I'll Have A Day On The Rocks, Please.

In my last post, I mentioned that I'd taken up rock climbing since I moved to Colorado, but I didn't really say anything else about it. That's because I'm basically in love with rock climbing and it deserves its very own post.

You may remember when I went to AZ with Leo, he took me on my first rock climbing adventure. My second climbing venture happened on my trip to Italy. While I was there I met a complete stranger off of tinder who offered to take me climbing. Of course, everyone in Italy then was a complete stranger. But this one was an American stationed in Vicenza. So I met him at the train station with my shoes, a beaner, my ATC, and enough webbing to make a harness (because that's all the rock climbing gear I took on my backpacking trip), jumped in his car, and let him drive me to a whole other city half an hour away. Yes, I recognize the safety concerns involved in this endeavor, but you know what? I'm still here. And I got to go rock climbing. And I made an awesome friend that day! Paul, who I still talk to, took me to Lugminano and explained how it had been one of the biggest rock climbing places in Italy back in the 80's. It was probably a class 3 hike in, but there were soooo many routes! Paul didn't know what the names of the routes were, or what they were graded at (they use a different grading system in Europe than we do here in the states, anyway) but it was fun!

Climbing in Lugminano, Italy. Paul let me borrow his harness!

That day I basically decided when I came back to the states I was going to go learn to climb somewhere.. I initially thought I was going to buy a beat up old van or something and drive it to red rocks just outside of Vegas and just camp out and climb for a few months. Obviously, that's not what happened. And I'm glad it didn't. I really like frequent showers.

When I moved most of my things up here to Colorado in May, I wasted exactly zero time. I was only here for a week before I was to start my road trip to the North East, pretty much only owned what I'd had in Italy plus a harness (climbing in a Swiss seat made from webbing is never fun), I had no idea what I was actually doing, didn't know anyone in the area who climbed, and I had a severely pulled bicep tendon that was still healing. None of those seemed like good reasons to not go climbing. It took me all of two days in Colorado before I found a random person on facebook with enough experience to teach myself and my new roommate the climbing basics. Again, I met two complete stranger in a parking lot at some ungodly early hour and drove off into the mountains with them. Except this time with my roommate. I have yet to regret a spontaneous adventure, and I'm quite glad I took this one.

My roommate and I, climbing at Clear Creek.

I learned the basics of climbing that day, and since I got back from my road trip, I've gone on several climbing ventures. In the last two months I've gone from someone who didn't know what cleaning was to climbing a multi-pitch called "Lost in the Jungle," leading and cleaning routes up to 5.9s, and just last week I climbed a 5.10C called "Via Comatose Amigo." To say that I'm in love with this sport would be putting it mildly. My goal is to be able to lead a 5.11 by the end of the year, and perhaps one day do a climbing competition. Which makes me wonder why I'm sitting on my couch right now instead of climbing... I should do something about that.

Making my way up Via Comatose Amigo - A 5.10C

Since I've Been Gone..

Ok, so it's been a few minutes since my last post, so here's what's been happening. I came back to the states, took up photography, bought an old beat up VW Passat wagon, drove it around the northeast for a month, went to the West Point graduation, did New York City up right, ate at the Chegg on Long Beach Island in New Jersey with my body builder buddies, hiked on the Appalachian Trail, moved to Denver, CO, somehow got a part-time job as a mechanic, a full-time job as a police Dispatcher, and have taken up rock climbing. It's been an adventure to say the least. Here's the highlights...

When I graduated high school, I applied to West Point. Like so many others, I wasn't offered an appointment. I was, however, offered a scholarship from West Point's Association of Graduates to attend Marion Military Institute for a year. If I performed well there, I was all but guaranteed an appointment to West Point the following year. While I was at MMI, I decided West Point wasn't the route I wanted to take to get my commission, but I made some awesome friends - many of whom went on to graduate West Point in May. I was fortunate enough to be invited to stay with Lt. Col. Charles Faint and his family on base during graduation week. I really can't say enough about what awesome hosts they were. Or how nice it was to be on base instead of having to drive there every day. And having Charlie and his wife Lilla give me directions so I didn't wind up completely and utterly lost.

