 Global warming be damned, the grip of winter continues here in central Maine. In the last two weeks we have had two storms of 12 plus inches. The first was a fitting 20 inches and at last guess the most recent stint of precipitation slapped us around with strong winds, rain, and then, well over a foot. Don’t get me started on the inept plow driver who decided that with it being April there was no need to lower the blade. No, it was far easier to pretend the blade was lowered and to simply drive over sections of the driveway, leaving the wet fallen snow a few more days of survival. Maybe that’s a Mainer thing, as I noticed several driveways still covered in snow, save the truck tire tracks that sloshed through that white mess. In New Hampshire we are a bit more sophisticated for such things and more practical. Not to mention, we actually want to be able to get in the driveway without owning an over-sized truck or four wheel drive Subaru that looks like it would be best served as a taxi for youth hockey games, dance lessons, or cheer competitions. I remind myself that growing up in this lengthy winter season was normal. We rarely had warm weather until mid May. We usually had a storm or two this time of year and it wasn’t unheard of to get wacked by a late April one to boot. Truly, I still remember in high school the fields were ready for spring sports, the grass was dark green, lush, and ready to shoot upwards. But Mother Nature didn’t care. She wanted to ruin our spring vacation week and create havoc for sport practices. Instead of playing on pristine fields or dry tennis courts, we got eight inches of snow during a vacation day. It happens. Not as often as it did ten or twenty years ago, let alone thirty, but Maine is still Maine. Personally, I’m more of a fan of the transition to mud season and seeing how long it takes for the dirt roads to solidify and stop swallowing up our cars and trucks. So far the fire road I live on has been somewhat tolerable. I just pretend I’m driving on a Crocodile Mile or what remains of an ice road. The trick is staying in the grooves, but the zig zagging can be a bit much and those pot holes filled with a muddy watery treat add to the mood. Eventually, spring will come to Maine. This year it might be for a day or two, maybe even three till we immediately shift into summer weather and temps. While I will likely be celebrating this change of season, in the back of my mind I will hear those lingering Stark words, “Winter is coming,” and if not winter, the blasted tourists who raid and pillage these lands during the summer months. Either way, you can’t win, you can just grin and bear the seasons of change. 
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 Last minute trip to Przemysl. I believe the hardest part of any weekend is deciding to get in the car or hop on a train, as opposed to just hanging low and staying home. To say there have been instances over the years where a trip has been canceled last minute, is an understatement. Truly, I can count the number of times I decided to not fly off to a foreign country or drive across state lines for an experience.
I do know one cancellation was due to writing reasons. True story - I was supposed to fly to Latvia for a five day vacation, exploring Riga and some outlying cities. There was a breakup with my long distance girlfriend back in the USA which added to the equation. And yet, part of me really wanted to visit Riga. I had the perfect hotel next to a park that I knew would be ideal for running. I also knew the ambiance with winter in full force would be a good motivator for the writing mood I wanted to embrace. School vacation began and I went home to my apartment in Casale. My flights weren’t until Monday so I had the weekend to just chill. After an amazing long run along the Adriatic coast, I settled in for three hours of writing. Before I knew it three hours became five. I think I wrote close to 5000 words on Saturday for Valo, the third book in the Luza series. Then Sunday came and after a morning writing session I was close to 8500 words. Then it hit me, could I continue the same momentum in Riga or was it going to jar me completely? Talk about a dilemma. Always one to be very firm on limiting distractions, I next deleted my Facebook account and then I made sure the demise of my relationship was finalized. I think I shut off my phone to add to the cocoon effect, not necessarily to increase the drama ten-fold. Sunday evening came and I was in a groove. I was over 13,000 words at this point and torn. You won’t be shocked to learn that in the evening I canceled my hotel and just ate the plane tickets to Riga. Thankfully, Ryanair tickets were not some economic hardship. Sure, $45 is $45, but how many of you burn that on a Sunday brunch? The hotel was another matter. They gave me a partial refund, but I was willing to conceptualize the cost as a donation to the hotel. Good mentality, right? I even went so far as to rationalize that I was paying myself to stay home for the week. Instead of exploring the historic old town of Riga, I dove into the shape shifting and teenage drama of Valo. Aside from My Shenandoah Love, I think this was the fastest first draft written to date. By the end of vacation the novel was complete and I was prepping the final part, Lane. Last year this happened again, not the writing part, but shifting gears last minute. I was supposed to go to Montenegro for five days, but felt worn out and for that matter ill. I had come down with a cold and decided the entire exercise of flying and then driving to the Montenegro coast was not going to be ideal in this late February weather. I committed myself to staying home - again to eat the costs of canceling my trip at the last minute. This time though I woke up on Sunday morning, feeling substantially better. Maybe it was also a relief that I