I told myself that my current project — the follow-up to Rusty Star — would be different. Unlike previous novels, I vowed not to grind away just because I had time or to fill my weekends with 5000-word goals, simply to get the project done faster. Honestly, that’s the most challenging part after getting into the characters, their motivations, and their stories. Often, it feels like I’m simply downloading dialogue and information, one big conduit at work. To that end, I have to watch myself so that I don’t overdo things and stretch myself thin.

Currently, on 85000 words, there isn’t that much left for the story. I think it’s at least ten thousand more, maybe fifteen, but until Russell tells me everything is tied up in a bow, it could be a slow crawl to the end. Knowing this, I want to embrace these final days and weeks of the process. Am I drained? Absolutely, but not because of the writing, but from the emotional exchange that happens with certain scenes and situations characters find themselves in.
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​Knowing that the end of the book offers little to no reprieve, with continuous emotional hits on Russell, I took a retreat this past weekend to Tarifa, Spain. There were two vlogs I released in the spring on this little fishing haven and Kite Surfing retreat at Spain’s southernmost point that I won’t repeat, but will simply share below if you're interested in seeing more.

Even though Tarifa is directly across the water —Tangier’s water twin, if you will — they couldn’t be more different. Tarifa is a small village, not even a city in my book, and a transfer point where people ferry across for the price of a Ryanair plane ticket, then take the shuttle bus onwards to Algeciras, and then to Marbella, Malaga, or Seville. Anyway, it’s an overnight stay at best, a pub crawl for the hardy, and for this guy, an energetic shift away from the heaviness that is Tangier. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Tangier’s energy is a blessing to many, but in my case, from the get-go, the area grinds at me more than any other place I have lived. It’s an uphill struggle daily, and like Sisyphus, I climb the mountain and once at the top, I can rest, until the next day, when everything repeats. But as the boulder rolls down the hill, my reprieve is writing, unless of course, I get out of Dodge for a quick recharge.

This past weekend, Tarifa was the place to be. It’s just far enough away that the current and the water flow behave differently. Where you get monster waves and a consistent wind that Wind and Kite Surfers adore, and a picturesque beach that goes on for miles, Tangier has some sand that serves as a rest stop. The water haphazardly comes in for a mediocre hive five and a promise that it might be fun, someday. While there might be a one hump camel or two roaming the sand for a quick buck and Arabian horses for the same, on Tarifa’s beaches, the dogs that visit are on vacation with their owners, basking in the sun no less, and topless nudity appears to be unisex in nature. More importantly, for this guy, the sand and the water, with the wind on my face, and the ability to grab an adult beverage if the need comes, is just what I need to recenter and find the energy to write again, let alone return to a classroom full of energetic wilderbeasts . . . I mean, wonderful children. 

Sometimes, I get too wordy. Of course, I meant wonderful, loving, polite children. That’s how it’s been at every location I have taught the last twenty-plus years. Cherubim and angels, gumdrops, and fairies, right? 

Tarifa, though, is a wonderful place to visit. It’s easy enough to see everything in the old town within twenty minutes. If you want to do the tapa thing, go for it — there are ample food choices to keep your interest, or, in my case, a Lidl with this delicious pecking snack of salted pork and fresh bread that cries out for my attention. 

On my last trip, I pretended to be a grand hiker, eager to see if I could meander my way onto parts of the El Camino de Santiego. Still, alas, I ended up in a cow pasture, staring down the locals, and wondering why an hour-long hike along the cliffs, looking out onto the ocean, was therapy for my soul. 
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It doesn’t matter how long I stay in Tarifa, simply breathing the fresh air, smelling the salt of the Atlantic Ocean current, and taking a moment to sit and rest is honestly the best recipe for any ailment I’m suffering from. This weekend was a welcome reprieve, and I imagine there will be a few more trips in the months to come. 

If you ever find yourself eager to get to Morocco, veer off and check out this fishing spot; you might find a place you didn’t realize you needed. Or when you leave Morocco, take the ferry across and instead of pushing onwards to some ridiculous city that lacks charm and spirit, spend a few hours in Tarifa to see how the locals live and what honest Spanish living is all about. 
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One more kilometer of driving and it was clear we had arrived at Poland’s happiest village or perhaps most gaudy. I kid a little, but when I spotted the fire department and saw the etched flower pattern underneath the windows and over the doors, it was a bit much for me. Granted, it could have been the contrast in colors, with the orange, yellow, blue, and red, but it seemed like they were forcing the tradition onto a building that didn’t need an arrangement. 

