4/14/14
At sea, Yankee Freedom III, Gulf of Mexico
What is it about being on a boat or driving on an open road that feels
so wonderful? My first thought was the
sense of freedom, but where is the freedom in being stuck in a small car or
boat with nowhere to go? Why do I not
feel that same sense of freedom from exploring around a new city? I certainly feel an amazing sense of freedom
when doing that, but it is not the same as I feel on a boat or on the
highway. My next thought is the sense of
power. Rand calls the cigar the ultimate
symbol of man’s power, and a Freudian analysis of that would probably accuse
her of penis envy, the cigar obviously being a phallic symbol. However, that was not how she meant it. No, the lit cigar dominates man’s absolute
dominion of nature, his ability to conquer one of nature’s most powerful
forces, fire, and use it to produce an object with a controlled burn. She continues how watching the smoke come out
of a lit cigar promotes creative and productive thought. If the lit cigar represents our dominion over
fire, then does the boat represent our dominion over water? Does the car represent our dominion over
land? That seems an inadequate answer,
but I think it is close to the mark.
The
answer is that speed represents power, not in the sense that power equals
weight times speed. (I might have missed
the mark on the physics there, but, more often than not, when you have
something that seems logical, and the units line up, it will be correct. I twice aced a physics exam where I hadn’t
paid attention all semester merely by combining the given values in the way to
produce the correct units for the answer and hoping the correct quantity
followed.) I will not explore why we
enjoy power, as I consider that too axiomatic for further discussion. After I closed last night, I went to work on
setting up the blog, no easy task, and it must have taken me an hour from the
time I closed to the time I sent out a notification to my Gmail contacts. I took meticulous care to edit down the entry
to a readable length and to make sure there was nothing in there that would
reflect poorly or upset anyone. Then it
was off. There was no taking it
back. Actually, that wasn’t true. I could have just deleted the post, but that
was not a good option. What if by not using a great entry as my
first entry, I set people off wrong and was never able to gain a
readership? It kept me up for another hour. I was looking at less than 4 hours asleep
once again.
The captain just mentioned
something about there being no lockers and that we operated on the honor system
on the island, which reminded me about something that happened last night that
I forgot to record. I saw another cigar
store on the walk to the restaurant, the biggest one yet, and I walked in. It was completely empty. I looked around, all around, and I could not
find anything. The only thing other than
cameras that was stopping me from helping myself to 100 cigars was the honor
system. I am not a thief in the night
(nor in the day), and I had no desire to deprive a business of its
property. Even the computer was left
unattended. I was so confused. I really wanted a cigar, and I chose
one. What I was I to do? I picked up the cigar, took my smallest
banknote out of my pocket, walked over to the camera, looked up, held the cigar
and the banknote, and put the banknote on the counter. The cost of the cigar was actually slightly
more, but my next smallest banknote was much too large, and I reasoned that the
price of the cigar included the operating costs of the store, and, since no one
was operating the store, I could take a little discount rather than trying to
figure out how to make change. I walked
away, laughing, thinking about the guy’s reaction when he came back to find my
banknote on the counter. Alright,
alright, I have gone on for more than 800 words, and I still have not made it
yet to this morning. I should make a
game to my readers of how many literary and movie references they can find in
each of my entries, since there usually are plenty.
I woke up absolutely freezing, and I then
realized why they said not to lower the temperature below 72F. I immediately turned off the air and crumpled
the note I had been planning on leaving criticizing the rule. I carefully planned how
much time I needed to get to the boat by 7AM, and it meant I needed to be out
the door by 6:30 AM, which left very little margin for error. I got my bags ready and hopped in the
shower. I got out, figuring it was about
6:20 AM, which would have put me right on schedule, and checked my cell
phone. It was 6:32 AM. How was I so far behind schedule? Showers always seem to take longer than I
expect. Does some sort of time warp
occur between the time you take off your watch and put it back on? It never makes sense. I raced to get dressed, grabbed my bags, and
ran to the car. I tried to back
out. It didn’t work. I was park too close to the car on my right
to back out to the left. It was the
Wachau Valley (full account available upon request) all over again, but I did not have 20 minutes to get through it
(actually, I did), nor did I have enough daylight to safely back out to the
right and drive in reverse. I managed to
repark my car so that was now hugging the car on the left, which allowed me to
safely back out to the left and exit the parking lot. I went to the front to drop off the gate
opener, and, as I was walking back to the hotel, I saw something across the
street from the hotel that made me laugh.