didn’t have to cram onto another plane. By the afternoon, relief became remorse and then my travel bug bit me again as my body felt more recovered. I told myself if I was feeling even better come Monday morning, I would catch a train to Lublin. This was a part of Poland I had yet to visit. On the fly, I decided it would be a two day trip and then we were going to add Chełm as a random third night. Lublin was amazing for me. The weather was wicked - rain and wind made life interesting. The Georgian food was mediocre, but I found the best pizza to date in Poland. I also discovered a street lined with wedding dress shops that rivaled Bialystok. More importantly, I retraced parts of the Jewish experience from the Jewish gate to the old town, onto the old and new cemeteries and onwards to the train tracks where they met their unfortunate demise. I had intentions to carry on to Chełm, but again at the last minute, the morning of, I canceled and went back to Krakow. It was a bit of a detour with six hours of travel, but I wanted to be in my bed for the night. Another day of recovery ensued. True to form, I thought that would be it for the week and I would be staying home, a true staycation for the remainder of my winter vacation. I was, after all, still paying for the Montenegro trip. But when my buddy reached out saying he was flying into Warsaw and then heading onto Ukraine, I felt pulled to catch up in person and help in whatever way I could to get him across the border. We decided Thursday morning about a Friday meetup. I didn’t know what was going to happen, save I had to hop on an early train to Warsaw. I was out of sorts, doing everything spur of the moment, where the train I booked happened to be the Warsaw to Krakow one. Unbeknownst to me, I arrived at 04:00 to the train station and then caught my mistake. Not only did I pay for a ticket I couldn’t use, the bloody train was heading south, not north which just added salt to the wounds. With the rain coming down in buckets, I was at a loss as to whether to return to my apartment or to buy the next ticket to Poland’s capital city. The first train to depart was at 06:15. I didn’t want to just sit and wait with the other travelers in the train station. They were sprawled out on benches and chairs in one big slumber party that was not inviting to say the least. Even with the rain in force, I turned on my video camera and filmed a vlog on what it was like at four in the morning in historic Krakow. I walked from the station to the Rynek and onwards to the river. Even with the crazy drunks making more noise than one would think possible, I made the best of the situation, despite the elements and the fact I knew I just paid another $40 for the correct train ride. Fast forward to meeting up with my friend and another adventure began that entailed a Bla Bla car ride and a late night arrival to a hostel in Lviv, Ukraine. I couldn’t have planned this trip in advance had I tried. And yet, by being flexible and present, this was one of the most entertaining and rewarding weeks that I can remember. It wasn’t just traveling to new places, but listening to where I felt I was better served and needed. I know if I had gone to Montenegro there would have been no meetup and trip to Ukraine. Furthermore, the warm memories I got from Lublin would be nothing but dreams and possibilities. Both trips, the Riga one that left me home in Italy focused on my latest book and this menagerie of cities and countries at the end of February while living in Poland, left lasting impressions. This trip flip flopping continues here in Maine. Even last weekend the trip to Lubec was almost an afterthought. I’m still glad I went even though it was underwhelming. I'm thankful I booked the room for last weekend as opposed to this Saturday. With twenty inches of fresh snow, I would have eaten another non refundable fare and all because I couldn’t check the ten day forecast. I’m curious, are you a trip flip flopper? Do you cancel plans at the last minute to stay home or do you go out regardless even if you don’t feel up to doing so?  I am always fascinated by how an overnight trip can open one’s eyes to life and what we deem important. In this case, my overnight trip was back to Lubec where I went camping last summer. To say the area is different in the winter and early spring would be more than an understatement. This isn’t a place booming with activity to begin with. Once the warmer weather is taken out of the picture, even the fishermen disappear and what remains active in this small community on the Canadian border is minimal at best. IGA, the local grocery store, is still a mainstay, but aside from getting water views and ambiance, there isn’t much to do or see. Granted, I knew this in advance but I was cautiously optimistic that my hotel, a converted sardine factory, was going to break the trend and provide the same service it does in the summer months, on this Saint Patrick’s Holiday weekend. To begin, this isn’t meant to be a bashing piece. If anything, it’s simply to remind myself and others of the reality we find ourselves in. Or maybe it’s just a reminder on how you need to do better research before undertaking any overnight journey. With a significant amount of international travel now under my belt, I’m always looking for a deal. For that matter, I want a decent experience not only with where I stay, but what I eat, and bonus if the running is good. It was one thing to rent an apartment for one night in Poznan, Poland where I spent under forty dollars for a one bedroom with beautiful views and then jet off to Warsaw the next day for an almost eighty dollar a night room in the center of the city. I understand that Lubec is not a metropolitan center, but don’t let that confuse you on the prices. Seriously, while the rooms are cheaper in the off season ($110+) compared to their