 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.
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 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…  Christmas Markets are a newer tradition for me, and one I'm learning to embrace In my family, today is always a day of great significance. There was something wholesome and special about leaving my shoes or slippers out the night before, only to wake and see if St. Nicholas left anything for my twin brother and me. Even now, years later, I see the date and have to do a double-take, curious whether St. Nicholas could find his way to Morocco, of all places. Alas, nothing yet as of this message, but perhaps he’s working on Eastern Time. Possibly to give St. Nicholas a helping hand, I will try my luck at the Christmas Market today at the Legation, the first marker of early American-Moroccan relations, when the young nation sought assistance in dealing with the Barbary Pirates and safe passage into the Mediterranean. Honestly, who would have thought that Morocco was the first nation to recognise American independence, back in 1777, when the colonies were still fighting to break free from British rule? I, for one, didn’t know this bit of history until I made the move over the Atlantic. How that deals with St. Nicholas, I couldn’t tell you the least, save the Legation puts on a market every year with stalls and vendors that mark the Christmas season. This won’t be a repeat of my Christmas adventures in Poland or the Baltics, but it’s better than nothing. Should St. Nicholas not do his part, I can at least honour the tradition my family has followed for now generations. Speaking of tradition, this is a big deal in the Kuiper household. In many ways, it was more important than Christmas or Boxing Day (when I pushed for our gifts to be exchanged later). Growing up Catholic, it was one of those added holidays, but it took on a spirit of its own, because I, for one, never really understood why we were exchanging gifts and going all commercial on Jesus’s birthday. Isn’t Christmas supposed to be about the birth of Christ and family? I’m asking for a friend, clearly. I know, deep thoughts for an eight-year-old. But I recall thinking as much and also deciding that the proper earmark of St. Nicholas Day wasn’t Christmas but the Epiphany, when the three wise men arrived in Bethlehem to give their gifts to baby Jesus. Traditions are fun to create, have, and honour. Especially over the holidays - my family and I have been visiting the Shrine for almost thirty yearsEven a few years ago, when I was living in Poland, I wanted to take the plunge that is so common in Orthodox Christian circles. I could have gone about this in an entirely different way. Yet, I decided to visit Bialystok (a city near the Belarusian border in northern Poland) with the intention of baptising myself regardless of the temperature. How many times had I seen people chipping away at the ice on New Year’s Day, especially in Russia, and doing the same deed? This was a great idea at the time until it wasn’t. The morning of my plunge was cold, at 17 degrees. I still have the short on YouTube. While the clip is legendary in its own right, I can’t tell you much about the actual dip in that frigid pond water, but I remember the three-mile walk back to my hotel room that followed, including the layover at McDonald’s to warm up with a winter tea. Where I was consumed with creating this new tradition, or more like appropriating another European one as my own, the fact remained that the plunge meant nothing after I shivered away on that beach, alone and wet. The wind didn’t help matters, and my scarf, gloves, and winter coat did nothing for a body shocked by the combination of stupidity and a desire to be different. Have I tried this religious renewal since? Nope, I can’t say I have. There was an opportunity in Maine, but even I’m not stupid enough to jump into the ocean where they have hypothermia warnings in the middle of summer. What would my mother say about that rational thought? As for the lakes, I’m not chipping away with an axe when I know some snapple turtle is waiting to take a chunk out of my leg. No, it’s far easier to stick to the tried-and-true and leave out my shoes, hoping St. Nicholas will find his way to my apartment in Tangier. Still, even if he doesn’t, I can reach out to my mom and reminisce about previous holidays, about the joy it brought to my brother and me. This morning, I’m even going to take a moment to think about my first boarding school assignment in Arkansas, of all places. Over twenty years ago, my fellow dorm staff and I picked up candy and other goodies for the boys on our floor, knowing that St. Nicholas would be too busy elsewhere to stop off at Subiaco. Even now, I smile remembering these teenagers putting their slippers and shoes out the night before, with some aware of the tradition and others experiencing it for the first time. From our boys native to South Korea, Mexico, or neighbouring Oklahoma, the smiles at a simple sugary treat as they left their rooms for a busy day of school were a delight to see. Whatever your traditions are this time of year, may you find warmth, smiles, and blessings in them and the happiness from days past, present, and future. Shifting gears for book fans, I do want to add that on St. Nicholas Day, the real gift for me is knowing Double Cross is off to the copy editor and, if all goes as planned, will be back in my hands before the Epiphany. This means that after my final read-through in January, the book will either be ready to go at the end of the month or, at the latest, by Valentine’s Day. Then again, this also assumes the story passes my beta readers and their commentary. I’m optimistic everything will fall into place, and I will keep you posted. With perspective, the accelerated timeline is not too shabby for a book written this fall season.
