From Pandemic to Pure Chaos: Have We Learned Anything? Sick at home, I decided to peruse my old blogs, the ones that were deleted in the usual yearly purge of my website, as though cleansing the site would create new energy and better vibes. Of course, with last night being some special planetary alignment that I didn’t read long enough to share, everything is perfect now. Absolutely perfect. Or is it? To begin, looking at what I wrote in 2021, five years ago, I’m wondering to myself, have things improved, or are they worse? Read on, and we will discuss momentarily. Regardless of your opinion on COVID-19, the reality is that our world is a different place than it was two years ago. Not wanting to dive into the politics, on masks, vaccines, and the like, I simply will share that I have noticed that daily routines and interactions are not what they used to be. Now, when I shop or leave the house, I go out of my way to go in the earlier hours when there are fewer people. It has nothing to do with being the first to get a deal, but simply with avoiding large groups and drama. I should bold the word drama. That's the big change for me. It seems people are in a rush, less considerate than before, and, frankly, too wrapped up in themselves and their stuff to be mindful of those around them. It's not just with shopping. One can see this out on the roads or even in the neighborhoods or communities where they reside. Across the board, this behavior is rampant. There is a reason why I avoid popular hiking trails on these perfect fall days. Between the selfie and dog brigades, good luck enjoying any sense of nature unless you truly do get off the beaten path. If you want to call people out for blocking the trail for their picture-perfect moment, be ready for an earful. Dining, Drama, and the Death of Decency In the past, I have written on such topics, so I don’t want to repeat myself. And yet, I had a reminder over the weekend when, for the first time in fifteen months, I went inside to eat at a local dining establishment. A place I frequented often prior to the pandemic was just what I was hankering for. Lo and behold, when I got inside, within twenty minutes, I was ready to run for the door. It wasn't necessarily the food that sent me running, but this same rude behavior that has carried over to everything and everywhere. It’s that same negativity that runs wild in the news and, at times, in our schools. I watched couples come in, sit at the bar, and, without any sense of courtesy, demand that multiple televisions be switched to a specific football game even though most of the seats were taken and many eyes were fixated on the different screens. Next were comments about the need for an extra bottle and to make sure it's chilled for an already cold beer. Another person wanted the volume turned up because it was hard to hear the game in a crowded bar, while another lambasted their date, and they both were glued to their phones. The entire scene struck me as odd because I would think that, after months of being cooped up, people would be flexible when out and, at the very least, courteous with one another. Instead, it seems people, at least where I ate, were more demanding and needy. I don't know whether that’s the norm now, or if I happened to hit the jackpot. What has your experience been? Are people kinder and more understanding when you’re out, or have you seen this shift as well? It might not be fair for me to jump into this argument, as I’m currently living in Morocco, but when I’m back in the United States, I feel this is more of the same. We have so many people who are in it for themselves. I don’t want to blame our role models or the government, but look at the politics behind everything going on. There is no more fence-sitting because we have a leader without compassion for the everyday person, a man of the old energy, the old paradigm, a vestige of the 1980s mentality, and for that, we are all watching the sideshow, with many of us hoping for things to end. Recently, I was talking to a friend about such topics and the fact that, along the way, not only have many ignored compassion, but they also lack the integrity to be good and decent human beings. For certain, many will have a different working definition of what that precisely means, but come on, we all know right from wrong, how to play nice, and how to be present enough to take others into account. Or do we? While I would love to spend this article asking why there are so many politicians in government who have caved to an egomaniac who continues to stir the pot for his personal means, doing that will make this more polarized and will take away the point that I’m just looking for people to be nice to one another. Politics aside, why is it so hard to see the other person in front of us as an equal, loving angel in disguise? That’s a good question. Or am I getting too wu-wu by jumping into that type of framework? How about this, then? You tell me what you would do in this common scenario. We can keep it simple because it shows the lack of compassion and consideration many experience in daily life. The Copier Test: A Mirror for Modern Humanity Pretend that at work, you share a photocopying machine with all of your coworkers. Let’s say thirty people to one copier for the sake of this example. As part of your job, you need to print things out daily, as do many of your coworkers. There are several boxes of paper put out every few days for printing. Often, people print what they need and go. For those who print larger quantities, there is a population who continue to print what they need and go without bothering to restock the paper in the machine. While others will double-check both paper drawers before printing and afterwards, especially after larger jobs, to ensure the machine is ready for the next person. Let’s not forget the people who will print, rip open the paper, take out only what they need, and then leave the empty wrapping or wrappings either on top of the photocopier or nearby. The best look is when you come into the room: the wrappings are everywhere, including the empty boxes just left next to the copier, as though it’s someone else’s problem to clean everything. What person are you? And what does this potentially say about you as a person, depending on how you use the copier? What if you are the person who makes a comment about this behavior? Is that wrong or against office etiquette? What does it mean if you do say something, but you get lectured for calling others out on their lack of professionalism? I know, lots of food for thought. Just for fun, let’s pretend there is a paper jam. Are you the person who will try to fix it? Ask someone for help? Or turn off the machine and walk away as if nothing happened? Or even better, the toner needs to be replaced. How do you deal with the situation? Do you let someone know it needs to be replaced? Can you replace it? Or do you just ignore the error light and disappear into the nether again? Maybe the best scenario, someone changes the toner, gets it all over the floor, and you watch the entire scene. Do you simply stay at your desk, pretending you didn’t see anything happen? Or are you the person who walks into the room, sees the mess on the floor, and immediately sets out to clean it so the ink doesn’t cause a lasting issue? Five years ago, I focused on common decency at a restaurant, but now it plays out right before my eyes, at a photocopier of all places. The central hub of many workplaces, and from my perspective, a deeper view into the minds of everyone. If people are so wrapped up in their personal dramas, in their little tasks, and they can’t pause long enough to think about the next person, what does that mean exactly? Sure, they are human, the fallible human who is here to learn and love. But why, my question is, are we unable to show enough empathy for others and consideration? Should we not be able to handle the burden of keeping a photocopier stocked, maintained, and running smoothly? What does that mean for our relationships with people we actually care about, our family dynamics, and everything we do? Some readers will have already put this article down and said it’s ridiculous. I’d say those are the same people I’m trying to reach to do better, to be nicer, to actually consider that there are other people in this world than them. When they understand this lesson, watch the change across the board. In the States, we are worried about the government, but maybe it’s the copiers we need to start with to really get things moving. What do you think?