summer rate, you more than make up your travel budget in gas and food. I would compare it to taking a cheap Ryanair flight into Paris and then being hosed on the hotel room. You are going to pay one way or another. Still, during the pandemic when I first stayed in Lubec this wasn’t the case. I don’t remember flinching at the food prices or even the hotel where I stayed for a very reasonable price for two nights. On this trip, I wasn’t even in the main building. Strike number one. I should have known better when I was booking, but I didn’t process that the suites were next door in some glorified waterfront homes. Advertised as sound proof and with private decks, neither were true in this scenario. Strike number two. Granted, it’s March, but the deck bare of all furniture made me retreat through my sliding door into a room that was almost maxed out by the king-size bed. I didn’t care that much as I was happy with the water view. If you want to see nature at its best, this is one of those spots where you can just sit and watch the tides come in and out. And yet, with the deck furniture missing, I immediately noticed little things that I expected would have been handled in this “newer” part of their facility. The bathroom sink wouldn’t drain for one. Thank goodness for the shower, right? Seriously, I brushed my teeth while the water was pounding down on me, because it made no sense to watch the water level rise, simply for a few seconds of cleaning the toothbrush. Spoiled by Poland, Jersey, Malta, and other places, I was a bit baffled by the lonely coffee pot with no tea or coffee options. Thanks for the creamer, but where’s an assortment to choose from? This simple addition so common in Poland adds greatly to a weary traveler, especially after a four hour plus drive. Despite the lack of tea, the sink, and the bare deck, I walked over to the hotel anxious to grab some food. I even teased my mother that I would be getting lobster Benedict for breakfast and some lobster stew for lunch. The hundreds of lobster pots on the dock, the stacked chairs, and the lack of cars, made it clear I blew this trip. Not to mention, the fact the management of the hotel called me en route to say the key would be waiting for me in the room, should have been a tell tale sign. Knowing now that there was no physical interaction, I really should have known better. Strike three, four, whatever - this was not going to be a smooth voyage. With the restaurant closed and no other options in Lubec, I either had to go to IGA for some glorified microwavable meals and pay five dollars for an ice cream sandwich (no joke) or venture another forty-five minutes to Eastport for whatever food choices were open in that cosmopolitan center. I’m exaggerating on that one by ten fold, but it is still considered a city, the easternmost one at that. Retreating to my car, we made the journey and I did my best to remain upbeat. Who cares if it meant another 90 minutes of driving and that the restaurants were only open in Eastport from 2pm - 6pm during this slower season. The Happy Crab was the lucky winner of my hungry stomach and also more than eager to take as much money from me as possible. I don’t know if it’s inflation or the fact Eastpost is the final American outpost before you hit Canada, but $46 for six chicken wings, clams, and one adult beverage makes me shudder even now. My lunch was more expensive than three of my stays in Poland. As for food cost, even in Szczecin where I splurged at the Colorado Steakhouse, I still only spent $23 for their wings, a pasta dish, and winter tea. Something is wrong with this picture… truly. Perhaps that’s a greater topic for another day. After digesting my meal, I made the most of my time in Eastport, filmed a vlog, met a pack of deer, and then returned to my waiting room in Lubec. That’s when it truly struck me how this trip was simply a waste of space and time. I loved being able to see the water, but when I saw that the only cars on this isolated and quiet street were in front of the house, the very house I would be staying in, I knew this night was going to be a long one. Outside - absolutely serene. Inside - every single step from the monsters above me could be heard. Dragging furniture, sliding out chairs, just walking, made this introvert cringe and pine for his cottage in central Maine. The light was on in the adjacent room and of course what was likely a regular conversation boomed through the walls, that or the television. To say it was quieter outside is the truth. I wished for warmer weather, to sit on the deck and not feel trapped inside my rented quarters. That’s when it struck me, I drove four plus hours one way simply to go for a run. The peacefulness, the serenity of being on the water, all of it was destroyed by the thunderous steps down the stairs. Instead of making the best of it, I fixated on the cost of the trip, and how I could have been happier with a weekend at home. This was only magnified at 4:40 this morning with a conversation bleeding through the wall and stairwell clanging that served better than any alarm. With the rain washing away my metaphorical tears and cleansing my soul, I fought the morning storm and ran along this border post community, wondering if this run would be my last in this area. Even now, another five hour drive in the books, I think it’s safe to say there won’t be any new trips to that area for the foreseeable future. It might be rash to say, perhaps never again will I visit Lubec or Eastport, especially since I know New Brunswick is right across the bridge and a bit cheaper for comparison sake. For that matter with the ever increasing prices of hotels and food even in central and northern Maine, this adventuring spirit thinks you get more return on your investment saving up and going over to central Europe. At least there I can feel like my money is going farther, even if I had to fork over $450 - $600 for a plane ticket in those non tourist months. What do you think? Is it better to explore new places in your country or get out of Dodge completely?  