How to Slow Down in December: Five Lessons for Coping With Holiday Stress, Loss, and Burnout12/3/2025  The Holidays are Here! If there is one thing I appreciate about this time of year, it has to be that, even though a lot is going on, the approaching quiet of the winter season always puts things in perspective. As I plan for the next few weeks and get caught up on daily living before the chaos of holiday traveling and family bonding takes over, I can’t help but smile. I know that colder temps, shorter days, and evenings at home are on the docket, and whatever trying moments present themselves can be cast aside for better, low-key options. December can be a nightmare for many, especially introverts who are guilted into socializing when they might not be able to, but the month doesn’t have to be a total loss. When the holidays come, we deal with so much stress, but we can also take things as they are and, if necessary, slow down to rest and reflect on the highs and lows of the year. We can hit pause and retreat within, without feeling remorse for putting our needs first. I’ve practiced this mantra for years, not only for self-preservation, but also to recover from the roller coaster that is teaching and life among energy vampires and time voids (here’s looking at you, Chat-GPT), who use up our limited resources. Knowing this, I wanted to recycle a post I wrote in December 2013 when I was under the impression that a short, simple blog would drive more book sales. We’ll focus on that reality check at a later date, when I’m not cringing at my ego ten plus years ago, thinking only a Patch.com article would do the trick. At the time, Running with Vince was the focal point, and while I negotiated a Saturday half-hour podcast and weekly blogs, the grind of the school year, combined with this drive to push a book about twin brothers navigating grief, was untenable. Don’t misunderstand, I’m doing more balancing now with new books, travel vlogs, and weekly blogs for this website, but with more experience and better balance, speaking about grief and how we deal with loss, not only during the holidays but daily, doesn’t drain me the way it did before. Life is fascinating: at some points in our life cycle, we learn to function better, balance, and make sure things work in ways that serve us more productively and true to our beings.  A lunch out in southern Italy might help you through the season. If you can't catch the plane do something local for yourself instead. Five Things to Keep you SaneWith this understanding, and knowing that the holiday season is now underway, yes, we already knocked out Thanksgiving and are fast approaching Mariah Carey’s favorite holiday of the year. I wanted to share five things my students constantly remind me to follow, especially during this season. Furthermore, when moving forward from loss, these are good things to consider.
Be patient - Many of us are in a rush this season between functions, work, and even gatherings with loved ones, so we lose sight of the present moment. There is nothing wrong with slowing down and taking each moment as it comes. There is nothing cliché about this concept; it's just that when we rush through life, we miss the experiences that matter most. Be kind – How many times have we heard this from our parents when we were little kids playing with others? Better yet, how many times have you been told to be nice to your brother or sister? Siblings aside, this is a season not based on hate but on love and giving. Swearing at others, putting people down, bullying, or, as I saw firsthand this morning, screaming and grunting at your children in a parking lot because they forgot their book bag, is not going to serve any purpose. Be patient and be kind to those around you. Kindness is contagious. Listen – In Acupuncture school, I remember comparing our ears to our mouths. As you may be aware, we have two ears and one mouth. Therefore, as explained to me, if God wanted us to talk more, the numbers would be reversed, ie, we would have two mouths. That is not the case, so biologically speaking, we are designed to listen first and talk second. How many of you listen? Seriously, though, there is something said for taking a step back to hear what others are saying. We can listen long enough to put our personal agendas aside, and when we do that, you might be amazed at what you learn. Have fun and laugh – I am going to combine four and five simply because, from my perspective, they are the same. We can’t go through this season in such a serious state, where we lose sight of the theme of reuniting with family and friends and/or developing new relationships. When you get together with others, it shouldn’t be a gloomy period but one of harmonious activities and bonding. There is nothing wrong with laughing, enjoying the moments, and the company you keep. Especially for those who have experienced loss, part of moving forward is smiling again and laughing. To recap, be patient, be kind, listen, have fun, and laugh this holiday season. It will make the time more rewarding and worthwhile. Furthermore, you might find yourself a happier person, and those around you will be happier as well. If you enjoy yourself enough, maybe your New Year’s resolution will be to embrace these concepts in the year ahead. If not, that’s all good too. When Tangier’s Noise Meets Christmas Market Season Krakow at Christmas Time Why there is hammering at 7:45 in the morning, in central Tangier, is downright comical. The city has it in for