Objects in mirror are closer than they appear.

I placed my first order of food in Spain! I got chicken fillets with a glass of wine. And I did it in the broken Spanish that I had pieced together in a couple of hours.

The nice old man, Jesus, at the hostel I was staying at helped me. He was really good at English, and told me some key phrases. Monica helped me, too, and using both of their lessons, I was able to order a glass of white wine without getting a whole bottle.

The dish I ordered was a chicken fillet in a creamy yellow sauce, and I had it with bread. The meal was very satisfying. After that, I tried a local burger joint. The fast food restaurant was where I failed, though. I could order something, but couldn’t understand anything the guy was asking. At least I was able to say sorry for not understanding. After that, it remained to be seen whether I would get the food at all!

And as I sat at the table, writing this in my journal pad, I figured out through observation that I needed to pay with my receipt after ordering before I would get my food. Man, people must have though I was stupid just sitting there for almost 10 minutes, waiting for nothing.

When I actually took my receipt up and paid, I got the food immediately. And the burgers here are delicious. They taste freshly made!

Travel update: I have just been manifested on a flight to Ramstein, Germany. I think I was more anxious about this one than at Dover!

There’s something about traveling that unites people. Every step of my travels, I’ve met somebody that I’ve had a good conversation with, or somebody that helped me on my way. Similarly, I’ve been more generous in helping my fellow travelers with any flight information I have.

People I’ve met so far:

A college grad who is a pastry chef for a golf resort. Kind of air-headed. When I talked about the Navy, her only knowledge was Top Gun. Sigh.

A vegan who goes to John Hopkins. An English major who I ended up talking to about the 2nd Amendment and Oregon and Maryland.

A black vegetarian guitarist in a amateur rock band. I met him at Edgewood, the middle of nowhere stop I got off at while I was at Baltimore. He was the coolest guy, and we talked about how Barack Obama being black isn’t a reason to vote for him, and how Switzerland and Sweden were the best countries that took care of their citizens.

An Army Private trying to get back to Ramstein who had been in the airport for three days and no money. Man, I felt bad for him.

A man and woman who had just gotten home from San Diego, and wanted to know what “Oh-Re-Gone” is like. Very sweet and friendly people.

An old salty veteran who was in the Navy for 16 years and had seen a lot of the world. He had some great stories to tell. He was trying to get to Travis Air Force Base and then Guam to meet some of his friends.

A brief travel update: I’m at Dover AFB now. I tried to catch a flight to Ramstein today, but it was carrying ammunition, so passengers weren’t allowed. There’s one tomorrow to Rota, Spain, and I’m going to try to be on that.

I feel like Forrest Gump. I’ve been sitting at a bus stop in Dover, Delaware, trying to get to the Air Force Base for over two hours. Several busses have come and gone, along with their passengers. On the bench I’ve been sitting at, people have come and gone as well. Young, old, black, white, big and small alike.

If today’s character for me is Forrest Gump, yesterday’s was The Terminal. I was in the airport with just a suitcase and bad, no flight anywhere or place to stay, and about to sleep in the airport terminal. Luckily, as Jason Bourne said in the Bourne Supremacy book, Money is the passport to manueverability. With that, I decided not to do The Terminal, and not be like the Army kid who had been sleeping in the airport since Sunday.

At the bus stop, I’ve been talking to an old man who is trying to Space-A travel like me. He was in the Navy for 16 years, and has seen the better part of the world. Talking to him is both reassuring about the Navy, and Space-A travel. With Space-A and the Navy, he’s been to Hawaii, Guam, Japan, Korea, and the Philippines. He’s proof that this method of travel works, and that the Navy experience likewise isn’t so bad.

Apart from him, Delaware sucks. They say it was the first state. I think it was lucky to have been a state at all!

After long and exciting travels, I am finally in Baltimore-Washington International Airport. Also known as Thurgood Marshall Airport, this place is much more racially diverse. That is the first thing that stood out to me. I wanted to see what the city was like, but I was unable to. I did get to see it from the train, and from what I’ve heard, there are some very ‘good’ parts to visit, but the surrounding areas are ‘riff-raff’. Straight from the words of a local inhabitant that I befriended during my travels.

