Some things I've learned on this trip

- If your handcuffed and shoved into a Tanzanian taxi by a soldier you will lose money and apple products
-You can climb Kilimanjaro eating only cornstarch dumplings and tea
-If you are killed by a jaguar, your body will be dragged into a tree, out of sight, and eaten
-The "Which cup is the ball in?" game is a scheme to steal 50 Euros from you
- And the people surrounding the game are all in on it, and they will make that known when you walk away after figuring out its all a lie
- If your sleeping when an Asian massager starts working on your back, she will wake you up and expect pay
- If you befriend a female bartender, they will give you all the full beers drunken Irish forgot about
- Gypsies don't like half-eaten pastries, even if their sign says they need food
- Crazy British in Hyde Park like to wear cowboy hats and thongs while trying to act American
- As long as you speak a little Swahili, being homeless in Paris is not that bad
- Every country thinks they are the best drinkers until the next morning
-Florentine mothers treat you as their own when you leave their house after two weeks
- Don't skinny dip with girls from Indiana in Cique Terre or the next day you will be on the lam from the police
-And those same mothers love it when you come back to hide. They even make you pasta
- When going to a fine restaurant in the Czech Republic with two gorgeous sisters soak in the jealous looks
-Alot of Germans dont like Americans, and they will dislike you even more when you have a German girl under your arm
-When celebrating Norways Independance day in Hamburg expect to do more explaning that drinking
-When camping on a nudist beach you will undoubtably see everything. but dont be suprised if they want to come say hi
-And don't be suprised if your preconcieved notions about nudists are shattered when they turn out to be in the military
-Antwerpen is only good for running in parks, seeing art. and buying diamonds. There is literally nothing else
-Dancing on the shores of the Rhine River for 14 miles is a form of prayer rather than an excersize
-And 1 day until your home is still far to long

See some of you tomorrow, and hopefully the rest of you soon

The Sunrays

Today I contemplated the feeling of peace while the sun is present. Whether shining directly on you or not, the warmth is calming, settling, and reassuring. I've felt the rays, reflected off the glassy waters of the Rhine, touch my skin just as they did when they bounced off the skyscrapers of Rotterdam, Belgium. But I have also been engulfed in their light while climbing the mountains of my home. Its difficult to conclude what situation of the two is better. When fully relaxed with second-hand beams, the drive to find the originals hardly culminates within. But when one is present for summer in Montana, they would never be able to make the trade soberly. So as I soak in the last glimmers that bounce off the sudo-mirrors of Europe I'm not worried because I know the essence of light is coming shortly.

I prayed in the streets.

Today I set off on a walk that had no purpose. It had no destination, no route, nor set pace. I just wandered. And if I didn't live so sporadically I would have never have met Jose on the shores of Rhine River. He wasn't alone but he was the only one I spoke to, the language of the others was song and dance. The group of Roman Catholics hailed from Barcelona and had been traveling throughout Europe on a pilgrimage for God. I'm not sure where they were off to but from the conversation, which was all Spanish, I understood that on every Sunday they would dance and sing through the streets the city they found themselves in. I didn't know of any church, and if I did I wouldn't have know the times of mass, so I traveled with them for hours, stopping here and there to play a new song and dance the simple left, right, twirl in the circle we all formed. I've gone to church on this trip a few times but making the streets and the plazas a place of worship was a new medium of praising for me. The energy they had was unmatched by anyone in Dusseldorf, except maybe the cyclists that raced around the track laid out in the town for a major race. As we made a turn around the boardwalk I could hear the sounds of another group, and as if it had been all choreographed they joined us, as we did them, and the group, now exponentially larger, continued the dance. The love for life that they all had, the exuberance, was overpoweringly refreshing. I have to tell you, that was the closest to God I have ever felt bar none, and it was in the streets. I guess that's only proper though. We made churches to praise the Lord but God made the outdoors and the people to prove he was worth praising. Why not bask in his glory and creations when giving him your devotion?

He, the beggar.

HE sat there. Scrubbing his pants and shirt of dirt. Carefully applying the gray, worn, and dampened rag to each stain. To his left was a tan disposable coffee cup and to his right a blue reusable grocery bag. HE rocked back and forth like a metronome, digesting whatever once occupied the plastic food wrappers that lay on the gray cobblestone by HIS feet. I understand why he chose this park. Centered in what seemed to be the Champs Elysees of Dusseldorf. HE could continue begging while still having the most scenic view in the world. This was HIS garden and he didn't spend a penny on the fresh, intricately placed, bouquets. This was HIS home.

