Giving and Receiving in Life and Travel

“Why worry? What is meant for you is always meant to find you.” – Indian poet-saint Lalleshwari

One of the challenges of getting started on a grand adventure, or feeling ‘settled’ or ‘comfortable’ in every day life, is money, and worry.

Everyone I know always has something to say about money. I need it, I want it, I don’t have it, I spend it, it was given to me, etc. Everyone has some kind of feeling about the precious dollar bill.

Although I have always had what I needed, and then some, I have always worried about money. Having enough, making enough, not making any so making sure that I save enough.

Enough for…? Well, to make my wildest dreams come true of course! For my babies that I don’t have, my house that I don’t currently want, my furthering education that I haven’t yet decided on, and the big move that I know I will some day make.

A finite truth, in this life, is that money is freedom. A common misconception, in my opinion, is that money is power. Debate that as you wish, but one thing for sure is that nothing has power in one’s life unless one gives it the power. And what that means, is that when a person gives power to their fears or worries, it becomes the rule of their life. It’s true for anything or anyone in life. For a long time, my holding, saving, and carefully spending, was my way of giving money the power. I hoarded it for myself to rid myself of negative feelings that came from the possibility of lack. Money had the power to make me worry, fear, and sometimes to miss out on what I wanted. When I gave gifts I felt immense join, but always accompanied by worry for the shortage that might come afterwards.

But there never was a shortage. The more I gave of my time, and my money, the more I received those things from others tenfold. The more I said I would have no money, the truer it became. The more I lived as if there wouldn’t be a shortage, the more plentifully I received in the exact way that I wanted or needed.

The less I worried and feared, the less I would encounter things that I had previously worried and feared about.

The trick has become thus; trust in the Universe - trust in the Lord, trust in God – and the supply of the Divine will be endless. God is a bottomless pit of goodness, rightness, wealth, health, and happiness and He/She gives it out freely. All I have to do is ask. In fact, all I have to do is say what I want to be true and give love and gratitude to the world around me while expecting nothing in return. “Fake it till you make it.” (Pretend to be healthy, full of love, happy, abundant, and eventually your life will be made into that. It is tricking the ego into not worrying or fearing by convincing deepest desires – the ego – that it is satisfied. And so satisfaction will be thus.) At least, that’s the method I’ve been trying, and so far, God’s supply has never been short for my Path of Life’s demand. “Knock and the door shall be opened unto ye. Seek and ye shall find” – Bible, Matthew 7:7.

But, “When you knock, [make sure to] ask to see God… not any of the self-appointed intermediaries.” – Henry David Thoreau

The Bible says, “Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also reap” – Bible, Galatians 6:7. Meaning, whatever one says, or does in this life will return to them. (Karma.)

The message, when it comes to worry and fear, is to live as if it doesn’t exist. Concern for worries or fears attracts or brings on more worry or fears. Instead, I try to take all the power away from it. My concern has always been money, and so to get rid of that concern, I must live as if I am rich! Giving to people left and right, buying what my heart says is needed or desired (with goodness and cheerfulness), and trusting in God to provide me with what is right and good in His time and according to His Perfect Goodness. Then I will be rich, always having what I need or want because, through the Grace of God, there is no alternative other than happiness and abundance. With no worry or fear, that’s what ya get.

In the Orthodox Christian Church we pray at a funeral or memorial for the reposed to live in a place where there is no “pain, sorrow, or suffering.” In this life, none of those things can exist if I give the power to God and not fear or worry. Evil is the word for fear, negativity, and worry. There’s no evil, if I don’t give those things the power over my feelings, my behavior, or my beliefs. Instead I have begun to try hard to hand over all of the power to the Will of God, and the Divine Plan. You cannot serve God (Perfect Goodness) and evil (worry/fear) at the same time. “Ye cannot serve two masters.” - Matthew 6:24

And so, I have begun to throw all caution to the wind. My life is blossoming with love, and fullness. I pray for God to open the way for great abundance, health, and happiness, and give me what is good and right that belongs to me according to His Will. Sometimes I pray for peace and patience, and for God to give me a sign that will help me relieve negative energy so that I can be filled with light.

The funny thing is, that it works. Prayer works, and not because I feel light and pretty afterwards. God literally gives answers that are tangible and solution based – that give me the exact sign or message I need at the exact right time to bring me what is perfectly good and right. Its not really what I think of or what I want, but it is always good and always what God demands I need.