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 Another trip means another list of things to be annoyed about when traveling. I really wish I didn’t feel inclined to air all the proverbial dirty laundry, but honestly, if people would start behaving with civility while flying, maybe I wouldn’t have to. In no particular order, here are the highlights of another Ryanair-inspired trip out of Tangier and this time to Marseilles, France. 1. While sitting in a cocktail bar, enjoying an adult beverage, it was a bit strange to watch the local football team, one of the top-ranked teams in Ligue 1, have trash thrown out onto their field in France’s second-largest stadium. But that’s exactly what it was: some ticket holders wanted to protest the ownership, so they burned their tickets, napkins, and whatever else they could find. The wind did the rest, and the players played on a field littered with trash. I especially loved watching corner kicks on what might pass for a playground field, as shown by all those ticket stubs. Maybe there was a better way to get your point across, like not going to the game. Don’t buy the tickets, buy food or memorabilia, but sure, burning stuff and potentially hurting the players seems like a good way to get ownership’s attention. 2. Still watching the game, this was a first. I got to watch not one but two players spit on the floor in the hallway leading to their locker room. From my vantage point, this wasn’t a tiled surface, and someone was going to have to clean up this lack of cleanliness. I can’t say that I have ever seen this in any sporting setting, but maybe I have lived a sheltered life. Well played, Marseille players. Maybe you deserved the trash on your field after all.  3. While waiting for the customs line to move more than an inch, I watched a burly, bearded man and his lady friend (maybe his wife) decide to cut the line. I suppose waiting another five to ten minutes wasn’t going to work out in their favour with their Barcelona flight about to depart. Sure, I’ve seen people late for flights, but I've never seen anyone make a scene as this guy did. After some choice words to the attendant, a shouting match ensued. Yep, an actual one where everyone in the line focused our attention on this entitled schmuck who wouldn’t back down. He yelled, yelled some more, and then another attendant came over to remove him from the scene. From what I gathered, he saw another guy jump the line and decided they could as well, since their flight was boarding at that exact moment. That’s where things took an even greater spiral, with the couple escorted around to one of the holding rooms, where more shouting and yelling ensued. Personally, I liked that it wasn’t until several minutes had passed that a police officer even checked in on them. Then again, it was clear they wouldn’t make their flight and would instead get a one-way ticket out of the airport. Note to self, be on time and don’t be an a-hole. 4. On flights to Morocco, the constant back-and-forth of people in the aisles never seems to amaze me. Whether it’s to check on loved ones, figure out where they placed their knapsacks (because God forbid those bags go under the seats), or simply to elbow me in the head, I might need to give up the aisle seat and take my chances in the middle for future flights. Getting off was a nightmare as well, but we can let that settle for a day or two before we share those comments. 5. The random enforcement of the carry-on bag policy at the airport is inspirational. I’m not even sure this is worth explaining; you know what I’m talking about without needing any more words. To help those who don’t... Hmm, will that bag fit in the carrier, or is that bag too big? Oh, wait, that woman seems to have a purse, several duty-free bags in tow, so let’s not stop her, but the guy with the gym size dufflebag, let’s hose him instead. 6. What is it with fountains but not drinking fountains in Aix-en-Provence? The city of a thousand fountains didn’t appear to have any free, public drinking water for this proud American to fill up his bottle. Instead, Aix wanted to drive us into their mediocre, overpriced coffee shops. This is also true about the public restrooms. Save the bus stop near the Police Hotel (I know, cool, huh), there were no public bathrooms, let alone public bathrooms we could use after a small charge. Like the water situation, visitors were forced to use establishments with customer-only bathroom signs. The only place that seemed okay for helping visitors obtain relief was the seminary I found myself exploring.  7. Unlike Spain, which seems afraid to have its churches open during any reasonable time of day, save on Sundays, the churches in Aix-en-Provence were not only open on Friday but also throughout the weekend. All told, in a city of around 150,000 people, I managed to get into seven different Catholic churches. 8. While the Churches in France were open to visitors, at least two parks were locked during the day. Granted, you could get in through one entrance, but unless you had a physical key, there would be no other way to access or use the city’s green space, let alone leave. That was weirder for me than trash on the football field. 9. People walk and then just stop on the streets of Aix for no reason. Even worse, some don’t even see you and will walk straight through you. This happened on multiple occasions with this Yankee using some choice words to figure out why he was now a ghost in this southern French city. Whether it was on the streets, at the markets, or even on sidewalks, I’ve never seen anything like this. Even on a walking trail, some bastard, too caught up in himself, hugged the fence line and, in turn, practically hit me, who was trying to take a photo. I didn’t realize we only live in your world, buddy. 10. Brasseries are great places to get warm, decent meals at a moderate price. More importantly, they are often open for longer hours and, unlike the bulk of fine dining in Aix, aren’t just opening up at 7 or 8 at night.  11. What is the deal with hotels offering an 18-euro breakfast that includes cereal, some croissants, and coffee? Clearly, consumers are willing to pay for this convenience as opposed to walking across the street and buying the same meal at the bakery, or if you are me, at the grocery store for half the price.
12. Aix-en-Provence has a lovely cemetery where one can find the final resting spot for Paul Cezanne. You can also walk across the street to a bona fide amusement park as well. I’m not sure what is cooler or better for helping families heal. 13. Finally, I hear hiking can be amazing in Aix. Just be ready for unhelpful signs, and my favorite, no updates on what’s opened or closed. Yeah, that three-hour round-trip hike to the cliffs would have been a tad different had the cliffs actually been open. Well-played area.  Cádiz on the Atlantic Ocean It’s time to come clean and just share the truth. That’s right, traveling in Spain sucks. Yep, not even going to sugarcoat it: for me, it downright blows giant monkey chunks. I know what a positive way to start a travel blog, but honestly, what’s the point in lying or misleading you on the ease, or lack thereof, of getting around in Southern Spain? After my recent weekend trip to Cádiz, I thought it might be different, but no chance. Now I can report on either direction when leaving the small port city of Tarifa. Before I do just that, let’s backtrack a hair to almost two years ago, when, while researching the possibility of moving to Tangier, I was under the impression that it would be a user-friendly, travel-rich experience getting to Spain and, in turn, Europe. For that matter, my future colleagues even mentioned how close we were to Spain, just 10km away. The Ferry Fiasco: When 10 Kilometers Feels Like 10 Hours We weren't looking for the Bull but we found him! Certainly, that means easy access, right? Let’s look at the ferry service for starters. When I first moved to Tangier, I believe there were three companies operating daily routes from Tangier to Tarifa. We are now down to two. Last spring, many people I know were stranded on the Tarifa side when FDS just decided to call it quits. There was no advance notice, on a holiday weekend no less, and people had to figure out how to get back to Morocco or Spain. Talk about a headache, right? Thankfully, I didn’t get slapped around by that fiasco, but on recent trips, the ferry hasn’t been on time once, and on the weekend adventure to Cádiz, they outright canceled our scheduled time without any notice. Sheesh, my friend and I were practically