I’m sure Instagrammers would swoon over a fire department with hot red truck doors, a metal roof, and primarily a building in a greyish tone aside from the flowers and the red lining around the windows. I shrugged because I wanted to see the old village homes, one-room houses, or three-room dachas where you knew your grandparents were raised, and had to do everything without modern conveniences. That’s what I was looking for, not a bloody cement building that you tried to liven up with a stitch pattern.

Still, at the fire department, the flowers were everywhere. Who cares if I felt like I was in Kansas, among crops, fields, and only the occasional tree? Across the street, I saw what I believed was a church from the distinct wooden cross. The building itself was nothing to write home about, but all the windows had large bouquets, adorning the area, making you feel as though flowers were growing on the walls and through the cracks. I knew, though, from my limited research, the real show was the inside. 

I decided at this point to keep walking and spotted a brand new cement one-level house farther down the street that required my attention. The perfect cobblestone driveway gave away the newness of this house, and more importantly, a weird vibe. Although these same flower designs were prevalent, they felt forced. Did I say I was disappointed? I’m not trying to be negative, but I'm being honest about the fact that I just assumed the only houses with flowers were the old wooden ones. To me, it seemed like whoever built this structure was like, “Oh, we better put some flowers around the windows. And instead of painting the outside white, as they would have done in the past, we’ll have sections that are white with colorful flowers. Let’s make sure these overhead spaces can be removed if necessary.” 

Honestly, it felt weird. I was more excited to get away from this building and walk down the street to Dana and the car, wondering if she had spotted the traditional houses or if this was going to be some sham tour. As I was about to ask her if she had found out anything new or seen something better than what I had, the wheat crop became the real show. 

Let’s talk about something cool. I'm in my early forties, and I have never stepped foot in a field full of barley. This was amazing and beautiful. Had the rain not begun to fall, I likely would have considered taking a run or at least a walk through this illustrious area, to take on the role of Maximus in Gladiator when he did the same at the end of Gladiator. Don’t get me wrong, this wasn’t Pienza, Italy, but the energy felt similar to me. Sure, the barley or wheat wasn’t that high either, but it was still in the same spirit.
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In our favour, I looked out and spotted a cemetery to our immediate left. A tractor-trailer sped by, and I had to call out for Dana to stop. She knows of my obsession with cemeteries and had to make a phone call, so the timing was ideal, as is often the case with many of my vlogging sessions. 

I will share that this wasn’t some quiet road either. We weren’t the only vehicle driving towards Zabno. There wasn’t even a proper pull-off. This was the countryside, and had it not been for the cemetery and the poorly maintained grass, Dana would have had to park off kilter on the edge of the road. I got out of the car and walked towards this beauty of a memorial. 

I had to laugh because, truly, corn was planted around every part of this thing. The fact that there was a path of sorts seemed weird, but then again, this cemetery in the middle of a cornfield and high-voltage power lines was equally amusing. 

The obelisk with the distinct cross towered over the crops, a full eleven meters high, and made this resting place for World War I soldiers even more fitting. A sign indicated that this was from late 1914 and early 1915, and soldiers from multiple sides were stationed in different sections of this relatively small outdoor shrine. A lone poppy grew proudly near the remains of some British soldiers. I spotted the German and Russian markers before climbing over the rock wall to take another look at the corn that enwrapped itself in this resting place for these soldiers. 

Unlike cemeteries I had traveled to and explored over the past year in Poland, this one was different. The energy alone was unique, and these graves made me reflect on war, and how these soldiers were put here out of convenience, much like many others in this part of the countryside. I wasn’t aware until after the fact, how many WWI graves are littered across these small towns, villages, and cities. I saw larger, more significant resting spots for these armies in places like Przemysl and Giżycko, but here was fitting for men at war who traveled to a foreign land, and this was what they had time for. 

It wasn’t glorious, nor did these men get much recognition for their efforts, and yet this proved they weren’t forgotten either. 

Truly, as I walked back to the road and spotted another plot across the street, nestled between a grove of trees with a cornfield as its perimeter, this felt fitting and peaceful. The grave marker told me everything I needed to know, with something like two hundred and ten Russian soldiers placed in a mass grave. This walk was a longer one, set farther back off the road, and yet more inviting. 

Four crosses took my breath away, and yet I focused on the fact that we had two small cemeteries with all this fertile land around them. I used the analogy on camera about how, even in death, there was a sense of renewal and rebirth that tied everything together. As I circled the wall, with only one entrance, I spotted more information about the five mass graves and three individual ones. 

