Author: Dave

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Österreich: Schnitzel, Wurst, and Fairy Tales

Austria is a land of fairy tales. From the moment I left Graz, the train took me into every bed time story I had ever heard. Mountains, villages, castles… all I could see was Sleeping Beauty, Rose Red, Hansel and Gretel; it was otherworldly.

Austria is also a land of meat. Everything… everything is either weiner, schnitzel, or wurst!

The things we, as Americans, know about Austria are all derived from pop imagery. Arnold Schwarzenegger, The Sound of Music, and the fact that they make food named after genitals… not really, but, yeah, really.

Leaving Germany, where nary a smile was returned, Austrians were a lovely change. They have mostly been warm and engaging, and while not everyone smiles back, sometimes I’ll get one!

I’ve never been to Austria before this weekend, and when I found out the MotoGP was here this year after a 20 year absence, I thought it was a great change to kill two birds with one awesome stone! Here’s a quick peek at Turn 4!

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Graz is the second largest city in Austria with a population of around 300,000. It’s a nice place with good food, but one can find good food almost anywhere. Austria really came alive for me once the train pulled out of the station leaving towards the GP. That first train ride alone made the trip to Austria worth it.

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I dropped my bags off at the apartment I rented for an exorbitant sum and went straight to the track to watch qualifying. The first night back in Leoben, I went out to dinner; initially having a troublesome time of finding a place that I wanted to go that was close and open. I went to the main square, which is just where you must go for food, it appears, and went to
Weinlaube Schwarzer Hund on a whim and a TripAdvisor review.  I was astounded by the knowledgeable, helpful, English speaking Birgit; my server. I simply asked for a glass of her favorite red wine, and whatever menu items would go well with it; which was of course, Meat. Everything was perfect.

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Then I was introduced to Birgit’s brother and friends and they immediately adopted me. We spent the next 6 hours drinking beer and spritzers and talking about life in Austria and America and dancing in a Bodega. It was more than I could ask for to feel so at home while so far afield. If you ever feel lonely, friends are just a beer away.

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The Österreich ring is a 30 ish minute train ride from Leoben to Knittelfeld, and the Red bull ring has shuttle buses running all day that pick you up for free and take you to the track. If you give the bus driver 2 euro, he will hand you a beer for the ride. Remember, this is Austria, where beer is legal for 16 year olds.

The track was extremely well managed, no grief from security for my backpack, even police all over the place, but everything flowed quite well.  Aside from the occasional person on holiday who passed out drunk in the middle of the afternoon.

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All in all it was a fantastic weekend. Sunday, after the race, life was quiet in Leoben, and nothing much to do but sit in the Hauptplatz and watch the locals down beer and ice cream. My new friends were no where to be seen, and it allowed me some quiet time for reflection before retiring in order to get up early for a train ride back in time for breakfast at Granola in Gratz.

There is something romantic about church bells in a small town. the echo of old metal through the cobbled streets. Calling men from their homes, and sending them back again when a day’s labor was finished. reminding children when to scatter home after mischief end.  In Islamic countries, there is the call to prayer 5x a day. While the bells toll much more frequently, they are less insistent; more cadence. They aren’t commanding you to do something, just patiently marking the passage of our time here… perhaps a reminder that this is all we have… so do something with it. These are the thoughts in my head as the bells toll me into consciousness as the sun rises on my last day in Austria. So I decide to climb to a mountain castle.

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And now, I’m off. Leaving the magic of the mountains and the Sound of their Music and off to Belgium, to visit my friend Tim from our wild trek across Salar de Uyuni.

 

Here’s a quick wrap up to get you started on the right foot:

  • Learn some basics in German: directions, what, how, something, numbers, i need/want
  • Learn how to say you don’t speak German! Ich kann kein Deutsch sprechen.
  • Austria closes down earlier than a lot of places, be prepared, your options will get limited after 8 p.m.
  • Trains are awesome, and you should take your time and ride one rather than fly if you can.
  •  Most towns in Austria are easily walkable, no matter where you want to go. Enjoy it.
  • Always keep a few 50 cent pieces in your pocket. Most toilets in train stations are pay to enter.
  • Water is free, as opposed to Germany, and it is some of the best you can get; straight from the tap!