West Point Graduation Parade

The graduation was, well, a military graduation. Efficient. General Dempsey was the honored speaker, and he sang (and made the graduates sing) "New York, New York." Aside from his little Sinatra piece, the General actually laid out some real words of wisdom. I'd love to have lunch with that man.

My roommate from MMI, Chelsea Kay graduated that day, and was commissioned by none other than the Superintendent, General Robert Caslen. How she got the Sup to pin her, I don't know, but she did. It was really cool to get to attend her commissioning in the Sup's garden, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the school. It also gave me a kick in the ass. I didn't attend West Point, but I finished college and did my short stint of travels. And here was Kay, kicking my ass and getting her commission first. So now I have no choice but to get mine and catch up with her.

Chelsey Kay, the new butter bar

After I saw Kay off, I made a B-line for New York City. As fate would have it, I discovered that I wasn't the only old cadet from MMI who attended the graduation and was spending the next couple of days in the Big Apple. My old platoon leader from MMI, Roderick Bonner was also in town. We spent the next day sight seeing and tasting all the local cuisines... And by the local cuisines, what I really mean is hot dogs from street carts and the occasional piece of pizza.

The 9-11 memorial on Memorial Day

After NYC, my plans to see a friend in upstate fell through when he had to skip town for work. So I spent a night in the Catskills camping out of my car and hiking. As uneventful as a story as this is, I mostly just want a reason to post this picture..

The sunset where I camped.

My next stop was New Jersey. I was genuinely surprised when not one single gas station I pulled up to was self-serve. Apparently, there's a law in Jersey against people pumping their own gas. No, seriously. Every gas station has attendants to pump your gas for you... I spent the next few days trying to find a balance between not eating too much, and looking like a bird at every meal... Meals, of course, where every few hours. Because I was with Pat the body builder and his body builder buddies. Who only stop eating to work out and sleep. I ate with them, I worked out with them (although we pretended not to know each other in the gym. I'm not leg pressing any cars anytime soon), and I slept in Pat's house. And Pat made sure I got to do the tourist stuff like buy a lighter from Ron Jon's, check out the famous people's houses, and drive the length of Long Beach Island. He's a pretty cool guy when he's not busy trying to date my sister.

The traditional beach pic.

Pat on his third round of wings at the Chegg.

The next stop I made really should have a post all its own, but for the sake of catching up, I'm just going to give it this short piece. That, and I really want to go to sleep.

Becky Lessner and I have been best friends since we both ran on the Point Park Cross Country team in 2012. We decided while I was still in Spain that we were going to do part of the Appalachian Trail. Becky wanted to do the portion up in Maine, but we really didn't have the time to get up there and back, so we opted for a piece out of the middle of the trail. On the first of June we bailed out of our beds at the hostel in Harper's Ferry and got ready to go. It was raining, but we were super prepared. We donned our rain jackets and set out into the 75 degree morning. It was uncharacteristically cold considering it had been well over 80 for the last couple of weeks. We made it about an hour before we realized the temperature wasn't getting higher - it was only getting lower. I'd packed for this trip almost three weeks ago, and I certainly wasn't prepared for this. I had a single pair of pants, a pair of shorts, two shirts, and a rain jacket I'd borrowed from Becky. About twelve miles in we made it to a cabin for hikers and started getting comfortable. We'd taken our hammocks to sleep in and no sleepingbags because, well, it was supposed to be in the 80's and 90's and only getting down to 70 at night. The temperature kept dropping and I was tired of being cold and wet. One of the other hikers on the trail (Over Forty was his trail name), exasperated, expressed how he wished we could start a fire in the furnace in the cabin. "Furnace?! Fire?!" My posture perked like a dog being told to sit for its favorite treat. "Yeah," Over Forty said, "there's a furnace in here, but there's no dry wood." I made my way into the cabin and snatched three dry pieces of wood out of the pile. "Y'all go get wood. We're making a fire." Everybody started bringing me wood. Small stuff at first, and then bigger pieces. One of the fellows there just kept repeating how we would never get a fire going because the wood was too wet. He quit bringing in wood after his second time out, complaining that he was cold. With a paper towel, a couple of dry sticks, and going light headed from blowing on the flames so much, I kept our furnace hot until three in the morning. Over Forty officially named me Draco Fire Starter. So there's one more nickname I have to keep up with. Becky and I ditched our hammocks and took a bunk in the cabin. Around four in the morning we were both freezing our asses off in shorts, all of our t-shirts, our rain jackets, and our hammocks and my microfiber towel for blankets. When you're cold and water logged, even the extra body heat from spooning doesn't keep you warm enough to sleep. We both threw in the towel like the pansies we are, stuffed breakfast down our throats, gave our extra food to the other hikers, and headed back towards Harper's Ferry.