Indeed, learning more about this place was informative, but the crosses over the mass grave were not what I expected. They spoke to me at some level. The trees surrounding the wall seemed like the rear guard, standing watch over these brave men who lost their lives. More than one hundred years after the fact, I could get a sense of the toil, the struggle, and perhaps even, as a veteran, I could relate to this loss of innocence and what these soldiers experienced, and those who served with them. 

The place was surreal and not an expected layover or wayward point. And yet, finding these cemeteries on the way to Poland’s happiest village seemed ironic and fitting at the same time. Dana missed all the fun, but then again, I don’t think she realized this might be the high point of our adventure. 

We might have been on the high ground, because for the next few minutes we continued to drive in this low-level area that I swore was more of a flood plain, or a potential one. I even imagined the river overflowing and then feeding and nourishing these fields to produce the corn that would make even Kansas proud. 
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 Well, it finally happened. That’s right, this guy left Tangier and ventured out into the big world of Morocco. Did I go south to Marrakesh? No way, I would be way overstimulated, and I didn’t venture to the mountains of Fez. No, it was far easier to escape to the magic of Asilah.

Wait, you haven’t heard of Asilah? Neither had I, but my coworkers raved about the place and how beautiful it was, a much quieter place of refuge from the busyness of Tangier. We had a holiday in between in-service, and I took the plunge and agreed to the overnight trip.


​Getting There

Let me tell you a few tips for those traveling to this city. To get to Asilah, you can do a couple of things: take the train, or get a taxi, unless you plan to drive it yourself. It’s about forty-five minutes away, whichever route you take.

In our case, we had train tickets. We even went to the train station and got through the crack ticket checkers who waved us on to our train. Lo and behold, we got on that monster, not as lovely as the Al Boraq and that’s when the fun started.

Train Troubles

We waited for what felt like an hour for this old timer to get her bags in order. After building a sandcastle out of bags, she pushed into me as an exclamatory mark, because it was far easier to do that than to motion for me to take a step back, unaware I was standing in front of her seat. Who cares if there was a line in both directions? I digress . . .

We continued to walk to our seats, and I spotted the seat numbers like any responsible passenger. ​ A young family was sitting in our seats. Calmly, we showed them our tickets to prove that we would be riding in that very spot.

​Do you know what happened? Yes, a major traveling blunder. Honestly, it happens to the best of us. We booked the wrong week for the train tickets.

Retreating as fast as we could, we departed the train. We could have hopped on and just played stupid and dealt with a conductor mid-route, but honestly, it wasn’t worth the effort. Truly, I wasn’t even miffed about the mix-up; I was annoyed that the security detail waved us through after looking at our tickets. Shouldn’t you know what the date is? :)

​Why Travel Etiquette Matters

Traveling etiquette is vital for all people planning a trip locally or overseas.

After a whirlwind last week of traveling, I’m back safely in Morocco. Whether it was flying, taking the bus, or train, it was clear across continents that either people don’t know any better, or they simply don’t care about being considerate travelers. I don’t know about you, but traveling can be a double-edged sword. While it’s fun and at times relaxing, the process of getting from one location to another can be a stressful time, to say the least.

To help my fellow travelers and, frankly, people who don’t know the proper etiquette to be a good person, here’s a list I came up with while traveling on the train back from Casablanca. Yes, I understand this will come across as a rant, but how else are people going to know how to act? I simply want the travel experience to be better for everyone involved. These are in no particular order. Please let me know if you agree or disagree, or if I left something out.

1. Phone Etiquette While Traveling
It doesn’t matter what mode of transportation you are traveling in, no one wants to hear your music, your phone calls, or you scrolling through your social media accounts. If you are too old to know what headphones or earpods are, just put the phone down and remember what it was like when you were a little kid on a road trip. For those proficient in technology, there are no excuses for not exercising restraint in their daily phone habits. If your phone can’t wait, then go somewhere where you won’t disrupt others.

2. Parenting and Kids on Trips
They are wonderful and, for the most part, excited to be traveling wherever you might be going. Going on a trip doesn’t give parents a reason not to be parents. This isn’t true with all parents, but it’s clear in some parts of this world that many of you feel like kids should get free rein. Newsflash, your kids should be in their assigned seats, not sitting on luggage racks. They shouldn’t be sitting in the aisle or jumping from seat to seat when others are trying to find their assigned seats. Whatever you do, don’t just give your child the phone or iPad without headphones. There’s nothing more annoying, yes, this is a nod to many Italian flights I have been on, than kids watching movies on full volume because there was no planning or consideration. Then again, nothing beats the parents watching the latest soccer match on full blast as well.

