By Earl, on March 4th, 2010 |
Is it me or is purchasing a flight ticket one of the most exhilarating feelings in the world?
The process usually unfolds as follows. First, sitting in front of my computer, I hover the arrow over that “Submit Payment” button for three excruciatingly painful minutes as I review my flight details a few more times and quickly scan my brain for any indication of why I should not go through with the booking.
And then, usually without warning, my brain sends an electric pulse straight to my index finger, causing it to push down ever so slightly, but with enough pressure to force that arrow to charge my credit card account. With eyes wide open I sit and stare at the screen, being sure not to touch anything for fear of disturbing the payment process, and I patiently wait, hoping that the unstable internet connection doesn’t fail me or that the thunderstorm outside doesn’t suddenly cause a blackout.
I wait for that most inspirational of all numbers – the confirmation number – to miraculously appear on the screen.
The sight of that confirmation number alone allows me to finally exhale and for the excitement that had been building up within to be unleashed. Typically the joy is too overwhelming at first and I remain seated in shock for a few more minutes, trying to comprehend the adventure ahead that I have just committed myself to.
Sure, sometimes that initial excitement comes to an abrupt and most unfortunate end upon realizing that I just booked a flight to Milwaukee in the dead of winter in order to attend a birthday party for my distant cousin’s Poodle named Lazy, or as was my situation a couple of months ago, booked a flight for the completely wrong date. That was not such a joyful experience and ended up requiring several long phone calls and an uncomfortable amount of pleading to get my mistake sorted out.
But usually, the thought of boarding an airplane, of sitting in that metal flying machine and within a relatively short period of time being transported to another region of the world, of being on the move and about to throw myself into a land of unique challenges and experiences is about as phenomenal of a notion as it gets…at least for me.
And this is exactly why the completion of a flight booking tends to send me into a fit of uncontrollable chest-pounding and whoo-whoo-ing and often a few minutes of celebratory break-dancing on the kitchen floor (I am particularly prone to doing the snake). I might even try hula-hooping in public next time thanks to Ash at The Middle Finger Project!
Purchasing a flight ticket is the solidification of travel plans, often marking the end to a long road of saving money, revised itineraries, delays, uncertainty and pure confusion. And with that closure often comes a fresh beginning, another chapter of life, a new set of unknown opportunities and an endless string of intriguing strangers to meet.
As you might have guessed, I booked a flight ticket earlier today. While I’m not heading to the most interesting of destinations this time, I will be flying to Florida in a couple of weeks to visit my family. But even booking this short trip got me thinking about how affected I truly am by the thought of travel, and how that excitement begins as soon as the flight is confirmed.
For anyone that that flies even once a year, I recommend checking out John Bardos’ detailed post Frequent Flyer Miles Hacking over at JetSetCitizen.com for some tips that every traveler will benefit from.
How about you? Do you get this feeling once you book your flights for your travels? Or is there another aspect of travel planning that gets you even more pumped up?
Anyone planning to be in southern Florida around March 18th – 22nd?
     
By Earl, on February 25th, 2010 |
My two friends and I were debating whether or not to have one last beer before hopping in a taxi for the ride back to my apartment. We were sitting on cushy sofas in the corner of one of the most laid-back and hidden bars in Playa del Carmen.
As the debate continued for an unnecessarily long period of time, a large, jolly-looking man with a fluffy white beard and puffy red cheeks, suddenly turned around from his bar stool and glanced over at us.
“I’ve just ordered you another round, so I guess you’re staying,” he said as he clumsily hopped off his stool, stumbled in our direction and took a seat on one of the sofas. My immediate reaction was that this was just some old drunk expat who will most likely have no idea why so many pesos are missing from his wallet when he wakes up the following morning.
However, he introduced himself through a wide smile, and with plenty of beer spilling out from the bottle hanging around his neck, and sure enough, surprised was I, to discover that this straw hat-wearing, aloha shirt-clad, chain-smoking man was none other than the mayor of Brookston, Minnesota.
While that might not seem so interesting, I had never met a mayor before. And truthfully, when I hear the world ‘mayor’ the image that pops into my head certainly has zero resemblance to this wacky fellow that was now sitting in front of me. Immediately, I knew that this man was going to be one intriguing individual. And he certainly didn’t disappoint.