Just after the rain let up.

We were certain velociraptors were going to jump out at any moment.

This is as clear as the weather got for us.

After we finished on the trail, I made a B-line for Nashville to crash at my sister's house. I hadn't slept at all in the cabin, had walked well over twenty-four miles in the mountains in the last two days, and drove eight more hours to make it to Nashville. I don't even remember if I saw my niece and nephew off to bed. All I really remember is that I forced myself to take a shower before I drug myself to my bed. Then I got up ungodly early and drove another eight hours back to Arkansas to gather the rest of my belongings, change my oil, and move to Denver.

A New Directive

I know I've been absent lately, and I have yet to tell about my trip to Italy. I've been working on a different project for a little bit now and I'm feeling pretty good about it. Here is but a small excerpt. 

       Jessica did what she is often times quite remarkable at, and asked me a couple questions that made me think. She asked me first if I regretted coming home from Europe so soon. I didn't. Partly because I felt like I was finished in Europe, but also, I wasn't the type to regret things. I don't know if there was a definitive turning point in my life, if I had gradually evolved, or if I had never really experienced true regret, but I couldn't think of a single thing in my life I regretted doing. Every time I came up with something unfortunate that had happened to me, or a stupid decision I had made, I could think of the lessons I had learned from those incidents and decisions. I knew the outcome of each event in my life and I could either learn from or laugh about each and every one of them. Usually both. Every instance was undoubtedly responsible for turning me into the unique character that I was today, and I was genuinely excited about the person I was going to become in the future. I didn't just not regret coming home from Europe, I was intrigued to see what role that particular decision would play in my life several years down the road.  

The second question Jessica asked me was, "when were you the absolute happiest?" Immediately, my mind jumped to Belize. The first night on that windy, sandless island, sitting on the deck, drinking Belikin. Every five minutes I would get this shit-eatin grin on my face and say, "Dave! We're in fucking Belize!" It wasn't the place, the company, or the beer that made me feel happy in that moment. The reason Belize meant so much to me was because I had accomplished my life long goal. To drop everything on a moments notice and skip the country. To disconnect, almost completely, from the rest of the world. To just decide to leave, and go. It was exactly what I had always wanted to do and I had done it. I kept asking myself, Why did it take me so long to do that? School and work were both valid excuses, but they were still excuses.

Nike's just do it slogan was my new directive. I had just done most everything I wanted for a while, but there were things I had always wanted to do that I hadn't had any plans for accomplishing. Living in Colorado was a big one, and those pieces were finally beginning to fall into place. Do a road trip around the United States was another, and I already had a plan unfolding in my head for that as well. Again, I wasn't sure if this change in attitude had happened at a definitive point or over time, but I wasn't going to sit around and day dream anymore. I was going to make life happen for me. If there was something I wanted to do, or accomplish, I would do it. Whether I had a partner in crime or not was irrelevant. The world was lying at my feet and it was within my ability to go anywhere and do anything I pleased. 

Ireland: Carrick-a-rede Bridge and Giant's Causeway

Carrick-a-rede Bridge

Ever since the first time I saw pictures of the Carrick-a-rede bridge several years ago, I've wanted to cross it. When I found out Paddywagon did a tour with a stop there, I had to go. I didn't even care that it wasn't the main attraction, which was the Giant's Causeway, I bought a ticket right there. I didn't even care about going to the causeway, honestly. I boarded my bus around 8 in the morning in Dublin and patiently awaited my destiny. 

