adventures

Kathmandu, Nepal 32 Years Old

First blue-pink glow of morning light breaks darkness over blue ridgelines of Himalayas and the rooftop of our guesthouse in Kathmandu.

Ragged prayer flags flitter in the endless breeze and a calm Nepali girl swings a golden smoking vase in slow circles across the four-story canyon.

Serenity overwhelms the mind, all but the subtlest nerves for today’s journey…

Today we will rent motorcycles and ride west across the mountains of Nepal with no plan, a cheap map in a foreign language, and one objective: ride west as far as possible.

After a few pots of milk coffee we pick up the motorcycles, latch down our packs, and dash out into the chaos of traffic without laws on 220cc Bajaj Avengers,

There is no such thing here as “jaywalking” or “lanes,” or “stop signs.” pedestrians, cows, bicycles and dogs move, stand, or lay down at random.

Vehicles cross into oncoming lanes without warning.

Trucks and busses drive full speed into hoards of smaller vehicles, expecting the pack to separate.

Consistent, relaxed, high-attention flow-state is crucial to process the anarchy…

Isla Vista, CA 29 Years Old

Eyes open easy with the first birds of morning in the silver coastal fog. Serene breeze glides in through my open window.

I breathe deep and set a meditation timer…20 minutes.

Both hands laid on my stomach, eyes closed I drop straight into belly breathing to cleanse the inner sanctum, before there’s even been a single thought…

Long, deep, slow, lung-expanding, hyper-oxygenating breaths. Body becomes loose, tension melts inside. Hushed crescendo of morning waves roll along the shoreline.

Soothing breeze drifts on skin’s tingly touch, with every exhalation time evaporates. Until I am a lake without ripples…still.

200 full breaths later, I roll left and peek through the curtain, sky in cool cerulean pre-dawn glow, new warm light for paradise.

I slide open the big side door and brush and spray turquoise foam on the golden meadow beside the vessel.

A liter of water guzzled over a passage from the Tao Te Ching in the early haze. This was my dream and now it’s here.

Tokyo, Japan 29 Years Old

I only have 12 hours in Tokyo, so I’ll have to move fast.

I pop by the airport bookshop to flip through a Japanese phrasebook and learn six phrases to ease the day: good morning, good afternoon, please, thank you, excuse me, and goodbye.

For 250 yen I’m on the train platform, ready for the 70 kilometer ride to the city.

Since childhood, Japan has always seemed a culture of honor, an island of mystery.

Today is at long lost my chance to explore.

The doors hiss open and I take a seat among the silent Japanese lining the walls, sitting motionless with eyes open, riding the train in peace.

There are nearly fifty people in the car, but the only apparent sound is the predictable “click-clack, click-clack” of the wheels below.

Isla de Ometepe, Nicaragua 27 Years Old

She had a month free from school and I had a wide open future, so we met at the airport in Managua to spend a month backpacking around Nicaragua.

After a few hours packed in the back of busses jammed full of people we made it at last to this island double volcano.

The water is warm and comes in small lapping waves. I wade in and let my body sink and all weight vanish.

I resurface and look back at the beach and the handful of small huts of Santo Domingo, perched at the edge of a lush, humming jungle.

A tropical bird of prey rips apart a white fish with his parrot-colored face in dark sand.

The jungle island’s massive volcano rises behind it all, straight into the sky, glowing golden halo around its oblong crater. Sun falls just behind it’s peak.

…37 minutes until the motorcycle is due.

Chicago, IL 29 Years Old

My right peripheral catches a black blur moving faster and more reckless than the general blob of Chicago traffic.

A sleek speedster whips the corner and doublethumps the curb across two crowded lanes in one long arching motion, “Freebird” blares through open windows.

I drop my big green pack in preparation for our grand reunion.

Before I know it he’s already out and halfway around the back of the car, always on the move, hand cocked back, palm wide open, inviting our never-ending greeting with a snap and a pop.

With huge smiles we slap hands for the thousandth time; somehow in these magic moments the “POP” when our hands clap echoes off buildings for miles, which leads to a megahug, which is abruptly cut short by aimless elated conversation, which is abruptly cut short by another megahug, so glad to see each other again.