Over the following hour and a half, we listened to this man’s tales of being the mayor of a 200 person community located in the middle of a large Chippewa Indian reservation, where he takes on a job as a heavy-machine operator in order to supplement his $25 per month (yes, per month!) salary as mayor of his virtually bankrupt town.
We learned of his distaste for hunters and how he gladly offers them advice when they inquire about the best areas to find deer by sending them into the most inhospitable swamplands so that the hunters never want to come back again. He explained how the first action he took as mayor was to triple taxes so that he could increase the city’s savings from $0 to $30,000, which was enough money to install the city water and sewer systems they so desperately needed.
He was a great storyteller and a very affable guy, leaving me to seriously consider taking him up on his invitation to stay in one the cabins he owned in what he described as ‘the most beautiful wilderness in America’.
But the point of this article is now about this interesting mayor, well, in a way it is…but the overall point is that you just never know who you’re going to meet.
THE WALKING NUN
A few minutes after stepping off the airplane, I was walking through the terminal in Abu Dhabi when I nearly crushed the foot of a tiny Buddhist nun. I hadn’t really been paying attention because I was trying to locate my connecting gate and so when I heard a little squeak, I looked down and saw the sub-five foot Japanese woman looking up at me. I immediately apologized and then, as any practicing Buddhist nun would be inclined to do I suppose, she just smiled widely and invited me for some tea.
With over an hour before my next flight, I agreed to join her and off we walked towards the cafe, with her carrying nothing more than a cloth bag slung over her shoulder holding a traditional prayer drum.
As we sat chatting, and often laughing, I came to learn that this was no ordinary Buddhist nun. This was Jun Yasuda, also known as the Peace Walker, a woman who has dedicated most of her life to walking around the world promoting peace. She has walked long distances in the name of cultural understanding, walking with people of all nations, religions and backgrounds and in support of dozens of worthy causes. She’s repeatedly trekked across North America, sometimes in the dead of winter, as well as from Europe to Asia, across Russia and up and down the length of Japan, over and over again.
At the time of our brief conversation, I really couldn’t comprehend the positive effect Jun was having on the world, but as soon as I reached my final destination of Bangkok and looked her up online, I discovered how well-known and truly remarkable she was.
Six months later, when I was in Melbourne, a friend of mine called me one afternoon and during our conversation he mentioned that a Buddhist nun and some others had walked through his home town the day before en route from Perth to Sydney. Within minutes, I had convinced another friend, who had a car, to drive into the country with me in order to meet up with Jun. And we did, finding her and her fellow walkers resting in a community center in a small country town.
And as soon as I walked through the door, Jun recognized me and yelled out, “My airport friend who break my foot!”. It was a remarkable moment.
THE GUIDEBOOK OF KABUL
It was my second day in Kabul and I had just purchased a half-torn, half-crumpled guide book of the city from a street vendor. This was not your typical guide book though, it was about the size of a postcard and had only 50 pages. But nonetheless, it had been written the year before and therefore represented the only semi-current guidebook for any traveler visiting Kabul.
As I wandered around the city, trying to locate the somewhat infamous Chicken Street, I came upon a small hotel and decided to inquire as to their nightly rates. After learning that the rooms were well out of my price range, I just sat down in the lobby for a while, escaping the chaotic traffic outside. The hotel owner kindly brought me some tea and I began reading through my guidebook, when another foreigner, perhaps in his early forties and dressed in a sport jacket, walked up to me.
“What do you think of that guidebook?” he asked.
“It’s ok, there’s not so much information in here, but I guess that’s expected given the current state of things,” I replied.
“Has it helped you at all?” he continued.
“A bit I guess, but I wouldn’t have paid more than the $3 I paid to get it,” I said with a little chuckle.
“I’m the author,” he said.
After a bit of backpedaling and a great deal of appreciation that this man didn’t take any offense to my comments, I found myself listening to valuable insider advice and recommendations from Dominic Medley, the one foreigner who seemed to have a greater knowledge of Kabul than anyone else.
In fact, his advice proved to be so reliable and solid that it ended up helping me out in ways that I never imagined. One week after I had left Kabul, I learned that two Swiss backpackers had been killed in one of the parks that I had originally planned to visit, but that Mr. Medley had strongly urged me to avoid. I remember reading the story and thinking that it could just as easily have happened to me had I never met this guidebook author in such an unexpected way.