running from the bus station on the other side of town to make the ferry, only to see the sign for the newest schedule. God forbid you actually update your website in the morning or send out prompt notifications. I still feel for those schleps who had car reservations and were waiting in line, not knowing what their immediate options were. With winter underway, rain and wind are common. Again, ferry service is spotty, and while I understand canceling some trips due to wind, outrightly canceling an entire weekend (days in advance) without being open to a change in the forecast can be frustrating. I can still see the sun now and the gentle kiss of nothing in the air, for that entire Saturday morning where no ferries ran across the sea. Let’s presume the ferry is running on time and you don’t have your own personal vehicle to wander the Spanish countryside. This leaves you in a bit of quandry. If you are staying in Tarifa, life is wonderful. But if you want to get to Gibraltar, get ready to figure out the bus schedule. Sure, it’s only thirty miles away, but it might as well be two hundred miles based on travel possibilities. Planes, Trains, and… Wait, Where Are the Trains The entire trip was planned to see this one church An Uber or Bolt will run you a tab well over $60, depending on whether they want to scam you that day. I’m not criticizing those companies because I use them ALL THE TIME in the Baltics and in Poland. No, I’m simply stating it’s not cheap to go a short distance. While your app might say it has service, that’s not always the case. For example, we decided to take a Bolt from Tarifa to Cádiz because the app said it would cost around $65.00, which seemed reasonable given it’s 55 miles away. But when I clicked on drivers, there were none, period. I could schedule a drive, thirty minutes out, and magically the price went to $150.00. No joking here. It was practically the same price, without the wait, taking a local taxi there. All told, we paid around $175.00, which is bloody absurd. Honestly!!!! You might be asking yourself, why didn’t you just take the bus. Funny, you mention that, we arrived at 11:30 am, and the bus wasn’t going that way until three or four in the afternoon. With only an overnight trip planned, we were going to spend a chunk of the afternoon just getting to Cádiz. We weren’t willing to do that on this trip, but in hindsight, had I known the Bolt fare was going to change, we likely would have reevaluated our plans. Now, the bus is reasonable if the times work for you. For each ticket, it might have worked out to $15.00 each. But on our return trip, we had two options and had to plan the ferry around those times. A two-hour trip through the Spanish countryside is fun, but only if the bus is running on time and, of course, not trying to get us into an accident by passing slower vehicles on a two-lane road. Overpriced Croissants and Paper-Thin Walls The best reason to visit this part of Spain was this Mexican restaurant Southern Spain is a weird beast. It’s off the beaten path; there are no trains unless you are starting in Cádiz and heading north, or in Algeciras doing the same. Let’s assume you get to your destination, wherever that may be. Even though you are in a more remote part of the country, the cost of hotels or apartments is going to become a big surprise, and not for a good reason. I probably have been spoiled by my travels in central and eastern Europe, or, for that matter, by smaller cities in England, where I feel there is so much more value in what I spend. Breakfasts? This is the wrong country, as far as I can see, to get a proper breakfast. This isn’t an American talking, but an expat traveler who has been traveling in Europe for several years. I have yet to stay at a moderately priced place that isn’t ripping me off for a croissant, coffee, orange juice, and a few slices of deli meat. There’s a reason I went to the supermarket in Madrid the night before my flight back to the States: to get breakfast. It’s cheaper and, in some cases, of higher quality. For our Cádiz overnight, the bowl of granola was great, but what else were you offering? Sure, there was a croissant, but you know, in Italy, they at least put the cakes and sweets out to get you moving in the morning. In Poland, you might get an entire spread with eggs made to your liking, sausages, and a variety of deli meats, cheese, and bread to start the day. England, we all know a full English breakfast is fantastic and the norm up there. Spain, not so much, at least not for twelve or fifteen euros a pop. Granted, I could be totally off base, but now with six trips to the southern part of the country, my experiences say otherwise. I can easily segue this to restaurants as well. Paying in euros means higher traveling costs, especially if you are used to paying in dollars or dirhams. Sure, those tacos might be 1 euro and 50 cents, but since they're micro-sized, you’ll need to buy several more, and before you know it, dinner is getting expensive. Alcohol and other food courses are not as inexpensive as they seem when you do a real comparison of size and value. Americans who don’t know any better, who are traveling in Spain for the first time, think it’s quite the deal, but it’s not if you run the numbers. Putting food, drinks, transportation, and accommodation aside, one should also be prepared for the fact that daily life in Spain is geared toward locals, not tourists on a weekend or a week-long retreat. They still follow the siesta, and if you are an avid churchgoer, good luck finding an open church on the weekend that is either not charging a fee to get in or is open at any time other than mass on Sunday. Aside from Cádiz’s cathedral, there weren’t any other viable options on a Saturday for prayer and reflection, let alone taking in the interior beauty of these churches. A few places of worship were open during regular weekday hours, but that doesn’t help weekend travel warriors. Finally, if you value a good night’s sleep, this could be the wrong area to enjoy one, simply because many accommodations have thin walls, thinner windows, and a nightlife where locals are out until three or four in the morning. Spain is a social place to begin with, so if that doesn’t bother you, great. Otherwise, you’ve been warned. Don’t misunderstand me, I’ve had some good times in Tarifa, especially when I spent Easter weekend looking over the harbor in what really was a private estate. The lights of the port were far enough away to take in the stars, and the wind was blustery enough to keep things quiet and peaceful. Then again, trying to get to Gibraltar or Cádiz was less than ideal and not economical for a day trip or an overnight stay. I, for one, know I won’t be taking the ferry anytime soon, nor wandering the countryside. It’s far more entertaining to try to catch a flight to Malaga, whether in the early morning hours or late at night. Yep, that’s a much better plan, or is it?  Here’s some exciting news to share — the follow-up to Rusty Star is ready for your eyes. Double Cross is out now. Check out the description below and grab your copy. The book is available in ebook and paperback formats. If you haven’t read the first book in the series, Rusty Star is currently $0.99 for the next few weeks. Enjoy both books, and as always, I’d love to hear what you think. Three ghosts. Two murders. One man running out of second chances.Haunted by the death of the woman he loved, former Navy investigator Russell Stokes is barely holding it together when an old service friend drags him into the cold. Tommy Delaney is wanted for a brutal double murder in northern New Hampshire—and he insists he’s innocent. Heading north, Stokes finds more than he bargained for: a town that guards its secrets, a trail of blood, and a plea from his former mentor, Rear Admiral Radner, to find Grace—the missing daughter of Stokes’s estranged former commanding officer, whose actions forced him to resign his commission. As the murders and Grace’s disappearance twist together, Stokes is forced to confront loyalty, guilt, and corruption in ways he never imagined. Every choice tests his conscience, every lead reveals a betrayal, and every step brings him closer to the truth—and to the ghosts he can’t outrun. Double Cross: A Stokes Case Novel is a gripping, fast-paced New England thriller of loss, redemption, and the thin line between justice and obsession.  This translation app needs some love. Let’s mark this day in history as the moment I came to the conclusion that AI, while beneficial, is going to become a giant pain in my buttocks.
