we flew out of is that there was no line to check in. We literally walked right up to the counter and checked in, served by a boy/man who speak English, Spanish, and Portuguese. He seated us together with no problem or hesitation, we were able to check one bag completely free of charge, and after several minutes we were off.

At the gate where Porter was leaving from there was no one in the security line. Again, this is not an exaggeration, and this has also never happened to me. Going through security is generally one of the biggest drags of flying, but since Porter was one of the only airlines to fly out of that gate there was virtually no one around. Several more minutes and we were off again.\

Now, the flight did depart late. And it was also about 15 degrees fahrenheit in the waiting room at the gate. But I realize the temperature part is something out of Porter's control. I was afraid that the late departure would sour me on Porter, but they quickly made up for it in the air.

Though the "brunch" turned out to be just a snack, the vegetable chips we chose were not chips made from various vegetables, but actual single vegetables made into chips. You could tell what each chip used to be: a beet, a yam, a carrot -- then dried out and made into a delectable chip. The drinks were served in actually glasses. Made of glass. And the water bottles had the adorable raccoon porter logo on them and they gave you the whole bottle. If you wanted it, they gave you beer and wine for free. You could have as much of anything as you wanted, and they asked you several times, all the while smiling brightly as they knew they were working for one of the few airlines that actually provided these kinds of services, if you wanted anything more.

But the real delight started when we got to Toronto. We landed at Toronto City Airport, which is on an island or peninsula literally a stones throw (if you have an arm like Jay Buhner) from downtown Toronto. We cruised in low over Lake Ontario and felt like we were buzzing the tops of sailboats as we landed, all along the city a startling backdrop to our right of skyscrapers and the famed CN Tower. One cannot understate the closeness of Toronto City Airport to downtown Toronto, or it's convenience and aesthetic appeal. Imagine if flying into Seattle you landed on 4th Ave South instead flying into SeaTac. That's more or less how convenient the Toronto City Airport is.

In the Toronto airport we were treated to a lounge with more free drinks and snacks and a row of brand new Macs free of charge should we have decided to use the internet. We saw members of the Toronto FC MLS team lazing about the terminal. People were starting to speak French. I was starting to freak out about how great all of it was.

Finally after another short flight we landed in Montreal and tried to find a bus that could take us downtown. When were inquiring about the 747 Express bus a couple came up to us and asked if we wanted their tickets -- they were still good and they had no use for them. So we rode into downtown Montreal for free. This time not courtesy of Porter, but I wouldn't be surprised if Porter hired the couple to give the tickets to us just to make our travel experience that much better. It's Porter, after all.

I think I'm going to name my first born son "Porter".

The Chipotle Diaries: East Coast Trauma

Today I went to Chipotle in Woodley Park in the District of Columbia, also known to the lay-person as "Washington DC". I went to Chipotle because as a minor share-holder it is important for me to keep tabs on company operations and also to see how they are doing at various locations around the country. This was only my second East-Coast Chipotle experience, the first being the location just north of Bryant Park in New York where I spent over eight dollars on a burrito and briefly wept.

Today's experience was, to be Frank, slightly sub-par. I hadn't eaten Chipotle in well over a week so my body was starting to react violently, showing visible signs of withdrawal from lack of cilantro-infused rice and deliciously-seasoned chicken.

The first thing to throw me off in today's Chipotle experience was that the line was moving from left to right. At the U-District location in Seattle I am used to ordering from right to left, and this is my home Chipotle so anything different is slightly disconcerting. I hesitate even to eat at the downtown Seattle location for this very reason and also because I hate downtown Seattle.

I ordered a chicken burrito with black beans, lowering my voice a few octaves when ordering to denote authority and possible share-holder status, and grimaced with dismay as she scooped on a handful of watery black beans. The ration of chicken was also slightly meager, but luckily somewhat made up for by a jovial Mexican man who scooped on large portions of tomato salsa, cheese, and sour cream.

The first bite into the burrito was pure bliss. I thought I had died for a moment or at the very least slipped into some kind of a burrito-laden coma. I had never tasted chicken so good! But as the burrito wore on things got worse and worse, and I realized why the first bite was so good but why the rest of the burrito was overwhelming: salt. There was too much salt. It was almost a chore to eat the rest of the burrito. Chipotle is usually the most uplifting experience of my day, but this day may prove to be different.

I do not regret today's East Coast Chipotle Experience, but I do regret the amount of salt in my burrito. The only thing to do now is go to the hotel pool, pull some sunglasses down over my eyes, and try to forget that part of the burrito ever happened. With today's heat coupled with the amount of admiration I have amassed for Chipotle over the years, this should be pretty easy.

