blog (category: travel)
how I read, online/offline
I've noticed more than a few people that don't usually read magazines in real life like to read them on aeroplanes. (I won't make broad, sweeping generalizations about most being women.)
Maybe it's because the content is bite-size chunky, and they fit well in the seat pocket?
Even if the subject is non-trashy, though, magazines themselves are trashy. Or at best, recycley, which is preceded in preference by reducey.
(I still read books, but) I don't read the newspaper or magazines; I read from the web. I'm not iPhone hip, though, and still rock the off-line, often. I used to print out web-reads for off-line consumption, but I've made another step in paper-less. (The soapbox I'm standing on is 100% post-consumer recycled cardboard.).
My new-school/old-school combo is an aged Palm Pilot with Google Reader and del.icio.us, and Plucker.
Here's my online/offline web-reading strategy:
- Browse the blogs and news feeds I read with Google Reader.
- Kick stuff that looks interesting off to a new (Firefox) tab -- using keystroke
ffwith the Google Reader Quick Links Greasemonkey script (or Better GReader Firefox add-on.) - Mark everything else as Read (keystroke
A,) close Google Reader, and sift through the opened tabs. - Consume what I have time for, and tag longer items for later in del.icio.us as to_read. Using the del.icio.us Bookmarks extension, keystroke
CTRL-D (CMD-D)then typing the tag name does it all. - Use Plucker to grab all of the pages at 1-link depth from my del.icio.us/to_read list, and convert them to a Palm-readable format.
- Sync the Palm
- Read tagged items at leisure, on- or off-line.
No trees, no inks, no waste, no shipping!
No big glossy pictures, either, (yet.)
tranquilo
I've moved on, but not far away, to live with a Spanish couple, Luis and Nube and their 4-year old daughter, Zaira. They are the ex-hippie sort, very chill, very mature, and very kind. Tranquilo is the phrase of the stay so far. They have a small finca that is a little piece of paradise, and do a bit of pottery, that Luis sells at Mercados Medievales around Spain. Nube teaches T'ai Chi/QiGong in the local pueblos. I joined Luis this past weekend for a trip to the market in Alicante, where we dressed in medieval garb to sell earrings, magnets, vases, ocarinas, and more.
They speak no English, so I am learning Spanish quickly, though I've got so far to go...
Clear skies.
movement
Action is the key to winning 50% of my self-battles. Always such a small thing -- only a flick of the finger to get the ball rolling -- but somehow so hard for me.
I decided to begin calling farms on my WWOOF list, tired of awaiting email replies. The first person I called asked me, after I struggled through a few sentences in Español, if I would like to speak in English. The rest of the call proceeded just as smoothly, and we decided I would leave Madrid for their finca (small farm) in two days, after a short trip to Toledo.
this is the end, beautiful friend
I salvaged my time in Kilarney with an unreal bikeride through the National Park: lakes with dark yellow sandy beaches and craggy rocks. Forests where the only sound was water dropping from leaves and elf laughter (I was the Lord of the Ring of Kerry.) Mountains of orange, mountains of green -- so dark and thick green you know there are two kinds of lush in Ireland. -- the stuff big picture books on coffee tables are made of -- the ones you wonder how they can make the world look so magical and unworldly and decide it must be airbrushed or edited or something - no? No.
Tonight I'm in Dublin with "old"-friend Dave I worked with this past summer at camp. I fly home to the little island off the west coast of Ireland tomorrow: Christmas-Eve morning. Arrive in Rochester in the evening.
I began this trip with Thoreau -- sensible to end it on the same note.
I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves.
--H.D. Thoreau, Walden
It has all been incredible... but time to move on. First, though, some quality holiday chill with the fam and friends back at home, and lots on the to do list...
the morning wind forever blows
This morning the wind and postman brought me a letter from across the big pond -- enclosed was a small gift from jen and her hope that I might be "watching the waters off that Grand Old Isle."
I took her advice and headed out to the bay, and found a seat on the rocks at the end of the pier. The wind blasted my face while I sat, drawing tears from my eyes, and I was afraid that the dog-walkers would misread my exhiliration for sorrow.
Swans, pidgeons, ducks, and the heron that flies around the city and teaches me lessons entertained me as the wind slapped the waves up against the rocks. The pidgeons are anxious and flutter here and there, surprised by something I can't see. The seagulls love the wind, and I am sure they are at play and enjoying it thoroughly. The ducks slice straight through the wind rather than catching the gusts. The swans rarely fly, but when they do, their necks are stretched out and their wings enormous -- they look like white warplanes in my tear-blurred eyes. The heron squaks once to get my attention. I wouldn't have noticed him had he not. He strikes off into the distance, and I almost wonder if I should follow him -- if it's another message.
I am bulletproof this evening, just off work with a caffeine drive. Now the i-net cafe is closing and I am off into the night.