IN CONCLUSION
We never know who we’re going to meet…so when we’re out there in the world, whether it be in a foreign land or in places more familiar, it pays to keep our ears and eyes wide open and to not shy away from meeting new people (something I’ve admittedly had problems with at times). The person sitting at the table next to you right now or the person you chat with while waiting in line at the bank, just may be someone who could teach you something new, put a smile on your face or even have a far more significant impact on your life.
Who are some of the interesting people you’ve met when you least expected it?
By Earl, on February 21st, 2010 |
I’m not a religious person. At all.
In fact, even though I was raised Jewish, the closest I ever came to regular religious practice was shortly after my eleventh birthday when I decided to become Amish.
My parents had just taken my sister and I on a vacation to Pennsylvania and after spending three days in Amish country, I thought I had discovered my calling. About an hour after we returned home to Boston, I gathered the family together in the living room and declared my intention to wear suspenders, refrain from using the telephone and to one day obtain my own horse and carriage.
Of course, several hours later, when my father asked if I wanted to go out for ice cream, I decided that perhaps being Amish wasn’t exactly the path I was looking for.
My only other experiment with a religious life occurred the following year when, after two long days of careful consideration, I declared my intention to live a strictly kosher lifestyle. This one lasted for no more than twenty minutes, right until my mother explained that I would not be able to mix dairy and meat and therefore would have to forgo eating cheeseburgers for the rest of my life, which at the time sounded devastating.
These days I’ve now stopped declaring random religious intentions, but I haven’t stopped being curious about religion in general and its role in the world. There is no aspect of any religion that I would not be wholeheartedly interested in experiencing and this curiosity has led me to Sufi festivals in Lahore, Buddhist celebrations in the Himalayas, multiple tours of the Vatican as well as ceremonies of the B’hai faith, Hinduism, Cao Daism, Judaism, Sikhism and Scientology.
And at times I’ve found myself fascinated, intrigued and impressed by what I’ve seen and participated in and other times I’ve been disturbed, shocked and confused. But no matter what, I’ve appreciated every religious experience and found myself to have gained a greater understanding of a people, culture or country as a result.
AN UNFORGETTABLE SHOW
This past Saturday night I went to Cancun, one of the wildest party cities on the planet, and I joined the throngs of people piling into the 15,000 seat soccer stadium. Everyone was rushing for the entrance hoping to find perfect seats, and by the time I made it inside, all that was left were a few seats on the topmost row, high above the field and quite far away from the stage. However, thanks to an impressive setup of spot lights and two massive television screens flanking either side of the stage, my seats didn’t seem too bad in the end.
As showtime approached, the crowd around me began applauding and cheering loudly and every few seconds someone would let out a deafening whoop of anticipation. Then, without warning, every single light in the stadium instantly shut off, prompting the audience to scream even louder and jump up and down until I could feel the stadium trembling beneath my feet.
Boom! The lights suddenly flashed back on – purples, whites, yellows, blues and reds lighting up the night time sky with the intensity of an atomic explosion. Music blasted out from the speakers scattered around the bleachers, putting the crowd into an uncontrollable frenzy.
The well-dressed MC slowly approached the microphone in the middle of the stage, tapping it a few times before yelling out: “Bienvenidos Cancun!! Bienvenidos Mexico!” over and over again.
And then, from behind the curtains, entered the star of the show…Mr…actually, Pastor…Cash Luna.
Yes, that’s right, Pastor Cash Luna.
And there I stood, surrounded by 15,000 bouncing, roaring people, all with arms raised high into the heavens, streams of tears falling from their eyes and strange tongues pouring out from their mouths.
Welcome to Noches de Gloria (Nights of Glory), my introduction to evangelicalism.
OBSERVATIONS FROM THE BACK ROW
As I stood in the back row looking down over the entire scene in front of me, listening to the modern religious rock songs, sermons, prayers and endless talk about miracles, my eyes remained wide open as I tried to soak it all in. I am certain that I could sit here now and write a few thousand words analyzing what I saw last night, but I’ve decided that I’m not going to write too much at all. I think I need more time to fully piece together what I witnessed among this crowd of intense believers and their savior Cash Luna.
What I will say is this:
Did I find it odd that the longest and most passionate sermon of the night dealt with the virtue of giving donations to Pastor Cash Luna’s organization? Of course.