“All things whatsoever ye ask in prayer, believing, ye shall receive” – Matthew 21:22

“I tell you, you can pray for anything, and if you believe that you've received it, it will be yours.” - Matthew 11:24

In order to go on my around-the-world adventure, I had to completely release my hold on money. After all, I am going to spend all that I have, and probably more than I currently have, with no intention to work for money along the way.  I’ll volunteer in exchange for housing and food, but I haven’t considered working for money. I want to give of myself as much as I can, and having a job doesn’t feel like Divine Will, it feels like work for money. Its possible that having a job would be Divine Will but I am not seeking one. The right income will find me at the right time.

When I began my trip and people asked me why I would do it, one of their concerns was the money I would be spending. “Don’t you want to spend it on a house? Or save it for your wedding? Or your children?” As I said before, these were reasons I had always saved and attempted at frugality for. And isn't it selfish not to save for my children and their future? But, for some Divine reason, whenever someone asked me these questions, my automatic response was, ‘why worry? I have plenty of time to make it all back.’ Now if someone were to ask I would say the same thing, but I wouldn’t wonder at all why that was my automatic response. Worry is irrelevant. God will supply.

And, “There is a supply for every demand.” – Florence Scovel Shinn

In order to start my journey I had to release my hold on whatever was in my bank account. Seeing the number get bigger over years of odd jobs always made me happy. But now, seeing the number get smaller makes me feel like I haven’t wasted anything, I feel fulfilled and open to the Divine Plan. I haven’t hoarded any goodness. I’m sharing it with the world – and I believe that money is just as much a representation of the flow of goodness as tangible acts of kindness. Keeping, saving, hoarding, or not distributing money in some way feels vain or selfish now. Even saving for my (not yet existing) children feels that way. Of course they will have the right amount at the right time. I’m not the one who makes or breaks their future and neither is money. How can God supply if I don't always trust That He/She will?

But I’m finding also that, just as willingness to spend and keep the circulation of money and goodness flowing in the world can benefit my soul, so can receiving. I am a really bad receiver. I can't take a compliment, and I almost instantly refuse any and all spontaneous gifts offered to me. 'No, no, you keep it.' Or 'Let's split it.' Instead of, 'thank you, that's really sweet.'

“Never turn down a free meal.” – Nasser

A friend I made in Norway gave me the wise advice to never turn down a free meal, and I am taking it one step further. Just as I am meant to give, I am also meant to receive. Even when a poor man gives, I must imagine him prosperous and receiving tenfold, and that is how I can receive with gratitude and humility. Refusing a gift, for whatever negative reason (which it always is) blocks the Divine flow of goodness and leaves the person lacking even more than the gift they originally refused to recieve. Turning down a gift may be the same as ignoring God’s Will outright. How insulting! I think that, maybe, we are meant to receive because we are meant to be grateful, and how can one be grateful if one never accepts anything they are meant to receive? A humble and grateful heart will always receive as much as he/she gives – and so the pattern continues.

Traveling has opened my life to the cycle of giving and receiving – and in doing so I give up my hold on my life and my money. I try to surrender to the Lord, as one might say. And the only thing that I can absolutely expect without a doubt, is that whatever comes to pass will be good and right for me.

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An interesting anecdote occurred in my life after I had finished writing this blog entry. My mom and I arrived in Milan via train from Venice. After exiting the train station we walked to the taxi stand because we didn’t want to walk with our luggage in the rain. While in line, a man who was hard of hearing, was begging for money with a sad little dog that he kept in his carriage. I gave him some of my change thinking I need to give more and not hold onto goodness. A few minutes later I asked if I could pet the dog and he said a lot of things in Italian from which I gathered was something like “you have to pay me 2 Euro to pet me dog.” The gall on this guy, I thought. Annoyed with the man, at charging to pet his sad dog, and because I already paid him, I decided to just fain ignorance saying “I don’t speak Italian, I don’t understand” and move on. Shortly down the line (it was a rather long taxi line) I saw a woman in raggedy clothes begging for money. I thought, I already gave all my change to that guy and he turned out to give me a bad feeling... But I have to have faith that God provides. I have a few Euros, and why would I hold onto it if I know God will provide? So I gave the lady a Euro. To my delight and surprise she was extraordinarily grateful. She lit up like a Christmas tree, thanking me profusely. All I could say was, dios te bendiga in Spanish, which means “God bless you.” As I turned away to rejoin my mom, I thought: she was so grateful, I should go back and give her 20 Euro. I wonder what effect that has on someone begging, to receive 20 Euro. Will she beg more thinking “oh this works” or will she see that it is a sign from God? Nonetheless we were rushed into a taxi a moment later and because I didn’t get to give the woman more money I said a prayer under my breath, ‘God I trust that you will provide what is good and right in abundance for that woman and for me to continue to share Your goodness.’