people who stay here long-term. Come on, on a holiday of all sorts, you can’t wait until at least nine to get started. While I want to dwell on the incessant noise that plagues this area, I must admit that I’ve never experienced anything like it before and likely never will again. If you want some silence, good luck finding some in a place where reprieves are a joke and fleeting at best. I’m confident there are better topics for us to focus on for this week’s latest blog. With the Christmas season underway, it’s only fitting that we shift our focus to Christmas Markets and some dos and don’ts. Before we dive in on my limited experience, I’ll say the go-to for all things related to this season is definitely Intothebloom.com. There you’ll find thorough, excellent, and insightful blogs and reports on individual cities and their markets. I know I found many tips and ideas on Dominika’s site for all of my travels. My Early Christmas Market Adventures Reindeer on vacation in Brindisi, Italy The Christmas Market season is one I have enjoyed participating in over the last three years, although I can trace my first foray into that world back to 2016, when I flew to Vienna for a conference. My colleagues and I were fortunate enough to schedule our annual school PD sessions for the end of November, which coincided with the opening of the Christmas Markets in Bratislava and Vienna. Shhh, don’t tell anyone, but Bratislava’s won my heart that year. How one can’t fall in love with a Christmas Market that’s in the middle of an old town square with a magnificent castle in the background is beyond me. Throw in some food vendors, mulled wine, or, in my case, hot chocolate and decorations galore, you might be onto something. Don’t get me wrong, Vienna was fine too, but Bratislava’s at the time wasn’t mobbed and had an old village charm that kept the tourists out and the locals happy. The Don’ts Every Christmas Market Traveler Should Know Let’s discuss the ins and outs of what you shouldn’t do during the Christmas Market season. 1. Don’t show up without cash. I’m serious about this one. Although the major markets accept cards, it's best to avoid hassle and bring some money. You don’t have to worry if the internet goes down or there’s a small vendor who only takes Euros. I went to Berlin a few years ago to experience an Anglican Church market, and to my surprise, they only took loose change and bills. Talk about a reality check. I walked for an hour, one way, from my hotel, in the snow and cold, simply to hear a drum and bugle corps, and then retreat without any sausage in my tummy from this blunder. 2. Don’t check the dates and just wing it. This might seem like common sense, but not to this traveler. Even two weekends ago, when I was in Cambridge, I had assumed that since the Christmas festivities had started in London, anything Cambridge would be doing would also start around the same time. Surprise, surprise, their winter wonderland began three days later, and after I returned home. This also happened when I lived in Krakow. I knew the St. Joseph’s market would be on one of the weekends in December. Heck, I just assumed it would be for several weekends just like the primary market. I even saw them set up the stalls, but guess which braniac booked an alternative trip for the only weekend they were running their beautiful market? Yeah, this guy. Don’t get me started on the fact that I believed the Gdansk and Vilnius markets were running after Christmas through New Year's. Thankfully, Riga does :) 3. Don’t assume all the markets have stalls. This one doesn’t require much research, but then again, if you are flying to random European cities hoping to catch a market and are under the impression they are all the same, you'll likely experience disappointment. Then again, the wonderful Reddit folk who trash markets like those in Kaunas and Vilnius for their lack of stalls, also likely complain about everything. Of course, I have vlogs from both of these that will show they are still lively and lovely events, even if they don’t feature the wooden stands that are so prevalent in other parts of Europe, such as Tallinn and Krakow. 4. Don’t stay in the center of the markets and then complain about the noise. Frankly, this should be a no-brainer, but then again, for some reason, my fellow Americans are under the impression that all the markets close at 5 pm or 8 pm. If you can’t deal with residual noise, booking an apartment or a hotel room in the center square of a primary market is a big no-no. The markets might stay open till ten, but to say the party ends then would be idiocy. Let’s also talk about apartment prices. If you are planning to pay out the wazoo, this is a great option to do so, as opposed to finding a suitable place that might be a twenty-minute walk or a tram ride away. 5. Don’t go thinking there will be no crowds. Should you elect to go to one of the known markets, especially in France or Germany, if you are under the impression that there are quiet times of the day to explore these hamlets and their markets, good luck. Unless you are an early morning person, like me, who wants to walk around and simply take in the ambiance without any stalls or vendors open, this will prove a challenge. Influencers, beware, you will be editing people out of your photos. Then again, if you simply want to walk through, that’s fine, but don’t assume there will be fewer lines at a particular time, especially on weekends or Friday nights. Let’s use some common sense. 