It was the town hall. Only
because of the joke I made last night did I stop to take a picture. Even though I had not had a Cuban (or even a
cigar), I announced “Key West Complete.”
I made my way to the ferry terminal, parking at the first garage I saw
on the right street, which was a mistake because there was actually a lot right
at the terminal, but it was okay. The
walk made me feel alive, ready to take on the world, all before 7AM.
When I checked in, I showed the guy my
ticket, but he wasn’t interested. He
asked me name. I had taken the student
discount, so he asked if I was a student?
Yes. Where? Hunter.
I could have just as easily said Gatherer, and he probably wouldn’t have
known the different. Maybe I should have
said Patrick Henry University. He then
asked if I had an NPS pass? Yes. He was shocked that someone so young would
have a park pass. If he knew me, that
would probably be the thing he found least shocking. I now had 30 minutes to kill before we
started boarding. I decided to read Les
Miz. I only got through a chapter or two
before he made the pre-boarding announcement.
There was only one part of it that mattered to me. No smoking on the boat. Well, that changed things. It also meant that I had brought too many
cigars, that I had only needed one or two, instead of four. We boarded, and I was starting to feel queasy. Figuring that my health was more important
than weight, I ate the whole half of a bagel, even though it exceeded my
carbs for the day, and just had a few bites of ham. I knew that it was probably the rocking
motion of the boat at the dock that was making me feel queasy, but I also knew
that I had never had trouble with boats before.
Actually, that’s not true, but I can’t remember the last time I was
nauseous from being at sea. I also can’t
remember the last time I have been this sick in general. However, as it always does, logic won out the
day, and, as soon as we were on our way, and I was outside on the top deck, I
was feeling better. I sat down and
proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.
Garden Key, Florida (Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas National Park)
“There is a prospect greater than the sea, and that is the sky.” I was going to say that the sea does nothing
for me, despite the fact that my parents are both in love with it, even if one
of them cannot go out on it, but that is not quite true. However, I do agree with Hugo’s
sentiment. What is a boat ride out on
the sea when you can flying 700 mph 30,000 feet above it? What is turquoise water when you can watch a
red and orange sun set into it? Charles
often jokes that they offered tourist flights to Mars, he would soon see a
picture of me on the Red Planet, holding my water, and smoking a cigar. Space, being the extension of the sky, is, of
course, an even greater prospect. What
is an arctic sunset when you know the spectacle of the Northern Lights will
follow? What are skies of blue and
clouds of white when you know a black night full of white stars will
follow? No reader, for me the sea is not
a reason to travel. The last time I went
to the Caribbean, I did not so much as get my feet wet. For me, the attraction that the sea holds is
the view of the things that come with being close to the sea. I mean island culture, old forts, and quaint
little towns, all with the water in the background. After I closed, I did a little more reading,
and I started to think that, although my phone could take the water, it might
not handle salt water quite as well.
There would only be one problem if my phone got fried while snorkeling, and
that would be getting in touch with my cousin, with whom I would be having
dinner tonight.
I hold my word to the
utmost regard. If I tell someone I am
going to do something, I do it, no question about that. If, for some reason, I can’t, I make sure to
find a way to tell them that I can’t. A
couple of months ago, my grandfather wanted to have dinner with me, but I told
him that I had a date that evening. He
replied that of course I would rather be with a lovely young lady than my old
grandfather. That was absolutely untrue,
and I was actually a little hurt. I
would much rather have seen my grandfather than I girl about whom I didn’t
care. It is just that I am the kind of
person who does not back out on a commitment because something better comes along. If it was reversed, meaning that I had made
plans with him first, and I had actually really liked that girl, I might have
called him and told him and asked if we could reschedule. He would have understood, but, again, that is
not the point. I told my cousin I would
have dinner with him, so it would have really bothered him if I left him
hanging because I decided to take my phone snorkeling.
I considering wrapping the phone in a plastic
bag and cutting a whole for the camera lens.
Then I got it. I would use the
resealable bag I was using for my cash, debit card, and ID. I had found a feature on the phone that let
you use it when wearing gloves, so I figured a plastic bag would have the same
effect. I gave it a try, and it worked
brilliantly. I could press the buttons,
and the pictures were quite clear. We
got off the boat, and I went straight to the sign. I asked someone to take my picture, and I
handed him the bag. It was then that I
realized, though he did not, that he was also holding my cash, debit card, and
ID. It was okay. We had just passed an armed park ranger when
we got off the boat. I wasn’t worried. I proceeded the VC, got my brochures,
souvenirs, and stamps. I knew that would
be the first thing I did, but I had no idea how I would spend the rest of the
four hours until I had to be back to the boat.
