 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
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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. |
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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