The Poland trip has come and gone. Talk about a whirlwind experience. Over the course of six days I found myself on trains, buses, taxis, and planes. I don’t think I have ever done so much hopping around simply to experience more of a country. Perhaps it was a preview of my planned 2024 summer experiences, a lofty cross country adventure in the USA. While that might be worth a paragraph or two, this is a story for another day when Poland is no longer fresh on my mind and hours of editing that deem my attention have passed. Instead, I am taking a breather in between a series of vlogs that take us from Toruń to Sopot, Gdańsk, Szczecin, Poznań, and Warsaw. Some are familiar places, while others are unknowns, but ones I had put on my list last year while living in Krakow. At the time, I vowed to visit the top ten Polish cities in size. After this ambitious trip, only two cities remain that I have not visited or crossed over – Wrocław and Łódź. There’s always a future trip, especially as I hear the eastern border whispering my name and parts of Silesia motioning me to come closer. Whenever you travel somewhere there are always some places we naturally gravitate towards. In Poland, while I have spent a good portion of time in the tri-city area as well as Warsaw, there are other spots that have left lasting impressions. I am remiss to leave out the cities of Lublin, Białystok, and Przemyśl. The first two have lasting legacies from Russian expansion and the German invasion from World War 2. Until I walked those streets and got glimpses into the past, I wouldn’t have known or appreciated either place. Lublin is more than just the old town or their stargate. I can still hear the guitar playing near the Jewish gate and can see the ominous lights from Lublin Castle when I sought out the old and new Jewish cemeteries. Wanting to get a glimpse of what my doctor friend saw in his youth, it was haunting to see the razed cemetery and what remained of the Jewish legacy in this city. The unforgiving wind made the trek to the railroad depot and the warehouses a grueling journey, but I appreciated those steps even more when I found the lasting monument. To be reminded of the sheer number of people who walked those same paths, who faced uncertain death, and did so with dignity, is something I will never forget. Białystok’s tale is yet more of the same. With the Sybir Memorial Museum and the soul-stirring railroad tracks, we get to experience a different fate. I don’t know what was worse, the German concentration camps or the journey to Siberia that many faced over several hundred years. The museum drove home this bit of history that is often overlooked in the West, that of Polish citizens being deported, kidnapped, or simply forced from their homes and put in exile. Certainly there is more to these two cities than bits of history, but it helps define the area and puts in perspective the churches, the buildings, the garden plots, and everything one sees. Przemyśl is significantly smaller, and yet it ties in well with both places. The legacy of World War 2 lingers, being divided up by Germany and the Soviet Union where some residents were deported to Siberia and others were handed over to Nazis for their uncertain fates. I still see the monument to Katyn and the pedestrian bridge where Dr. Subczynski would say, “Soldiers from both sides did Satan’s bidding.” All three places had a profound impact on my travels. Of course, I could have visited all three again on this most recent trip. And yet I wanted to see more of Poland and experience different streets, places, and food. My hope in the weeks and months ahead, after publishing my vlogs to the cities listed in the beginning, are that new memories develop and new stories worth sharing find their words here for all to see. We all know that every place has a tale or two that many can appreciate. The hardest part is sussing out the details and finding the emotional connection that leaves a lasting impression.   This week at school I was privileged to help with an interdisciplinary learning exercise where I worked with a group of students on a short film. While I play a math teacher the majority of the time, it was nice to shift into someone different for a class day. I probably should be dwelling on the fact that I was roped into a feature theatrical role for the film and my final scene was quickly screenshot and posted to social media . . . But that would take away the fun ‒‒ talk about scary. In the middle of preparing for this special film I offered my camera for use. Little did I know that one of my memory cards kept a reminder of a previous Polish excursion, filmed exactly one year ago this weekend. Fittingly, the footage that remained from my trip to Opole, a small city between Katowice and Wroclaw, was entirely intact including the first four minutes where I had climbed up the city walls and my witty side comments were muted for no other ears to enjoy. Trust me, they were classic. I remember it all so well from that February weekend in 2023. I was bummed when I returned to my hotel room that night. It wasn’t only from the worst pizza I had ever eaten on Polish soil; I mean how hard is it for an American themed restaurant to use some tomato sauce? No, I was more upset over the fact this side trip to the zoo started off with a bunch of unusable footage. I still don’t know if it was the weather, cold temps, or just bad luck, but that exploration to Bolko island was a mixed bag on camera. In fact, I was ready to write off the entire trip to Opole, as a giant waste of time. If only the earlier footage was still preserved and my tale of wo from the city center restaurant