He slings my big green forest pack in the back and off we go.

He’s a cool maniac behind the wheel, just the right amount of caution before really letting it loose.

Kuantan, Malaysia 28 Years Old

In the afternoon session, on the third day of the 10-day silent meditation course, something incredible happened…

80 of us sit, eyes closed, watching our breath on light blue cushions on the beachwood floor of the open-air, sun-lit hall,

The instructor calls students forward one-by-one to check on us. He looks at me with bright brown Indian eyes and relaxed smile and asks:

“Can you feel the breathing?”

Ummm..what? Haven’t I been breathing for years?

I nod yes. Encouragement beams in his genuine smile.

“And do you enjoy it?” he asks.

Ummmm…This is breathing, right? Music is something to enjoy. Pizza is something to enjoy.

Is breathing something to enjoy?

I nod again yes…with less certainty.

“You have to enjoooy it!” he whispers, glowing.

Never have I seen someone this excited about breathing.

Looking back…those are the five most important words I’ve ever heard.

“You have to ENJOOOY it….”

Bangkok, Thailand 28 Years Old

I step through the front door of the quiet Hua Lamphong Hostel into bustling Bangkok morning.

A wave of sweltering heat suffocates and the weight of its humidity makes my shoulders sag.

85 degrees at 10am. This is why travel books advise against Thailand in the summer.

A blinding rush of swerving mopeds, pink taxis, and sputtering tuk-tuks whirl in perfect chaos.

Mopeds zip through impossible gaps, cutting off taxis, who are already cutting off sedans. Rusty tuk-tuks sputter along in the spaces between.

All of them narrowly dodge old windowless busses as they slow to drop-off and pick-up without ever reaching full stop.

Despite all the commotion, I do not hear one single angry horn.

I’m here to drink Buddhism straight from the source. All my life, I’ve wondered: How would life feel if society held inner values in higher regard than the outer material world. This culture is my answer…

Los Angeles 27 Years Old

Longboard wheels hum through orbs of amber streetlight, glancing up dusty Hollywood alleys under the rumble of midnight planes in the dark.

The night is warm and balmy…why are so few out? Right now in Ohio it’s sleeting…don’t y’all know we’re in paradise?

I stop on a bench and lean forward to stretch the hammies…tired from the daily commute…5 miles each way, weave and sway on a rusty bicycle through windblown human slalom, a rabbit dancing in the dense, urban overgrowth.

All day pushing an overloaded dolly up California hills past beauties, bosses, and bums to sling smiles and 40-pound boxes at retired Playboy babes.

Hefting, grooving, moving, this feels a little more like how life is meant to be.

From 100 yards up the sidewalk comes a gift…

Left-eye peripheral catches a new form moving unlike any living thing I’ve ever seen.

He’s about 70, prancing, shirtless. Wispy white beard brushes wispy white chest hair.

I skate across traffic to catch him.

His third sentence: “You want to know the secret? Be crazy. Wake up, be CRAZY!”  

Tortola, West Indies 25 Years Old

Barefeet dangle over the open-air, top-deck edge of a barnacled, puttering, paint-chipped sea ferry, heavenly combination of cool breeze and tropical sun on bare chest, far far away from the smog hanging in the thick air of the passenger area, where most remain.

I pull an apple from my pack and gaze in cat-eye zen over the turquoise sea to a tiny speck growing green on the horizon. What new adventures await on this little island of Tortola?

My buddy Will’s been living here for a few months, after crossing the Atlantic on a 100-foot sloop with a crew of seven.

The island expands as we near, a big green volcano with a single road around the perimeter, pastel huts speckle the hills over the cove.

A narrow wooden plank bounces hard with every step as we shuffle off the ship.

Will is there waiting at the dock to drive us up a zig zag mountain to a white villa overlooking the whole Caribbean channel.

It’s a secret guesthouse owned by a seacaptain. Will and I and his lady Missy are the only ones here.   We hug and ride the energy buzz of reunion and don’t even tell stories and don’t even have to…the eyes say it all.

We hop back in a jeep with Will at the wheel. Down tight switchbacks and along the teal waves to a thatch-roof beach bar bombashack.