A few hours later, my mom and I went to a quaint local restaurant a short walk from our hotel. The food was divine and the waitress - who laughed, was patient, and enjoyed our complex language barrier interaction - was full of light. But that’s not part of my anecdote. Towards the end of dinner, a woman walked by our table, bent over and picked up a 20 Euro bill and asked if it was mine. I thought right away that it was, because my pocket was unzipped and had a 20 in it. So I took it. But when I counted the total I realized it was extra, and immediately (for some Divine reason) the image of the woman at the train station popped into my head and I felt her immense sense of gratitude. Foolishly ignoring the sign from God, I thought maybe that the waitress dropped a 20 from the check she just walked by with. I said to my mom, ‘It may be a gift from God, or maybe the waitress dropped it. I will know which it is based on whether the waitress takes it or not.’ The waitress said it wasn’t hers. I realized after some more reflection, that I had written this blog earlier in the day about giving and receiving. And even so, I didn’t claim what God gave me as my own, I tried to re-gift it to the waitress rather than be grateful for it. God was teaching me a lesson. He was thanking me for continuing to have faith after the man with the dog nearly made me doubt, and he was teaching me to recieve as graciously as I was willing to give. I immediately said a prayer, “God thank you for your abundance and for teaching me humility and gratitude. I will claim what belongs to me according to Your Will and trust that you will continue to grant me health, happiness and abundance in Your time and according to what is right in Your Perfect Goodness.”

And that was the end.

Norway in a Nutshell

Talk about beauty in the world.

On my 9 day journey throughout Norway I witnessed some of the most breathtaking scenery. Fjords, mountains surrounded by lakes and rivers, covered with sporadic snow patches from the previous winter, and houses all along them - scattered or in rows zigzagging all along the cliffs and hills. The mountains were like Croatia's rock cliffs, with less cliffs and more fully formed mountains. Or like Greece's mountains, but covered in beautiful forestry with no dessert-like surroundings. Or like the Atlas Mountains in Morocco, but again, the forestry winter-mountainous look rather than the desert-mountainous look. Even, at a distance, appearing in the backdrop as the Appalachian Trail through New Hampshire and Maine, or the White Mountains. Real breathtaking, untouched, natural beauty.

My first stop after leaving the paradise of Greece was Oslo, Norway. Furthermore, my first stop in Oslo, Norway was to the Huk (pronounced "hewk") nude beach on the Bygdøy ("big day") peninsula of the city. My first day was spent in the 60-70 degree weather, in the 50-60 degree water. It felt like swimming in the middle of Boston harbor on the last day of the summer swimming season. And it was. The days to follow would be brisk. A layer or two of jackets would only reduce the breeze to a cool shutter.

Despite my having rested thoroughly for the last 10 days in Greece (a time and place my mind is still fixated on), each day in Norway has been quite physical and quite tiring in its own way. In order to pace myself and self-care the way that my body is screaming I should, "Sleep you idiot! Do less! Do less, please!" - I tried my restless best to do less and less. So this week I did one, maybe two activities a day.

 When I arrived at Huk on the shore of the North Sea, i took one look around to see the few men and women there, in their 50s or 60s most likely, and stark naked. I thought, with all of these sagging butts around me, what do I have to lose? Without a second more, I dropped my things, dropped my trousers, and went straight to where I belonged - the sea. It wasn't so bad, the coldness of it I mean. I immediately had goosebumps all over my naked brown and white body. Mind you, I was the only person on the beach with extreme tan lines. I had never thought of appearing - so obviously - as a foreigner, simply because below my waist is currently the whitest full-moon any Norwegian has ever seen, particularly in contrast with my Grecian brown legs. 

When i got out of the water, it wasn't so terribly cold that i would have to dress right away. So I sat on the beach drawing the landscape in my sketchbook. I am no artist, but creativity is a coping mechanism - music, dance, art, writing, cooking - i crave it because it makes me feel at home. Its good to know how to be comfortable and make every place feel like home. Even better to do it. So i began to draw a childish interpretation of far off mountains - me in my bareness pretending to be Rembrandt or Da Vinci. Suddenly, the ugliest seagull I had ever seen made a wretched crow, and shit all over my drawing and on me and my things.

I couldn't tell if it was vomit or poo.