I decided to go snorkeling first to get it out of the way. I changed into my bathing suit, and went to
the beach. The snorkel gear was cheap,
uncomfortable, and shoddy. I got in the
water, and my flippers and filled up with sand and rocks. I was practically tripping all over
them. I took some pictures of myself to
show to Jimmy, who refuses to believe that I ever go in the water. Then it was go time. I went underwater and started taking pictures
of myself. I heard the distinctive click
of the camera, but I could not see anything.
My goggles were filling up with water, as were the nosepiece and the snorkel. I panicked and quickly surfaced. I couldn’t breathe. I was aspirating seawater. I repeated this process many times, trying
different things, but none of it worked. I
considered going back for another set, but I decided against it. I just hoped that I would have some useable
pictures. I used my shirt to dry
everything off, and I could see the salt stains on the outside of the big. I checked the pictures, and I found one or
two that were decent. I know had to make
a decision. Would I walk around the
island with my Cuban or get lunch first?
As I was walking back to return my gear, I joked to myself that I could
say “Democratic Florida Complete.”
I realized that that was actually no small deal and decided that I would
say that.
My appetite was
finally back, and I decided that I would get lunch first. I was very hungry, which was a good sign. Another good sign came when I made my way to
the top of the fort, figuring I could see the whole island by walking around
the top of it and plan my next move, and lit up my Partagas. Even though it was as dry as a bone, it
tasted fine. My appetite was back, and
my taste for cigars was back. I was
certainly not 100%, but I was clearly on the mend. The guy at the ferry terminal had told us that
we could smoke on the island, just not inside the fort. If anyone had questioned my smoking, I was
prepared to smartly answer that I was on top of the fort, not inside it. No one said anything. As I walked around, enjoying the wonderful
view, I saw one perfect spot, but I also saw a sign there that said “Beach
Closed,” so that was a no go. When I got
to the end of my loop, I decided that I would just sit down here at the top of fort. I did exactly that and proceeded to write
this entry, which I will now close.
Boynton Beach, Florida (Hunter’s Run)
This was the third time that I went to Key West, and this was the
third time that I left in terrible pain.
The first time, it was bug bites.
The second time, cat allergies.
This time, sunburn. The thing
about sunburn is that you do not feel it while you are getting burnt. No, that cruel trick of nature is what allows
you to sit out in the sun for an hour without sunscreen as you write your
Travelogue and only feel the pain when you get back to the boat. The pain then steadily worsens for the next
10 or more hours until it becomes beyond excruciating, and there is really no
cure for it other than time. When I got
back to the boat and changed, I sat down with my laptop. I forced myself to
get some work done, and looked over all the RFPs I had brought with me,
understanding the scope of work of each one, and created a .txt document with
the necessary information to price each one, but I did not have the energy to
actually put them each together. I don’t
know what possessed me to go upstairs and get even more sun, though it’s
possible I hadn’t yet realized that my burn was not a tan. We were soon on our way, and I reworking my 2015 vacation schedule that traded some a couple of days in the Caribbean for an extra day in the Canadian Prairie during my Yellowstone trip and an extra day on my crazy Sweden/Finland trip. I really want to say Scandinavia Complete
before I’m 30, but it is not one of my 30 Goals. It got me thinking about Completes again and
made me want to be able to better formalize the definition for subnational
entities, at least in the U.S.
*(This paragrah will drag in if you're not until all the minutia of what motivates my "checklist style" travel and can be easily skipped.) I defined
a NATION complete as all WORLD Heritage Sites and the NATIONAL government
building (plus the Cuban and meal and any Olympic Stadiums), and I defined a STATE
complete as all NATIONAL Park Sites and STATE government building (plus the Cuban
and the meal and anything required to say the NATION complete). That established a clear pattern. I would define a COUNTY complete as all STATE
parks and historic sites and the COUNTY government building (plus the Cuban and
the meal and anything required to say the STATE complete). I could then define a CITY complete as all
COUNTY parks and historic sites and the CITY government building (plus the
Cuban and the meal and anything required to say the COUNTY complete). That seemed too simple, though. I could probably walk over to Town Hall in
Scarsdale, take a picture, and say “Scarsdale Complete.” I decided to add a more federal element to
the definition. For a U.S. COUNTY, it
would have to include all National Landmarks.