Now, granted, I’ve already had my run-ins with ChatGPT, asking it to follow specific instructions only to have it bark back something entirely different. More on that in a moment, but today is the last straw. Honestly, I didn’t ask for my emails to be summarized by AI, and I most definitely didn’t ask AI to start summarizing articles I click on, either. This madness has to stop. I’m sure this will strike a nerve, but did I ask Google, Yahoo, or any of the search sites to give me a bloody summary for any article I wish to read? There’s the key right? I want to read the article; I don’t need help summarizing a news story like I’m some uneducated schmuck who can’t think for myself. Excuse the language, but it does upset me quite a bit, not only as a person but as an educator. This isn’t about saving time; it's about taking away the process of reading and thinking. One of the central aspects of developing critical thinking skills, at least in my upbringing, was reading not only for fun but also for research. I remember it well: going to the library with a general topic and then having to figure out which books and other resources might have a viable lead for what I was writing about. There was pleasure in flipping through the different cards, using the Dewey Decimal System, and then pulling various texts; hopefully, so I could find what I needed for my research paper. Things got a bit easier by the time I was in college, with actual search databases at the library, replacing the card system, but one still had to have an idea what they were looking for and what type of resource would work best. For example, how many people know how to use a microfiche and have actually revisited old newspaper articles? There is something pleasurable about figuring out things for yourself. If there isn't, you might not appreciate learning at all. Back to research, there was a real process for requesting books from other libraries, whether virtually or in physical hard copies, and we are now moving away from this entirely. I, for one, understand how easy it is to look up things simply by typing a question into Google or another search engine, or, if you are really lazy, by asking ChatGPT. Most people don’t even know that they can disable the AI searches by typing -AI. I know I do this all the time because the information isn’t always correct, the sources can be sketchy, and what are we teaching others, especially young people, about research and letting them figure things out if they are simply clicking on the first link they see? Or in this case, not even clicking on the link, but looking at the summary. I remember telling my students ten years ago that they could use Wikipedia for informational research, but they would need to then gather additional information and sources directly from the references cited at the end of the Wikipedia article. I felt this was a compromise of sorts, yet it still forced them to do some fact-finding. I won’t get started on teaching them not to copy and paste, as that's a different issue entirely. But now, it’s all just a mess. Recently, I disabled email summarization and nudges on my email account because, for whatever reason, people must be SO BUSY that they can’t tell for themselves which ones to open or follow up on, and what their previous email exchanges were about. Perhaps there is some real value to this, but for an individual who prides himself on remembering emails and their subjects, it’s offensive, and for younger individuals, it denies them more reading and the ability to differentiate one topic from another. While I’m sure some people will find substantial value in this, perhaps the current US President, who wants crib notes on various topics, this is going to only perpetuate the decline in reading, the ability to process information, and, for that matter, decrease attention spans (which is already at an all-time low). I understand I’m being dramatic on this issue, but there’s a reason a population of people have gone back to basic phones. There’s too much being thrown at everyone right now, and with information overload, AI is only making it worse. A perfect example supporting this is how teachers around the world are using AI to develop their lesson plans or to create problem sets or worksheets. God forbid they actually look at a textbook or draw on the resources provided by their school or district. No, we’ll just use this AI bot to decide what Sally and Jonny will complete today. Even better, we’ll have it generate a pacing guide, even though the program can’t account for differentiation or the fact that we are working with little human beings. Maybe it’s not ChatGPT, or AI for that matter, that is upsetting me, or my colleagues around the world, but the fact that many of them have decided that these online resources are better than textbooks and curriculum guides created by people far more knowledgeable than they are. That could very well be the case and is a rant for a different time. The fact remains that AI is leading people to take shortcuts that aren’t always in their best interest. If you ever listen to my joys of making book covers, you know there are certain areas that are just easier to complete by paying people to do them, as opposed to thinking that AI is the one-stop shop for everything now. Back to the original topic and my reason for writing this blog: what really bothers me is that tech companies aren't even giving us the opportunity to say no. They are competing with one another to offer the latest and greatest and are simply automating these AI tools. By not giving us the initial choice and a series of clicks to disengage these features, they are making it seem like this current medium is the best way to do things. I would go as far as to say, they might need to look in the mirror and decide if ease is really saving time, and if it is really creating the proper mental space and environment, not only for adults but for all learners. That’s my food for thought today. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe all of this change is a good thing, but then again, at least I can read a map, remember a phone number, and send an email without being prompted that it’s time to follow up.  The storm finally arrived! This week’s blog was going to be one of glory, of success, focused on my recent trip to Spain, which was not only successful but worthwhile. While I was prepared to sing the praises of what I saw, tasted, and accomplished, the weather fairy decided to make any travel plans negligible and moot. Let’s be frank now, I don’t understand how, in 2026, we can’t get the weather models right in this part of the world. Yes, I’m putting it out there in this neck of the woods, the northern tip of Africa and southern Spain, why can’t the weather apps decide what’s really going to happen, even three days out? I don’t understand, period. We were supposed to get light rain on Friday morning, but I ended up walking to school in a deluge. No joke. The side streets were streams, borderline rivers with equally fun crossings because my entire route is downhill. Thankfully, I’m a resourceful man and packed a change of clothes, but my sneakers are still not too happy about our little adventure. Three days later, they remain soaked. While I’m harping on the streets, the amazing thought process of having tiled sidewalks in Tangier continues to rock my mind. Sure, it’s easy to clean up afterwards, but even a few drops of rain make these routes treacherous. Let’s turn a light drizzle into a downpour, and it’s easier, let alone safer, to take my chances on the roadway. The only saving grace are the locals appear to hide in the early morning hours when these weather occurrences do their business, which means one less thing for me to manage. As for my ill-fated trip, I watched a school of little sailboats, we’ll call them minnows, parade out in the bay for a good four hours yesterday afternoon, while the sun basked above them. Meanwhile, the ferries stayed shuttered as though it was a perfect time for a holiday. I joked with my friend that I think the Spanish port wanted a weekend off, because it was fine over here. Only now, at 1:30 Sunday afternoon, has the wind finally arrived, making the water less than ideal for a crossing.  Homemade meatballs helped make up for staying home. The truth of the matter is that the blasted ferry service from Tangier to Tarifa decided there was too much wind to make any runs across the strait as early as Thursday. Why they called it days before the scheduled departure makes little sense, especially when it appears our weather patterns are always in flux. I suppose I should be annoyed about this development. Perhaps, in a way, I am, since I was looking forward to seeing Cadiz and its cathedral.