I trudged slowly and gently to the sea, as I noticed locals did - probably in order to not make too much jelly shake, if you know what I mean. I laughed while I washed off in the water among the seaweeds. Either I am really lucky - and this is a sign, as everyone says about bird shit landing on you - or, and this is most likely, Norwegian birds are harsh art critics and my Da Vinci attempt was just as shit as the actual shit that landed on it. Either way, I laughed at circumstance. Luckily I wasn't wearing clothes, or it would have been a bird shitty day all over the back of my shirt.

All in all, my broad daylight public nudity debut was quite the event. No regrets. No embarrassment. It may have been the most carefree I would ever feel while naked in public. Not that this is a regular occurrence. I wish it was. I may have found my calling as a nudist.

On the bus ride back from Huk I met a retired Norwegian professor. He interjected himself into my studies as I was reading and practicing Norwegian phrases silently under my breath. He sat next to me and heard me studying, and laughed at my pronunciation. He was quite helpful and taught me key phrases while we rode along.

On day one, I hadn't learned yet that speaking Norwegian was not necessary in Norway. Everyone not only spoke English, but spoke it well and with a clear accent - even though most people said "I speak a little bit." I learned that those responses were because they don't want to speak English. I earned respect from people simply by acknowledging that. I said, I have no choice but to speak English, please help me, I don't mean to disrespect the Norwegian language or culture - I said this indirectly by saying in Norwegian, rather than outright in English, "I don't speak Norwegian, do you speak English?" I feel it does make a difference, even if only a slight difference. It doesn't work because its some brilliant idea of mine either, it works because it evokes different responses in people, the warmth and welcomes, rather than the rush to get away. I have tried it both ways, and using the local language, - even a little bit - always gets the better response.

The following days I walked about a bit - along a river leading to the city center with waterfalls and thick brush, zigzagging through boroughs and universities on paths and back roads covered with runners, and bicyclists. Along Sogsvann, a lake at the  last stop of one of the city train lines, I lost myself on a hiking path in the woods, sat by a freshwater stream for a picnic and fell asleep on a dock in the middle of the vann (lake). It took me a while to find a dock that was not loud with playing children or the trudging of hundreds of feet on a dirt path. It was Sunday, and because nothing other than expensive restaurants is open on Sunday, everyone was out walking, biking, or running, at this lovely lake.

Everything I have done here has been slowly paced, and truly peaceful. I think I have felt drained because Norway puts a lot of stress on the wallet. Although the exchange is 7 Norwegian Kroner for every 1USD, everything is priced in the 100s. What would normally cost $20, costs 300-400 Kroner - the equivalent to $50-65. When I am paying 59 Kroner ($10) for a street vendor hot dog, that's when you know - this country ain't cheap. 

The universe must know and feel my concerns, because the people I have come across here have been hospitable and free-giving. In Greece, I was cared for by family or friends of family and they were always giving. Here in Norway, it has been tens of people, complete strangers who sometimes don't even know my name, giving me free food, more free food, free advice, free transport, free this, cheap that. It has been a real gift and - like every time so much fortune and hospitality comes my way - I find myself wondering what did I do to deserve this? But then, reasons don't matter do they? I just try to be grateful... maybe the bird shit really worked.

On one occasion, I made friends at a bar. I don't normally go out at night when I am traveling alone, nevertheless to a bar, but I wanted to make a point to try Norwegian beer and I did so when the sun was still out. After all, it was the last night of the weekend. During weekdays Norwegian law does not allow the selling of alcohol after 3pm. I went to an Irish pub, of course, and I ended up meeting some people, of course. After chatting a thrilling conversation with a jolly couple who laughed and smiled about everything (how fantastic! I found myself laughing and not knowing what I was laughing at) they left and I continued the conversation with the man next to me who had joined in. I found myself complaining to the man at the bar about the cost of food. I try hard not to complain when I am traveling, but this one thing irked me. I found myself thinking how rude! The nerve of the Norwegian government to really think they can charge this much for bare necessities is really just a cruel joke. Petroleum independent UNESCO World Heritage Site Assholes. The government, of course, not the people. One thing I've learned is that most people don't like their government. Maybe they like the school system, or they like the way taxes are, or they like a few things here and there - but disagreeing with some aspects of the way the government does things is not considered a direct insult to the culture. So I freely say, it irks me that the Norwegian government has the nerve to charge so much money for things.

