The Baltic - Day 2 - Across the Sea

5/24/15, “Across the Sea”

Stockholm Arlanda Airport, Sweden (ARN)

Enjoying a Montecristo in an airport smoking lounge with two gorgeous Swedish girls is definitely the perfect way to end my time in Sweden.  After I finish this entry, I will fly across the Baltic Sea to Helsinki, where I will spend the next day and a half.  Today is a travel day, and travel days are often wasted time.  My flight is not until 3 PM, and yet, I only had enough time for one site, a site that was thirty minutes from my hotel by metro.  I won’t have much time for activities tonight, though my flight lands at 5 PM, five hours before sunset.  The Olympic Stadium closes at 6 PM, but I should be able to visit Parliament and have a night out on the town.

Tomorrow will be a full day in Helsinki, and I can do whatever I want.  My time in Sweden has been rushed, while my time in Finland will be at a more relaxed pace.  I might even have time to take another jaunt across the sea to Estonia if I want, but I don’t think I’ll do that, instead preferring to enjoy Finland.  Fika, saunas, vodka, and, of course, the 1952 Stadium, that’s what Finland means to me.  I will make sure to find time to enjoy all of that, along with visiting the usual sites and getting the usual souvenirs.

I am almost out of Kroner, though I have one banknote that I might spend on a newspaper, saving the coins for souvenirs.  Finland uses the Euro, and the exchange rate right now is amazing, so good in fact that I am considering taking out an extra sum of Euros just to have for when the exchange rate goes up, though I will not be back in the Eurozone until 2016 I do not think (trips to Rome and Athens).  Alright, enough about my economic theories.

I slept in today, and I headed to the sauna.  Fuck, I just realized that I forgot to shower.  Oops.  The sauna has a shower, so I was planning on taking the shower there, but when I went into the sauna, it did not feel hot enough.  Sure enough, the coals were cool to the touch, and the heat source was turned off.  I went up to the room, the shower forgotten, changed back into my pajamas, and headed down for breakfast.  I love the Nordic-style breakfast, the sliced meats and cheeses and, of course, coffee, it’s all so good, they just need to learn how to properly cook bacon.  However, I had no appetite, but I forced myself to eat, knowing I would not have another chance for an Official meal until Helsinki, having decided not to try to get Swedish meatballs for lunch, something I’m sure I’ll eventually regret.

I went back up, got dressed for the day, and went to check out, still groggy.  I headed to the metro, where I saw that the train to Morby Centrum was coming in 2 minutes.  I raced to get the ticket, and head down the stairs, but it was pulling away just as I got to the platform.  Time was a little tight, and the next train was not for ten minutes.  Reader, recall that I was still groggy at this point.  About five minutes later, I heard a train coming in the opposite direction.  I then remembered with a start that I wasn’t taking the Morby Centrum heading, that I was going the opposite direction, back toward Central Station (I can heard my dad recalling his famous Austria story, “Where are you going?”  “Vienna”  “Not on this train, you’re not.”), so I raced across the station, getting to the train just in time.  I then had to transfer to another line.  It took a while to get to the station, but it was worth not having to get fleeced on a taxi ride.

I walked to the WHS, Woodland Garden cemetery, which is noteworthy for its pleasing and novel architectural style.  I took my pictures at the plaques, lit up a Partagas, and made my way to the VC.  I’m not sure about the merits of smoking in a cemetery, but I was really just walking (with my suitcase, forgot to mention I had my suitcase with me) along a road through the cemetery, and I wasn’t exactly ashing on anyone’s grave.  I got to the VC, bought a sparkling water, and made my way back to Central Station, where I caught the express train to the airport.

After I checked in and went through security, I headed to Duty-Free.  Since this is considered a domestic flight (Sweden and Finland both being in the EU), I could not by any of Sweden’s famous vodka, but I did get two 5-packs of cigars.   I asked where the smoking lounge was.  They do not have smoking lounges here, instead having what they had in Vienna, these crammed little smoking cabins, about the size of, how would I describe it, the size of a handicapped restroom stall.  Up to six of us have been in here at one point.  I am the only one smoking a cigar.

Scandinavia is a land of smokers.  They like to drink coffee, and they love to smoke.  Finland is technically not Scandinavia, but I expect the same is true there, too.  There is also one seat here.  I have the one seat.  I am quite happy about that.  Once I was situated, I lit up a Montecristo and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can finish my cigar.  Boarding begins in 30 minutes.

Helsinki, Finland

It is lunchtime in New York.  Actually, if I was in New York, I’d be done with my lunch break by now.  My friends and family back home are at the beach or pool or getting ready for barbeques.  They have gone to visit family or else are relaxing with their friends.  What am I doing?  I am smoking a cigar in Helsinki, getting ready to go out to dinner at one of Finland’s premiere restaurants.  Not much has happened today, and this dinner should definitely be the highlight of the day (they have reindeer steak).  I will pass by Parliament along the way, but that’ll just be a photo op.

I have a pocketful of Euros, and I expect my bank account to be almost drained by the time I get back to New York, literally just enough dollars to last me until my next pay check.  It’ll be, I think, yes, three months, before I embark on another trip that will cost me more than meals, cigars, and souvenirs.  I can afford to make a small investment in the weak Euro recovering.  After I closed at Arlanda, I picked up my last fika and a newspaper.  I finished the fika before I got on the airplane, but I haven’t looked at the newspaper yet (it’s in Swedish).  It was a very short flight, only 40 minutes in the air, and I’m not sure if I fell asleep, but I rested my eyes the whole flight.  I realized that, other than at the check-in counter, I did not have to show my passport the entire time in the airport.  I only showed my passport to look up the reservation, and I could have done that at the machine by code.

When we landed in Finland, there were no immigration or customs checks.  In other words, you can fly from Sweden to Finland with no form of ID.  You can’t even fly from New York to Chicago without ID.  I went straight to the ATM, where I retrieved my Euros, got a taxi into town, and that was I finally understood why Finland is more continental Europe than Scandinavia.  It’s hard to explain, maybe it was the road signs, but it felt more like I was in Germany than I was in Sweden.  Granted, the love of coffee, vodka, and saunas is shared between Sweden, Finland, and Russia, but Finland owes more cultural influences to Russia than it does to Sweden, I think.  I don’t think the Vikings were ever in Finland, were they?  Norway, well that’s something else entirely.  My best friend had talked about doing this trip as a 24-7 week-long road trip, literally only stopping to eat, U, and take pictures, hitting every single WHS in Norway, Sweden, and Finland.  In the end, neither of us were able to do the trip that way, and here I am, getting ready for a relaxing stay in Finland.

I got to the hotel, perfectly situated halfway between the Olympic Stadium and Parliament, an easy walk to each.  As soon as I got settled in, I went straight to the sauna, my muscles store sore from climbing the fence at the Stockholm Stadium.  That done, I picked out a restaurant, and headed down to the smoking area outside, where I proceeded to write this entry.  Even though I have a smoking room, this seems a more relaxing place to write my entry.  I am just freaking freezing.  Usually, I’m fighting against time and battery when writing these entries, but I have enough charge to last me over an hour, it is still relatively early, and I have about an hour of cigar left.  The restaurant is about 20-30 minutes away.  I have simply run out of things to say, so I shall close and just write some proposals instead.