 

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I think my pig is whistling!

Frankfurt has been fun, and my stay here far too short. I’m packing up after 4 days to head to Austria for the first MotoGP race there in about 20 years. I’m marginally excited. 🙂

I have spent my time here either head down in work, or wandering the streets, or Straßen, repeating German phrases over and over to myself. I must have seemed like a crazy person. They have a phrase for that.

Nicht alle Tassen im Schrank haben. Or, “Not having all the cups in the cupboard.”

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German has lots of awesome phrases, I am learning.

Ich glaub mein Schwein pfeift. Jetzt haben mir den salat! 

My German is not the yellow from the egg… but it goes!

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I’ve loved my little apartment with the tiny solarium and Colombian neighbors, but it’s time to run away.  A few impressions from Frankfurt, since I showed up knowing almost nothing aside from the University name!

  1. Westend is quiet and lovely and expensive. Shoot for North or East end for something hipper and cheaper.
  2. Bergerstraße is an awesome street to just wander for food, drink, and fun times.
  3. Public transportation will get you just about anywhere, or you can walk the breadth of the city in less than an hour.
  4. People rarely smile back, but they will stare at you quizzically if you smile at them.
  5. Get your phone unlocked BEFORE you come to Germany if you plan on using a local simcard.
  6. Buy a Tageskarte for public transportation. If you get off the bus/train more than twice, it’s worth it.
  7. Local apfelwein is pretty decent. Actually, anything with apples here is good!

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There’s not much more I know. I only understand train station. 🙂

Time is short, and I’m off to Austria. Time to mach die fliege!

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An Exit

Another grand adventure unfolds under my feet…

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Arriving at the airport today, I felt the hum of excitement building in me. The familiar return to a building that sees every permutation of human emotion every day. My experiences in airports have often been so emotionally charged that I can’t be near one without feeling that part of my guts that is tied to them twisting and dancing like a fish on a line. Today was no different.

The rampaging nerves peaked after I had my ticket in hand and hit the loo before I had to stand in the line for Security check. I was suddenly nervous almost to the point of panic. I had no idea what was waiting for me on the other end of this flight. I should run home and hide in the relative safety of my empty rented house and it’s lack of uncertainty.

I almost faltered; which was odd for me. This moment that was so foreign to this concept of who I am in my head, but is a real part of me and everyone and life! As much as I want to believe that I am dauntless, I have emotions and am far too often subject to the whims of adrenaline, hormones, and nerves. Recognizing the nerves as counter productive to what I had come to do, I strode into the security line and waited for them to pass. After some touch and grab with the TSA agents, I realized after I had passed through that the nerves were gone, replaced by calm confidence and anticipation for what lay ahead, rather than fear of it.

I think this happens to many of us, and it’s often hard to know what to do with it. I think without the guidance of some of my mentors and a very few close friends, I could have spent most of my life in that paralyzed state; running from uncertainty and never fully exploring myself or the world around me. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.

Maybe that’s why so many people seem to get addicted to change, to pushing the boundaries, to the adrenaline rush… to love? We keep looking for something to make us feel alive. Point Break being a prime example.

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I had never heard of Condor airlines before I saw the billboard over the freeway as summer warmth cracked over Austin making motorcycling enjoyable again. Nonstop to Frankfurt. Condor Airlines. They aren’t new, just new to me, and they have the most attractive ticket and gate agents in Austin International by a fair margin. They’re doing something right.

The plane is not new, showing signs of work, but it is clean in the way that German things are. I am not new.  My passport is not new. The plane is certainly the cleanest of we three.

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Awakening in a different country is still a somewhat surreal occurrence. It’s as if you aren’t fully awake enough to read or understand what words are being spoken to you… but permanently so. Something like a never-ending concussion. The German populace is gracious and liberal in their application of English, and I’m a bit surprised to see police with rifles just wandering the airport as if this were commonplace; almost as if this were Ben Gurion rather than the financial capital of one of the more affluent countries in Europe, if not the world.

We’re not in Kansas.

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More later. 🙂

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A Quickie

I am off again.