One of the things I was so excited to come to Norway for, was to eat lots of seafood. Low and behold this self-sufficient seafood exporting country has some of the most expensive local fish I have ever seen. Too bad - I've been making cheese sandwiches for days. After complaining about cost of food to the man at the bar, he told me poignantly, "well, I'm actually quite wealthy working in the Petroleum business here, and there's this posh restaurant around the corner I would like to take you to, no pressure though." I thought for a moment. I was direct in return to his poignancy, telling him that I don't want to accept his offer and imply anything further. He was understanding, generous, and kind. "No pressure." He kept saying. Anyway, the restaurant was right next door on a busy street and not less than 4 hrs earlier someone I had met gave me the wise advice to never turn down an invitation for food. 

When we sat down to order, I took one look at the menu and my jaw dropped. He asked me what I wanted, and feeling slightly uncomfortable at choosing between such expensive things (and truthfully wanting all of it), I told him to choose for me. Well, he didn't really. Instead he said, "we'll have two of the 5 course meal you have here." Jaw dropped again. But cheerfully, of course. Even though he and the waitress spoke Norwegian, he insisted on speaking only English while I was around, and I felt grateful for his consideration.

Thanks to Arne, that was his name, I delighted my way through long and meaningful conversation - complete with impressions of Sean Connery, Clint Eastwood and even some singing, while we both childishly played at being "posh" for the night. And oh the seafood! Some of the most tantalizing seafood I have eaten. Octopus! Eal! Cod! Delicious stuff that was completely new to me just because of the unique Norwegian methods of preparation and the fresh flavor. At the end of dinner, and practically closing down the place, Arne was a perfect gentlemen by walking me to a taxi and paying the cost to send me on my way.

Such generosity, and friendship truly is touching. Even on bad days, or days when I don't give a damn. Countless people have been kind to me and generous. I try to pay homage to them in this blog by recognizing the beauty in their souls that is expressed through their generosity, but I really am only touching on the amount of people. Sometimes they pass quickly in and out of my life so that I can't learn their names, but I try. The generosity has been so touching that a few days after dinner with Arne, when  I befriended a cafe clerk who, upon parting, sent me on my way with all of the leftover pastries of the day - I cried as I walked out the door. A happy, grateful cry. In Norway I have hardly been able to afford food, which I had not anticipated. And this 20-something man just gave me enough pastries for 3 meals.

The luck of bird shit does not come short of the delivery of friends and food. Alas, disgusting seagulls - my deliverers it turns out!

The rest of my time in Norway was somewhat of a rush. While leaving the hostel in Oslo, I twisted my ankle with all of my backpack weight pulling me down harder than a normal fall. It would have just been a stagger for walking crooked. Now, my ankle is wrapped and due to that, and not being able to afford a tour, I have been quite limited to what my day has been full of.

Luckily, the pain didn't kick in until after my long day in Lillehammer, Norway. There I stayed with a sweet Norwegian girl named Helle. She was kind enough to take me in for two nights, and help me to get where I needed to be. Staying with Helle was like staying on an old friends couch, or a buddy that I see often and feel right at home with. 
The morning of my one and only full day in Lillehammer, Helle took me in her car to the bus station as a meeting point. Once I was left on my own, I learned quickly that to access any of the hikes I was interested in doing, I would need a car. "Buses don't go there" the information desk lady told me. It was unfortunate, but I was also relieved, because I started feeling like my body was tired again. My head was heavy. 

Instead of my original plan, I hiked from the bottom of Norway's largest lake, to the top of Lillehammer's 1994 Olympic ski jump. From far away the ski jump looked like a green slide made for a giant, or aliens, or God, and it was sitting with fields of hay at the foot of it that made it look like the slide went into a sandbox. On my walk up the road twisting and turning I started to hear the sound of water off in the woods behind the guardrail. Curious of course, I jumped the rail and started off into the woods. After only a few minutes of searching I came across waterfalls on waterfalls on waterfalls. Untouched! Although there was the occasional old tent stuck in the trees - of course locals must know about this - there was still the river and it was left as is, despite all of the surrounding development beyond the woods. There was no bike or walking path - no path at all. I climbed up the side of the waterfall. Testing my feet on the rocks so as not to slip. I slipped at a freshwater stream only two days earlier and was stuck in cold damp pants the rest of the day. We will not be fooled again Mother Nature!! When I reached the top of the waterfall I felt triumphant! I looked around, sat, and listened to the water. How soothing it is to listen to water rushing, falling, landing, and doing it all over again thousands of drops per second. I sat with my feet hanging over the edge and enjoyed the scenery until I couldn't sit anymore. Little did I know, my little nature hike would be followed by a 936 step hike to the top of the 1994 Olympic ski lift (its important in Lillehammer to always mention that it is the 1994 Olympic ski lift, not just a ski lift.) From there, after sitting and reading a book at the top while professional skiers practiced their jumps, I enjoyed a brisk run down the mountain and back to Norway's largest lake (also important to mention that it is Norway's largest lake, not just a lake.) I didn't learn until the pain kicked in later that I was running and hiking on a damaged ankle. 