It is close to midnight, and the sun has set almost two hours ago, but it is still light outside.  Because we are so far north, the twilight will last for quite some time.  Sunrise is in four hours, so solar midnight is just one hour away.  This is another reason why I so love The North.  Other than Antarctica, nowhere on land in the southern hemisphere has that effect.  Obviously, it was more magical when I was on the ship playing charades at 2 AM when it was as bright as day, but the magic here is not lost, especially with ABBA playing from my phone in the background.  After I closed, I wound up reading Quora instead of working.  I left my cigar outside and went up to put on a little bit extra in terms of layers (socks and shoes, my maroon shirt as a jacket), retrieved the cigar, and started walking towards the restaurant.

I had trouble finding Parliament, which I knew to be under renovation.  It turned out that the whole building was blocked off, but I was able to get a somewhat decent photo before ditching the cigar (Winston Churchill, didn’t mention that earlier) and continuing to the restaurant.  The walk took me through downtown Helsinki and gave me some clarity into what I want to do tomorrow.  I got to the restaurant, and I realized once again there was more in common with Germany than with Sweden.

I got the “Taste of Finland” appetizer, a sampling of four different local specialties, and the reindeer steak, along with a local beer.  The appetizer sampler was delicious, the reindeer even better.  Meanwhile, I was scrolling through Tinder (more on that later) and Facebook.  Of all the people from the Antarctica trip, there is only one whom I absolutely certain I still love.  While we were on the ship, she was like a big sister to me, and she is the one person whose posts make me smile more than anyone else.  She is Moscow right now, and she posted a picture of herself in a killer dress (not revealing, just killer, as in an amazing dress).  I Commented on it, “I think my heart just skipped a few beats [heart eyes emoji],” not exactly the kind of the thing a brother would say to his sister, but not the kind of thing that I would say to someone I had romantic interest in, either.  Alright, more on that later, too.

The waitress then asked if I wanted dessert.  I got some bilberry (not blueberry) concoction, which somehow took half an hour to bring out.  Did they have to go pick the bilberries?  It was Germany all over again, and I’m sure it was intentional, but I just don’t understand why they think I wanted to sit there, scrolling through my phone for half an hour waiting for dessert.  If I was with a date, that would make sense, yes, but to wait half an hour to bring the dessert out for someone sitting alone makes no sense.  Maybe they just don’t have separate policies.  Should I just learn to start asking for my desserts to be brought out right away?  Is that even appropriate?  The dessert was delicious and worth the wait.

I lit up a Cohiba for the walk home, and I saw the evening star.  What did I wish for?  The same thing I have been wishing for since the Clinton administration.  I then sang the first few bars of “When You Wish upon a Star.”  As I was walking back, I found a spot with a better view of Parliament.  I guess I can take my picture there tomorrow.  I also found my souvenir shops, and I saw the Olympic Tower.  I’m going to punt on Estonia, preferring to save it for when I can do a proper Baltic trip (Tallinn, Riga, Vilnius), and I have even more clarity on how I’ll spend tomorrow.

I then started to become concerned that my best friend hadn’t texted me all day.  Did I do something to piss him off?  Maybe there was a Jewish holiday?  Yep, that was the case.  He would be off the grid for three full days, which meant that I need to make sure he had an epic Snapchat reel when the holiday was over.  I put on ABBA and started singing along to "Dancing Queen."  After I sent my Snaps, I wondered with whom I could share this magical experience.  There were plenty of people in my contact list who would have appreciated, but I knew who would appreciate it most.  My former co-worker, the one I’ve come to love like a sister.  I was right, and we texted back and forth quite a bit.  The electricity in the hotel is going out at 1 AM, and I’m not sure if the Wi-Fi will stay on, so this cut into the time significantly, but I didn’t regret the decision, not at all.  We finished texting, and I lit up my Ardor and proceeded to write this entry.

Alright, the love and beauty sections.  I’ll start with beauty, using the Tinder example for a specific reference.  To my readers over 30, Tinder is a dating app that is based on the shallowest of premises.  You see a picture of the girl and swipe left if you’re not attracted, right if you are attracted.  If you both swipe right, it gives you the option to message her.  Returning to my statement that Sweden has the most beautiful women in the world.  Perhaps the metric would be the percentage of women I’d swipe right using Tinder in that country?  I was not surprised that I swiped right far more frequently than I did in New York.  However, here in Helsinki, the percentage was similar to New York.  Granted, this a very shallow and subjective method for testing the theory, but it seemed to hold.  For my further ideas on beauty, I refer my reader to last year’s entries from this time.

Okay, love.  That is so much more complicated.  These girls I have mentioned that I love like sisters, why?  Why do I love them?  I can point to no rational reason.  I love them like sisters, and they make me happy whenever I get a text from them or see their posts on my social media, but that is for irrational reasons.  Two of them I now have rational reasons for loving, the text exchanges we have bringing me great value, but I loved them both long before we had these daily text exchanges.  I am hereby forced to conclude that love can be irrational, despite what Rand might argue, and it would irrational to dismiss to irrational love for one simple reason: we are irrational creatures.  There is no such thing as a purely rational man.  John Galt does not exist.  On that note, I close.

The Baltic - Day 1 - Stockholm 1912

Stockholm 1912 (Or: How I Pulled an Ass Muscle Sneaking into the Olympic Stadium)

5/23/15, “Stockholm 1912”

At sea, MS Victoria, Lake Mälaren, En route Stockholm to Birka

Love and beauty, that was the theme of my 2014 Memorial Day trip, and it seems that it is fast becoming the theme of my 2015 Memorial Day trip.  I am not in love with anyone romantically, and the only people I love in my life are my family and friends, the people who have been there for me decades and the people who can brighten my day with a single text message.  There are some other people of whom I am very fond, people whom I might even say that I love out of that fondness, but the ones I truly and deeply love, it’s the same nine or ten people it was three months ago (five family members, four or five friends).  I don’t need to justify or defend my love for them.  Now, beauty, that’s a more interesting topic.  I have been told that Swedish women are the most beautiful in the world.  That is not an absolute.  It’s more of a percentages thing, but I do not doubt it.  In the three hours since I arrived at the airport, I have seen more more beautiful women than I might see in a week in New York.  I will pause while we dock.

The most beautiful woman I have ever met was in my high school.  I can say with absolute certainty that I could go door to door in every home in Stockholm, and I would not find a more beautiful woman.  Why?  How am I so certain that that girl from my high school is the most beautiful woman in the world?  Let’s look at the numbers of it.  There were about 600 girls in my high school.  There are about 3 billion girls in the world.  The odds of the most beautiful girl in the world being in my high school was literally one in a million.  Alright, beauty is not an absolute.  Narrowing down the age range, we can reduce that 3 billion to about 100 million.  Allowing for theories of Genetic Sexual Attraction, we could even go down to 100 thousand, but it reduces the number at my high school to about 300.  Applying these filters brings the odds to one in three thousand, practically negligible.