On the way there, we stopped at some cool trees that were supposedly used in filming some portion of the Game of Thrones. I'll be honest, they were pretty cool. It was at that stop that I realized two things. First, it was snowing. Second, the wind was blowing. Like a lot. When we got back on the bus, our driver crushed my soul with a single sentence, "the carrick-a-rede bridge is closed due to high winds, so we aren't going to be able to cross it." Thanks, wind! 

We did still go to the bridge though. It's a little over half a mile from the gift shop to the bridge and most people on the tour bus opted to have a nice cup of hot chocolate at the restaurant in the gift shop instead of making the trip. I, however, was not missing this opportunity. I said screw the wind! and started walking. The wind was so high that I was pretty sure I was going to turn into a human kite and fly into the ocean a couple times. I'm really glad nobody had any children there. 

On my way out to the bridge, it actually started sleeting! Then a fellow coming the other way stopped me and said, "be careful, there's a wall of rain coming this way!" And pointed behind me. When I looked and saw the downpour headed for me, I just laughed and said to myself, the only thing that could make this any better is if the wind actually threw me into the ocean!! Then I promptly knocked on the wooden fence along the trail, cause nobody needs that bad ju ju. About that time I found an older British lady who was just as determined as I was and we did our best to act as paperweights for each other for the rest of the hike. 

At the bridge a stout gentleman there saw my complete lack of qualifications in the area of paper weighting 100 pound old ladies in 60 mph winds, and took over for me. Since the half mile trek back was into the wind, I had to grabbed my coat hood from the inside with one hand and pulled it down over my face because the wind was making my eyes tear up. Then I ran. Or tried to. In normal conditions, the pace I was setting would have been a steady 7:30 mile, but I'm pretty sure that's how long it took me to make it the half mile back to the gift shop. 

I may not have gotten to cross the bridge, but I'm pretty happy with having to gotten see it. Plus, it costs money to cross the bridge, and I didn't have to pay! And there were no crowds!! What more can you ask for?

Giant's Causeway

The Giant's Causeway was the next stop after the carrick-a-rede bridge. I'm told that on a clear day you can see Scotland from there. I kinda had to laugh at the thought of a clear day in Ireland, cause I didn't see one the whole week that I was there. 

It was still insanely windy and cold, so I paid the 2£ to ride the shuttle down to the causeway from the visitor center instead of taking the "15 minute hike" to the bottom. There was a lady at the bottom with an infant. Woman was nuts, but must have incredible grip strength cause the wind was measured at 60mph with higher gusts. I won't lie, I was thoroughly unimpressed with the hexagonal rocks. What did impress me though, was when I let myself fall into the wind and it actually held me up! I did that for as long as I could stand the cold and got some foreigner to get a photo of me. Then I paid attention to the rocks.. There was some kind of officer there making sure no one climbed on the rocks, but while someone else was distracting him, I grabbed a guy from Minnesota, gave him my phone, asked him to get a picture for me, and climbed the rocks. 

 

As soon as the next shuttle came around, I jumped back on and rode to the top. There wasn't much to hold my attention in the huge visitors center though, so I did what I do best. I found food. There was a restaurant in the visitors center, but who wants to eat at a visitors center? There's a tiny little restaurant just down the hill that looks more like a cottage. They had a bar and a few open fires. I grabbed a seat next to the fire and had what will probably the best soup and sandwhich combo I'll ever have. And a hard cider. I'm pretty sure I'll never be satisfied by food in the United States again. 

I doubt I'll ever pay that much for soup and a sandwhich ever agin either though. Since  Northern Ireland is technically still a part of the UK, they don't use the Euro, they use the pound. So the 12£ i paid for my meal seemed fairly reasonable. Until I did the math and realized I had just paid about $25.. I still probably should have gotten another cider though. The one wasn't enough to keep me warm for long after I stepped outside. 