Gazing at the past and present

I walked through a orthodox Jewish neighborhood bobbing and weaving through the oncoming bike traffic. The train was leaving at 10:00 am and, now knowing that all European train stations are anal about departure time, I wanted to be sure I would be there early. Although I was sure not to miss my trip out, the promptness of me leaving was not indication of how Belgium was to me. Antwerpen treated me well. I was able to complete a number of art pieces I would have before thought preposterous, I ran through the park in the mornings, and I was able to do my laundry. What sound like trivial things really make a stay in a foreign land friction-free. I would wake up to Norah Jones and eat two fried eggs with coffee. I guess what all these minuscule somethings made, for me, was peace. I felt at home. Cleaned, with time to relax and prioritize. The hustle and bustle of shoestringing it in Europe vanished. But Belgium had to vanish as well. I've connected in Brussels at least five times and now that my trip is dwindling down I must face the realization that I wont see these cities again for a very long time. The Latin district of Paris, the beer gardens of Prague, the special breakfast spots in Lancaster, or the body weight workout gym on the Barcelona Beach. I wont gaze out into the sea on the shores of Cinque Terre nor will I walk the hills of rural France in the rain, for a very long time. I never took a minute of this trip for granted. Every second of every day I moved on because when you have this kind of opportunity you better never let your heart rest. The thrill of new languages, food, looks, and attitudes better make you sweat with inexperienced excitement or your not taking advantage. I will remember this trip forever. Hell it may even be on of my biggest highlights when I'm old and gray. The trip "That started in Arusha and ended in Dusseldorf." When I read those words I can't stop grinning. And when I read the last word I can't avoid frowning. Dusseldorf. Well that's where I am now, on the top of the Rhine river in Germany. I arrived a couple of hours ago and immediately went for a run in the city. I always want to cover the most ground the first day so I know exactly where to start on the second. I ran to the banks of the river and just sat. I take those moments to absorb everything for those who cant, for those who wont. I acknowledge that this is a once in a lifetime experience that many will never come close to getting. So I take extra time observing for family and friends. I plan to call it a early night which makes me feel boring when its a Friday, but after so many European Fridays they lose their magic. At this point in my trip I would rather sit at a bus stop in the heart of the city just gazing at the crowds stumble up and down the block. And I would take extra time watching it for you.

I left you in Prague

I left you in Prague. I left all of you and continued. Train 9567 on the ICE rail takes vacationers and businessmen alike to Hamburg in Northern Germany, stopping occasionally at major stations and then, seemingly without a second of delay, pulling out of its slot and back out onto the road. An old man, grayed and worn, slept peacefully, and snored softly, next to me as I drew and killed time. I only mention him because his serenity, contagiously, invaded my system and before I knew it I was fast asleep. I woke at one of the stops and without thinking I disembarked and looked for information. The station was pristine with three staggered levels all containing news vendors, Dunkin Donuts, and fast food. It was pure luck that the best station I had ever stepped foot in was the one I would have to spend two hours in. I failed to hop off at Hamburg but Berlin was just as interesting. After a look at the Departure Board I stepped into the streets of Berlin and walked. I wish to go back someday. The city is rumored to be the biggest and most complex for tourists and after sometime I ended up at the station and embarked on the line to Hamburg. Spring in northern Germany was unbeatable. The flowers blooming with their undetectable scents and shapes. The smell of the lake. The smell of life. Everything was growing and thriving and who was I to complain, I was caught up right in the middle of the beautiful cycle. I wandered Hamburg for three days. If it were not for the  immaculate weather I would have continued to Scandanavia and ended the trip as I had always planned. But because I knew that I would come back and tackle my familys lands in Norway with my brothers in the future I stayed. Each night new people, new art, new articles to read. I was at home. During the totality of my stay I was museum hopping and absorbing everything with Vivian, a 18 year old German girl. The energy we had when it came to constant travel was unmatched. I could have spent the rest of my trip in that city but when Dylan, Nick, and Doury walked into the hostel and conversation started I knew that the next day I would be traveling to the soft white beaches of the Haag. The sporadic decision solidified the themes of freedom and adventure into my trip. I thought I was getting soft and tired of the constant travel and train whistle but when I took off my shoes on the beach and walked a mile with my backpack pushing me down into the grains I knew I was still being the Wildcat one must be when traveling alone. Nick and I found a spot on a hill overlooking the Nudist beach and began to create camp. True, the others would be furious about our location selection but it was the only legal camping area. Within an hour we had two nudist visitors. The most interesting was Cesar. He casually strolled right into our camp and sat down. For thirty minutes he talked about his status in the army, but we figured it was all bullshit on account of his nudity and alcohol toxicity. I was able to sneak a quick video of his rant on how one should kill before killed an then like he never existed he hopped up and left. We all settled down at sunset and bullshitted around a bottle until we each fell asleep. Nicks yells awoke us. At four in the morning it was raining gallons of water onto the beach. I grabbed all my stuff and trudged through the wet sand to the patio of a bar. We huddled under the tables in the sand until it cleared up and then returned to our camp to make sure we hadnt forgot anything. Once again it rained and with all of us at breaking point we found a comfortable hotel room for cheap that we all split. After another day around the town the group broke up. Nick, Dylan, and Doury wanted to go see Amsterdam while I wanted to see Antwerpen. I have been here since. In the gorgeous parks of Belgium doing more art and reading than ever before. My days consist of runs, drawing, reading, walking, and just digging everything the city has to offer. Tomorrow I depart for Dusseldorf. The city, located at the top of the Rhine, should hold wonderful sights and people but really, for me, it is just a place to work out in and relax until I board that flight in a few days to see truly outstanding family and friends.