What’s the answer to this apparent contradiction?  It presupposes that, at 16 years old, I had an absolute definition of beauty, that somehow she measured up to an absolute standard in a way no one else did.  That is wrong.  It is the other way around.  She informed my very definitions of beauty.  My impressionable 16-year-old self formed a definition of beauty based on her.  That is why I can say, a decade later, with absolute certainty, that I will not find a more beautiful woman in the world.  Granted, there have been other influences, and most of the beautiful women here look nothing like her, but they all have the “northern look” that I mentioned when I traveled to Alaska last summer.  Alright, enough about this for now.

My adventures.  Technically, I haven’t really done anything yet this trip, but I have had quite a series of adventures on my way to my first stop.  It started when I went to board.  There was an error message that said “already boarded.”  Without going into too many details, long story short, they upgraded another passenger to the Plus section (basically the equivalent of domestic Business Class), but they clicked on my name.  They were not able to give me my original seat back.  I was afraid I would be denied boarding.  Well, what happened?  They told the other guy, the guy they originally upgraded he had to take my old seat, and I got the Plus seat.  It was a major boon, and it allowed me to sleep effortlessly en route.  That said, SAS is the worst intercontinental airline I have ever flown.  If you are not in Plus or Business, they charge for a second soft drink.  As it was, I got unlimited free beer and soda (I had one of each).  There were issues with the Wi-Fi, but I just wanted to sleep.  Well, to do that, I needed to get my tray cleared away, but I fell asleep while they were clearing the trays, and I woke up with my tray still there.  Eventually, they came back around.

When we landed, border control was a breeze, just like it always is in the EU.  No forms, barely a line, just a few questions.  Now, what to do?  The Olympic Stadium closes at 8 PM, and it won’t get dark until 10 PM, so I had plenty of time.  The variable was the Viking archaeological site of Birka.  I went to the information desk, and they told me that there was one boat back and forth to Birka.  It left at 9:30 AM and got back at 3 PM.  It was literally perfect timing.  I could then go to Drottningholm, the cemetery, the Stadium, the Royal Palace, and Parliament.  Just like I did a year ago in Tokyo, I took the high speed train to Central Station.  Why doesn’t New York have this?!?  It was the easiest and fastest way to get into town, and it is half the price of a taxi.  I then took a subway to my hotel, and they were able to check me in.

I made my way back to the station and walked to the boat terminal from there.  We were underway before long, and I went down to get my first fika (a coffee and pastry).  After I was done with the pastry, I went up to the deck and asked where I could smoke.  It is chilly and windy, but the smoking chair happens to the one spot that is in the sun and sheltered for the wind, so I can endure.  I lit up my Davidoff Nic Diadema (the Toro having been sold out) and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close.  We should be at Birka in half an hour, so I will continue from there.

Birka, Sweden

It is abundantly clear where I am right now.  I am in The North.  Despite the 900-year-old churches, the Old Gods still rule here.  It has been clear to me ever since we landed that we are in The North.  The trees at the airport left no doubt of that.  If it were not for the stamp on my passport, I might have thought I was in Scotland, but the Viking ruins here at Birka make it clear that I am in Sweden.  What is it about The North?  What’s the allure?  Why do I constantly travel here?  I wrote about it during the Alaska trip, but the serenity of The North is unmatched.  The trees, the mountains, the long summer days, there is nothing like it in the world.

Now, here at these Viking ruins, it is even more magical.  I can practically hear the theme from Game of Thrones playing, though that might just be me humming it.  There is so much that can be said about The North.  It is not just a geographical location.  It is a way of living.  Why, reader, should Yellowknife, Canada have more in common with Birka, Sweden than it does with Toronto?  Why should Maine be more like Stockholm than it is like Boston?  It is because it is The North.  What is so common across the longitudes that is not found with drops in latitude?  Mayhaps it can be said that culture changes across the longitudes while climate changes across the latitudes.  However, is not most culture based on climate?  On that theory, it should be no surprise to find similar cultures around the world at this latitude, just like the North American tropics have a common culture, whether they are British-, French-, or Spanish-speaking.  I have much and more to say on this topic, but my battery is running low, and I want to save enough power to write at the Stadium.

After I got off the ship, I went straight to the gift shop, finding the Plaque along the way.  I couldn’t decide what to get at the gift shop, knowing I would make a better decision once I had seen the site.  It has been raining on and off, but I am now actually quite warm in the sun.  There was a guided tour of which I wanted no part, so I waited it out.  I lit up a Churchill and went to see the reconstructed houses.  That was when it hit me, the magic of where I was.  Wait, holy fuck, I’m in Sweden.  With all of my travel, sometimes I forget that just 24 hours ago I was asleep in my bed in New York.  Now, I am at an ancient Viking archaeological site half a world away.

I took my pictures at the reconstructed village and then wondered around a bit, hardly seeing another person.  I made my way back to where I saw the tour group, but I wasn’t sure what was there.  Where these burial mounds?  If so, I didn’t really care who was buried there, just the fact that they were Viking burial mounds.  This adventure will consume half of my day and give me a tight schedule for the rest of the day, but it has been well worth it, and it is the perfect way to start off the trip.  I headed backed down the hill and found a nice bench, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can head back to the VC and get some food before we make our way back to Stockholm.  I will then go to Drottningholm, where I hope to find my replica, the first WHS replica of the year that I will be able to put on my desk.  On that note, I’ll close.

Stockholm, Sweden

This is it, the big moment.  103 years ago, perhaps in this very spot, after Jim Thorpe won the Decathlon at the Games of the V Olympiad, King Gustav said to him, “You, sir, are the greatest athlete in the world.”  Thorpe’s response?  “Thanks, King.”  I am literally sitting where history was made.  This not just my 17^th Olympic Stadium.  This one is special, but it almost didn’t happen.  It was not the first Olympic Stadium I’ve snuck into, and it might not be the last, either (Melbourne, Athens, I’m talking about you).  More on that later.

After I closed, I went back to the VC, where I got my lunch.  “What did the Vikings eat?”  Pulled pork and beer, apparently.  That’s what I had.  I then lit up my Radice and got on the boat when I was done.  I fell asleep before we left port, waking up as we pulled into Stockholm.  From there, I took an overpriced taxi ride to Drottningholm Palace.  Everything there was overpriced, admission, souvenirs, everything.  In fact, pretty much everything is double or triple in Stockholm what it is in New York, except lodging.