where the chef messed up my sandwich and then refused to correct the order. Now that was some amazing entertainment. We also had several minutes of me gallivanting around the Venice inspired canals and sidewalks, but all of it was lost. Fast forward to the present and this time capsule to the second part of my Opole trip is a wonderful reminder on how you can’t judge a city or an area by initial impressions. Walking around Bolko Island, I was a bit underwhelmed. I even said as much on the video, with some extra choice words outside the famous zoo. And yet, venturing around that part of the city left enough of an impression to explore more the following morning. There are no pictures or films from one of my favorite runs in all of Poland. Truly, running along the Ober and catching glimpses of deer, rabbits, and other wildlife was refreshing and reason enough for me to consider returning to that city. With my spirit renewed from that awesome run, I took a different side street back to the train station. Not only did I find some beautiful architecture, but restaurants and shops that begged for more attention. To some Opole is the Venice of Poland, to others it’s a no name town with a music festival college students flock to in the summer months, in between the hustle of Wroclaw and Krakow where tourists remain in awe. If you are lucky enough to venture outside the tourist hubs, add this little wonder to your list. Just don’t go in the middle of winter and please don’t be afraid to add some sauce to your pizza. The strangest thing happened on my travels through Poland. Crisscrossing the countryside led to some amazing adventures and from what I could tell ones that even the locals hadn’t experienced. For me that was a bit odd. I just assumed with the vast train system, everyone and their families had branched out and seen what Poland had to offer. Come on, how could you not visit such hot spots like Rybnik? Bialystok? Przemysl? Similar to the States, there are people that love to explore and be out and about, while others stay close to their home area. I recall a coworker who hadn’t even been out of Greater Krakow. I think there was a flight to Warsaw, but other than that, zero exploring. I knew expats who settled in Krakow, who hadn’t even been to the Ukrainian border that was a few hours by car or the Baltic Sea for the same reasons - this just wasn’t a priority. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Prior to taking my teaching assignment I had interviewed for a similar role in the northern part of New Hampshire. In that interview we started off with small talk and only one of the four people at the table had been to Rye Beach on the Seacoast. Granted, it was a four hour plus drive away, but the idea that these people grew up several hours away in the mountains, never to see the ocean was a bit mind boggling to me. One person was eager to be a chaperone for a basketball game because it meant they could go to Keene, a southwestern town on the Vermont border. I never had to consider such things because my family was obsessed with Saturday and Sunday drives. Where some families would go to church, our blessings were found on the open highways, exploring neighboring towns, side streets, and new developments for future food and housing ideas. Even now you would be pressed to not find one of my siblings, parents, or myself driving an hour to get breakfast and then go drive for a few more hours. I wish I could say this was a Maine thing, but since we were raised in New Hampshire where the thrills of life are closer, that’s not the case at all. Funny enough, I am in the early stages of planning for a cross country trip. It could be because I’m still sad about never taking that job in 2003 on the reservation in South Dakota and seeing the Black Hills, let alone driving through those corn cropped fields in the central United States. This could become the mother of drives with a route from Maine to Washington DC to the Dakotas and down towards Texas and over to Utah, with a final destination of Arizona. Sure the idea of new content crossed my mind when planning such a trip, but that aside, this is a country built on roads, one meant for exploring and for seeing the many natural wonders. That’s what this is about. While I have one eye towards a potential long summer drive, in two weeks I will be back in Poland. There is a strong urge to explore and yet also visit places that touched my soul on those many trips I took last year. We will have to wait and see where I end up, which cities and towns pull me in this time around. The important thing though is that I’m going. The hardest thing to do is walk out the door. Truly. I had to force myself at times last year to go on my weekend adventures in Poland. Even now in Maine, I find myself struggling with the same. It’s so warm and cozy in the cottage and yet there are places to see, feel, and touch. For my fellow travelers, cheers to those that can fight the good fight in this dismal season when the weather is wonky and a blanket is more appealing than a long day of traveling. As for this guy, time to charge the video camera and grab the walking stick. There’s got to be something or someone worth the adventure, time, and effort. Call it a travel bug, but even after my return to Maine this past summer, I’m inclined to get out of the woods and visit other places. While I should have explored more of Maine, the call of the sea and other countries is what truly beckoned. This summer fulfilled a Canadian dream of sorts. From a young age I was borderline obsessed with Anne of Green Gables. Perhaps it would be better to say, in love with Sarah Stanley from Road to Avonlea - a television show inspired by Anne of the Island and her tales. And yet until my mid twenties Sarah or Anne, both had that siren appeal and a life that was more than just intriguing.