Ireland: Cliffs of Moher and the Blarney Castle

I'm a little late with this post because I've been doing other things.. Very important things.. Like drinking my life away in Italy. It's been a good time. Anyway, here's my experience with a couple tourist stops in Ireland. More to come later. 

Note: since I'm too young to rent a car in Ireland, I did all of my tours with Paddywagon tours. They have busses leaving pretty much every day from Dublin, Belfast, Cork, and a few other places, and they stop at all kinds of cool little spots on the way to your main destination so you actually get to see quite a bit. All of their tour guides were very nice and friendly and knew a lot about the places we went. If you can't rent a car, or are too cheap, I recommend using them. 

Cliffs of Moher

For those of you who are fans of The Princess Bride, the Cliffs of Moher are THE CLIFFS OF INSANITY! Yeah, they're real. It's ok, I thought they were a movie set too until I turned 5 and discovered how to use the Internet. They're on the west side of Ireland just a little way south of Galway. Galway looked like a pleasant little town, and everyone I talked to spoke highly of it. If I'd had a car and not been too cheap for a train ticket I would've stayed there for a couple of days. The Paddywagon tour stops in a town called Doolin for lunch. In Doolin there's a bar called Flanagin's. It's kind of amazing. If I'm ever foolish enough to get married, I'm doing it in Ireland just so that place can cater the wedding. Which, I don't think they cater, but I'll figure that out. They also stopped at the "baby cliffs" which are only about 100 ft high. They stop there first so you won't be completely underwhelmed when you make it to the real ones. 

The real Cliffs of Moher stand about 700 ft tall. You don't really get a true appreciation of just how high that is through pictures though. You kind of have to go. If you can help it, go when it's not pouring rain, because if it's stormy or there's a lot of mist, you can't see much. Don't get discouraged if the weather forecast is calling for rain though, there's rarely a day in Ireland that it doesn't rain. It rained while I was there and I still saw the cliffs just fine. Take a rain coat instead of an umbrella though; and for you ladies and men with luscious locks, go ahead and tie up your hair. The west coast of the island is quite windy, and on top of the cliffs there's not much to break it. I'm pretty sure if they had half a dozen wind mills on the cliffs, Ireland would have clean energy for decades. Hats are a bad idea too. 

When you get there, I suggest breaking the rules. All of them. When you get on the trail past the gift shop and take your first glance at the cliffs, you can go left or right. Going right will take you up a little hill to a round castle looking thing where the guy that used to run the town would take his women (he was a womanizer, the local husbands weren't his fan), for a romantic view. I can kind of see why they went for it, cause the view really is incredible. On the trail to get there, if the winds are high like they were when I was there, there's actually a spot where the wind carries the ocean spray all the way up and onto the sidewalk. You're seven hundred feet above the ocean and you can hear the waves crashing on the rock, and then you feel the spray on your face. Kind of awesome if you ask me. 

There's no rules to break there though unless you want to climb on the tower, breach a castle door, or do some deadly cliff diving. However, if you go left, you'll soon come to a sign that says not to pass it. Pass it. Cops aren't going to come after you. I honestly didn't even see the sign because of all the people who were walking right past it. It's really just there so they can't be held liable if you fall and die. There's a narrow trail with a wire fence on the left and kind of a rock slab wall on the right. It's quite safe. Next, go over that rock wall. There's kind of a trail on that side of the rock wall as well, but it leaves nothing between you and the edge of the cliffs except the wind. The trail can be wide in places and narrow in others, and it can be a little muddy, but it's really not bad and the view is ssssooooo much better! 

You really can't go wrong if you visit this place. I feel like even if you were there when it was misty, you could still get some pretty good pictures. You'll probably have the uncontrollable urge to watch The Princess Bride too, so just go ahead and pack that. 

The Blarney Castle

When most people think of the Blarney Castle, they think of the Blarney Stone and being granted eloquent, flattering speech. I have two things to say to that. First, there's a lot more to this place than just the stone. Second, I kissed that stone and I wouldn't say that my speech has changed at all. It certainly didn't help me in Italy, where I arrived with a vocabulary consisting of "thank you" and "whore island" (thank you, Sterling Archer). Thanks, for nothing, stone. 