Drottningholm was quite magnificent, and I had a Punch as I walked around the grounds.  I then took the boat back to Stockholm, less than half the price, though the ride was longer.  I went to Central Station (again, why is there not a direct high-speed train from GCT to JFK?) and transferred to the metro, getting off by the stadium.  I noticed three things.  First, there were people inside, a good sign.  Second, it looked abandoned, a bad sign.  Third, it would be relatively easy to hop the fence and sneak in if need be, a good sign.  I did not say easy.  I said relatively easy.  I walked around and saw no way to get in.  The ticket office was closed.  Then I saw some fans from the soccer match.  They said the stadium was closed, but he offered to help me hop the fence.

Jackpot!  That is how I got in here, and he treated me like a minor celebrity, coming all the way from New York to see the Stadium, introducing me to all of his friends.  He showed me the VIP box, where King Gustav sat, and that is where I went and where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can enjoy a few more minutes in the stadium.  Besides, my battery is almost dead (what else is new?).

Actually, I have a few more minutes.  This trip is about two things.  The 1912 Stadium (here now) and the 1952 Stadium (Monday).  Nothing else matters, nothing else is important.  Every other WHS, every other site is a bonus.  The two stadiums are the purpose of this trip, and I have now gotten half way there.  Holy fuck, I just realized something.  Let me just think, if I give myself credit for Antwerp without setting foot inside, I can say that I have been to every Olympic Stadium prior to WW2.  Let me just double check the other (Melbourne 1956, Sydney 2000, Seoul 1988, Beijing 2008, Rome 1960, Athens 2004).  Yeah, and then there is Antwerp 1928(?) and London 2012 that I have seen from the outside.  That’s it.  Each one has its story, each visit special in its own way.  Okay, on that note, I’ll close.

I suppose there is not much left to write about this entry, though I suspect I will need to heavily edit it before I publish it.  When I tell the adventures of today, it will lead with, “I tore an ass muscle sneaking into the Olympic Stadium.”  What did I do to help with that pain, which made walking no easy task?  I went to the sauna, of course.  After that, I took the metro to Old Town.  The receptionist at the hotel thought the shops would be closed.  She was wrong.  I found the main shopping street, and there were still a few shops opened.  I got everything I needed at the first shop, including, of course, the flag pin.  I still can’t fucking believe I forgot the Germany flag pin in 2013

Anyway, it was a short work from there to Parliament, to the Royal Palace, to the Viking restaurant, where I went for dinner.  If I thought that that day couldn’t get any more magical, as I was waiting for my table, a group of people started singing “Dancing Queen.”  I was soon seated, and they announced me like they might announce a guest at a royal ball.  I walked to my table with the dignity that was to be expected of the occasion.  Everything looked completely authentic, the tables, the settings, the glasses.  I ordered a mead and some venison, both delicious.

Afterwards, I took the metro back to my hotel, where I took a quick nap before I lit up a KFC and uploaded my photos.  That done, I proceeded to write to this entry, which I will now close so that I can edit and publish.  It’s just past 7 PM in New York, so it should be before 8 PM when my East Coast readers see it.

The Baltic - Day 0 - Eastbound

5/22/15, “Eastbound”

Newark Liberty International Airport, New Jersey

For the first time in six months, I am heading east.  There is so much to be said about heading east, the logistics of the trip, being six hours ahead of the people I know and love back on the East Coast make it for a much better trip.  However, I will not be writing about that, not yet at least.  Almost nothing has changed in my life in the five days since I’ve closed, so maybe it would be better to explore how my life has changed in the past year, since my last Memorial Day trip, the one that took me to the 1964 Stadium in Tokyo.  This trip will take me to the 1912 Stadium in Stockholm and the 1952 Stadium in Helsinki.

Not much has changed in the past year, actually.  Sure, a lot has happened, and my readers have been along with me every step of the way, but has anything changed?  Some shuffling of friends, to be sure, which I have mentioned enough times.  Rekindling old friendships or allowing them to fade, forging new ones, it doesn’t matter.  I have roughly the same number of friends in my life now as I did a year ago.

The main theme of my entry last year was love and beauty and happiness, even exploring the idea of irrational happiness.  If I trust to empirical evidence, I can only conclude that it makes sense to embrace irrational happiness.  What I referred to as my one source of irrational happiness has been the main source of happiness for me over the past five months.  To dismiss the happiness because it was irrational would be, well, quite irrational.  I have come to realize that I need to enjoy my happiness in a way that is purely rational because irrational happiness can very quickly become irrational unhappiness.  With rational happiness, it is much harder for it to become unhappiness.

As for my ideas on love and beauty, nothing has changed, at least not much.  My ideas on beauty are the same as they were.  Is it any wonder that, outside my family, the most beautiful person in my life is also the one whom I love most?  No, reader, there should be doubt about that, even if it is irrational.  However, it is rational to love her now for one simple reason: because I fell in love with her then, at I time when I thought I was incapable of falling in love again.  Even if I fell in love with her for irrational reasons, I fell in love with her, nonetheless, in so small part because she was beautiful.  All of the rational reasons why I value her friendship now, I knew none of those at the moment when we first met.

As for my ideas of love, has anything changed since a year ago?  I would say that I have gone full circle and pretty much come back to where I was then.  Actually, no, that’s not true.  I’d have to say that my sister got it right when she said that I owed it to myself to find someone with whom I have great chemistry and with whom I have physical, emotional, and intellectual attraction.  A year ago, I was just trying to find my Dagny, the one with whom I have the emotional and intellectual attraction.  Atlas Shrugged makes no mention of Dagny’s beauty, I don’t think, nor does it mention if John and Dagny have the same tastes in pop culture.  My entries from that trip were some of the best entries I’ve written, I think, and I hope to match the quality in this trip.  Like that trip, only one thing matters on this trip: visiting the Stadiums.

It has been a very boring Day 0, woke up early, did an inspection, worked until it was time for my traditional pre-departure lunch at Hop Won, lit up a Cohiba, headed the cigar shop, said my goodbyes, got in the car, got stuck in traffic, worried and panicked, made it to the airport an hour and a half before the flight, went through security, and got to the gate where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will close after I describe what I mean by “Eastbound.”

The last time I have gone to this approximate time zone was my last birthday, eight months ago, after a very special lunch with someone whom I had no idea would soon become one of my best friends.  When I am travel east, I am six hours ahead, which means that, by the time I finish uploading my photos and writing my entry, it’s around 6 or 7 PM on the East Coast, which is the perfect time to maximize the visibility of my posts.  When I stay in the west, I need to either post in the middle of the night New York time or wait until the morning, which often means neglecting the photos.  Also, flying east is great because I sleep on the flight and arrive in Europe early in the morning, ready for a full day.  Coming back is not so pleasant, though.

Also, it means that for the first part of my day, until at least noon, everyone back home is asleep.  It basically means half a day with no status updates, no social media, just radio silence.  Sure, I post stuff, and then, the notifications and messages start trickling in in the afternoon as people wake up, start seeing my posts.  I like it much better that way than being on the same or earlier time zone.  With the weak euro, it’ll be great to go back to Europe, and I will now close so that I can board.