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The idea of a Eurotrip this summer actually materialized last year, but my partner dropped out. After the bombings and madness in Istanbul, I really started to worry about friends and wondered what their lives were live; I wanted to go see for myself. Add in that Zsofi is having her first baby, and Eda is getting married, and this is the first year Austria has hosted the MotoGP and I had all the reasons I could want to go back and visit.

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This is how I find myself sitting in a historic room in Frankfurt; jetlagged, tired, and grinning. I don’t know where I will sleep this weekend, but I brought a hammock and optimism, so I believe it will work out. 🙂

On the docket are Germany, Budapest, and Turkey; all of which I have been to before. Along with the old favorites, this trip will mark my first time to Austria, Belgium, Netherlands, France, Luxembourg, and Portugal!

Roughly a month abroad in all, which is almost a quickie for me. I have been looking for something to help me realign my perspective around my life, and I think this time away from home will be just the thing!

Stay tuned for more stories.

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American Sandwich

Helmet hair

And now it’s time for a new adventure. Starting in June, I left my old stomping grounds in Arizona, rode through Mexico, along the Sea of Cortez, and am now a third of the way up the Pacific Coast to Canada!

I’ve never been to Canada before, or to some of the parts of Mexico I saw, and I’ve certainly never driven a vehicle in either place. This has been exciting!

I’m late in posting, this, so I’ll catch up with photos and such later, but for now, I just wanted to throw some of this out there.

I’ll be heading to the Redwoods tomorrow, and then on to Oregon for the week of July 4th!

I am astride my trusty ’06 Suzuki SV-1000S, having turned nearly 30,000 miles on it myself, and it’s running like a dream. Hard to imagine that I’ve had this bike for almost 7 years now. In that time I’ve owned another 7 bikes, but my blue Juggernaut is the only one still around. We have a special bond.

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As always, the best part of my travels has been and will continue to be the people I get to spend time with. Followed closely by this unbelievably beautiful Earth that passes around me on the way.  If you, or your friends are along the Pacific Coast and reading this and want to catch up, shoot me a message! Looking forward to hearing from you.

P.S. If you can’t meet up with me, send me an email/text/whatever, and I’ll send you a postcard from some random place!

Foggy Golden Gate

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Reiki and the Yogi: Simonisms.

In another world, I was a warrior.

Maybe it was another life. Many months ago, I left Thailand behind. I left with bruises, for sure, though disproportionately less than I should have considering the beatings I had been taking. I credit much of this to the healing properties of yoga, Reiki, thai massage, and what the Thai call pran.

I left on this journey around the world to finish something I started a long time ago. To change the direction my life was headed; to bring new things into my life. That’s exactly what I have done.

Meeting Simon was really just the next step, I suppose.

Zsofi and I were both excited to get to Thailand. I was much more interested in Muay Thai training, and she was more into cooking, yoga, kiteboarding, and all the other fantastic things that are right at your fingertips on Phuket.

Part of my training was early morning yoga with Simon the Yogi. It’s hard to just jump up and run off to being beaten on all day without a little warm up and stretching first. I watched trained fighters make this mistake and pay for it with their bodies. Only part of the yoga was physical, though. Simon spoke to us through the whole hour, waking up our minds and getting us ready for a day full of possibilities.

“This is not an ashram or a temple: life here is different. With the sounds and clatter of battle around you, you cannot fool yourself. You are not a monk. You are a warrior.”

Also, he often sounded like a complete madman.

Simon didn’t just do yoga, he taught weapons classes; stick fighting, krabi krabong, and knife offense and defense. When he spoke about using weapons it was again with mysticism.

“You are performing sorcery. You are causing solid objects to move around your body in geometric patterns.”

Given all the exposure I had to Simon’s particular brand of  acceptable lunacy, I had a great deal of time to chat with him about energy, pran, ki, chi, chakras; the intangibles.

One afternoon, somewhere between the spirit house and the giant golden Buddha, over the sounds of battle, Simon told me he did Reiki attunement, and I was immediately onboard.

Sundays are the only day of rest at Tiger. Hence on Sundays, when Simon wasn’t off in the jungle somewhere, he would sometimes initiate the curious into the world of Reiki.