For a CITY, it would have to include all sites listed on the National
Register of Historic Places. For
Scarsdale, that is an easy feat. There
are 5 of them, 3 of which are less than a mile away from my parent’s
house. In fact, I might have visited all
of them already. I bet I could do Scarsdale
Complete from scratch in under an hour with no car. In fact, I’m going to try it next time I’m
there. Westchester Complete is more of
an ordeal. The reason all of this is
important is that I structure a lot of my goals around my home.*
I
think it only fitting that I should include completes for my home STATE, COUNTY,
and CITY, even though they were not parts of the 17 Goals I have set for myself
for my 5 Years of travel, but do I count New York City or Scarsdale as my home
city? The idea of going around to every
place in New York City on the National Register of Historic Places is beyond
onerous, even just the National Landmarks would be a huge undertaking. I decided that, as far as the government is concerned,
I live in Scarsdale, so that would be the one I used. How did I get so off-topic?
Anyway, I decided to stop futzing on the
spreadsheet and write a proposal, which zapped all of my remaining energy, so I
turned off the computer and soon found myself drifting off. I spent most of the boat ride in such a
state, not caring that the sun was hitting my burnt skin, since the pain was
still just discomfort at that point. It’s
like when you stub your toe, and signal that tells your brain that you stubbed
your toe gets there much quicker than the one that tells it that your toe
should be in pain. I knew the pain was
coming, it just wasn’t there yet. I
opened my eyes once we got in view of Key West, and I had cell service
again. I expected my phone to blow up
with questions and comments about my Blog.
Reader, as I write this, I have seen that 15 people viewed the first
entry, including 2 from the Facebook link.
Where are your comments? Was last
night’s entry so bad that you stopped reading before you got to the end? Not even the ladies at the office, who
comment on practically everything I post, said anything. Was my comment about their obsessive cleaning
taken the wrong way?
I answered the
emails I received from my mother, and I was soon back on dry land and
starving. I decided that I would pick up
a little snack and settled on some Florida Stone Crab claws, which were served
cold, in the shell, and overpriced. This
was not exactly finger food, so I had to sit down at a bus stop and finish it
before heading to the car. My appetite
fully back and my taste for cigars with it, I decided it was time for a
Davidoff Special “R” Colorado Claro. I
had had a few puffs, but, as soon as I left the garage, I realized that I needed
to get gas and a newspaper before I left the island. I was able to do both at the same spot, but,
once I relit the cigar, it just wasn’t the same. As I was driving north, I saw a sign that
said that 4 people were killed this year in accident fatalities (on the Florida
Keys highway). It was the kind of sign
that had to be changed by hand. I soon
saw another sign that said there was a major accident in 24 miles. I went 24 miles and saw no sign of the
accident, and then there it was, the traffic jam.
My cousin had not yet texted me the name of a
restaurant for our dinner, so, figuring I would be stuck for a while, I looked
up some restaurants by him and found one that looked good. I texted him that as a suggestion, but he
decided to bail out instead. I said that
I could meet him anytime he wanted tomorrow, but he said that that would not
work either. This world is full of
people who either look for reasons to do things or look for reasons not to do
things. I am the former. My cousin is the latter. I was still hungry, so I decided that I would
stop as soon as I finished my cigar and had let the car air out enough. All that was left of the accident was a motorcycle
on its side, cordoned off by police type and marked with evidence markers. I morbidly said to myself that they had
better change the sign from 4 to 5. This
reduced the bridge from one lane in each direction to one lane total, which
meant the police had to alternate the traffic.
I felt bad for making the joke, but now I don’t. It was a single vehicle crash, meaning that
this idiot crashed his bike into the barrier because he was going too fast or
trying to make some kind of illegal maneuver.
About an hour later, the sun was starting to set, but I had to turn
around to see it, which was not safe.
Just as the sun was setting, I pulled into a little parking on the
beach, and the sun went into the water literally the second that I turned
around to see it. With no point in
staying, I turned around again and got back on the highway. I decided I would stop at the first place I
saw, which was a place called Habanos.
Not exactly having a schedule, but the traffic having added 20 minutes,
I was now looking at an arrival at my grandmother’s house past 10PM, which
would be late, though I had no schedule for tomorrow either, so it didn’t
really matter.
The food came out very
quickly, and I scarfed it down, particularly enjoying the grilled seafood
platter. That was when the Dutch Time (a term I use to describe wasted time through no fault of your own, since I had so much of it my morning in Amsterdam) came back, but it was more like Michelin Time. (I once had to start walking out of the restaurant to get my check at a Michelin 3-star restaurant after waiting for it for almost an hour.) It was 15 minutes from the time I finished eating to the time they came
over and asked if I wanted anything. 15
minutes with my plates and glasses in front of me on the cramped table they
gave me and 15 minutes later that I would be driving home in the dark. I was pissed.