At the end of the day, Helle picked me up and we had pizza and watched a movie. It really was like hanging out with my old buddy - and so relaxing because of it!

The next day I left early to journey from Lillehammer - Oslo - Bergen.

On the 5am train I slept.

On the 8am train, I slept some more. In fact I sprawled out on two seats and pretended like I was a sleeping giant.

I was awakened suddenly, when something in my mind said "get up! get up!" I sat up instantly, took a look around, and when I looked out the window there it was. Fjords upon fjords, and a glacier in the distance. I could see the snow caps on top of these colossal perfectly formed stone piles. Some of the patches of snow reflected the sun so brightly that I couldn't tell if they were lakes on the sides of mountains or leftover snow.

It was breathtaking. I tried to soak it all in, as I definitely wouldn't be able to afford a tour once I arrived in Bergen on the west coast of the country.

[My internal alarm must know when I want to be awake for something.
I learned later that immediately after my train had passed, there was a dynamite explosion on the tracks and all other trains for the day were detoured 2.5 hours on bus. It was at exactly the time I had awakened that the explosion occurred 2 hours away. Three rail construction workers died. No passengers or civilians were harmed, as trains were not passing through at the time. A terrible tragedy from a faulty dynamite. Thank God that it was an isolated incident, the deaths could have been far greater if a train were passing through. The death could have been mine, if my train were passing through. When I heard the news my heart pounded and my next breath was deep - I felt immense gratitude for it, followed by sadness for these men and their families.]

At 4pm I arrived in Bergen. I learned from the information center that, I was right, I definitely wouldn't be affording any tours. What would have been 50pounds in England, or 30Euros in Greece, was 1400 Kroners in Norway. It was unfortunate. I had gone to Bergen to do hikes, tours, see glaciers and fjords - with a bum ankle and an empty wallet I was limited to walking around the cobblestone fish market town. I was grateful that I took the 6 hour train to the town because that was the best tour I would have afforded, and free with my rail pass.
It was not so unfortunate to be forced to stay in Bergen. It is a beautiful town stacked in layers on the hills, and pouring into the sea where countless boats dock for fjord tours, and boat travel. The buildings are close together, different colors, and the year-round "fiskmarket" is held in tents in the city center for all to see... and smell.

After gaining hindsight, I realized that the universe was giving me a real gift. Sitting around and doing nothing in a beautiful seaside town in Norway! I had been exhausted, I had been worried, I had been in pain - and now all of that is gone because I have nothing more to do than to care for myself, sleep, do what I like on a slow-paced day. And also be reminded of the gift of life that I have, while some people lose theirs in tragic accidents. My diet has been restored by eating very little (due to affordability) and now, in the next week, when I am back to paying semi-regular prices in Sweden, Finland, Estonia, and Russia, I will not feel so stressed. I am finishing writing this entry from Stockholm Sweden, and already I have no stress, feel completely rested, and thanks to an ankle brace and taking it easy, I almost have no pain!

Norway really was a place to remind me of generosity, and humility. There had been times before when concern for money left me hungry, but never to the degree that I experienced these last 9 days. Even so, I had only a glimpse into that world. The world where people are always worried, always begging, starving. I noticed in many countries like Norway, Greece, Turkey (and a few other places) that beggars and gypsies are given money more frequently, rather than treated indifferently or looked down upon. People see them and know in their hearts I have a coin, and this woman will surely starve herself before her children. She could live with my coin and die without it. Maybe it's not that grandiose... but then again, maybe it is - and I have seen a great amount of generosity in the last month. In New York, it is common to see a mentally ill person in the street, or an addict begging for money - for that reason the approach to the homeless there is drastically different. People are often cautious or indifferent. I'd be more likely to call 911 for someone than give them money. I'd be more likely to give them food or talk to them than give them money. My mom - with her big heart that she inherited from her smiling loving parents - she goes by the rule of keeping Dunkin Donuts gift cards in the car for giving out. They are chains that only serve food and non-alcoholic beverages. The same with Subway. In Norway and Greece those aren't as big concerns. The concern is getting fed. Surviving. Even surviving to the point of being able to live a little.