3. Respecting Quiet Zones
One would think this is a no-brainer, but then again, either people think they are more important than everyone else, or just don’t care. Don’t act like a hotshot, and if the area you decided to sit in on the train is a quiet zone, respect the fact that that is why the majority of people bought tickets for that specific seating area. If you want to make some enemies quickly, please take out that phone and answer those calls. Make sure not to silence your phone. There was nothing more entertaining on the train to Warsaw than seeing a conductor interrupt those individuals with a scathing lecture.

4. Assigned Seating Etiquette
If there's a pet peeve about traveling that bothers me more than anything else, it has to be assigned seats. I don’t get why this is such a challenge for people to sit in the correct seat. Truly, look at your ticket and find the exact seating number. If you don’t like it, that’s tough; perhaps you should have chosen your seat more carefully or planned when buying a ticket. This is everywhere and in every country I have visited. How can I forget the Polish Karen on the way to Plock, who wasn’t sitting in her assigned seat and wanted to chew me out for asking her to move. I thought it was going to be a quiet bus ride, and this lady spread out and made a face the entire two-hour ride.

We all know those people who want the window seat and just sit there, whether on a plane or train, and they are assigned to the center or the aisle. You don’t get to dictate where you sit. Whether it’s holding up everyone else trying to get to their seat or just creating an awkward moment, be a better person and don’t be like those people. This also ties into the armrest, if you have the window seat, shift your body and use the window. If you are on the aisle, you already have one armrest. The middle armrests are for the person stuck in the center. Give them some hope for the ride, and also keep your feet out of their area.

One last comment, speaking about feet: whatever you do, don’t be like Nancy on my flight back to the States, who decided to put her sweaty feet on the back of my armrest and on several occasions graze my elbow. Truly…as if :)

5. Luggage Etiquette

This might be a bigger deal than seats. If you have ever flown on a budget flight like Ryanair, you know why I am mentioning this. Let’s keep it simple: if you have a small backpack, it goes under the seat. If you have more than one carry-on, you may want to consider checking some luggage and not hording up all the overhead space.

If you aren’t flying, but instead taking the train, don’t be like Grandma Jospehine, who decided to block the aisle so she could still see her bags. Not only is this a fire hazard, but just because there is no space in the luggage rack, doesn’t mean you have the luxury to block people from exiting the compartment, or in my case, have the gaul to ask me to pick up these 40-50 pound bags onto the seat so other passengers can make way with their luggage. And for my fellow Americans, pack lightly, you don’t need twenty pairs of underwear for a five-day trip. Other countries have laundry and clothing stores, should you need something done.

6. Smoking and Vaping Consideration
Out of the other five, this is the least annoying and inconsiderate because I don’t have to sit next to the smoking section at the airports. With that said, should someone have to sit near the smoking areas, it would be wonderful if the smokers stood inside them. If it’s too crowded, wait your turn, because if the door is open, all that smoke has to go somewhere. The same is true with the vapers; you don’t have to do your best Triple H imitation with only your foot at the smoking threshold while your head is turned to the general population. And when you are done smoking, I’m just sharing for those with allergies, you don’t need to spray yourself down with cologne in front of any onlookers. Take care of that in the bathroom.

Final Thoughts: Becoming a Considerate Traveler
What do you think? Would this improve or worsen the traveling experience? Do we need to add more to this list?

#TravelEtiquette #BadTravelHabits #ConsiderateTraveler #PlaneTravelTips #TrainTravelTips #TravelRant #TravelTips #TravelGuide

I suspect this will be a self-serving blog, to say the least, as I have my first and only weekend off during my summer school and camp assignment here in western New Hampshire, coinciding with the Fourth of July festivities.
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I'll be the first to admit that I used to be a big fan of this holiday, except that it seems like every person and their friend is now out and about on a lake or at the beach during this occasion. Even I smile when I remember those childhood memories of driving the dirt roads from Gilmanton Iron Works over to Alton Bay to watch the fireworks. The even greater excitement was the drive back in the utter darkness, hoping we wouldn't collide with a moose, deer, or fox. To that end, I'm a big fan of staying off the roads this holiday weekend. 

That's my first recommendation to any person who finds this blog. In fact, here's my list of things to do for every introvert on America's loudest holiday. 

