How does that Doors song from 'Apocalypse Now,' go?

This is the end, my only friend, the end.

The last night. I'm in Barcelona, sweating and grumpy because I went to the beach and swam in the ocean without sunscreen and I am paying the lobster-skin-piper. Not only is the humidity here atrocious, but now I have to lug my book filled bag to Madrid with searing needle pained shoulders. Whine, whine, whine, moan, moan, moan.


But the common theme of my journey has stayed consistent: through the vehicle of discomfort, despite frustration and confusion, comes honest clarity of thought and an uncommon cleansing of the stoic heart. I can be completely honest with myself and through that I know I am ready to come home folks.

I have felt this way for a little while now. It is not so much a homesickness or a disinterest in the cultures that surround me, but more so a deep desire for some permanence and what is familial. Those of you who have kept up with my infrequent bursts of musings are the people I need to sit down with and just look at and revel in your presence. I have done the same with all of my friends in South Africa, many times I would just catch myself staring at them and thinking how wonderful it was just to be near them again, hearing their voice while watching their expressions.

My new cache of experiences goes beyond any blog that I could diligently submit myself to. And it is not just a matter of seeing the sights to be seen, it is a great collection of small interactions and thoughts built upon and realized. A line that I have written on some of the postcards I have sent out to friends is "I have so much to think about now." Art projects to materialize, poems and short stories to be written, songs to be crafted and passed on and many domestic elements to experiment with with the eventual gaining of personal residence.

But my thoughts are also on the world we live in. There are some ideas that I am chewing on and will need to crumble before I feel satisfied to spit as reality. Many ideas have come from places I never thought I would feel of think because of my nature. Example: The world is a very tough place, with many grim realities and hard truths that I was not looking for or ready to sit down with. I remain an optimist, but I carry with me now some weighted concepts such as the depth of human evil or the disregard of choice or the consequences that my generation will have to face despite our carrying on. I have know this for a while but now it is true like the sunrise, there are no easy answers. The new ideas are here, neither good nor bad, just here.

My main concern with the last entry is thanks. I need to go through a list of people whom have kept me going and allowed me to connect with the home I call Eugene and the places I have visited in the last 3 1/2 months.

I want thanks to be given to all the people whom I have stayed with. I think most will never read these words but of those who will, thank you for being saints and angels. To allow someone into your home and treat them with shelter, water, food, showers, coffee, wine, etc., is a true selflessness. My thanks and gratitude will be ever flowing for what you have done.

I want to thank Jeff my traveling buddy for the first leg of my journey. This second leg would have been half baked and unfocused without all the mental, physical, emotional and comical work that was done in Spain and Morocco. You're a great friend, an admirable traveler and one hell of a spooner.

I want to thank my family for every dimension of their support. My parents have been so patient with my infrequence of decent contact, and without their letters and allowing me to stay with them during my fund raising phase, this journey just would not be. Kellen for keeping me up to date with his life and sending me love via ham-radio frequency in the stratosphere. My extended family is what brought me to this Earth, and despite our irregular contact please know I love you and I honor your role in my life.

I want to thank the Guthries for being so helpful and ready to pick up my raggedy ass wherever I was in Gauteng at a moment's notice. They are the salt of the earth, and I will always have a special nook in my heart for each one of them. Despite the fact that they still making fun of me for all those crazy 16 year old mistakes I made in their presence.

I want to thank all that have written to me while I was gone and to special individuals:

Encouragement barely paints the picture of the life preserver your letters have done for me LeeAnna.

Carter Renee, you are the symbol of adventure, you're a personal role model of mine and to continue to hear about your life keeps me glowing and sunny.

Elisa, your prayers and well-wishes keep me grounded and forward looking.

Andrew, I certainly have adventured on, dude. Though we didn't even meet up I still felt elation of positive energy from your words.

Who rocks? Tessa & Alisa rock, that's who. What a week together. You've taught me such beautiful ways to approach this world we live in.

Germaine, I give you serious credit for inspiring me to returning to South Africa. If I can be half the man you aim to be I'll have lived a successful life. What a friend you've been to me, and there is more life to be lived.

To have even spent a minute with my other half would have been enough, but the four days in Belgium with you Maud was a dream.