Ironically, while I watched the tv shows and movies more than a handful of times, I didn’t even pick up the books until last year. That is a story for another day . . . My family would tell you how I always dreamed of life on Prince Edward Island and how it was going to be my place, my spot, the holiday destination or maybe more in years to come. Adolescence shifted to young adulthood and onto middle age with broken promises and no time spent on that special island. Finally, after years of pining, I was able to make this long awaited trip. Dare I say I was disappointed? I don’t think that would be fair, but a lifetime of expectations fell short of reality when traversing an island of farms and beaches. We could always blame it on the company and the crappy weather. And yet I doubt I will return, because on the drive to the red shoreline beaches of PEI, the stopover to Saint Andrews by the Sea took me by surprise. Whether it was the familiar streets, the colonial feels, a glimpse to my youth spending time on Martha’s Vineyard or even historic Portsmouth, New Hampshire, Saint Andrews has that welcoming vibe where I felt at peace. To that end, the trip to PEI was shortened only to have a second stop over at this seaside hamlet, a vacation spot for many, and a historic place where those loyal to the King of England left to settle during the Revolutionary War or War of 1812. It was one or the other. The point being is that we all have dreams to pursue, places we wish to explore and see. Sometimes the places we think we need to see, are at most brief stopovers, to those haunts we didn’t even consider, where our souls sing the loudest and where we know the memories will last a lifetime. Saint Andrews is that place for me. I still yearn for some time with Sarah or Anne, but only if they want to meet me in New Brunswick. Where have you always wanted to go? Have you found that the journey to that final destination took you elsewhere? To a place that you hadn’t even considered? Full disclosure - the blog below is actually from a year ago when I first traveled to this magical spot in Ireland. With a second trip now complete, I wanted to share my old words and have an accompanying YouTube video for you to watch this year's adventure.
I’ll be straight with you as much as I might say I’m a hiker, I’m not. I love walking, especially on paved trails, but the idea of hiking upwards is not exactly a tempting activity. Part of this might be due to my love of running. I know there are more potential hiccups when scaling mountains or rocky surfaces. With one roll of an ankle, I’m out of commission for a few weeks or a month. At this point in my life, I’d rather be able to run. That being said, I have hiked on shorter trails and along lakes and rivers in New Hampshire. If you ask me if I have done any of the 48, you’ll get a strange look on my face. I feel like I have by watching Northwoods Law and all the rescues they have done, but I know enough to not even joke about climbing Mount Major. I’m kidding of course, I know Mount Major isn’t anywhere close. The serious hikers are just that serious about their hiking. As much as I like being out in the elements, two to three hours running, the idea of a six to seven hour hike seems daunting even to me. That being shared, I hoped when I was in Ireland to do a cliff walk. That was penciled in from the beginning. If I couldn’t figure out a way to go to Cornwall, then Dublin would be my compromise and I would find a way to walk along cliffs that looked out onto the Irish Sea. Originally, the plan was to do Howth. Several work colleagues mentioned the beauty of the hike and the fact it was a couple hours at most with restaurants on both ends. Truly if the hostess at my Airbnb hadn’t said anything I was all primed to hit the Howth trail that Saturday morning. After a good conversation and some prodding, I decided it would be more of an adventure to take the train across Dublin to the other side of the bay where Bono and Enya reside in their palatial homes. To get a different perspective of the city and the coastline, was too good for me to pass on. Unlike Howth which I could see clearly from Bull Island, I had no preconceived notions on Bray and what to expect. I didn’t even know it was the first summer resort town in