Unfinished Business - Day 2 - "I Shall Return"

5/17/15, “I Shall Return”

Taos, New Mexico (Taos Pueblo)

This is it, my big white whale, the WHS I have been trying to visit for over a decade now, and it has always been waiting just around the riverbend.  It was definitely worth the wait, now that I’m finally here.  It is perfect, and I love it here.  I don’t want to leave.  Just one small problem.  Reader, remember the Stamps and Plauqes I mentioned yesterday.  Well, the stamper is broken, and the plaque isn’t the Official one.  What do I do?  Do I mope about the fact that I can’t get my stamp and plaque, or do I forget about all of that and enjoy being where I am.  Of course, I chose the latter.  This is, I believe, the oldest living Native American community in the country.  For over 1000 years, Native Americans have been living in this little village, living much the same for the entire time.  As I sit in front of the river, smoking a pipe, in view of the Great House, listening to “Just Around the Riverbend” on loop, the magic is not lost on me.

This trip has been almost entirely about visiting Native American ruins, but this one stop is not about ruins.  It is an active community, a living village.  For a modest fee, we are invited into their home, to see how they have lived for over 1000 years.  To the best of my knowledge, there is nothing like it anywhere in the world.  Reader, do you see where I am going with this?  No?  Well, what I’m saying is two-fold.  First, I can forgive them for an unofficial plaque and a broken stamper.  Second, I shall return.  What are the odds that I do not come back to New Mexico at some point in the next two years?  It is my favorite state south of the Mason-Dixon line, by far.

This trip will leave a few NPS that I haven’t visited in New Mexico and, quite literally, a blank space in my WHS passport.  I shall return, and, by then, they should have a new stamper, but I want to return.  I want to return during one of their events to see more of their culture, to visit the other sites I couldn’t visit this trip.  New Mexico is called The Land of Enchanment, and it is a well-deserved title.  We got a slow start in the morning, but, in the end, we were at the site only a few minutes after they opened.  The fee was steep, even with the nominal student discount.  I asked if they had a stamp.  They did, but it was broken.  Fuck!  Couldn’t I just try to use the stamp manually?  No, but they had some stickers.  They would only give me two.  One for the passport, not sure what to do with the other one.  Of course, the simple answer is that I shall return.  Maybe she’ll write the date in my passport, that would be a good placeholder until I return.  If my mother was here with me, I’m sure we would have figured it out, just as we have figured it out so many times before at so many other WHS.

Again, I shall return, and, next time, I’ll call to make sure the stamper is working before I visit.  We walked around a bit, taking lots of pictures, and I was in total awe of where we were, the beautiful mountain in the backdrop.  Then we saw it.  The river.  We started quoting lines from “Just Around the Riverbend,” Connor being just as much a Disney fan as I.  It wasn’t long before I put the song on, which I have been looping for the past hour now.  I also found the perfect souvenir, a little big, but perfect, the replica of the Great House.  Connor’s brother was in the area, so we agreed he’d meet his brother for an hour while I came back here to do my writing.  That was exactly what we did.  I found a nice bench with a view of the river and the Great House, still looping “Just Around the Riverbend,” where I lit up an Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can write something in my personal journal and finish this pipe.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

My time in New Mexico is coming to a close, but it does with the firm knowledge that I shall return.  Whether in a month or three or a year or two, I shall return.  Here I am in Santa Fe, the famous, historic capital of New Mexico, and, instead of writing from the Capitol building as is my wont when I write in capital cities, I have elected to write in front of the iconic Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis of Assisi, the most famous landmark in Santa Fe, perhaps in all of New Mexico. I have found the northern half of New Mexico to be no less enchanting than the southern half, and this trip was far more enjoyable, my previous trip marred by personal issues, but I think I’m finally clean.  Reader, if you don’t catch that reference, well, I don’t think I want you reading my Travelogue.  Just kidding, it’s a Taylor Swift reference, and it has nothing to do with drugs or rehab.  What will my next trip to New Mexico entail?  Where will I be in my life?  Who might accompany me on the trip?  I have no idea, but I know that I shall return.  The next trip might even allow me to say New Mexico Complete, but that is not a necessary goal.  Another interesting turn of events is that one of my Instagram followers might be meeting us for dinner in Albuquerque.

After I closed in Taos Pueblo, I went back to the registration desk and asked about the Official Plaque.  Well, turns out they had it but it wasn’t up for display yet, and she told me they were going to put it up in a month or so.  Well, once the stamper is fixed/replaced and the Plaque displayed, I shall return.  For now, I have enough that I will be able to say in good faith at Glacier, “Mainland US Complete.”  We then headed to Bandelier NM, tarrying a bit too much on the way, cutting into our already tight schedule.  I had wanted an hour at Bandelier and half an hour at Pecos.  It was now looking like half an hour at each site, if we didn’t stop for food, but I was starving.  We didn’t even see anyplace to stop.  Fortunately there was a snack bar at Bandelier.  We spent about an hour there, enjoying the ruins and the views.  Including the time to eat, we spent about an hour there, which meant we were looking at precisely a 4 PM arrival at Pecos NHP, and I was getting hungry again.  I don’t why I’ve been so hungry this trip, having four big meals a day.

I had lit up my smallest cigar, an Aging Room, for the thirty minutes we spent walking around Bandelier NM, and I saved the rest for Pecos.  I called to ask if it was possible to get the stamps like at 3:59 PM and then walk around for a few minutes.  She said they locked the gate right at 4 PM.  Fuck!  We went for it anyway.  It was 3:58 PM when we pulled into the parking lot, which was still filled with cars, a good sign.  I got out of the car and grabbed my cigar while Connor parked.  I saw someone coming out, another good sign.  I then heard a click, a bad sign.  The door was locked, a very bad sign.  She opened the door, saying they were closed.  I showed her the clock on my phone.  3:59 PM.  She let me in, and even let me buy the pin while I got my stamp.  Perfect.  I did everything else that I needed to do to make it Official, possibly making it my shortest NPS hit ever, including relighting the cigar and taking a ceremonial picture.  We then went to leave, but the gate was locked.  Fortunately, someone was coming the other direction.  She let us out.

We stopped at DQ for a very late lunch before we headed to Santa Fe, straight to the Capitol Building, where we took our Official pictures, and I lit up an Opus X.  Our next stop was the Plaza, and Connor wanted to drive.  I walked and, due to issues with parking, got there long before he did.  We went back to the car to get my laptop and headed to the Cathedral, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can find Connor at the gift shop and get my souvenirs before we head back to Albuquerque.