Was it strange that after Pastor Cash asked anyone who had experienced a recent miracle to approach the stage, only a handful of people climbed out of the stands but a long procession of 300 people suddenly appeared from behind a hidden wall? Yes, it was.
Do I think Pastor Cash Luna could have chosen a less suspicious name? Definitely.
But again, I’m going to withhold from forming any opinions as I will admit that I still don’t fully understand what evangelicalism is all about. I do know that the combination of eerily trippy music, the loud wailing and convulsing of the crowd and the tears on the face of the Pastor himself, made me feel somewhat uncomfortable. Truthfully, and unlike many of the other religious ceremonies or celebrations I’ve taken part in around the world, I simply didn’t feel any connection with the message or vibe surrounding this event.
But clearly I was in the minority as I was absolutely the only one of the 15,000 attendees without my arms raised and without a tear in my eye. The family of six standing next to me spent the entire three and a half hours screaming in such terrifying tongues, sobbing so uncontrollably and shaking so violently that the volunteer staff in our section had to repeatedly check to make sure they didn’t require medical attention.
Did I experience the same power that this family undeniably felt? No. I actually felt confused and a bit freaked out by the fact that so many people believed giving money to a man of god who called himself Cash, was going to guarantee their entrance into heaven.
I’m not in any way trying to make fun of my experience last night. These are simply my initial thoughts after observing and trying to make sense out of something that had previously been completely unfamiliar to me.
Am I glad that I attended this event? Absolutely.
However, next Saturday, I think I’ll go to a night club in Cancun instead, where there’s a better chance that a man named Cash Luna will be the DJ, not someone asking me for money.
Have you ever been to a evangelical event? Was there something truly incredible taking place among the crowds that I simply missed?
By Earl, on February 17th, 2010 |
Standing naked in a room full of people is rarely my idea of relaxation, especially when every other person in the room is fully clothed. The attendant, Jaroslav, had told me to take off all of my clothes behind a curtain and then meet him over in one of the small cubicles on the other side of the room. So when I popped out from behind the curtain, the last thing I expected to run into was a line of ten teenage girls walking [...]
By Earl, on February 13th, 2010 |
A white, rusty, beat-up, early 1980s pickup truck came to a screeching halt only seconds after driving right by me. And as I stood on the side of the road, my heart began to beat a little faster as the truck shifted into reverse and backed up at a frighteningly fast speed. Again, the tires screeched, this time as the truck stopped right in front of me.
The driver, a large man with a torn and dirtied t-shirt, and a serious, angry-looking face, remained [...]
By Earl, on February 10th, 2010 |
By Earl, on February 9th, 2010 |
“Hello,” the young man shyly whispered after tapping me on the shoulder several times.
“Hello,” I replied somewhat groggily.
“Thank you,” he then said before turning around and victoriously running back to his group of friends who showered him with endless high-fives and pats on the back. My morning nap had been interrupted but I couldn’t help but smile.
I glanced around and sure enough, I was still surrounded by the same 150 Cambodians as when I had fallen asleep. We were all waiting [...]
By Earl, on February 5th, 2010 |
I was all set to finish up a post I had written about orange warning cones and holes in the sidewalk. I had worked on it all afternoon and only had a couple of paragraphs left to comb over when I decided to turn off my computer and head into town for a quick bite to eat. So off I went.
After the meal, as I was driving home (about an hour ago), belly full and eager to publish my post, I hit a [...]
By Earl, on February 1st, 2010 |
(This post is part of a unique project organized by Jonny over at www.thelifething.com. Through his efforts, a new inspirational eBook titled “SUCCESS” has just been released that consists of 30 bloggers’ personal definitions of the term ’success’ and how to achieve it. The eBook is completely free to anyone interested and can be downloaded here: The Success eBook. In addition, most of the bloggers featured in the book have written a post this week about their thoughts on success [...]
By Earl, on January 29th, 2010 |
Almost two weeks ago, as I grabbed a slice of pizza from a small cafe on my way home from a long walk, I met another American fellow. He had arrived into Playa del Carmen (the town where I am living) the day before for a 12-day vacation with his wife. At first glance, with his Nike t-shirt, New Balance sneakers and knee-high beige socks, Alfred looked like just another tourist in this well-touristy region of Mexico.
We spent about ten minutes chatting when [...]
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