The Blarney Castle itself really is quite a sight. There are a lot of castles around Ireland, but many of them aren't this intact. This one has obviously had some maintenance done on it, but it's still awesome. When I got there, there was a choir group singing at the base of the castle distracting everyone. Since I have the apparently unique ability to appreciate someone singing without watching them move their mouth, I passed the crowd and made it to the entrance before everyone else. Score one for me. Inside the castle is really nice, but on the way up, it's pretty much a straight shot to the stone. At the top, take a second to enjoy the view, and maybe put on some Chapstick. After all, the locals piss on this thing at night, so having a nice protective layer between you and that nastiness probably isn't a bad thing.. That could be why my speech isn't flattering though.. Kiss at your own risk, I suppose. You have to literally lay down and bend over backwards over a hole in the floor to kiss the stone. Don't worry though, there's a mat there to lay on, and someone there holds you to make sure you don't fall, and another to take your picture. They're probably the same ones that relieve themselves on the stone though. 

The way down from the top is a little more interesting. There's a few rooms in the castle you can go into. The dining hall, the kitchen, the maids room, etc, etc. it's all pretty interesting. Once you leave the castle though, you can go behind them to see the poison garden, the caves, the creek, and a non-poisonous garden. I'm not sure about the poison garden though. There's a sign that says not to touch, smell, or eat anything in it, and I definitely saw and old lady bent over getting herself a good whiff. To my knowledge, there were no ambulances called there that day. If you're not quite as brave as that old lady, you can sit on a bench that's got some kind of "poisonous" vine growing in a canopy over it. I saw a couple taking a photo there. Kind of ironic how they were celebrating their love in a poisonous place. Way to kill your relationship, guys. 

If you're still not that brave, you can walk on a trail along the wall to the other gardens, or down to the creek. The trail along the creek is actually quite pleasant. I am in love with the sound of creeks though, so that's just me. I found a stump to sit on right over the creek and pulled off my shoes for a bit of relaxation, then headed for the cave ( after I put my shoes back on). The caves were a let down to say the least. I was expecting something big and filled with pots of gold and maybe a leprechaun or a cave troll. Nope, just a little cave inhabited by a spider. 

When you're finished with the castle, the lying stone, the not-so-poisonous garden, the creek, and the caves, go ahead and pull out your cash. The world's largest Irish gift shop shares a parking lot with the Blarney Castle. They have some pretty awesome t-shirts for normal people and alcoholics alike, souvenirs, and a bunch of cotton stuff all made in a warehouse there just up the street. The place is huge! Like, three or four stories kind of huge. If you're like me with only a backpack and you don't want to buy anything, there's a nice restaurant attached. I didn't eat there, but I was told it was pretty delicious. 

Ireland

To anyone who is wanting to travel to Ireland, I have a few pieces of advice for you. First things first; once you land, leave Dublin. It's not a bad city, and there's some cool history there, but in comparison to places like Belfast and Cork and the countryside.. It just doesn't compare. Second, drive around the north. I, unfortunately, didn't get to do that. I tried to rent a car in advance, and Avis' website says they can rent to those under twenty-five, but that was a lie. They did give me a refund though, so that was nice.. I spent the first few days in the south, and while I enjoyed it, my final day in the north was more scenic. In the north the hills roll on for miles a little more fluidly than they do in the south. The mountains are even prettier. It is colder though, so bring a coat. They consider 26C (78F) sweltering heat, so if you're from the south like me, just plan on being cold.

Third, pack a rain coat or an umbrella. Preferably both. Most of the time it's cloudy and drizzly.. And when it's not.. One minute you can see the blue sky there promising you a glorious day under the sun, and the next there's a tempest blowing through. The locals all said that's pretty much an all year round thing. 