Albuquerque International Sunport, New Mexico (ABQ)

Here it is, the triumphant airport entry, time to close out the trip.  Well, technically I’m sitting outside the aiport, so I won’t be able to formally close out the trip until I get to my gate, but I can do the reflections here.  I have already done most of my reflecting, but what I have not really reflected on is the joy of travelling with a good friend.  When I last went to New Mexico three months ago I did not know Connor at all.  I had seen him once through our mutual friend, and, within three months, the three of us become “the three best friends.”  The person whom I call my best friend, well he is engaged, and I barely ever see him anymore.  In fact, over those three months I just saw him once.  The other two people whom I might consider to be among the people I call my best friends are the two girls I love like sisters.  There is almost nothing I would not do for either of them, but one lives in Florida, and I haven’t seen her in over six months, haven’t spoken to her on the phone in four months, but we text every day, and that is more than I can say of any of my female cousins or my brother’s fiancée, whom I call “my sister.”  The other girl, we used to text every day, too, but we’ve stopped.  I have brunch with her and her fiancé about once a month, but we never hang out for any kind of extended time.

By most definitions, Connor and our mutual friend would have to be considered my two best friends.  Snapchat would certainly agree by the insane amount of Snaps we send each other.  Reader, do you see where I’m going with this?  In the past three months, my life has changed so much.  I mentioned the Taylor Swift song, “Clean,” and that’s exactly what that is about.  After my breakup in January, I immediately turned to my two female friends for comfort, no, not physical comfort, emotional comfort, which they both readily provided.  They both said exactly what I needed to hear.  One called my ex “dumb and annoying,” the other said I was one of the most “genuine” guys that she’d ever met.  In short, what they were both saying was that I was too good for my ex, and they were right.

However, I was not ready to move on.  One provided me with the emotional comfort I needed and, as long as she was texting me every day, I could ignore the pain that I knew was inches away from sweeping in.  Actually, no, it was not emotional comfort that she was providing me.  It was distractions, texting me every day about Taylor and Disney and Harry Potter and movies.  It was exactly what I needed, a change of pace.  I embarked on my Oscar quest, something to thoroughly distract me.  It worked, for a while, but the pain was always inches away.  While I was in New Mexico last time, it came rushing in, and it almost ruined the whole trip.  My female friends were only able to keep the pain at bay for so long, not that they know what they did for me, and I doubt they are reading this entry.

To truly forget about the pain, to move on, I needed the company of my male friends, and the three of us started hanging out almost every night for about three months, now, drinking and watching movies, mostly Disney movies.  It was truly the change in pace I needed.  About a month ago, I started dating again, since I was truly ready to move on, and things look promising in that regard.  All in all, I have managed to put the pieces of my life together in the past three months, to stop using my female friends as crutches, to develop genuine friendships with my male friends, to look to enter again a meaningful relationship with someone who won’t toy with my emotions.  In other words, I think I’m finally clean.

To that end, what about travelling with Connor?  We had a great time together, all the phone we have together hanging out amplified over the 50 or so hours we’ve spent together, not fighting at all.  We share the same tastes in music and food, and he was fine with my agenda, so we had little to fight about.  We enjoyed hearing each other’s stories, we got all of each other’s jokes, and we played along with all of each other’s pranks.  In short, he was practically the perfect travelling companion.  That is not to diminish the other travelling companions I’ve had, but my mother is never going to ask if I want to stop at the river so that we can take Official Us.

It’s weird, though, we’ve hung together almost every night for like three months now, and we won’t see each other again for six weeks.  Well, here I am at the airport, getting ready to close out this trip.  After I closed in Santa Fe, we headed to the gift shop.  It’s funny, other than airfare, souvenirs were the biggest expense of the trip, more even than meals or the hotel room.  I usually buy things for everyone I know, but I decided not to do that this time, though I might give away some arrow heads.  I just got a notification that my laptop was going to restart in 15 minutes, so I’ll have to wrap up.

We headed back to the car, and I got the text from my Instagram follower, saying that he couldn’t make it and that we’d have to meet up when he was in NYC, great plan (not being sarcastic).  We headed to El Pinto for dinner, the most iconic restaurant in New Mexico and had a great meal, three plates to share, which was actually way too much food.  I was surprised how cheap the total was, since, in my mind, I ate three dishes.  Afterwards, we went to get gas, where I also got my newspaper and headed to the airport, where I proceeded to write this entry while I smoked an Avo.  Connor sat with me for a bit before we said our goodbyes.  On that note, I’ll close, since my computer is about to restart.  I’ll have to formally close out my entry once I get to the gate.

Here I am at the exact same gate I am that I found myself almost three months ago, where I found out a bit of upsetting news that almost brought me to tears.  I will not mention it again, referring my reader to the original entry.  To think about it, it was really very minor, but I was in a vulnerable place, and it upset me far more than it should have.  It worked itself out a day or two later, but I was still very distraught by it.  Once I realized that I would be at the same gate, the memory came rushing back to me, along with the some of the happier memories from the last trip here.  Anyway, Connor called me as I soon as I closed outside, and he told me that I had forgotten my credit card with him when he had gotten gas, but he was stuck behind an accident.  I told him he could mail it to me if he couldn’t make it in time, as I would not need the card again until I left for my next trip.  He made it in time, and I went to check-in, breezing through with now line at security.  I sat down in the same bench I sat down last time and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out the trip.  Next stop: Sweden, Estonia, and Finland.

Unfinished Business - Day 1 - Stamps and Plaques

5/16/15, “Stamps and Plaques”

Nageezi, New Mexico (Pueblo Bonito, Chaco Culture National Historical Park)

So much of my domestic travel is focused around Stamps and Plaques, visiting the 401 (well, now it’s 405 or 409, I think) units of the National Park Service.  Sure, most of the sites are wonderful, and I doubt anyone would argue the merit of Yellowstone NP or the Statue of Liberty, but, to me, the true joy is collecting the Stamps and Plaques.  However, I often forget to stop and smell the roses, to thoroughly enjoy where I am, to think that I am sitting among Indian ruins that are over a millennium old, as I smoke a Cohiba and listen to “Colors of the Wind” from Pocahontas (oh, the irony).  That is exactly what I am doing now.

After I bought my souvenirs, got my stamps, took my picture with the Plaque, lit up my Punch, took my Official pictures, had a sip of water, did everything I needed to do to Officially check off the WHS, it finally hit me.  The wondrous beauty of where I was made my literally stop in my tracks.  “This is so amazing!” I told Connor with a quaver in my voice.  It is impossible to describe how amazing this place is, and I won’t even try, hoping my pictures will do the trick.  In March, I described the evils of what we did to the Native Americans, how we destroyed a culture, but, if we hadn’t we wouldn’t be here today, being able to explore these ruins, wondering how they might have lived.  It is starting to rain a little, and we have to drive back through on a dirt road, so I’ll be brief.

After I closed last night, my computer died before I published, which I did first thing in the morning.  We got on the road, stopping at Twister’s for breakfast, and it was not long before we lost service.  It was raining, and, recalling what happened on the Dalton last year, I was afraid of the dirt road getting washed out.  It did not.  We made it to the VC, where I took care of the WHS stuff I needed to do.  The main site is where I am, Pueblo Bonito, which was paired with another site.  My plan was to light up my Punch, walk to the first site, take some pictures, walk to the second site, the main one, with my cigar, and then walk around until my cigar was done.  That was exactly what we did, enjoying the sites as we listened to Pocahontas.