Norway, in nutshell, is grandiose in its natural design, but humble, and generous in its people.

Add this to the "Revisit" list, underneath Morocco.

London, England is the Heart

Today is a day for interludes - a shorter more cynical entry awaits you. Our spirits will lift after we leave London and if you continue to read you will understand why.

London is such a simple, overpopulated, tourist attraction of a city, and therefore it requires an interlude. After less than two days I grew tired of this bustling city. I lack gratitude for the melting pot of cultures, the accessibility of the tube, and the overpopulated walks through S. Kensington Park, Hyde Park, and the S. Bank. Buckingham Palace, though a site to see, still but a disappointment since onlookers are no longer allowed to approach the guards to play the game of trying to make them break position. All I wanted to do was wave my hands quickly in front of his face to make him blink. To my disappointment we are separated by a gate, or a rope, or a street performer dressed as Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings saying, "You Shall Not Pass" as he bangs his staff. I played make-believe as I stood in front of the gate disappointed: maybe years of thousands of tourists waving in the guards faces has forced some of them into retirement with post-traumatic stress disorder. Now in their retired lives, no one can wave to them, swat flies around them, or come within a foot of their face without them reliving the trauma of tourism. Hah

 I would appreciate the culture of London, if it had one. Unfortunately fish and chips are much to be desired, along with English beers, and eye contact after 8pm. I would say to steer clear of all of the above. 

The English drink Pimms is quite popular and tasteful. Its a fruity cocktail with vermooth, juices, and fruit. The English Sangria - it's much sweeter (in compensation for their terrible tasting beers.) Of all English foods and beverages, thats all thats worth talking about. Imagine leaving Spain and the only thing you had to say was, well the sangria was pretty good.

I have walked this entire city, and I disappoint myself that I cannot seem to find anything that I have grown to love about it. I just think, at least they make fried eggs better than the Irish. I like to crack my yolks not crumble them. I have a tendency to crack a yolk sometimes. Ho!

Despite my cynicism, I hypocritically say that I could imagine myself living here. It is easy to live here. There are so many walks to be done, and outer cities to be seen. Scotland is but a skip away. Everything is accessible, as it is in New York City, except for maybe 24 hour accessibility. Perhaps I can imagine myself living here because I have lived there. A fantastic city to live in, a somewhat obnoxious city to tour.

But then again, I'm not touring am I?

 ... am I?

Its an insult to New York, however, to compare the two. The Londoners and Europeans like to think that London is the European New York City, with its mimicking shopping districts, broadway shows, even an M&M factory in the center of Leicester Square. London, however, is not nearly as exciting, not nearly as spontaneous and organized, and not nearly as proud.

I'm learning quickly my likes and dislikes - I do not like cities, unless there are numerous views and walks along rivers or parks with plenty of personal space. In New York it was always easy to avoid crowds and live, at times, as if I was not even in a city.

---- Now heres where I switch gears from cynical to passionate. You'll notice - although I didnt do it on purpose and am only inserting this as an afterthought to reflect on my own self - that my writing instantly becomes more engaging and thoughtful. As with life, cynicism poisons our senses and makes us dumb. Read on and watch me gradually become smarter and for beauty to unfold. ---- 

Although I see London in wicked contrast of NYC, sadly they are similar in that London too has its fair share of racism. After a long day of rest, my brother (who has joined me for the next few weeks), a new Latino friend named Andre, and I, went to the Soho area to see what the nightlife of London was like. While walking about on a hunt for bars that didn't require a cover charge, we stopped suddenly at a street corner stood and watched. In front of us, a police car blocked the crosswalk, and I noticed that suddenly the white male officer was yelling at a group of black twenty-somethings who had just crossed the road behind the car. "Hey! What did you say to me?! Did you just call me a dick?" And he jumped out of his car with a swiftness, grabbed one of the young black men by the shoulder and said "what did you say to me?" The young man said, "I'm sorry, do I know you?" He had an American accent. The officer spoke closely and loudly to the mans face, and the man respectfully denied any such behavior. The officer then handed the young man off to a female officer who gave them all tickets. I felt ashamed for not saying anything - but weighing out my own risk; I do not know if the young man actually did anything (though I doubted it), and I cannot afford to be arrested or ticketed in a foreign country. Although, if I were kicked out of England for any reason and never to return, I might not mind it terribly. For a moment I thought that because I had white skin, I could say something and not be arrested. Sometimes we aren't meant to know if we did the right or wrong thing. Sometimes life just plays its film and we watch and we watch and we watch until we learn and we do things differently during the next scene - when it's our time to act.