Being military over here is pretty sweet. The USO (United Service Organization) has a big office in the airport, with a lounge, baggage check, and computers. It’s been filling up as th eday has gone by, with lots of hopeful travelers like myself. I felt sympathy for the families trying to reconnect with their sponsors (active duty servicemen and women). Some of them have been waiting for flights since the middle of June.

Earlier today, I got lost going to Baltimore, which is why I didn’t get to see the city. I fell asleep on the train, and missed the stop. When I woke up, I was crossing the Chesapeake Bay to a place called Edgewood. I had to get off where I could, so I did at this Edgewood, which turned out to be a little more than the middle of nowhere. Checking the returning train schedule, I found out that it was a rare stop for trains to pick up passengers at, and there would be one train returing back to the airport for the rest of the day. It was an hour and a half away.

The ticket office was closed, and I was so afraid I wouldn’t be able to buy tickets or get back! Luckily, at the stop, I met a guy who was also waiting for the train, and assured me that it would work out. I ended up striking a conversation with him. To be honest, he’s probably the first black guy that I’ve really had an extended conversation with. On the train ride back, we traded political views, stories about our families, college, and friends. He told me about the gangs in Baltimore and how bad the public school system is. It’s something else over here. Another world. But he got out, and he’s on the track to something better. He plays rock music with an amateur band and is going to college hoping to be a lawyer or policeman someday.

Arriving in Portland, I was more interested in visiting a street faire that I had found my last time in town. I purposely skimped on breakfast at home so I could eat more later.

I was pretty sure that my flight was leaving Portland around 1:30 PM. I wasn’t too sure, but I wasn’t too worried, either. The light rail to the airport wouldn’t take too long, and I still had an hour and a half.

At the faire, I was faced with a difficult choice: Thai? Burgers? Indian? Philly Cheese Steak? I walked back and forth between the booths, realizing that while everything looked delicious, I was limited by money and stomach space. After deliberating, I decided on a philly cheese steak and a box of Pad Kee Mao for later.

Suddenly, I was very aware of the time. I had only spent half an hour at the faire, but less than hour to get to the airport suddenly seemed sparse. And I realized that the light rail would take longer than I had previously thought. I wasn’t sure of my departure time, and as I thought about it, I couldn’t remember waht airline I was even traveling with!

As the MAX light rail rushed to the airport, the clock’s hands seemed to be rushing even faster. I pleaded with my watch to spare me a few minutes, but it ruthlessly counted down to my unknown departure time. Halfway to the airport, it was already 12:50 PM, and I wasn’t sure about making the flight anymore.

Finally, the plane pulled into the airport. I almost yelled at the operator as he took up valuable seconds lining the train up with the station, seconds I could have been using to run to my flight of unknown departure time and airline.

The train doors finally blissfully opened, and I darted out to the terminals. As I neared the check-in areas, I heard a dreaded call: US Airways flight to Las Vegas, departing at 1:24 PM, final boarding call.

Right then, I figured out my flight time, airline, and also that I was not going to be on that plane.

Luckily, US Air transferred me to a later flight at no charge, and the connections worked out. I bought a Jamba Juice, sent out a flurry of text messages, nervously ate some Pad Kee Mao, and settled in with the other thousands of travelers waiting for their flights.

For the summer, I have done these things so far:

Read Dune, The Alchemist, Animal Farm, and parts of Leviathan and Two Treatises of Government.

Finished Call of Duty, Call of Duty: United Offensive, Call of Duty 2, and about 90% of Fallout.

Left Oregon (and will again on Monday!).

Floated down a river.

Took over a hundred photos a week.

Mowed the lawn.

Remembered more than a few dreams.

Saw Wall-E.

Shot guns.

Played Axis and Allies.

Cooked dinner for various people.

Slept in until 12.