All told, this would be the first time in southern Spain that I was actually able to get into a church. Lo and behold, the streak of no church visits, let alone exploration, continues. While I will try this coming weekend, I grow envious of my friends and family back home in the States, where their forecasters seem to be able to predict accurately a snowstorm that will cross over 2000 miles over a three-day period, and yet we can’t even predict if sun or rain will show in a ten hour period. Not to be entirely negative or sarcastic, I did make the most of this weekend. Double Cross is complete and now set for preorder. February 10th is the release date. What a relief and a blessing at the same time. I’ll share more details in the coming weeks. The important thing is that the book is done, edited, and ready for readers. While reading Rusty Star beforehand would prove beneficial, the story itself can stand alone. Of all my books, I believe this latest novel is the strongest storywise and is filled with enough details to get you not only immersed in Russell’s world but living in the moment with him. We’ll see, right? You can thank the flawed forecast, intermittent rain, and soft breezes for keeping me indoors to complete the project. Now the only questions that remain are whether Cadiz will actually happen this coming weekend and what the next writing project is. Stay tuned and oh… Go Patriots!  Inspiration is often found while traveling like on this spot during a Helsinki winter. In the middle of writing a travel blog, it struck me faster than the sound of the drums outside my apartment window that I’ve done a bunch of bone-headed things over the years on my publishing journey ― to the detriment of my ability to grow my author brand and get more eyes on books that I’m sure many would enjoy. While I have learned from my self-inflicted mistakes, I now find the independent publishing environment not only more competitive but also downright painful to navigate because of shortcuts that affect us all in the writing industry. To that end, the best I can do is share what you shouldn’t do, not only because it’s not ethical, but it demeans the writing process and the storyteller you can be with time and effort. Who cares how many eyes find your projects? Is it worth cutting corners even if it’s not your work? For many of us, writing is not only a fun hobby but a passion that can potentially be more than a simple side gig, but an actual career. If people keep doing these idiotic things, many of us who do it the right way will have to be content with our family and friends reading our published works, knowing that the masses will never find the works we have toiled on over the years. 5 Idiotic Things You Can Do That Piss Other Writers Off A good writer will see this and immediately have a story. 1. Tell people you are writing a book, and even have a book cover, before you've started the project. Let’s go even further, putting this not-started book on a webpage for all to see. Now let’s dissect this one. I understand the joy of fleshing out a new story idea and even generating a few possible covers to inspire your writing journey, but come on, putting a cover on your professional work site, that might not be entirely for creative purposes, is a boneheaded thing. Thankfully, I can’t take credit for this doozy, but I’ve seen it done by more than one person over the years. As someone who has written several million words, it’s frustrating when people do this. Honestly, what are you trying to do exactly? What do you accomplish, and even offering pre-sales, what is that all about? If you don’t have a preexisting catalogue, this is a BIG no-no. It sends a mixed message. I believe it’s even worse when this project has been just an idea for years, but you are using it to market yourself as an expert in some field. 2. Claim to be an author when you haven’t actually written or published anything. I know, this sounds a lot like the previous one, but there is a slight distinction. I can’t be the only person who has seen professional websites with people putting in their titles “author” only to do a quick web search and find that Dr. Glen Nobody is counting his senior history thesis (a mere twenty pages) as the gauntlet for his reasoning. Don’t get me started on the yahoos who use AI to craft the entire story and then take credit for it. You didn’t do anything. That doesn’t make you an author. I’m fine with “storyteller” because who am I to judge you telling stories to your three- and five-year-olds at night, but “author” is supposed to mean something. Or at least it did, years ago. We can also add to this list all the influencers who seem to think that publishing a brief post makes them an author. Nope, sorry. You’re an author or writer if you actually have something tangible, created by you, that’s more than a thousand words. Sure, we can debate word length, but honestly, let’s have some integrity in this process and not water down these titles any further. 3. Use AI as your sole means of writing your latest project. Now I get it: AI isn’t going anywhere; it's integrated into many aspects of our lives. Even this morning, I noticed Gemini has decided it’s now going to summarize my emails, like I’m a chimp who can’t remember the thread on my own. When did I ask for this again? Truthfully, when did I ask for AI to weave itself into everything that I’m doing online? Even in Double Cross, I would ask whether a certain weapon was realistic for the scenario I was brainstorming, only to end up arguing with the AI to prevent it from generating dialogue or crafting the scene. I only wanted to know whether a blunt object to this character’s head would cause this or that. So if I’m literally fighting and yelling at AI to only do what I’m asking, I already know the slippery slope the weekend hacks are doing, hoping to generate big sales with their latest books. What are they doing? They simply tell the generator they want to compose a book on a certain topic, with certain guidelines, and boom, there it is. Who knows if they even bother to read or review the thing before clicking publish on KDP? All I know is that, not only is this not authentic to real writing, but it takes away from those who are putting in the time, the real effort, to generate and compose literature that matters. But please, keep using AI to write your stories, to do dialogue and entire sequences and chapters, because you haven’t read enough books or practiced enough to develop the skill on your own. It’s one thing to look up information or to clarify a point you want to make, especially with non-fiction pieces, but don’t be part of that army of mules who have decided AI is a shortcut to authorhood. While I’m on this rant, this goes for students everywhere. If you don’t actually write, how do you plan to develop that skill? It’s not just the act of crafting a story, but building those synapses in your brain to connect the dots and create something that goes from point A to point B. 4. Publish books or articles you didn’t physically write. Yes, I know this sounds a lot like AI, but in this case, let’s pretend these hacks didn’t actually generate their stories; they simply found books and copied them. Yep, I had this happen to me once, several years ago. I’ve also seen it on author bulletin boards and in writing groups, where those who actually write reach out to others, saying, “Hey, your book ‘Tangier Living’ is out as ‘Moroccan Sunsets’ on this Indian book site.” Literally, aside from the cover, the author name and formatting, which were different, verbatim, everything else was the same. This wasn’t the case of an author like me changing a pen name to separate young adult fiction from older material, but of an actual person stealing someone else’s literary work and publishing it as their own. Please go ahead and join that line of work. Not only will you upset the author, but karma might come for you in the long run. Speaking of publishing in general, the more AI and copied works that flood the marketplace, the harder it is for readers to find authentic pieces. How is that fair to those who actually put in the time for their stories, only to have them pushed farther down in this messed-up algorithm that, for a moment, appears to be rewarding any content that appears in the global internet ether? 5. My favorite one has to be this. Find a tangible product or idea, and write one short book on the topic, then break it into five smaller “books” to increase sales. This is pure marketing genius that screws real literary works, because influencers say writing an ebook is a path to riches and success. There was one “author” I recall who published a series of dating books, or was it travel or finance? I wish I remembered. Anyway, the first book was free, and the preceding books were $0.99. When you actually clicked on the work, it wasn't just ten pages long; it was a glorified sales pitch to get you to buy the new product. All told, the six books ran to fifty pages. While I commend the person for trying to push their system or whatever it was, again labeling themselves as an expert, author, whatever, combines all the no-nos I’ve already mentioned. The problem is with this person’s schtick, and others like him is they flood the ebook market, making it harder for real works to be seen and for genuine projects to gain traction in the independent publishing circles. Not to mention, most of these series are utter crap, not proofread, and now likely AI trash. Just don’t do it, please. Bonus Time - Because we all deserve a 6th reason  I love this street in Helsinki! Finally, because a bonus is what many people look for. Here’s the doozy for me. This is my biggest pet peeve. Tell a published author you have a story idea or (even a blog) and want them to write it for you. I’m annoyed thinking about this one, as though I and others who have a list of projects to work on want to take on your latest whim when you simply jotted down a few characters on a napkin, or better yet, you want your life story to be told, and I’m the person to do it. What’s that, for free too, wow, what a deal? I’m flattered, sure, but really, why can’t you write this story? If I don’t write this story, will you take the AI route? Or are you going to find someone else in your immediate circle to take on this amazing project? Seriously now, the number of times people have proposed having their story told over the years is comical. I’m not trying to be mean, but I’m busy, and so are other authors. I know John Kennedy, with his Profiles in Courage, seems like a genuine influence for you, but I’m not a ghostwriter, either, certainly not for free. Should you find a way to compose your story, I’m more than willing to help you get that cover made and suggest ways to market the heck out of the story, but just don’t label yourself something you aren’t and be authentic. That’s all we can ask for in 2026 and beyond.  