What is it about Prague?

It's not the beer, at least it's not a woman, and I'm pretty sure it's not the history, but when I wake up everyday, packed and ready to go, I can't muster up the will to walk down to the train staion on the cobble stone streets that have left, permanently, their mark on me and say goodbye. My hostel room is like an apartment. It's not an apartment exactly but because a lack of word creation, apartment is the closest term. Situated on the third floor, it includes a kitchen, a fridge, a shower, two sinks, two floors, and a full set of unused lockers. For dramatic effect, I forgot to mention the most jaw-dropping detail, I'm all alone. The hostels has a gorgeous garden with four well aged trees all in bloom. the trees are of two types, one with lush blue flowers and the other with white fragile blossoms of white and pink wrapped around three long stamen. I've pressed them all to remember the garden, and the pictures will act as a way to duplicate it for my future abode. I have used these two facilities everyday. Both act as art, reading and drawing, areas but, specifically, the room is a perfect place to work out. The stairs are elevated pushups, and the little loft floor is a handhold for pullups. The beds foot bars are for situps and the corner of the kitchen for dips. The Hostel, situated on a looming hill, is always atleast a mile walk from anywhere in old town and is the perfect run. It is ideal. The sheer fact that this place exists is inconceivable. I have to leave tomorrow. Its been decided that I must walk those cobble stone streets, the communist museum that turns into a debate club with drinks around actual artifacts at night, and the hill tops around the city that were cleverly made into beer parks to sit in silence, sip smoothly, and just watch. Copenhagen in the fog ahead. When the sun starts peaking out I'll be in Norway. But it rises when I step off that plane and smell that unmeddling, uncorrupted, air of Bozeman Montana.

Poetry of the day

I've been there
The creeks and the ravines
I've been there!
The streets and the cities
I swear I've seen
Foreign countries and capitals
And I promise theres always more to see









-Chad A. Dokken

Support your Fighting Storks CZECH REPUBLIC

I was exuasted from my run; the sweat still dripping down my face thirty minutes after I finished was evidence of that. And hoping the beers chill would overwhelm my still revving engine wasnt making it happen any faster. The dark hollows of the Shotgun are ineffable. The bar itself is small and, due to its innumerable staff, it is fairly awkward.  But it is real Prague though. The dragons come in here for the day to avoid the light and covet the beer and Hockey matches like treasure in that cave of a bar. Prague has all the tall tale signs of oppresion and poverty that Rilke would so often allude to in his poems and that writers like Kundera lived through but ignore the state of the buildings. The new Prague generation is facinating, with the younger being penetratingly different than the older. But the common denominator is the stubborn hard work and overall personallity. This shared element of the culture could be due to the unfaltering conflict. If your around in the Czech Republic you either lived through the Nazi between 1939-45, the Cold War, or the Velvet Revolution and its aftershocks. The people are all aware of what their country has been through and use it to catalyze patriotism or skeptisism. At the beer garden Chalsea, Shelby, and I witness a kid drinking with agun and his pals. Everyone has a hockey team, a bar, a football team, and a city that they are a fan of. So while I was finishing off that beer and I saw that sticker on the fridge, I decided to "Support my Fighting Storks. And although I still have no idea what that actually is I believe it means that no matter what predicaments you encounter you push through. Becuase in these old streets with broken buildings, the Czechs, old and young, thive forward.

Im back

Hey guys!

Sorry for the long delay. But the good news is that I'm back to blogging. My adventures since my last post have been inumerable. The culmination of all of them landed me in Prague for my birthday with Shelby and Chelsea Hecht. Prague, a city still rife in landmarks illustrating their opression in the past, is full of oustanding people. Yesterday I walked down through center city to get some clothes because mine havnt arrived. The look of an eastern european is harsh at face value. The weather is cold and their face isnt going to get any warmer talking to you outside but if you strike up conversation inside the story is different. They are a diverse people that come from all walks of life. Some Lebanese, some Romanians, the rest are true blue Czechs. Im about to rum out to go eat breakfast with my bozemanites but I'll be back with more. Love you guys.