6. Don’t buy everything you see, thinking it’s local. The Chinese have cornered these markets, no, seriously. One would assume that the souvenirs are manufactured in the region and handmade, but that is not always the case. It’s worth doing some research and pausing before you buy every nativity scene and ornament that tickles your fancy. Sadly, this is the same for food. I've heard that the prices in Gdansk and Krakow are almost criminal if you don’t read the fine print, specifically the price per gram. It’s good to try the delicacies, but for every melted cheese dish, there is currywurst from frozen sausages. Double-check the prices and ask where the food comes from. 7. Don’t let the weather impact your trip. Honestly, this might be the biggest complaint I’ve heard from those Hallmark-obsessed viewers who think every Christmas season in Vienna is snow-covered streets and a brisk breeze. With changing weather patterns, this isn’t the 1970s when the winter season in Europe meant snow and cold. You might get some, but you can also luck out with freezing rain and soaked clothes. A quick way to mitigate the weather is to pack for the worst and have an umbrella, maybe even a raincoat. Who cares if the weather takes a turn for the worse, as long as you make the most of the adventure? 8. Don’t forget your prescriptions, pills, and toilet paper. Again, this is no joke for my fellow Americans. Sure, Europe has medicine and hygiene items, but there’s something said for not having to figure out the side effects and correct dosage of a European brand over something you rely on from home. And toilet paper ― while my friend says you can simply steal some when you arrive by taking napkins from restaurants, I have always traveled with a bag of T.P. because you might come across a public restroom that hasn’t been restocked, or God forbid, an apartment rental that left you two sheets for wiping before you can get out and buy extra. One more thing, see number one… exchange some money because not every bathroom takes cards. Yep, you do pay for numbers one and two in this part of the world. Parting words and Christmas travel vlogsI’m sure there are more than eight don’ts for the Christmas market season, but it’s enough to get you started. If you want to see what markets are like firsthand, I’m sharing several of my Christmas vlogs from last year. You’ll get a better idea of what to expect and might even plan accordingly. Till next time. Jonny With the new book in completed draft form, it was time for a reprieve. What would be better than another round on Ryanair to see truly if they can get me on time two trips in a row? I’m pleased to report that, in fact, I did arrive on time, even after it took us thirty additional minutes to board, mainly because the idiots (passengers) couldn’t get to the correct seats and wanted to continue to delay the inevitable. The Great Seat Swap Saga: When Courtesy Takes a Nosedive The eventual goal of the trip While I should focus on the actual destination of Cambridge, let’s continue this diatribe about said idiots. Honestly, I’m continually baffled when I fly and encounter the entitled behavior of some passengers. On the first flight, this guy and his girlfriend were quick to ask the passenger who had paid for the window seat to switch to another window seat three rows up so they could sit together. Truly, the nerve. You can debate this till the cows come home, but if I paid for the window seat and it’s the second row to get off the plane, don’t even bother asking. Also, don’t ask when I know you could have paid extra to sit together. This schmuck relented even after his girlfriend pleaded to the window guy to change seats. Both even got irate about the entire ordeal, stating it didn’t make sense, as it was a fair trade. For whom is my question? He continued to brood up and down the aisle, debating on who else to ask. He even tried the stewardesses who wanted him to simply sit his tuchus down in the correct seat and be done with it. But no, he waited for everyone to board and then reluctantly slid into his assigned window seat. More begging ensued as he talked to everyone in his row, hoping someone would let him swap seats. Cue the sobbing in the row behind me, where his girlfriend decided it was time to put on a show. She made sure to be extra dramatic, giving the occasional look to the gentleman who wouldn’t trade seats. At this point, I thought we were good to go, but dufus somehow got the aisle seat in his row to swap with him. There is no way I’m swapping those seats again if I paid for it and it’s allegedly a three-hour flight. Meanwhile, the rest of the plane is seated, ready to get going, and this guy then gets up to go back to his girlfriend. She’s in tears, hamming it up for the old woman sitting in their aisle seat, pleading to her gentle nature to swap seats so that he can take away the insufferable pain. For the sake of all of us, the Samaritan agreed to move, and just in time, as the stewardess told the man to return to his seat. They were doing the safety demonstration after all, but he didn’t care. My favorite was the line thrown out, “We can’t leave until everyone is seated.” He unabashedly replied with, “I know.” As though he wasn’t the bloody problem. Within thirty seconds, the seat swap had occurred. Magically, the tears were washed away, and aside from the chorus of two infants on opposite seats crying out to let us all know that it was time to leave, the fun with this couple was only getting started. The fasten seat