I'd vote for hanging out at this old prison rather than dealing with the noise in Morocco. I’ve been back for a week already after a whirlwind Christmas and New Year’s vacation. Subjected now to screaming and random drums as the locals cheer on their home football team in the African Cup, I have to admit, I’m eager for a Moroccan loss so that the football-crazed fans can take a rest and let me return to my somewhat quiet apartment. Then again, why would we expect anything different when this area only seems to sleep from 6 in the morning until half past 8? Granted, I’ve been spoiled of late. The constant stimulation one faces in Tangier is a challenge to begin with. My body’s tendency in winter is to slip into hibernation mode, so it seems disharmonious to resist this natural inclination. At least tonight there is a reprieve from the hammer choir that has serenaded me for months on end, enough to get some words in, to reflect on what was an almost perfect post-Christmas-New Year’s retreat. Let me be the first to share: Finland isn’t for everyone, but for this introvert, it’s a welcome-home mantra. Noise, Distance, and the Need for Stillness Look at the local greeters :) I can’t necessarily comment on Finland being the happiest place on earth, but I know that those looking for subtle light, a quiet mood, and time to think, there might be no better place to be this time of year for inner work, and yet an ability to get some stimulation if necessary. Then again, if you have a fear of small dogs, it might not be the place to be, or you can’t handle being in a little cold. Wait one, as we say in the military, and cue the snare drum and cowbell. I can’t make this up even if I wanted to. I suppose the Moroccan National team must be trying to score again, or the fans outside my window at a restaurant in dire need of a promotion that gets people in the doors believe their sabre-rattling will give the team the necessary inspiration to do something grand. I hate to tell them, the game is several hundred miles away, and they can’t hear you. Oh dear, I just realised this is the pregame entertainment. This might be a long evening . . . I digress for a moment, only because I remember when the World Cup came to the United States in 1994. Others and many like me in New Hampshire couldn't care less. The only people who seemed to give two hoots were Pelé fans who remembered an older football star playing in a subpar American league and high school soccer players who knew the highlight of their playing existence was winning a state title. For the month or however long the games were played in American football stadiums, we as a country seemed to care enough to learn the names of Alexi Lalas, and well, that’s it, but not enough for American culture to be more than fair-weather fans. We might have warmed to the Women’s World Cup, but I don’t think it was due to the games themselves. Thirty years later, and well, the USA might have a bigger professional league now, but its status among the major sports is at best tertiary. I’d rather watch race car drivers take left-hand turns for two and a half hours than suffer through an overrated sporting event. Hey, what do I know? I really want to focus on Finland and why it’s a great winter retreat. Before the drumming starts again, let’s dive into Finland and all its glory. Why Helsinki Worked as a Winter Retreat Sunset in Helsinki - A touch of heaven To begin, locals will tell you Helsinki and Finland in general are a wonderland during the summer months. I can say, winter is equally stimulating and without the crowds, whatever that exactly means. In Helsinki, it’s not much compared to other European cities during the height of the Christmas holiday season. Then again, if you make the mistake of going to reindeer land and seeking to sit on Santa’s lap, well, prepare for the typical tourist overcrowding that plagues much of Europe in the summer months, not to mention dealing with several fallacies to create the illusion that you are visiting Santa’s winter base of operations. Let’s be clear, Santa’s real home is most likely in Poland, home of the North Pole (do you see what I did there?) or Santa’s Village in Jefferson, New Hampshire. I don’t believe Santa is in Lapland, where they had to accommodate husky sledding rides in the 1980s to appease the evergrowing number of tourists in Santa’s alleged home turf. Still, most of those who flock to Finland in the winter months head north, not to Helsinki, which was perfect for me. Logistically speaking, Helsinki has to be one of the easiest airports to navigate I’ve encountered to date. English is clearly the second language, so there is no issue for those who lack Finnish in their repertoire. After walking through their immaculately clean and sleek terminal, getting to the train that takes between twenty-eight and thirty-two minutes to get you and others to the center of the capital city is beyond easy. You can always download the app, although if your phone is moody like mine (it might be the Moroccan number), the machines are user-friendly, and honestly, 4.80 euros to get to the hub is affordable. If you are a planner like some of my traveling friends, you can easily get a multi-day transit pass that lets you travel in and around the greater city for about seven euros a day. That’s not only reasonable but, for those that don’t want to deal with trekking through the cold, a welcome bonus. I looked into Bolt and Uber rates, and let’s just say you won’t be able to cut many costs on this trip, so taking public transit is likely the only part where you feel fiscally pleased. Then again, it depends on your budget, but food is a mixed bag in price. I know, I know, I should be focusing on only the positives, but let’s be real. I typically eat out for lunch and buy groceries for dinner. Even now, I’m torn about whether I actually saved any money with this technique. Grocery prices, whether at Lidl or at their corner markets, seemed expensive. Come on, nine euros for Ben and Jerry’s is nuts. Even the yogurt, I went generic (local brand) at 0.70 euros, because I couldn’t rationalize paying 2.40 euros for what I would find in Poland, Spain, or England. Cheese, milk, it’s all more expensive. Then again, the granola cereal I found was reasonably priced and delicious, as were the apples and peanut butter, so there were some deals to be made. Regardless, I had some sticker shock, but it was still cheaper than going out to breakfast every morning. The Lazy Fox was my lone breakfast outing, and while I loved the atmosphere, my American upbringing made me question the portion size versus the price, and since when is one cup of tea so expensive? I missed my pot of tea in Parnu, Estonia, for what felt like half the price. Later that day, after an overnight in a standard hotel room, I found myself in a glorified, upscale food court, which made me question how much I wanted to pay for a slice of pizza or a bowl of wok soup. The going rate seems to be 19 euros, but I kept walking until I saw a sign for a lunch special at a local Italian place well across the street. This, my friend, was a godsend and something to look forward to should you be exploring Helsinki. Especially in the center, many restaurants have midday specials with salad, a drink, tea/coffee, and the main course for around 16 euros. While I simply pointed to one of the pizza options at the Italian place I was warming up in, I felt like I'd found a deal. Two days later, it was the same when I stumbled across a buffet a block or two from the prison-hotel I felt obligated to vlog from. So, can you get some food deals? It can be done, but it also depends on your budget. I didn’t go to Helsinki for the food, but for the quiet. Let’s be clear, did I find quiet? Absolutely. Even riding the train into the city center, there was an immediate weight taken off my shoulders. At the airport, people were quiet, or at least lowered the volume of their conversations and their enthusiastic replies. This seemed consistent everywhere I explored and walked. Long, picturesque walks with water views were the norm during my entire visit. Having decided to stay close to the center, I made it a point to be within a fifteen to twenty-minute walk to the water and the area’s trail network of 100km. Even as I found myself walking the same route, multiple times of day, there were few people, if any, making me feel like I had the area all to myself. What surprised me, or more like I overlooked, was that the sun’s angle and light intensity were muted at best. Always a fan of running in the early morning hours, especially as the sun rises and before it peaks on those long summer days back home in Maine and New Hampshire, I found the sun didn’t rise much over the horizon on this Helsinki trip, thus giving me a more subdued vibe and reminding me of those wondrous workouts. Unlike in New England, where this meant 4:30 or 5:30 am workouts, the sun didn’t start creeping up at what felt like nine in the morning, and it was long gone before three. I stress the light, because this isn’t for every traveler. This is more of a reflective, subdued energy. You feel like you are in perpetual early morning or early evening, and for me, that was pleasant. Mix that with the cold, teens, and single digits, I had the perfect walking weather and the ability to call it quits whenever for a hot cup of hot chocolate (6.80 euros - ugh) or get some tea back in the apartment. With the seasonal light, everything appears to start later. That’s something to plan for. Cafes are open at regular hours, if you will, but if you want to get into some of the museums or churches, eleven and noon appear to be the norm. I was able to visit the Catholic Cathedral (for free) earlier than at other venues. The weather was great for me, but if you can’t handle the wind off the water and the briskness it provides, you might be pining for Malaga or the Maldives during a winter holiday. I made the mistake of bringing only a winter liner for a coat, but with a heavy sweater, scarf, and an extra layer, I was good to go. Then again, when my AccuWeather app failed to notify me of a snow squall that turned into a two-hour-long ordeal, and chilled me to the bone, I wished I hadn’t packed as light as I had. Full disclosure, trekking through the city with my bag in tow was a traveling no-no, but an hour in my apartment dried everything out on this one occasion. At least it was just a backpack, not some wheeled monstrosity that would have been a pain to drag along the sidewalks and cobbled areas. Lastly, the key to this trip was being able to disconnect from the noise, even from technology, and get outside when I felt like it, and relax inside without feeling like my neighbors were inconsiderate jerks. Then again, not being inundated with people asking for handouts on every street corner made me wonder whether I had simply found Europe’s least deprived capital, or whether those in need were properly sheltered and cared for. Either way, I could come and go as I pleased without feeling threatened or put off. This was relaxing and just what my mind needed. I would certainly visit Helsinki again in the winter months, but the next time, it would likely be for a night or two at most, then the ferry across to Estonia for a similar taste and vibe in the Baltic states, but without the price tag that Helsinki and Finland dictate.  