The Megabus to DC

A final respite from the heat. Today we will go to DC, where actually the temperature is not much lower -- today the high is 89. But yesterday as we were coming back from Spanish Harlem a thunderstorm came and instantly cooled the city down 20 degrees. Lee and I decided to make a run for it while the girls decided to try and take a cab. We ran for about 10 blocks in the pouring rain and at one point I took my shirt off -- ostensibly to not have the cotton clinging to my skin -- but also because my dream that day had been to go to the beach and go swimming, and now in a way I was getting my wish.

I finally got to test out out the "underwater" capabilities of my camera! Another thing I planned to do at the beach but something that was easily testable with the pouring rain. I took videos of Lee and I walking/running that will most likely prove to be horribly boring/unwatchable, but was still excited that my camera was able to function in a downpour and record nature's unmitigated fury. The only problem with taking pictures when it's wet is that the camera thinks that every rain drop touching the screen is a finger, which with a touch screen is a problem. The camera freaks out a little bit.

I didn't do much last night. I went to my friend Dan's dorm at NYU where he made French toast. Whether or not Dan admits it, he is 98% obsessed with French toast. Yesterday his eyes gleamed with excitement as he made French toast from scratch (though I don't know if there's any other way to make it) using cinnamon bread and -- get this -- "maple" syrup from scratch. Apparently this is how his family did it growing up. You boil a little water, throw in some sugar, throw in some "Maple-ine" imitation maple flavoring, and suddenly you've got something that tastes just as good as Aunt Jemima but without the high-fructose corn syrup. Maybe Dan is way ahead of his time. He is certainly a man of discerning tastes, especially proved by the handfuls of Cinnamom Toast Crunch he shoveled into his gaping maw afterterward, which everyone knows are basically just little bite sized shrunken French toasts.

Today is thankfully my last day at Duke's Cafe using their disgusting computers to use the internet. Like I said (or possibly didn't) we're getting on a bus in about an hour to go to DC. I am not particularly excited about this as last time I was in DC my only memories are what felt like miles and miles of Dr. Zhivago-like marching through several feet of snow to see monuments whose significance as a 17 year old I didn't really appreciate and a Smithsonian Museum that may or may not have been closed, but I am prepared to be more open minded this time around about our nation's capital.

For now it's time to get out of Duke's. I swear it's 15 degrees warmer out here than outside and my fingers feel like they're covered in food despite the fact that I haven't been eating.

Megabus!!!

Fat Cat

It's oppressively hot here in New York. A guy just walked into the deli where I am and said in a thick New York accent, "Man, it's hawt as hell in heyah." Today we are supposed to go lie in Central Park. I wanted to go the beach, but it looks like Central Park is in the cards. This is OK, because afterward we will be going to Spanish Harlem and trying to find ridiculously authentic Mexican food. If I don't speak Spanish at least once during our sojourn up there, I will be disappointed.

There is not too much to report from NYC. I got food poisoning two nights ago. I woke up at 130 in the morning, ran downstairs, and vomited up the shellfish I had been eating earlier that evening. I then proceeded to vomit once every ten minutes for the next three hours, finally falling asleep just as the sun was coming up at 5am. But now I feel amazing. It's as if the food poisoning was some sort of full body cleanse. It literally got everything out of me. They say the body is 80% water. I think my body was about 15% water after my few hours in the bathroom.

Last night we went to a jazz club called Fat Cat. I hate jazz. But it was still fun. We played shuffleboard and halfway through the shuffleboard I ditched my teammate to go play chess. I thought the kid was going to be good because he was studying a chess book and had a really concerned look on his face. But I was annihilating him within five minutes. And then I lost my queen. I was devastated but kept playing, and eventually, after at least an hour and half of staring at the board, he let me fork his kind and his queen and I won. I shook his hand, joined my friends, and it was still ridiculously hot outside.

Not it's off to Spanish Harlem. Probably time to get some coconut water, too.

The Moderately-Sized Apple

I am in New York City. Manhattan to be specific. Chelsea to be even more specific. Or actually SoHo. I'm in SoHo at an internet cafe called Duke's whose keyboards are covered with remnants of food due to the fact that this place doubles as a....cafe. Actually the cafe is the most prominent part of this operation. No one is at the computers besides me. I get the impression very few people use these computers. But to do some final stuff for UW, to truly start the summer vacation, internet access is imperative.

I got in last night at 1130 after a non-stop flight from Seattle. Flying non-stop is wonderful. It is infinitely superior to flying with layovers. When you fly non-stop all of the allure of air travel gets maximized. You go to the airport, you step into a metal tube with seats, and then a few hours later you are in an exotic destination, but more importantly, YOUR destination. The place where you want to be. The place where you will sleep that night. The place where your friends and family are. But when you don't fly non-stop it's a different story. You get to the plane, you get on the place, you're excited, the plane leaves, you're in the air!, you land, you step off the plane.......and you're in Milwaukee. And you're bummed. Now you have to wait a few hours, get on another plane, and by the time you do get to your final destination you're tired and cranky and the only thing you want to do is lie down. So I think flying non-stop is infinitely superior. But this might just be me.

