blog (May, 2003)
way beneath the blue suburban skies
Fallen back into the basement hole tooling with the computer nonstop. An IMAP server, SMTP AUTH for relaying, mod_ssl, and lots of general catching up... fun fun of course, but lack of daylight and activity is taking its slow toll on my physical and mental welfare.
Starting back up slowly at running, but 'twould be much better to get a steady dose of activity than to sit around for most of the day then go outside and beat myself up for a halfhour. But, my to do list requires too much scrolling at the moment, and of course I've got my typical borrow-pile of cd's from the library to keep me bouncing a bit in my chair.
phase shift
I wasn't home for long before I got in the car and drove to Cleveland. Visited my old university haunts, and met up with many good friends there and in Cincinnati during the extended weekend.
It's time to begin the next phase of my life, and the talking I've done this weekend has frightened me a bit. The job market sounds dismal as ever.
After graduation a year ago I decided go travelling, and take a few steps in a different direction; to get away from computing, business, America, and the typical for awhile and hopefully gain some perspective on these things and on myself.
Now it's time to enter the material mode of passion and make some headway in the real world. In two weeks I return to the Catskill Mountains to my job as counselor and computer teacher at the summer camp where I worked last year. That'll last me the summer, but what comes next? is the $1,000 question at the moment.
baby zizanie
I would say they machine-gunned the audience at 93 Feet East with sound, but I've used that metaphor before. Maybe chemical or biological weapons is more suitable.
For an hour or so (definitely too short) the two fourty-somethings stood bent over the table of equipment -- Jim Thirlwell with an iBook, Jim Coleman a PowerBook, and various other boards and wires. Coleman's shoes off, his left socked-foot danced under the table. The two of them didn't communicate directly much, every-so-often only looking up from the machines with a smile to agree they were on.
halfway through things got hairy
Maybe things didn't get hairy, but while we reminisced, we discussed how returning to Galway might only spoil the wonderful memories. In the same way, I shouldn't have expected things to be the same in visiting my old friends in new places and new situations. Can't ever go back, but that doesn't mean things can't still be good...
The last few weeks went like this:
france: grenoble, chambery, lyon, chamonix - mont blanc
switzerland: geneva, luzern, sarnen, interlaken
Tuesday to Zurich to London, and Thursday back home to Rochester...
Too much to summarize. Strikes and gutters, but all in all, c'est bon.
hosana, excelsis
Having arranged to spend the night in Barcelona, I checked into the Kabul, the city's most famous youth hostel I'd heard about now and again from other backpackers in Spain. With only an evening to soak up the city, and a train to catch early the next morning, I put the two hour all-you-can-drink session and pub crawl hostel events out of my mind; instead intending a crawl of my own to visit churches and monuments, barrios and artwork.
I was disappointed to arrive too late to take in more than the faces of a few Gaudi buildings I wanted to explore, so I descended into the subway system to make haste to Gaudi's unfinished masterpiece, the Sagrada Familia cathedral; the one sight I couldn't miss. The metro tunnel walls echoed louder the messages I've seen scrawled all over Spain -- no a la guerra, and no a many other things... police, fascism, Bush...
The words of the prophets are written on subway walls; tenement halls.
-- Paul Simon, The Sound of Silence
Maybe some of these prophets just find it an easy way to be heard; leave their mark.
Climbing the final steps out of the dungeons and back into sunlight the church stood towering impressively above me. Its sheer size, though, is nothing when compared to the incredible articulation and originality Gaudi bestowed upon it.
I was bowled over (per usual with cathedrals, museums and the like,) by the vision and labor of the artist, and laughed to compare his mark on the world with those of the subway prohpets, as well as my own accomplishments and promise, overcome by the compulsion to work, think, slave and not waste a moment. Einstein stood on the shoulders of giants, and I in the shadows even of ants.
But I'm reminded that the moulded, mosaiced towers reaching for the heavens of course will one day crumble and fall, just there is a hand to wipe clean the subway walls.
movin'... doin' it; you know
Flyin thru time now, coming down the home stretch.
Bussed Málaga to Madrid, where I met up with Luis, Nube and Zaira for the end of a Medeival Market, then rode with them back to their place near Castellón to spend a day and a half. To say adios again. Also got a chance to visit Simona and her mother -- I always enjoy travelling circular patterns; returning to the places I began.
Now in Barcelona, trying to decide whether to head straight through to France, on my way to see Makram and Emeline, (good friends I met in Ireland,) or spend a day here in the city first. I hate to leave without seeing much more than train and bus stations, but the schedules are a bit unincommodating, and, anyway, a day in Barcelona is like a tease: the city has so much to offer.
marrakesh express
Long stories, short.
In Casablanca I et up with Youssef, from university. His family lives in a palace, and their and his hospitality was incredible. The kind of generosity that makes me uncomfortable. The family driver, Abid, shuttled us around to explore a bit of Casablanca, then the next morning we moved on to the coastal Essaouira for a day and a half, then on to Marrakesh with a new friend we collected in Essaouira, Mohammed. My guides and diplomats showed me everything they knew, helped me with bargaining in the marketplaces, and filled me in on all my curiosities regarding their country and its people. I also got a dietary crash-course in typical Moroccan cuisine, including a lots of cous-cous, and tajine made of goat's brain. Youssef and Abid left on Monday morning to return to Casa, and I spent the night at Mohammed's house with he and some of his family; more true Moroccan hospitality.
Finally, a three day organized tour southwest to Merzouga, complete with camel treks and camping in the Sahara dunes. Think, Lawrence of Arabia postcard-incredibility, but combined with sleepy faces staring out the minibus window.
Overnight sleeper back to Tangier, and now I'm back in Spain, in Málaga: making my way back up north.