Mid-December has already arrived, and I can feel Christmas and New Year’s not only whispering in my ear, but knocking at the door, saying, “Let’s do this.” While I’m sure another travel blog focusing on Katowice and their family-friendly Christmas Market would be preferred or an exposé on running the gauntlet of three different markets in Krakow, for once, I’m going to leave my storytelling to the side and simply let the vlogs speak for themselves. The truth is, I’m tired. It could also be this blasted cold I've had for the last three weeks, or the fact that this time of year always makes me reflective and protective of my time. With a few days remaining until we go on break, a wise teacher will focus on health, self-preservation, and choosing the right spots to end things on a high note before the well-deserved, desperately needed vacation begins. Don’t get me wrong, being in education is a blessing. I’ll be the first to write that in twenty-plus years of doing this job with a stint in the Navy in between, there’s something undeniable about working with students on their lifepaths. We don’t just teach subjects, we teach right and wrong, or, as some educator turned author wrote many years ago, “middle-class values.” Rather than dwelling on what those values precisely mean, the focus should be on teachers being part of a process that helps little ones find their way to becoming inquisitive, productive, and mindful adults who can make a difference in the lives of those around them. This is a powerful position with great responsibility. I don’t lose sight of this aspect of my chosen career field, especially not after working in some of the more challenging public schools in New Hampshire, where some students didn’t have hope to do much more than their parents did. Life circumstances, especially during the holiday season, put things in greater perspective. With students who don’t know where they are going to sleep on a given night, where they will eat if they aren’t at school, and if they have to subject themselves to abusive relationships to exist simply, there is something said about taking a moment and being there in a positive light for these kids, especially. Even now, I can recall several students (now over eighteen years ago) who were homeless. For that matter, I can still recognize the faces of some, even from two years ago. Yet they managed to succeed enough to graduate, then navigate their way out of their trying homing situation. At the same time, I wonder what happened to many of my students in those towns; it's easy to look back to other teaching positions in more affluent communities in the boarding and international world. The stories are different, but the role remains the same, being there in a positive way to create change. I hope and trust I don’t lose sight of this aspect. Honestly, even as I get ready for Ugly Sweater Day and a stint as Saint Nick, where this guy is going to don a fat suit to bring some added joy to the day across grade levels, learning to be grateful for what we have is equally valuable.  This sums up Tangier perfectly. Note the smoking section, door still open, and the air blowing the smoke out for all to share and enjoy. To that end, I’m looking back at this year. I’ll be the first to share that Tangier and I are not besties. Far from it, this city rubs me the wrong way, and at some point, I can share why, but in short, it’s not for me. The incessant noise, for one, is trying, and the runner in me cannot develop a routine that works between the terrain and the atmosphere. No matter how many times I tell my left ankle the tiled sidewalks can’t hurt you, it refuses to listen. What Tangier has done is helped me get back on my writing track. I don’t want to brag, but honestly, I haven’t written this much in years. Krakow didn’t help much with my writing because I was off practically every weekend, exploring Poland and other parts of Europe for my travel vlog. Maine was more of the same with journaling in between, but nothing as creative as I did in my old house on Lake Winnipesaukee. To recap, I’ve written three different books this year and am currently halfway through a fourth. Granted, I have taken a bit of a break this past month, rightfully so. Who else writes around 300K words and doesn’t need a bit of reprieve? That’s probably wise, don’t you think? Even these blogs, I’ve been writing concurrently with Double Cross since late August without any break. It’s time to take a few weeks to decompress and spend more time with family and friends.  My traveling companions enjoying the sunrise in Poland Travel-wise, it’s been a mixed bag. I had to come to grips with the fact that Tangier and Ryanair had changed their itineraries, and what had been weekend-friendly options for trips had shifted to less appealing ones. Then again, I finally got out of Tangier and saw a few different places in Morocco, so perhaps Ryanair killing that Lisbon Friday-to-Sunday flight was a good thing. Still, I managed to check off some travel goals: Malaga, Tarifa, Gibraltar, a return to the Baltics, Poland (of course, 2 times), and some excellent excursions to Liverpool, Wales, and Morecambe. I’ve already booked the following slate of trips from Finland, Aix-en-Provence (tried to go last year but was sick), Mongolia (yep, you’ll see how cool it is, literally coldest capital on Earth), a return to Carcassonne, and Liverpool between now and the end of the school year. I expect some fun travel vlogs with walking tours and commentary that show way too little research, poor assumptions, and my schtick, which some find undeniably charming and others, not so much. Then again, it’s fun and a break from the classroom. It also fuels the writing by living and experiencing new places and sights. Really, I am amazed by family and friends in the States who have never left the country, let alone hop in their cars and explore their own areas. Understand me: I’m not saying they are complacent, but when we settle into our routines, stagnation can kick in unless we find new goals and experiences to challenge us to move forward. It would be hypocritical to tell my students to read if I’m not reading books. The same is true of writing: I can’t tell them they don’t need to improve it if I’m not modeling the same behavior. If only I could convey the countless ways I use math every day, then some would stop asking Siri for help. By the way, she’s not as good as she thinks she is because she never explains the process. Ridiculous, right? Even AI wants to take shortcuts. To that end, we are bringing this year to a close. Personally and professionally, I hope you have found growth and success in your lives these last twelve months, and that you have found ideas to push yourself to try new things or to stimulate your minds in ways that improve your world and the lives of those around you. As for me, I’ll keep plugging away, teaching, writing, and traveling. Stay tuned for the next round of adventures, and oh, the new book that will be out in February. Happy New Year and Merry Christmas. Jonny
Madrid: The Layover That Tested My Sanity I should have run faster . . . Another trip means another chance at living the Ryanair dream. I will readily admit, this Thanksgiving adventure to Poland with an overnight in Madrid was interesting to say the least. I can’t even jump to the purpose of my trip, the elusive Polish Christmas Markets, without doing justice to the continued travel mishaps and observations that honestly make me wonder about the world we live in. I should preface this entire story simply as the joys of traveling and how people from all walks of life behave in public. There’s a caveat to the story before we even dig into the fun. Unlike previous flights from Tangier, I decided to take Air Arabia for my brief flight to Madrid. While more expensive, the inside of the plane felt cleaner and, dare I say, more civilized. Granted, between the families and children flying, that always keeps things real, but the entire experience was on point. For once, I didn’t have to roll the dice on whether my plane would be late getting to Tangier and, of course, departing for la la land. My plan was simple: get into Madrid around eight at night, then walk across the road to Barajas, where my hotel room was waiting. After my first foray into Madrid a couple of years earlier, I had no urge to face higher hotel room prices in the center, to translate the metro sign, or to figure out whether I was on the correct train, because in Madrid, the information screens are a joke at best. I also wasn’t eager to pay any additional travel costs if I could simply walk twenty minutes and be within visual range of the airport for my flight to Krakow the next morning. With that shared, I was reminded upon arrival why Madrid and I can never be friends. Call it the Ryanair sickness, but