Whenever I'm in New York I'm constantly reminded of my inadequacies. Everyone in New York is taller, more beautiful, speaking a different language, wearing something cooler, going someplace cooler, doing something cooler. When you're in certain parts of Manhattan you think to yourself: this is the center of the universe. There could be no place on earth more exciting than right here, right now. And for an instant you figure out why so many people move to New York at some point in their lives. They move to the city and they become obsessed with it. Friends and family get pushed aside as the become absorbed by what I just mentioned above: being more beautiful, wearing something cooler, doing something cooler. But for me after a few days in New York I long to get out of the city. I long for the country. I think of Western Montana or Bainbridge Island where I grew up or anything --Anything!-- that is not a massive and overwhelming.

Back in the internet cafe I am sweating. My legs are sweating. My shirt is sticking to the back of my chair, not because I'm sweating (or maybe because I'm sweating), but because there's some kind of food stuff on the backrest. Lee and Rosie and Jenny are hanging out back at the hotel and Kristina is no where to be found. She went shopping with Jenny and Rosie a few hours ago, said she was going to try on some stuff, and they still haven't seen her. Maybe I should be more worried about this but I'm not. She's probably at an internet cafe or getting a smoothie or maybe, less fortunately, struggling in the heat to find our hotel. Our hotel with three beds stuffed in a tiny room that smells lamentably like five people stuffed in a tiny room.

Tomorrow we are going to go to Central Park and then watch the Canucks game at a Canadian bar. I had no idea Canadian bars exist (I just imagine over-priced Molson and people pronouncing the word "house" "hoose"), but apparently one does. This is good though because we will be able to escape New York for a few hours. Go to a place where people aren't really trying to be cooler. A place where people wear hockey jerseys.

But for now i need to unstick my shirt from this backrest.

Hei Kaikki

I will be studying in Finland this summer in Savonlinna from early July to the end of July, and then hopefully going on to Russia. This blog is to document this experience for me, and also to talk about anything else that happens to me on the way. For example, last night I went to Maple Valley. If you have never been to Maple Valley, it is located more or less south of Issaquah and is home to a preponderance of people who enjoy activities like "wheelin'." But Maple Valley also has a certain sophisticated charm. My girlfriend and I went to a very posh neighborhood that reminded me of a gated community except for the fact that it didn't have a gate, where we hopped a fence, and jumped off a dock into Wilderness Lake. All along the lake we could see lights from houses glowing and the silhouettes of pine trees, and on the far side of the lake we could faintly hear people laughing around a camp fire.

Tomorrow I go to New York. I like New York. I didn't used to like it, but that's because the first time I went the only thing's I did that were touristy. However, the second time I went I didn't do anything touristy. In fact, I wasn't really even in New York; I was in the Hamptons eating 25 dollar crab sandwiches and riding in limousines in Montauk. The only time I was in the city I walked around the Lower Eastside, realized there are more hipsters in a half-block radius of the Lower Eastside than Capitol Hill could ever imagine, and then I ate seaweed at a Thai restaurant. Now I will go back to New York and I am excited to once again do nothing touristy and just hang out with friends, generally.

After I go to New York and I will go to DC and then fly up to Montreal. I am particularly excited about Montreal. Montreal is 70% French speaking. This is pretty high (Montreal is the second biggest French speaking city in the world [!]) but it will get a lot higher when I leave Montreal to go to Sainte-Agathe-des-Monts, a city that from Wikipedia appears to be known for just about nothing besides the fact that it is relatively close to the ski area Mont Tremblant. However, French is spoken as a first language by over 90% of its inhabitants, and that's a good enough reason for me to visit. Then, I come back from Montreal, have eight days in Seattle, fly to Iceland, and finally fly to Finland on June 29th.

Like I said at the beginning, I have dropped out of school. Yesterday marked my final days as a student/teacher at the University of Washington. This is one of the reasons I wanted to start this blog. By dropping out of school and traveling to faraway lands and most likely growing a beard I will be venturing into the ever so hazardous territory of "finding myself." Ostensibly, this is the reason why many people travel. But I don't want to "find myself", because from what I can tell that just basically means turning into a hippie and no longer frowning upon drum circles. I want to find other things. I want to find other people. I want to find other places and other foods and other languages. And maybe I will discovery a few things about myself as well. But I will never, never play in a drum circle.