I have never been anywhere like this before, well, maybe Mesa Verde, but this was different.  After I finished the cigar, I knew that I wanted to stay here as long as possible, to spend every minute we could before we risked missing the other site.  To that end, as Connor took pictures, I went back to the car to get my laptop and another cigar, ditching the Punch along the way.  I lit up the Cohiba and came back here, where I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as my cigar is almost done, and we need to leave if we want time to stop for lunch.

Taos, New Mexico

Just as my trip with Sokol to Alaska was about more than Stamps and Plaques, so too have Connor have found ways to have fun here in New Mexico beyond Stamps and Plaques.  Whether it was pretending he dropped his phone in the river, singing along to our favorite Disney songs, sharing stories, or making yellow snow in May, to reduce this trip to Stamps and Plaques would be a poor misrepresentation.  After I closed at Chaco Culture we put the Aztec Ruins NM in the GPS, and it showed an arrival time of 2 PM.  I wanted an hour at the site, and it closed at 5 PM.  That put us two hours ahead of schedule, but I wanted to allow for plenty of what I so repeatedly call “Dutch Time.”  We had plenty of that.

Once we got back on the paved road, me having already told Connor what happened on the Dalton, we saw a flatbed truck off the side of the road, with the bed on down below and the cab blocking the entire road.  Fuck!  Our first thought was that the truck careened off the side of the road.  How long would it take for a tow truck to tow the truck away, here in the middle of nowhere?  We soon realized that truck was actually the tow truck, and it was not long before it towed a car away, and we were on our way.  Meanwhile, I was starting to get service again, so I could upload my photos and videos.  I am dead tired, so I will summarize as much as possible, and I am certainly too tired to develop any new philosophy tonight.  I think I really hit on something last night, and I want to work on developing that further.

We stopped at Sonic for lunch, which was right by the Aztec Ruins, and it was 3 PM by the time we got there, but we were still ahead of schedule.  While the NPS treated it as a separate unit, it is still part of the same WHS, much like Glacier Bay and Wrangell-St. Elias.  I, however, for the purposes of stamping, treated it as a separate WHS, and it even had its own Plaque.  We headed to the ruins, where I lit up my Hoyo de Monterrey.  The site was rather underwhelming after seeing Chaco Culture, and a ranger soon told me that I needed to put out my cigar.  The wind quickly extinguished it, and I put it in my pocket before making my way through the rest of the ruins and to the parking lot to finish my cigar.  There was also a gift shop outside the park, which had cheap souvenirs.  Shit, I can’t focus on this, a combination of personal stuff and fatigue, so

I’m really just going to wrap up as quickly as possible.

Connor wanted to go to the river, so we went, and he the brilliant of idea of pretending to drop his phone in the river while I was videoing something and having me then turn the camera to film the splash.  We continued the joke on Snapchat for quite some time.  We stopped again for food at A&W, and now we were on a time crunch to get to the restaurant in Taos before they closed at 9 PM.  Connor wanted to take the scenic route, which turned out to be a mistake.  There was snow on the road.  Mother fucking snow on the mother fucking snow in mother fucking May.  In the end, it only added fifteen minutes to the drive, but we were freaked out, the driving was that rough, telling stories as we drove.

We made it to the restaurant in time, where we had a great meal, a great finish to the amazing day we had.  We went to the hotel, made another stupid Snapchat video, and went out to the porch with our beer and cigars, where I lit up an Aroma de Cuba and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish it and finish my cigar.

Unfinished Business - Day 0 - A Servant of Truth

5/15/15, “A Servant of Truth”

Aboard B6 65, En route JFK-ABQ

No, not Chicago, but not Sweden yet, either.  Where am I heading?  As the dateline teases, I am heading back to New Mexico.  Why?  To take care of some unfinished business.  More on that later.  It has been over a month since I have last written in this Travelogue.  Due to some issues with work, I have had to cancel my past two trips, and this is the first time in over I month I have left New York.  Alright, so what has happened in that past month?  I have been teasing out this bit of philosophy in my Facebook and Instagram posts all day, but I haven’t really explained what I mean by “a servant of truth.”  I consider the truth to be an absolute, unassailable form of good.  The truth doesn’t have versions.  Something either is, or it is not.  There is no excluded middle.  In that regard, I consider myself a servant of truth.

That is not to say that I’ve never lied, though I think I might be cleaner than Pinocchio for the month since I last wrote here, possibly not even telling a single “white lie” or exaggeration.  Why?  Because every time I utter a sentence that has so much as a word of falsehood, it hurts.  There’s no question of being afraid of getting “caught in a lie,” no, the reason is quite simpler.  I am a servant of truth.  Once you accept that there is only one truth, only one reality, you realize that, when you lie, you sacrifice your sense of reality.  (Note: I am not attacking anyone who believes in other versions of reality, in multiple universes, in higher powers, etc.  I am merely explaining the logical conclusion of my views on truth and reality.)  As Rand would argue, when you lie to someone, you sacrifice your sense of reality in order to “pull one over” on your victim, and you become their slave in that moment.  I am probably plagiarizing here, but this is a Travelogue entry, not a philosophy paper.  Taking it one step further, when you lie to the world, when you pretend to be someone you’re not, you become a slave to the world.

What is the alternative to this form of slavery, to constant people-pleasing?  It’s quite simple.  It’s to become a servant of truth.  Even white lies are not exempt from this philosophy.  There is a flipside to this equation, to be being a servant of truth.  It is not enough just to not lie.  To be a servant of truth, you must also tell them the truth.  If I think someone is pretty, I will tell her.  I do not tell her out of flattery or an attempt to “woo” her.  No, I tell her because I am a servant of truth, and something like that serves truth.  That does not mean I’ll spend an hour on the street corner telling every woman that passes by if she is pretty or not.  It simply means two things.  First, it means that I will never tell someone she is pretty if I do not think she is.  (This could be applied to some many other things, such as intelligence, love, etc., but I think beauty serves as the best illustration of my points).  I will never tell someone she is ugly.  I wouldn’t even tell her she is unattractive.  Hypothetically, if someone pressed me for an answer, I would eventually respond with, “You’re just not my type.”  Even something as mild as “I don’t think you’re attractive” would be too harsh a statement that I would tell anyone.

Why?  If I’m claiming to be a servant of truth, should I not be brutally honest with everyone?  Of course not.  First of all, I do not have a single mean bone in my body.  I am physically incapable of initiating violence against anyone, just as I am emotionally incapable of being cruel to someone who has done me no wrong.  I am thick-skinned, and I can take a joke, but tease me, hurt me, or insult me in malice, and I will not hesitate to let loose, to viciously tear apart my attacker, physically if I was harmed physically, emotionally if I was harmed emotionally (in malice).  You can be a servant of truth without being a servant of the hard truth, let’s call it.