Ireland until I read the sign post explaining as much. The only information I had was to take the train to Bray and follow the water to the trail. There wasn’t anything else for me to go on. Greystones was the final destination, that is if I could find my way. Downtown Bray reminded me of many seaside communities and brought a smile to face with their restaurants, colored houses, and Victorian brick homes. In the distance I couldn’t miss the cross that looked down from afar. Even in the video I made, you hear me make a comment about how I would be perfectly content just hiking up there for a look and calling it a day. Little did I know my words would be fortelling as my fortunes to hike to Greystones were diminished before I even got going. A rickety and easily passable fence closed off the trail I intended to take. Not following the rules, I cut around and figured I could hike part of the way at least. Those bright Irishmen knew of my intentions. Not more than a three minute walk and a few bends in, they put up a heavy duty metal gate to keep walkers like me away from the landslide. Unless I was willing to scale a rock face and take my chances sliding across to the other side, it would be for naught. I wish I could say I was upset, but being by the Irish Sea and getting a glimpse of a smaller town in Ireland was already a win in my book. Prepared to head back to the beach and people watch, I might have done just that until an older gentleman stopped at the gate. We chatted for a bit as he was about to set out for his daily two hour walk. This was his post heart attack routine to stave off any recurrence. The trail to Greystones was closed indefinitely with over three tons of fallen rock to contend with. Only from his recommendation did I find out that hiking to the cross would take me to Greystones. He mentioned a trail, a gate to a farm, another gate, and then down to Greystones. While it would be more difficult and longer, the views would be far superior to anything I would have seen on the original cliff walk. With two bottles of water and snacks, I set out for this hike. I had no clue how long it would take or how complicated it would be. The initial steps seemed easy enough until I saw the muddied trail of slick rocks and roots. Never one to go on the beaten path I looked for a side trail knowing it was a matter of when I took a spill, especially with a camera in one hand. Thankfully, I saw a deer trail, a side route littered with leaves that branched out away from the main route. I figured it couldn’t be any worse and aside from the log I had to climb under, I was right. My quads and hammies would tell you otherwise as the trail got steeper and rockier, but it was manageable. Dare I say it was actually fun? I forgot about the amazing views. I was able to see the mountains, the valley, Bray, and of course the ocean. By the time I made it to the base of the cross, I lost all ambition to touch the structure, let alone take a picture. No, I was focused on the trail, the road ahead, and the gate to the farmer’s pasture. This was when I saw the real Ireland. I’m not just talking about the huge cow patties or the sea breeze slapping me in the face. I saw the rolling hills, the reds and yellows of the bushes, and well worn paths. I felt like I was in a movie trekking along on this dirt path over the ridge line to wherever my feet would lead me. Bull Island was a treat, but this was idyllic.I didn’t even make it to Greystones. I hiked far enough to see the cove and the water line, but the desire to trail blaze and cut back across the way I came was too great. Now granted, the briar patches that cut my legs up might tell a different story or the troop of senior women parading along the one way trail, but all and all it was a great hike. If I knew hiking was something like this, I might have taken up this hobby earlier. Here’s to finding the next Bray to Greystones route and to seeing what beauty other countries have lurking outside their city centers.  For the last month I have made it a point to write something concerning my most recent travels. The last four weekends have been filled with flights, train rides, and walking. While I had the best intentions in my ambitious schedule, I have to lay back and think about where I was last weekend.