I was concerned that it wouldn’t ‘work’ for me. Somehow, after traveling halfway around the world, running with the bulls, working with the IDF, riding camels through the Sahara, making friends in every corner of the globe, I still believed that there was something uniquely and fundamentally ‘wrong’ with me; that I couldn’t do it.

Simon tapped into this and in his own way, tailored everything he said towards it.

“Inadequacy is an illusion,” he would say to me. “You can do all of this. Effortlessly.”

Effortlessly. He kept saying that word all day, it just kept coming up; through the smoke, over lunch, through meditation and Reiki sessions.

Years later, I have been given more Reiki attunements. I have experienced numerous healing modalities, and even endeavored to make some of them my own. If you are interested in learning more about Reiki or Yoga, just google your area. Enlightened people are everywhere. It may change your life in some small way. For me, I can say it has given me a number of tools for making my life easier, though perhaps not quite “effortless” as was promised. I still hear his words sometimes, echoing in my memory. And so I offer them to you, dear reader.

“Protect me. Evolve me to the highest good. and all else too.”

 

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How to not lose your job…

Amazonian Tributary, Bolivia

 

So many people talk to me about a desire to travel and see the world. People who have their lives together; a career, a house, maybe a family.  While none of these are going to stop you from traveling, they may seem daunting at first. I ran across this article speaking specifically to people who are looking to travel and concerned about their job and career.

Here’s a quick quote to whet your appetite:

You dream, what seems like, a very impossible dream. I’m here to tell you: It’s not impossible. It’s actually quite possible. You can take time off from your job to travel and return to it, career intact.  It’s a matter of some planning, preparation, and a thoughtful conversation with your boss.

It’s rare to find well articulated planning advice for this sort of thing. When I left, I looked long and hard for it, and finally just decided to wing it, throwing caution to the wind, and trusting in the Universe to sort things out for me on my return. For those of you who are a little more structure minded than I, click the link below and start turning that dream into a reality!

http://takeyourbigtrip.com/2014/09/21/how-to-talk-to-your-boss-about-taking-time-off-to-travel/

Bosphorous Channel, Istanbul

 

 

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Wishes and fishes

Driving home tonight, I am reminded of the things I wanted most when I was lost in the rest of the world; the warm embrace of a loved one, and to drive my own vehicle wherever I wanted. So simple, but so hard to find.

I look at the luxuries we afford ourselves; psychotherapy, massages, xxx, chiropractic care… and I marvel that anyone could be unhappy here.

I told everyone I encountered from any walk of life that I still believed the USA was the best place to live in the world. I believe that to this day. We have our issues here, for certain, and we have a quality of life that allows us to either overlook them or address them as we choose.

I am so fortunate to have the things I wanted most. A vehicle and the freedom to use it when and how I like. Loving friends and a beautiful significant other.

If someone hugged you today, and if you have freedom of movement, consider yourself fortunate, and please don’t squander those precious gifts. You already have everything you need.

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The Singapore Sling

Early in life, I remember hearing about the American teenager, Michael Fay, who was caned in Singapore for vandalism in the 90’s; flesh flayed from his buttocks by a bamboo staff. Prior to that, I remember thinking Singapore was a place in China. At no point in my life did I expect to get arrested there.

To get from Thailand to Vietnam, one must cross a decent portion of Asia. Given my experience with mass transit in Asia, I decided it was best to catch a flight, as my odds of surviving the plane crash were roughly equivalent with those of surviving anything else in Asia. Tiger Airways, a Singapore based company, had a good flight routing through Changi airport near Paya Lebar, Singapore ; a place which is not, it turns out, in China.  They layover was long, the better part of 8 hours, but that was going to work out well for me, since I wanted to wander around and get a feel for the place.

As day precludes night, I had to pack my bag before I could get on the plane.

Packing has become “old hat.” I have a packing system for my bag, that allows me to retrieve any item or group of items I may need with relative certainty and alacrity. I know where everything goes, and I know what items need to be transferred to my “checked” baggage as they will not be allowed into the airport.