It also means that it hurts to lie, but it also hurts to withhold the truth.  I will expand on this theory with specific examples in my personal journal, but I think my point should be clear here.  I’m about to write a few sentences here that will seem to apply to romantic feelings, but that is not how I intend it.  I am talking about friendships and platonic relationships.  If you think someone is pretty, tell her.  If you love someone, tell her.  Be a servant of truth.

What’s the point in building a friendship or a relationship on lies?  Yes, I know the lies guys tell to get women into bed, and maybe there is merit to taking that approach to life, but it’s never been me.  No, instead, I’m a servant of truth.  Why?  One simple reason.  Imagine, reader, I met someone, and, on our first date, I told her some “white lie,” something to make myself sound more interesting.  Imagine, then, she wanted to go out on a second date in no small part because of that lie I told.  One thing leads to another, and we develop a relationship, a relationship that was built on a lie (or lies, more likely by that point).  I can’t remember the last time I have told a lie to someone I was trying to date.  It is beyond the scope of this Travelogue to go into any further details of my dating life.  Even if I don’t want to see someone again, I take great pains not to lie to her.

I think I have made my point crystal clear about what it means to be a servant of truth, and I have defended sufficiently the merits of it, assuming you believe in absolute truth, in only one sense of reality.  There is nothing more to say about this.  Instead, I will continue on about the title of this trip.  Unfinished business.  When I travel, I plan my trips with precision.  I plan them perfectly, so as to avoid leaving what I dread most: unfinished business.  Sometimes I fuck up and have to return.  It’s why I went to Mexico two months ago, and it’s why I’m going to New Mexico right now.  This summer I will be going to Yellowstone and Glacier NP with my mother.  I want her to be there when I say the words that will bring a tear to my eye, the words we have been working on saying even since before I defined the term: “Mainland US Complete.”

In order for that to happen, I needed to visit every WHS in the Lower 48 states.  Three of them were in New Mexico, and I had been planning that trip for a decade.  I finally went on my “long expected journey” three months ago, but I was thwarted.  Taos Pueblo was closed for a festival.  Fuck!!!  Instead of cancelling the trip, I reworked everything.  I had planned to do one trip to New Mexico in 2015 to hit the WHS one trip to Texas in 2017 to hit the NPs.  Well, I rearranged things a bit.  I did one WHS and the Texas NPs on the February trip, and I hastily booked this trip to do the other two WHS in New Mexico.  It actually worked out kind of neatly, especially because of the present company.

About that.  One of my new friends, Connor, lives in New Mexico, and he is here for school.  The timing actually worked out perfectly for me to fly out to New Mexico with him when he went back, and he would join me on this trip.  It saved money for him, and it saved me the first night’s hotel and the car rental, since we were able to stay with his mom the first night and use her car.  It’s funny, these two WHS, the Indian ruins in northern New Mexico have long been my white whale, and it is fitting that they will be the last ones I hit before my summer trip with my mother.

We were supposed to go one February (or was it April?) a decade ago as a family trip, but we cancelled it because, I think, Taos Pueblo was closed, which I should have remembered when I planned the trip for February 2015.  Then came my grand October 2013 trip, 10 days in the southwest, hitting every NPS in Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, and Oklahoma.  It was going to be epic.  What happened?  The government shut down, closing all the national parks.  Ironically, Taos Pueblo would still have been opened, but it was kind of pointless just to go for that one site.  February 2015, Taos Pueblo is closed, but I still go to Carlsbad Caverns and the Texas NPs, leaving the unfinished business, Chaco Culture NHP and Taos Pueblo for this weekend.  Along the way, racing between Stamps and Plaques, I’m sure we’ll have some fun.  It’s going to be a great trip.  I can tell.

Alright, so Day 0.  I woke up early, slightly hungover from my adventure last night,  I had to wake up early to get ready and because I needed to be at the office an hour early, since I was leaving an hour early.  The morning was blur.  Before I knew it, it was 10 AM.  I got plenty of work done, by zombie-like state actually increasing my productivity.  Around noon, one of my coworkers, Uncle Frankie I call him, and I went to lunch at Hop Won for my traditional pre-departure lunch.

I was short on time, and I wound up getting to class a little late, sitting down next to the cute girl I’ve had a crush on all semester.  After class, we chatted a bit and made plans to get together after the semester was over.  I walked out, happy both about how that went and that the semester was over.  Well, I still have to revise my final paper, but I could probably do that in the car this weekend.  I lit up a Cohiba Siglo II, the cigar I smoked the first class of the semester, the same cigar that has practically become tied to my philosophy classes at Hunter.

I headed back downtown, saying hi to my friends at the cigar store, and finishing the cigar as I walked back to the office.  I finished what needed to be finished at work and then headed back to the cigar store, where the car would pick us up and where Connor was waiting.  The car was late, and the driver was awful.  He was in the wrong spot, and I had to run him down.  We passed Fifth Avenue, and he didn’t stop.  What the fuck?  Seriously, what the fuck?!?  He said that Google Maps told him it would be quicker to go across 42^nd Street to Broadway, through Times Square, down Broadway, and back across town to the tunnel, all in rush hour traffic on a Friday.  Bullshit!  Bull-fucking-shit!  I told him to make an illegal U-turn.  After some protesting, he did.  If he didn’t we very well may have missed our flight.  I was panicking the whole time, fearing the repeat of the near miss from last time.

We got to the airport with an hour to spare, but the line at security was much shorter and much quicker than last time.  We got through security, but not without me getting a very, shall we say, intimate pat down from the male security officer.  I got some more Chinese food, the fourth time I’ve had Chinese food in three days, but they cooked it fresh, and there was a line at checkout, so I had to wait until I got on the plane to eat it.  Connor and I had chosen the window and aisle seats, hoping no would take the middle seat.

We figured wrong and found ourselves sitting on the opposite sides of a cute Aussie girl.  Connor made fast friends with her, and she posed for all the photos we took, so it looked like the three of us were travelling together.  Soon enough, we took off, and I went to get my laptop.  It was then that I saw an entire row of three seats empty, which I immediately claimed for myself.  I then proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can take a quick nap before we land.  I would like to publish, but I don’t think the Wi-Fi is working.  If I wait until we get to Albuquerque, it’ll be well past 2 AM New York by the time I publish it.

Albuqurque, New Mexico

Well, once more I find myself writing from Albuqurque, this time under much different circumstances.  My life has turned itself around in the past three months, and I am much happier than I was when I left Albuqurque the first morning of the previous trip.  Like most of my life, the past three months has been a blur, but enough about that.  In the past few hours, I have realized that, like me, Connor is a servant of truth.  While, like me, he can be a jokester, a prankster, but he is always quick with a “just kidding” when he is being less than truthful.

After we landed, we were soon greeted by his parents, who were both delightful.  We stopped at Wendy’s on the way back, and, though I offered to pay for my share, his parents gladly paid for both of us.  We were soon at their place, and his parents showed me the same hospitality that my parents would show (and have shown) my friends.  I played with the puppies and ate my dinner, after which, I went outside, where I lit up an Ardor and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish (and heavily edit).