Understandably this is a good problem to have, a blessed one actually. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not some trendsetter, far from it, as my trips are budget friendly at best. Watch some of my videos, it’s not like we are eating at five star restaurants or staying at the best hotels. These trips are more of where I can walk and explore within reason. After many years of staying close to home (at least within driving range) and living the Dave Ramsey dream of “beans and rice” I haven’t had the opportunity to see and do what my soul has been craving. These last few months have been wonderful and ones that I will be forever grateful for. This was a major reason why I took my current teaching job in central Europe, to have this opportunity to see all these places. I snicker a little knowing that my recent travels have brought a slew of new memories and some have nothing to do with the actual location and planned touring areas I visited. Thankfully, I have caught much of it on camera and put it out there for all those that find their way to my channel. Some highlights worth mentioning - my return trip to Warsaw after more than five years away was a dud but running in the rain for that last forty minutes in Lazienki Park was phenomenal. I loved seeing the palace and running through the gardens and forest. I laughed so much at the pro Ukrainian protest paint job across the street from the Russian embassy. You had to be there to see what it was. I might not have even noticed it in those dark wet hours of my morning run had that nut job on the scooter not screamed and raced down the sidewalk, forcing me to jump out of the way and take a breather. Częstochowa was overwhelming with crowds fighting to get into the monastery. I read about the quiet rules for visiting the place, truly, the thousands of pilgrims had other plans. I thought I would have some respite, but the place was nonstop. Thankfully, there was some foresight in booking a hotel room at a castle in nearby Lubliniec for the night. If only I had known there would be a wedding scheduled that very evening. Polish weddings are not for the meek and their love for dance music across all genres is extraordinary. I should know as I found myself sitting in the courtyard after a long evening walk, listening to those familiar lyrics of Mr. Vain transform into a Kenny G medley. My favorite moment in Lubliniec was finding a forest trail on the outskirts of town. Running in this forest of birches was serene and a welcomed surprise. Katowice - the search for Spodek the spaceship was fun for a variety of reasons. It was my first time really testing out the new video camera and realizing that sometimes the best things happen on the train. The walk through Katowice went well enough, but truly meeting up with the group of moms from Szczecin who were on their way to a Backstreet Boys concert was classic. It was something out of a movie or book. I had no clue I would be singing “I Want It That Way” and other songs for the next hour with this dynamic group of women. Riga was a complete culture shock for me. When I felt like I was getting used to things, another trigger would cause me to be overwhelmed again. My favorite moment was actually leaving the city, sitting in the old bus station with the pink walks and the grandmother manning the bathroom kiosk. The second best moment was seeing the beauty around me on the bus ride towards Estonia. Truly, I wanted to get out and venture into the forests, the lakes, and the Baltic Sea. I know at some point I will return to that country for that sole purpose. Estonia was what I needed after feeling shell shocked in Riga. The place wasn’t complicated, the beaches were therapeutic, and the running was perfect for those moments. As a whole my time there was pleasant, and my favorite moment would be minor to some. The accordion statue and his accompanying music was a delight to hear on my walks. When I was struggling one night, hearing the music put me at ease. Next on deck was Ireland no less. I wish I had more time there and that I had worked out whatever residual mess had impacted me on my Baltic Sea tour. Nevertheless, the trip itself was a major success and that day hiking in Bray will be forevermore a highlight. I’m stoked the normal trail was closed and I got to scale the mountain to the cross, and of course onto the farmer’s land. Talk about living out a dream. That’s what that journey was for me. Without my Airbnb hostess mentioning Bray, I would have missed this entire episode. After a weekend in Krakow, I hit the road again to Gdansk and Sopot. Both were familiar to me, so much so I felt like I was visiting a childhood home. Seeing Wojtek the Polish war hero was a highlight. I felt like an idiot, realizing that I had run by his namesake at my favorite park in Krakow days earlier, let alone the night before. What stood out the most though was a missed opportunity on my end. A lesson learned perhaps, but I dropped the ball on what could have been a great time and meeting, and for that I have much regret. With that written though, as I rode the train back to Sopot and then walked along the molo, reconnecting with one of my students made the entire trip. There are some students you pull for more than others, that you want nothing but the best for. This was one of those conversations. Five days later, I was back on a plane looking for Kerfus and getting to check off Germany for real this time. This was a weird trip with a ride of emotions. Even my runs were clusters because I kept getting turned around on their winding trails and the lack of distinguishable landmarks in the dark. I managed well enough though but the palace I wanted to visit was no Peterhof. I took more interest in the Mandarin duck I spotted along the water’s edge and a heron or stork that stood in the cold chattering away. The grazing goats or sheep, I can’t seem to tell the difference at this point for whatever reason, were a delight. Even the Christmas markets were failures for me, but the Anglican church market was a delight even though I didn’t have any cash on me and was far too tired to stay more than twenty minutes. Nevertheless, the drum and bugle corps was awesome and made me smile beyond comparison. And yet even with several cool moments on the streets of Berlin, exploring summer homes, and finding places of solitude within a bustling metropolis, running into the same fox two nights in a row was tied with an escalator ride at the airport for top traveling moments. This just proves that we can plan our trips, but we can’t truly know what will define them or what events will stand out the most. It is far more important we remain present, and take what we can from the experience bad or good. Being able to see other places and get glimpses into the lives of residents from the past and present is a gift unto itself, and one that we can carry with us in the days to come. |
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. Archives
July 2024
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