If you are going to drive through Ireland, be prepared for some changes. Like EVERYTHING IS BACKWARDS. In my head, I knew they drove on the wrong side of the road and the steering wheel was on the wrong side and the Irish just generally do things involving transportation wrong, but it still messed with me. When I went to get on the bus at the airport, I immediately felt dyslexic. Imagine my surprise when I suddenly looked up from my phone and realized that we were turning into the wrong lane. Yeah, I shit a brick. About twice a day every day. Also, in the cities I think there's more one way streets than there are two-ways. And being a pedestrian trying to figure out which way to look was almost impossible. Thankfully, the Irish have gotten one thing right. On the ground at just about every crosswalk in Dublin it says "<- look left" or "look right ->." That was pretty awesome. 

Do the tourist things. Ireland is gorgeous and if I could (and it was warmer), I would probably rent a car and explore it for a month. But since I didn't have that option, I used the paddy wagon tour company and rode their tour busses all over the place. The tour guides were pretty cool, and they stop at a lot of interesting places. Like the Blarney castle. Yeah, I kissed the stone. I'm really eloquent and have the gift of flattering speech now, could you tell? If I had planned better and wasn't so cheap, I probably would have done their nine day tour. But I am not a big planner and I'm a cheapskate. 

           One last weird thing that I've realized is pretty much the same all across Europe; in a multi story building, the ground floor is floor zero. And you might be on floor three, but have room fifty-one. I swear they do that just so they can watch Americans walk in circles sometimes. 

Overall though I found the Irish people to be very friendly and welcoming. Weirdly enough, I heard a lot of other languages just walking around in downtown Dublin. I mean, virtually everyone speaks English, but other pedestrians talk in several languages. I heard Slavic languages, Arabic, Celtic, Spanish, some Asian languages and several others I couldn't identify. It was really interesting. Overall though, everyone seemed pretty friendly, and even though I stayed in the slums, it didn't feel that sketchy.

          Oh yeah. If you're a cider person, have some Bulmers. It puts everything I've had in the states to shame. Of course there's also the Old Jameson Distillery and the Guinness brewery in Dublin. They were, of course, packed with Americans. 

Withdrawals

At the end of 2014, I reflected on the last year and made a list of things I had learned. Two of those items have stuck out to me the most over the last few weeks of traveling. The first, number five on that list, is that regular adventures are necessary to my overall happiness. I'd say that I've been having some pretty good adventures this year. I went on a road trip and did a couple of what Outside magazine calls the world's most dangerous hikes. I experienced Las Vegas for the first of what I'm sure will be many times. I visited Oklahoma in the snow, and beat a winter storm home from Nashville after a great few days in Tennessee with friends and family. I made my first trip out of the country and got to spend a weekend on Caye Caulker in Belize, and I'm finally living my dream of backpacking Europe. And it's only March.

The next item on that same reflective list, number six, is where the issue begins. Number six said that having a meaningful purpose is just as important to my happiness as having adventures is. Over the last few months, I have completely forgotten about number six. Throughout my entire life, I have had a plan and a goal to strive for. All through high school my goal was to attend West Point. I didn't get in the first time I applied, but I got a scholarship from West Point's Association of Graduates to attend Marion Military Institute. After my first semester at MMI, my purpose changed from West Point to the Intelligence Community. Over the next two years I worked tirelessly in both "real" work and my academics to propel myself into a career in the community. After I had to return to the University of Arkansas from Pennsylvania, I lost a lot of my motivation, but continued on with unparalleled determination. During my last semester at the U of A, my motivation and determination for anything but adventures vanished. I put $2,000 and my passport in my school bag and consistently thought about leaving. I was and still am completely burnt out on that direction in my life, though I plan on returning to it later. But now that college is finished and I've started towards my personal legend, I'm having trouble finding a meaningful purpose.

I know I need this break from the "real world" to gain some perspective and renew my focus, but that hardly feels like a meaningful purpose to me. I have always enjoyed being altruistic and helping people, but it's difficult to find people to help in a place where I'm the expat. If anyone needs help, it's me - which is something that has never sat well with me. So while I may be traveling and having a great time over the next several months, I'm convinced that, for me, this trip would be more fulfilling if I had a meaningful job to do. I know I won't be satisfied if I go home just yet though, so I'll continue to search for my purpose in this world as I scour the globe for adventure.