Once or twice I have forgotten something, true (like when the Atatürk Airport security took my spray deodorant and let me through security with the knife in my bag), but I’ve learned my lesson. I put my pocket knives away in my special bag in my checked bag and got on the plane with no issues. A quick flight filled with the atypically pretty girls so typical on Asian airlines trying to refill my drink and bring me napkins, placed me promptly and safely at Changi Airport in Singapore.

Each new country is cool to me. There is a little magic, kindled from childhood when all was new and bright and sparked the soul with each sunrise, that lifts the feet and heart as I cross each imaginary boundary into new lands. Singapore in-processing was not unusual and was going well until I noticed this giant x-ray scanning machine that was checking all our bags. I watched my bag go through, and a couple guys picked it up and set it aside. I was then called over to, I assumed, collect my bag and take it somewhere.

This was not the case.

The officials asked me to open my pack, and remove some things, and then started looking for my pocket knives. Yes, this was still my “checked” baggage. One of the knives had a pushbutton release on it. They weren’t thrilled about this.

I was escorted to an auxiliary police station nearby and placed in police custody. There was a Canadian guy, whom we’ll call Chuck, being held there also, under similar circumstances. His crime was leaving an empty pistol shell casing from a shooting range in his bag. Yes, empty, as in a useless piece of copper, incapable of hurting anyone unless one managed to swallow it, sideways. Yet, by merit of the fact that it was once in contact with a firearm, Chuck the Canuck was arrested and held in police custody until such time as it could be verified he was not, in fact, some Canadian Terrorist sent to decimate Singapore with an ounce of copper.

Chuck and I spoke back and forth, when we were held in the same area, sometimes being asked to go to another room and talk to someone ro sign some papers. Largely, we were treated like someone who had come in for a job interview: an interview for a caning.

It was hard to shake the idea that I would be detained, miss my flight, then possible punished corporally with a giant rattan stick by a man whose name I didn’t even know, leaving my bottom in somewhat less pristine condition than I had arrived; to steal an American colloquialism, leaving my ass in a sling.

I was called again into a side room with a woman in an unassuming polo shirt bearing some sort of police insignia who bade me sit at the other side of her desk. She spoke to me in the earnest, direct speech of one who is relaying a message that will not be well received, indicating to me that switchblade or pushbutton release knives are illegal in Singapore. That, regardless of the fact I was supposed to continue on to another country, the minute I landed on the ground, I was now an international weapons trafficking offender and under arrest and subject to the laws and punishments of the Republic of Singapore.

Skin whitening is something of a rage in Asia. Walk into any pharmacy anywhere and you will find dozens of bottles claiming to lighten your skin through all manner of chemical methods. The bloodless white pallor of the Asian  faces adorning the bottles is disturbing to say the least.  It’s not a good look for them.

As I sat, captive, and listened to my “crimes” recounted by the unassuming lady, the blood drained from my face, pooling up somewhere in my shoes along with my courage; I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a good look for me either.

She slid me yet another paper to read and sign, written mostly in English, which stated I understood the charges as they had been read to me. I signed, swallowed hard against the lump in my throat, and waited.

After a long rest, verifying I had signed as indicated, she explained to me that as I was a first offender, being newly introduced to my life of international crime, the great Republic of Singapore was allowing me to go free and suspend any sentence pending further criminal action on my part. She made sure to tell me that “this would go down on my permanent record” and should I decided to visit Singapore again, which they truly hoped I would, I should try not to bring any more illegal items as I was now a criminal and I wouldn’t be treated so lightly for repeat offenses.

All I heard was that I was going to be able to leave with my buttocks un-violated.

I promptly signed several more papers, nodding my affirmations, and exulting in the feeling of blood flow in my face again. Looking at the clock, I noticed that I still had enough time, maybe, to make it to my connecting flight if they let me out of there with my bags; which they did.

Having recanted my villianous deeds and turning over a new, less criminal, leaf in life, I was a free man to play with the childrens crayon table, making myself a souvenier picture, or eat some of the delicious local fare… which looked like the food in most airports in the world.

About 6 hours after touching down on Singapore soil, and an hour or so after being released from police custody, I was marching happily up to the counter to board my connecting flight and leave my checkered Asian past behind me and my undamaged bottom.