Having also walked by Arab restaurants with smashed glass windows - one does not give naïve excuses for these observations.

You'd think in a "melting pot" such as London, that racism would be less, not more. After that, my opinion of London solidified, and I reflected on my own judgment. I am my own best critic. I always have a critique. A good critic never says "flawless" and never says "hopeless." I am neither, yet I am both.

After that it was time to leave London. My brother and I have made the most out of our experience having walked over two hours a day - every day - throughout this city. We've seen monuments, recognized the differences in cultures - the tube not the subway, the lift not the elevator - our biggest challenge being to make sure to look the proper directions when crossing the street, and to not throw toilet paper into the toilet. We can both navigate without a map now, and we both decided that an interlude from London to Brighton Beach would bring us to the true English culture and away from the city that we were growing distasteful of.

We woke up early, packed, and headed to the train station. After areiving in Brighton & Hove we walked down to Brighton beach, and passed dozens of Kebab shops - i instantly thought Yes! An Arab community! Unfortunately the racism of the city was a challenge to escape, with one of the Kebab shops locked up and closed due to several rock holes in the windows. Ignoring coincidence would be naïve. 

My brother and I sat in silence; tanning, drinking, eating, and laying on the pebbles that made the beach ground. My brother chose to rest, and take pictures of me while I rented a paddleboard for the first time in my life, on the rough and rocky English Channel. I was not so successful in standing for long due to the high white trulls, however, I did get to do some yoga on my board in between push-ups and paddles. I made sure to make it as much of a challenge as possible.
The water was a diarrhea brown color, and not very welcoming. "Merky" would be a compliment. Despite my efforts to avoid it, I fell in at the very end of my hour rental. At the end of the day, around 4pm, the water color appeared to be a clear green and blue - and so the color changed with the tides. I wondered if on the opposite side of the Channel - in Normandy, France - they received England's shit colored water with the incoming tide.

The Brighton Pier was fantastic. Down the stairs from the street to the beach, we immediately came across a boardwalk lined with shops, restaurants, a hookah lounge, merry-go-rounds, carnival games, and bars. I tried a cockle (sea snail) and sang Molly Malone to myself as I did, with cockles and bottles alive alive-O! Of course my brother and I ended our afternoon at the hookah lounge. After saying only a brief word in Arabic to the Egyptian owner, Adam, we sat and talked about his hopes and dreams. He was one of those people who had a hand in everything - he was a chef, a financial officer, a marketer, a shop owner - and all successful within the year that he immigrated away from his family in Egypt. From Egypt to England. I had instant admiration and curiosity. I wondered about his experience of Egypt at present, and why, perhaps, he was not put-off when we said we were American. I purposefully did not ask about Egypt - I did not dig deeper as I normally do. My brother suggested to me later that Adam became more open to us only after I entered into the conversation speaking Arabic. I thought; of course, everyone gets excited about their people, especially when they are far away from home. Its one of those universal responses.

On the Pier were two arcades where adults can win money and children can shoot make-believe characters and drive make-believe cars. There were dozens of snack and candy shops - apparently Brighton is known for their cream fudge, and rock candy (in all shapes and sizes). "Rock candy" is simply what they call rock hard candy - ho! At the very end of the Pier were the most exciting carnival rides I have ever seen at a beach. Akin to Coney Island. There were two rollercoasters with loops and all, along with several other fly-in-the-air-while-ya-twist-and-spin rides. The English Coney Island.

The prices for everything were fair, the people were enjoyable, the sun was out, I exercised - I could have stayed at Brighton Beach for the next week. Unfortunately, we hadn't planned on going at all let alone staying a night, so our day ended when the sun went down.

 We learned through locals and firsthand experience that when the night falls upon Brighton the "trashy white bloaks" come out, getting drunk and fighting whoever looks at them, or doesnt look at them, or breathes near them. Just as we began to experience some this, we woefully returned to London.

Suffice to say, Brighton Beach saved my perspective of England, despite the local reckless drunkenness. It was a fantastic day journey - and my brother now loves my spontaneous travel ideas and will follow me into whatever darkness or light I lead him. It is amazing to have him by my side even just for a moment, to experience what I experience, to know what I know, and to understand how I think about the world. And vice versa.

If I ever come to England again, I will go around the coast - everywhere but London. The beauty lies within the eyes, not within the heart. The heart is an organ, after all, it doesn't have emotion - the eyes do. The eyes are the window to the soul of a country the same as of a person.

London is the heart of England.