belt sign hadn’t even been turned off when he was already out of his seat, swapping bags, and then paying a quick trip to the old lady who simply wanted to read her Koran and be done with him and his needy partner. No, he insisted, ready to whisper words of his dying appreciations for her generosity and spirit, even offering to compensate her with a tea or coffee if she so desired. It was an absolute pleasure to watch, and even more so, to see his girlfriend move to the aisle without once trembling or shaking over the fear of flying. She even found the ability to give the passenger who wouldn’t relinquish his assigned spot several side eyes, and I believe a sigh or two. Her overcompensating partner was forced to sit between them, because clearly, window seat guy had forever wronged this sweet woman. Barefoot Bliss and Other In-Flight AtrocitiesI wish I could say these two were the best passengers I encountered on this trip, but there clearly was something about this area of the plane. I can’t even make this up that on the return flight, the same seats took up more of my attention. In this case, it was some middle-aged couple who celebrated the fact that no one had taken the middle, thus allowing the wife to slide over to the magical window seat and get some space from her husband. She was quick to spread her legs and kick up her bare feet into the armrest on the opposing row. No joke. There were her ugly, smelly dogs sprawled out between the seats, ready to tickle whoever decided to sit in that spot. At one point, she retracted her feet and insisted her husband, who was more consumed with watching movies on his phone at full volume, for all of us to hear, give her a proper foot massage. Since he couldn’t hear anything coming from his phone, but I could, he pushed her feet away and moved to the empty row in front of them. Within a short time, both of them were sprawled out across all three seats, like it was some memorable holiday. I was simply relieved to watch him put his phone away and get the shut-eye he clearly deserved. Then again, why did they decide it was their right to now claim six seats as opposed to the two they paid for? I considered the same for this other gentleman, who did the same in his row, but unlike those two travelers, he was not concerned about his luck and slept face down with his sock-covered feet dangling in the air. Maybe I’m just blessed to experience all the joys of flying. With these three debutants enjoying the good life, I was forced to hear the banging of a tablet five rows up, where three kids fought over some game. Their parents didn’t seem to care, as they were smart enough to bring AirPods for personal use, but not entirely on board with doing the same for their kids. I wanted to ignore the show and get some sleep after my whirlwind trip to England, but between all the commotion and the old woman next to me who wouldn’t leave me alone, it was trying at best. First, she wanted to give me some dates, and I was like, “I’m too young for you, ma’am,” but she insisted, saying it was good for my digestive tract while flying. To be frank, I didn’t want to experiment with this fruit and have some unfortunate episode as the plane descended back to Morocco. I closed my eyes, hoping she would get the hint, only to stir minutes later after she moved herself to the middle seat. Instead of simply tapping me on the arm, let alone speaking at a voice level higher than a whisper, the old lady stared and waited for me to come to so she could relieve herself in the facilities. Miracle Landing: Ryanair’s Redemption (Sort Of)The flight came to a merciful end with the stewardesses alerting the four children that they had to return to their seats as we were still taxing the aircraft. The same message was shared for the tall fellow in the front, who also thought the moment we landed was the cue to stand up and start gathering his things. On a positive note, both flights were on time, but that’s only because Ryanair adds thirty minutes to their travel time. When the pilot says it’s a two-hour and thirty-minute flight, but the ticket says three hours and ten, you do the math. As the on-time theme played in the background and the email was sent to let me know the same, I disembarked, ready to return to my real life. With only a few weeks until the next adventure, the real questions remain: which Ryanair streak will continue, funny passengers or on-time arrivals? There’s no way this can continue, and one of these has to give. What do you think? Do you have the same luck when you travel? Are you as blessed? And for those hoping for a travel report, just watch this instead till next time. Jonny With my escape to England now complete, it only makes sense to share a proper description for my new Russell Stokes book. Let's be clear now, this description is simply a preview for the upcoming book that will be out in spring 2026. I still have to send it off to my copy editor before I can schedule the actual release date. The greater question is does this book interest you? Have you read the first book in the series, because if you haven't that's where we first meet Russell and see the events that immediately lead to Double Cross. I know I'm tooting my own horn, but it's honestly worth a look. As for the new book, I think it's the best one I've written out of the twenty one books composed over the years.  Double Cross: A Stokes Case #2 |
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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