The lesson here is simple. Don’t take up a life of crime, kids. It will catch you in the end. Whether in a Turkish prison, or at the end of a bamboo pole; you won’t be sitting pretty.

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Selling the bikes; parting with friends.

I’m selling the bikes today. I’m a little sad, and a little relieved. They weren’t free, and they were quite troublesome. That being said, these two monstrosities truly were the other members of the trip. They had personalities and problems just as much as did Michelle and myself. They became our friends.

The bike sales issue is one that I am sure many people will run into when motorbiking Vietnam, so I’ll try and dig into that a little bit before I get all nostalgic.

Everyone will tell you that there are more bikes in Saigon and less in Hanoi. This is true, but that doesn’t mean the bikes are any good in Saigon or that hard to come by in Hanoi.

Buying the bikes as I did, in Saigon, I had a week to ensure that the repairs on them were made and they were road worthy. Even after taking each of the bikes back to the mechanics and asking him to make further repairs, very little was done. The bikes were repaired only in as much as they looked serviceable and no further. We purchased from a guy named Kevin Raven, who I quite like and who was full of information. The problem may lie in the communication barrier between him and his mechanic, Anh. By the end of the first day, parts were literally falling off of our bikes.


We have spent the first several hours of every day fixing the bikes, and when we finally arrived in Hanoi, the mechanics that Mr. Raven referred us to were too busy to meet for several days until the day before I had to leave Vietnam. The mechanic was brutal in his evaluation of the bikes, and when I made any attempt at negotiation he simply said he would not purchase the bikes and attempted to leave. We got bottom dollar.

This is a tough market, and “the other guys” have the upper hand. Just consign yourself to dealing with it and realize the money isn’t everything. I would recommend going somewhere other than Kevin Raven’s shop for a bike, as the faults we experienced could easily have been deadly if they had happened at the wrong moment. “Gross negligence” is a phrase I would use to describe it… “complete disregard for human life” might be another. Nothing against Kevin, he’s a likable bloke, but I’d rather live to see another American smile.

Today, I can smell the Vietnamese coffee wafting up from the cafe downstairs. I know I’ll miss that, so I have purchased way too much of it to mail back home. My coffee purchase and subsequent shipping costs may amount to the most expensive cup of coffee ever.

I’ll miss Bahn Bao for sure… and even skinny girls, sometimes.

Vietnam hasn’t touched me the way that I thought it would. Most of it I could live without, but it’s the discovery of such personal facts that requires one actually go and sample the place. This country taught me a great deal about myself, people, tolerance, and about my good friend, Michelle. I’ve never seen a Vietnamese family; not  in America. I have seen, kissed, and enjoyed the friendship of Vietnamese girls in the USA, but that’s about as close as I’ve gotten to seeing the other side of things.

These bikes have enabled me to have the most exciting day of riding in my life. They also allowed me to fulfill a dream I shared with one of my closest friends to ride the Hi Van pass. The have allowed me to get away from the cities in Vietnam, where it is so hard to find anything redeeming, and get out into the country and find real people, see the amazing green landscapes and truly find something to love about this place. These two wheels, as usual, spell freedom and peace; things so rare and hard fought for in sections of the world.

Today, though, with the sale of the bikes, comes a different kind of freedom. The need to maintain them, gas them up, lock them up, worry if they are going to kill us; all this is gone. While the bikes ultimately were something of a failure monetarily, they were an enormous success in the memories they helped us create.

This is the lesson Vietnam has driven home. Today, the bikes will be gone. Tomorrow, the money will be gone. The memories and the bonds of friendship forged on this trip will never leave us. The silent moments as we stood on mountain peaks and stared over an emerald series of chasms, the moments the brakes failed, the crashes, and the broken cookies eaten in wonder over Hi Van pass; none of this will ever be lost or can ever be duplicated.

These thoughts are what make days like this tolerable. We are reminded that we get to have more adventures and that we will see these friends again, and that we will make even more friends between now and then. We pat the bikes a solemn farewell and kiss the cheeks of friends and we say our goodbyes promising each other it won’t be forever. Even if it is, even if we never meet in this life again, we will both be richer for these memories we have shared and we should never regret these moments that made us smile.