When I was a kid, my best friend’s sister, Jamarys, had a quote on her door: “In the silence of not doing, when you slowly begin to listen, then anything in life can be your guide“. The quote has stuck with me for a very long time, and after months of listening to the screams of silence, I can attest to that. There’s nothing like a few months alone to get your bearings. You may not figure out everything, but you’ll likely point your ship in the right direction— and that alone is worth the price of admission.
I knew I needed to get back to work weeks before my sabbatical was up. I don’t know how it happened, but I do remember when I realized it. It happened similarly to a cocaine addict’s sobriety relapse. One day he’s being bestowed a 10 year sobriety coin, and the next he’s doing coke lines off of a stripper’s back– not knowing exactly how or why it happened, but for a brief moment, realizing that– boy does it feel good.
If you haven’t been sick once (or thrice) while traveling through Southeast Asia, you clearly haven’t enjoyed the fine cuisine.
The first time I had frog legs I had this excruciating stomach pain for two days, but I blame it on the inedible amounts of chili it had. This may be somewhat akin to a friend who years ago would drink mojitos until we needed to carry him out of an establishment. The next day he would invariably be sick, but would blame his upset stomach on the unwashed mint leaves in his drinks. Whatever, frog legs are good for you.
A few weeks ago I stopped heeding my own advice of only eating where women and children frequent. It was a fancy boat, through pristine islands in the gulf of Thailand. What could possibly go wrong with fresh pineapple cut by fishermen in a boat with no running water? Well, a lot apparently.
I’ve always known that I am not good at economics or world politics, but I am pretty good at basic arithmetic. I may not be able to tell you why, but I am pretty good at pointing out inconsistencies. Ask my friends, I can find Waldo in 5 seconds flat– every time.
When I first arrived in Texas I was befuddled by the unending amount of ranches and farms, that in my opinion were as profitable as WorldCom and Enron at their peak. I grew up on a farm (OK a bankrupt coffee plantation, but that’s kinda the same thing ;-)). I know what a profitable cattle farm looks like, and it ain’t the 50 acres per cow Texas has a multitude of. My first year in the Great State, every one kept telling me that I just didn’t understand farming and the ingenuity of the Texan farmer. Bullshit, I can count! It was years later that I found out that many farms have oil running through them, and that land owners get a cut of the action for allowing the pipes to run through them. It’s ok, I understand. If I could run a bike business with an inventory of 3 bikes, and twenty employees, I would too. I like being the boss, and there’s nothing wrong with being a gentleman cyclist. After all, like a true Texan, I like big helmets.
Anyways, this being an American election year, and me being lucky enough to see the circus from 13,000 kilometers away. It is time to get political, albeit with someone else’s country.
I’ve given up learning new languages. I’ve found out that with English, Spanish, and vigorous handwaving I can get by in any country. I didn’t used to be this lazy, but senility and age have its drawbacks.
Don’t take me wrong. I love the idea of learning Italian, French, and maybe German, but most of these languages are useless. Ok, with the possible exception of French. After all, there are enough French speaking countries in Africa to make it worth the effort. Italian? Well, unless Italy makes another attempt to invade Ethiopia and actually succeeds this time, I find that my time is better served eating gelato and drinking lattes. Why learn a language that has about a country’s worth of speakers, unless you are moving there? Whatever, I’ll keep to my “ciao bellissima” and “prego”, until I decide to spend a summer cycling in Tuscany. And don’t get me started on German, that’s just marginally more useful than Haitian Creole. Continue reading