After 10 minutes, I decided that I would give them a 10% tip. By the time it got to 15%, the tip was down
to just a dollar banknote that I would leave to let them know I didn’t
forget. After I asked for the check, it
was another 5 minutes before I got the check, which I immediately paid with a
single banknote that I knew would cover the bill. He asked me if I needed change? Yes, I needed change. The banknote would have provided a tip over
50%. He wasn’t even going to get a 5%
tip. It was 5 more minutes before he
brought the change. I left my dollar
banknote and walked away. I grabbed the
cigar I took from the empty cigar store last night, along with two other
possible ones for later. I lit it up,
and it tasted great, but it was rolled poorly.
I powered through, though, and the ride was unadventurous. I had been listening 00’s music the whole
ride up from Key West and for a good deal of the trip in hopes of hearing some
of the songs I liked from high school. I
had not yet heard a single one until I was getting off the highway onto
Atlantic Avenue. It was “Unwell” by
Matchbox 20, which I once considered my favorite song for a bit.
The next song was probably the
single song I wanted to hear more than any: “Sk8er Boi” by Avril Lavigne. Oh, how I loved that song. I knew every single word. I even wrote a paper about in my 9th
Grade English class. The reason I so
loved it, other than that I loved Avril, was because I wanted to be that Sk8er
Boi. There was a girl that rejected me
the year before in a way that make the Mean Girls like nice. I was going to write that she humiliated me,
but she didn’t. I don’t get humiliated
that easily. In fact, she wound up humiliating
herself. I had asked her by Instant
Message (remember those) if I could have a dance at the upcoming school dance. She agreed.
I was shocked. Was it my parents
who gave me the advice or someone else?
But I was told by someone of an older generation not to approach her
during a slow dance. Throughout the
dance, I kept trying to walk up to her, and she kept walking away. Eventually, one of her friends walked up to
me and told me I was making her feel uncomfortable. (I had approached during fast songs, and no one ever told me that fast songs were for "grinding.") I left, dejected.
Ever the gentleman, I apologized to her and
figured that would be that. She did not let
it go. She concocted a boyfriend who was
going to “meet me” during recess, and she even messaged me in his persona. After that played out, and I was clearly no
longer interested in her, and she saw that her game spent, she pretended that
it didn’t even matter anymore if I liked since she had become a lesbian. This girl was one of the stupidest people I
have ever known, and I knew that when I first asked her. It just didn’t stop my 8th Grade
self the way it would stop me today. She
then had her friends ask me if I still liked her? I honestly answered, “Not anymore.” But I had?
Yes.
In 9th Grade, all
I wanted other than the adorable girl in my English, History, and Design
classes, whom I thought I loved when I had no idea what love meant, was for
that gorgeous idiot to “see that man that boy could be” and learn that “there
is more than meets the eye.” I wanted to
be the Sk8er Boi and her to be the “pretty face” with “her head” “up in space.” That was why I so loved that song. That was why I knew every word. It gave me hope. I suppose, in a way, it has come true. I’ve spent the past two years travelling the
world. She works in customer service at
JetBlue. “What more can I say?” I rolled down the windows and blasted the
music, seeing how many words I would remember a decade later. The answer was most of them. I was so distracted that I missed my turn,
but I didn’t care.
I made my way to my
grandmother’s house, and she greeted me.
I had committed the unforgiveable sin of stepping on a leaf and bringing
into her house on the bottom of my sandal, so I had to immediately take them
off and put them in my room. I asked if
she had any aloe or lotion for my sunburns, which were starting to become
excruciating. She got me some hand
lotion. I started to rub it on my lower arms
first, and she told me to rub it on the upper arms. I responded that I was rubbing it where it
was most painful. She said that she
would think the upper arms would be most painful. It took every ounce of self-control I had to
not respond, “I think I would know what was most painful.” She also made me hot dogs, and it took a lot
of convincing for me to get her to agree that I would prefer my hot dogs crispy
rather than just warmed up. Eventually,
she went back to her book and asked if I would be okay to take them out of the
toaster when they were crispy enough for me.
After the hot dogs, I went to my bedroom where I checked the views on
Blog and was shocked to see 39 page views in just 24 hours. I suppose a bunch came from me but certainly
not 39. I then proceeded to write this
entry, which I will close, since I still need to edit the Blog version.
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