I’m now accustomed to disembarking from the back of the plane, or the front, simultaneously. There is no standing up and waiting for everyone and their friends to get off the plane while I sit in the back pondering life’s greater questions. Now I know for the next trip that Madrid insists on using the gates and their ramps, which means one way in and one way out. In the USA, we always did it this way and efficiently. For whatever reason, to and from Madrid, people linger in the corridor and are in no hurry to grab their bags and go. Meanwhile, while I stand and fume, I swear some were catching a last-minute siesta until they could rise, grab their gear, and leave, which only makes the process longer. This would be the end of the fun, especially after I noticed the new Schengen machines were still out of commission or perhaps just resting for another time, actually to be turned on and used. Regardless, customs was a breeze, and then the real fun began. I had to figure out how to get out of the airport, cross the road, and enter the nearby enclave. Google Maps was worthless, not surprising to me in the least. Sure, I could have asked three different information desks, but what’s the fun in doing that? I’m sure there was a valid reason for having only three doors open for people to come and go across three terminals, and those bicycle locks on the other exits were certainly reassuring. So, I walked and walked, hoping I could figure out where the actual exit was that would lead to the sidewalk taking me home for the night, but alas, it never happened. The next day, in daylight, it was clear where I should have gone back down the escalator and out, but on this walk, I was drawn to the metro sign and assumed the sidewalk would be near that exit for easy access for all travelers. Fast forward to me lowering my head in disgust, fifteen minutes of wandering around the airport terminals, and the realization I now had to eat whatever cost the metro would be to go to Barajas station and cut back towards the hotel in the center. The entire plan was to save money for this portion of the trip, but that wasn’t the reality. Full disclosure, I still don’t know whether I clicked the wrong buttons on the automated ticket machines. I’m pretty sure it should have been around 1.50 euros for one train stop, but instead I forked over 7 euros because they insisted I buy one of their plastic travel cards, as though I would be riding this metro for years to come. Either way, it was an added cost for what would later be a free fifteen to twenty-minute walk. Who knows what absurd cost the taxis might have charged for the same distance? Honestly, if you stand at the right point at the airport, you can see the church in the center of Barajas, where my hotel was a stone’s throw away. Talk about a waste of money. The only saving grace was that the train was on time, and if I had missed that beast, there was another one minutes later. I made it to the hotel and was in my room, eating some snacks from a local grocer, before nine. All of this was positive. Most importantly, the hotel and my room were significantly better and cheaper than my last overnight in Madrid, which I considered to be a win. Airport Shenanigans: Food Crimes and Bathroom Nightmares Walkway from Barajas to Madrid Airport Before heading out the next morning, I was hoping to get into the Catholic church I had spotted on previous trips and even do a short travel vlog. For whatever reason, churches in Spain seem to hate me. Truthfully, I don’t get it because everywhere else I have traveled, churches are open at seven or before for those inclined to pray before their day gets underway. In Krakow, my favorite church was always open well before 6:30. Don’t assume that Spain will accommodate your time for solitary reflection and adoration to any of the saints. No, these late-night creatures can’t stomach the idea of even having their houses of worship open by 8 in the morning, so alas, I failed again to see the confines of a Spanish church at a more manageable hour for this native New Englander. Back at the airport, I was eager for my flight to Poland. The walk over was a breeze and easy to do, especially in the daytime hours. Why the airport continued to lock all of their doors remains a mystery to me, especially as I almost got hit by two cars that didn’t like the fact that I found myself in the road. It wasn’t my fault that the sidewalk came to an abrupt end at the terminal with no way into the building, save backtracking a hundred feet. How was I to know? Already scammed by the metro machines for the previous night’s journey in, I knew my early lunch at the airport would be scandalous, as it always proved to be. I wasn’t disappointed that the pizza place I found myself scanning various options at was the king of this mentality. Let’s be clear, the food court was barely moving. Only ten in the morning, out of the four options, two were open, allegedly. I didn’t see any people manning the registers and was forced to use the automated machines to make my selection. That was fine, as it saved me from having to talk to anyone, but if you’re going to charge me twelve dollars for a half-slice of pizza, it better be worth my hard-earned dollars. At this master swindler, or dare I say, place where the staff could give two $#%^s, I was taken for my biggest ride to date. Out of the pizza options, there were rows of slices. In a stroke of marketing genius, the good slices, the ones with cheese on them, were closest to the glass. One would assume that with no other customers, you could help a brother out and actually heat a proper slice of pie, but not these bastards. I even pointed to the slice I wanted, and this yahoo took from the back of the pile, a slice that was one you would throw to a dog or would serve as a perfect treat for any lactose-intolerant person, but not for the likes of me, who wanted an honest slice with cheese and toppings. I might not be so scared of the experience, but I stood there for ten minutes waiting for anyone to serve me my meal. Four different workers cruised by and into the kitchen doors, and still I waited. When that tired barista made her appearance, the fact that she didn’t even humour my request was icing on the cake. Clearly, these were slices that had been uneaten from the previous day. Leftovers galore; there were still some pieces suitable. Still, the slice I got was utter crap, and the worst meal I have had in Spain. No wonder I usually go to McDonald’s. After my five-star meal, I went to find a bathroom to ponder where I went wrong in my life, only to regret walking to the other end of the terminal for what I thought would be a reprieve from my fellow passengers. Some tired shlep passed out next to a plug where his phone dangled freely. Maybe I would have woken this fellow and told him to be more careful, but if you’re going to sleep in the corner of a busy corridor with your thumb in your mouth and your phone there free for the taking, you might deserve what comes your way. He was still dead to this world on my return trip, an hour later. Somehow, my bathroom stop led to a McDonald’s layover. I needed something with dairy to offset the spice and lack of cheese from the world’s finest pizza place. My milkshake, which only brought this boy to the yard, was quickly prepared. Given this liquid treat and a macadamia nut cookie, I thought my luck was improving until a group of British expats decided to turn on their typical charms. Your accent can only take you so far, mentioning tea time but then shifting to morning pints, and of course, a loud boisterous conversation for everyone to feel included on your family adventure. How I wish I could repeat their exploits, but I finished my shake and ran for the bathroom, hopeful for a moment of silence. That’s the keyword, hopeful. Alas, it was not to be. In the stall next to mine, some loser was talking to his mistress while toxic fumes and sounds were released into the air. How he managed the conversation, let alone thought she wanted in on the action, makes no sense to me. I simply wanted him to end the call and be on his way. True to form, he flushed and continued the call, like he was at home, going from one room to the next. Not to be outdone in the lack of bathroom etiquette, the next guy who entered the same stall was also eager to be available at all possible times. “Cheri Cheri” played on his ringer, and this guy took the call and another, by the time I was free of this special area. Ryanair Reality: A Thanksgiving Departure Gone Wrong Corn would have been better I counted down the minutes for my Ryanair flight to Krakow. How I prayed it would be seamless and that I would be on a plane, off to a country that actually made some sense, was not heard from the heavens above. After my string of on-time flights, the one-way on plan failed miserably. We were 15 minutes late finishing the boarding process, and then the pilot dared to blame our delayed departure on the cabin crew transfer, oblivious to the fact that they were on the plane with him when they arrived and dropped off the first set of passengers. We were an hour late leaving because Ryanair doesn’t know how to board a plane by seating when there's only one way onto the plane. You can’t expect to have a hodgepodge of passengers boarding across the entire plane and then wonder why we didn’t find our seats on time. Let’s not even get into the fact that many of those passengers had to get up and walk the aisle to cram their bags over other assigned seats, because people don’t honor the rules. I hoped this would be the end of my Thanksgiving travel experience, but I had no idea what would happen on the return… |
Meet Mr. Jon- a traveler at heart who loves a good story and walk. Jonathan has over twenty years experience in independent publishing. While he prides himself on crafting a good story, nothing truly beats an adventure and a camera. 
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