So here’s a quick update on my travel situation…

Since I’m winging it over to Europe (no pun intended), I still haven’t finalized my plans, and they won’t be finalized literally until I’m on a plane over to Europe. But here’s what I’m thinking to do:

Fly commercially from PDX over to Baltimore-Washington International, and hope for a flight to Ramstein Air Force Base (Germany) or Naval Station Rota (in Spain) from there. If BWI doesn’t have Space Available flights within a few days of my window, I’ll hop over to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, which flys more frequently to Ramstein and Rota.

Once I get to either Ramstein or Rota, I’ll have to take a train or something to Geneva, which I still haven’t figured out yet.

This travel plan is great because there are so many things that could go wrong, and so many variables that could change along the way. I’m excited for this haphazard adventure.

As I unpacked all the stuff from my apartment, I ran across many little trinkets that stirred memories of the year. Most of them are inside jokes that nobody else will get. These are some of the things that answer the question: What is best in life?

To crush your enemies, to see them running before, and to hear the lamentations of the women!

Tank paper
Telling
Ethnocentric Fridays
Dumplings
Red vs. Blue
The Game
Jewish Holiday
Evil Pacman
Romandy
Curry and many cans of coconut milk
Christmas and Easter Mass
Bubble Tea at Berkeley
In-n-Out
Driving through LA
“Whatever, it’s up to you.”
Half gallon of rum and Natural Ice
King’s cup
Duck Football games and their interesting scoring scheme
BBQ at my parents and Pictionary
Paintballing
Cobwebs
Cake on pants
Midnight runs down route Autzen
Smoked Lager
Pride Rock
Chocolate
Coriander
Scottish accents
Yummy!
“That’s crap.”

Stinky
Spooky
So sensitive
Food in a box
Trident Tropical Fruit Gum
Drama!
Slience of Sleep
We’re skipping class!

Things I’ve managed to do this week:

Bitch about my paper

Almost beat Call of Duty

Level up to 7 on Exteel

Rack up over $10 of library fines

Stay up past 4 AM two nights in a row

Eat almost half a cheesecake

Eat almost a whole pizza by myself

Not do the research for my 20 page research paper until the last two weeks

Not to my research paper until 24 hours before deadline

I swear, my life is going around in circles.

One day, I’ll break out of it.

For the time being, something about going on a 5 mile run makes me feel a lot clearer. Or at least a lot better, even if I’m coming back to the same problems.

I updated my calendar. I rearranged my room, cleaned up some of my clothes, restacked my books, and vacuumed. I’m paintballing on Saturday, and the clarity of being on the pseudo-battlefield should be a good escape from the confusing dredge of civil social interaction in this cage of concrete, glass, and asphalt that I am stuck in.

I want to go back to Pride Rock.

Pride Rock - Canon EOS Rebel XTi with 50mm f/5.6 at 200 ISO

Home is wherever we are

If there’s love there, too

- Jack Johnson, Home

We’re back. What an epic week.

2000 miles. Up and down California. 5 people. In-N-Out 3 times. Bubble Tea. Sunburns. Gas. Lots of it. Food. Food. Food. Palm trees. The same songs on my iPod…over…and over…and over…

I’ve been home and alone for no more than 30 minutes, and I already miss you guys.

Random thought: I am so ready for one day when the SHTF.

I won’t be on here for a week. Going on a roadtrip to California, but I’ll make sure to post pictures when I get back.

Have a good break, dear readers.

Much like the economy, emotions change like waves. I am definitely subject to those trends, and most of my friends would agree. I get in depressive slumps, where I feel gloomy or down, for whatever reason. It’s perfectly natural, but at the time, it still sucks. Everything seems negative, and I tend to become very pessimistic and insecure.

I think I’m getting used to these slumps. I’ve dubbed them Personal Recessions, and I am getting better at figuring out when they’re coming up. And for some unknown reason, I’m feeling like one of these recessions is coming up soon.

Stay tuned.

Ghostly PLC - Canon EOS Rebel XTi with 35mm f/2.2 at 400 ISO

I am a cat.

That is all.