1. Stay at home and read. - Yes, I know this one sounds pretty exciting, but hey, why not? This is the perfect time to unwind, grab your favorite summer read, and take it all in. You could go crazy and even pick up one of my books. Rumor has it that I have two new books out, including Brindisi and Me. 

2. Go for a drive on back roads, not only to avoid all the summer and holiday traffic from those fabulous out-of-state loafers and weekend warriors, but to take in the beauty of this great region.

3. Go to Walmart for the real celebration of the holiday. Come on, if you want to see what real America is and what we value, there is no better place to visit. Sure, you should go to a cemetery, a parade if you know of one, or a town celebration, but do one better and check that all off at Walmart. You can even grab a case of your favorite cold ones, whatever that might be. 

​4. If you insist on going to the beach to be like everyone else, whether that's in the Lakes Region or on the Seacoast, go in the early morning. When I write early, I mean before six. Avoid the crowds, walk the beach, especially at Rye Harbour, where only the locals venture. If you are even more ambitious, Long Sands in York is an incredible find with great views and atmosphere. My personal favorite might be Newcastle, or well, shhh, don't tell anyone, but Lubec, Maine. Yes, it's worth the drive, especially if you want to escape for this holiday weekend.

5. The most essential thing to do is to have some ice cream. I don't care where you get some, whether it's at Walmart, where you can buy a half gallon of Friendly's ice cream, or if you want to go old school and head to Memories in Kingston, New Hampshire, or any mom-and-pop ice cream vendor.  Come to think of it, I would say be reckless and do a mini golf tournament. Start in Alton Bay, play the home course, head to Weir's Beach for another round or two (avoid the indoor course at Fun Spot), and hit the Pirate's Cove one on the Meredith line after you play the somewhat challenging course across from what used to be Surf Coaster. I'm still mad about that place closing... Anyway, after you play all these roads, there are plenty of options for ice cream, soft serve, or hard. 

What do you think? Are these some good tips? Do you have any better ideas? 

​-JFK

Wow! Did I really miss a month? It looks that way to me. Then again, I think I had the best intentions to write something and for whatever reason forgot to make the time as I transitioned to a well deserved two week vacation over the holidays.

That's right, I went traveling and vlogging. Really, they are one in the same. I don't think I can ever just travel. My urge to have a camera out and film what I see and provide commentary is too strong to pass up. Truly, when I was in Estonia, I got this vicious next cramp. 

I had no intentions of filming that first day, especially because it hurt with the simple turn of my neck, let alone when I would sit back on the couch. Talk about spasms galore - that I'm still dealing with weeks later. And yet, despite this physical setback, I had the camera out just in case. 

Of course, I thought I would simply film the Christmas Market in Tallinn. That turned into the square and then the side streets and eventually a full twenty minute vlog. It's compulsive at this stage. 

With the physical limitations I still found a way forward and how a wonderful, restful vacation exploring five different countries. I started in Malaga, Spain and went onto Lithuania where I explored Kaunas for the first time and then took the train to Vilnius (one of my favorite cities in Europe). 

Having been to Vilnius on two different occasions, I was eager to get back and explore the familiar streets and all those beautiful churches. Estonia was next on deck with visits to the capital Tallinn and then to my adopted favorite town of Parnu. Neither city let me down and I had fun, new adventures in each. 

My favorite moment was being back on the couch, sipping tea at the Hotel Victoria. I love that place and the ambiance in their dining area. It's truly the cafe experience I dreamed about. 

After leaving Estonia we returned to Riga for two nights - which was necessary to right the wrong from two plus years ago when I shortened my trip to one night because the city had too much going on for me. This time I really got a feel for the city and explored some areas I had wanted to see for quite some time. 

Lithuania called for a second act, so both Vilnius and Kaunas got me for another round of filming. Even though I got drenched to the bone in Kaunas, I finally stumbled across an old Jewish cemetery which made my entire trip. 

I ended vacation with two days in Liverpool, England. It's funny how I have such a pull to that part of the country. Southport, my usual stomping ground is something like a 20 minute train ride to the north. On this trip, I stay in the Beatles' home city and enjoyed every moment. I'll be back for sure. 

With my holiday travels now complete, two new vlogs are being released weekly on Sundays and Thursdays until mid February. In the meantime, while I settle back into my teaching routines, I'm writing (yes, I really am - 20,000 words put down in six days) and will give you a further update before my next trip to Provence, France around Valentine's Day.

I hope all of you are off to a good start to your 2025. Here's to a great year ahead in all areas of your life.

Cheers,

JFK