Matilde Januel, and the Januel family. Gros bisous! You are all a beautiful dream and I will never be free of your warmth and kindness.

All of my old friends from back in the day South Africa way: Johan, Ryk, Jean, Ismail, Kgomosto and Richard. You make me whole with the laughter and the joy experienced by your side.


Lastly, I want to thank anyone reading these very words. Consider yourself a Geographer. You are the Geographer. You have shared in a experiment that I have had no practice in before this journey and in the realm of experience your involvement by reading Yankee Shoestring, in whatever frequency, has made it successful.

Well Geographers, this is it. I hope to see you down the road and beyond the everyday. Embrace what you know to be true, but never stop searching for more.

Keep searching.

I started a journey. I have

walked about Hannah's house in Portland smoking a cigar thinking of what would come.



I have sat in snowy Chicago drinking a beer with the business men.



I have been helped by a Colombian in rainy Copenhagen.



I have been freaked to death about midnight Madrid. I have felt like maybe this wasn't a good idea. I have felt better after sleeping off a long two days. I have gotten onto a train that I had no idea where it would take me. I have looked over at my friend and wondered what we were doing.



I have played Ukulele in sleepy Jaen streets. I have partied with Americans at the Faria Primavera. I have argued with my friend about tomorrow and what it would bring. I have seen tomorrow and you must take it like today.



I have ended up in unnamed towns and slept in their ruins. I have wondered where I would sleep and when I would eat. I have stumbled upon celebration. I have sat with stranger families and stood next to waving parents to children in parades. I have drank wine, sitting in the dirt, in the city, under the windy sky. I have sat in front of the monument and not gone in. Instead I have played Ukulele and sang and laughed and not cared about what the passing priests thought.



I have picked places on maps that felt like a good idea. I have walked cobbled streets and wondered where I would sleep and when I would eat. I sat with old men and children while my friend has asked shopkeepers to look after all our worldly possessions. I have seen the processioners and I have seen the Nazareños and I have been in awe of their candle light and sweat. I have scoured a city for a place to sleep and I have felt broken inside for barely finding refuge. I have slept with one eye open. I have slept in a cave, through a beautiful night, to a beautiful risen sun. I have eaten Chinese food in Spain. I have been given a place to sleep in an empty house by a man who makes ice cream. I have felt so deeply grateful. I have traveled to a city where I know I would not find a roof over my head.



I have sat in a 200 year old park and brushed my teeth in the silence of the morning. I have talked with a girl from Rhode Island at a bus stop about Judaism. I have rode buses that took me to wrong places and walked back sulking. I have prepared myself for a sleepless night of walking, processions, picture taking and conversation. I have argued about capitalism and choice and accountability and freedom in front of a Starbucks during one of the largest festivals in Spain. I have thought hard and long about what it means to experience a culture and celebrate something you know nothing about. I have sat on curbs and climbed up light poles and snuck around barriers and made my way through crowds. I have sighed with exhaustion through the middle of the night. I have made googly eyes at Spanish girls in cafes at three in the morning. I have never been so happy to see the rising sun. I have never felt so exhausted in my whole life. I have fallen asleep in a 200 year old park at ten in the morning. I have never been so relieved to have met a stranger, snuck into their hotel and enjoyed the fruits of hospitality.



I have been to Cadiz for an hour but wanted to stay for longer. I have arrived in Algericas and known that it was dirty from the start. I have walked past prostitutes in order to call home to my parents. I have avoided fake ticket salesmen and I have avoided Tangier. I have ridden ferries across channels and into new continents.



I have bartered with Taxi drivers and ridden next to screaming children through green lucious mountians. I have seen the Blue City. I have no idea who to trust in new cities.



I have yelled at taxi drivers in Fes to "Allez! Allez!" I have walked the Medinas and I have passed the rug sellers and spice hustlers. I have smelled the terrible aromas of the tanneries never to smell the same again. I have lost my train ticket on the overnight Marrakesh Express.

I have been tapped on the shoulder by monkeys. I have been awoken many times by the first call to prayer more melodic and beautiful in the passing weeks. I have wondered where I would sleep and when I would eat.

I have eaten dinner with and slept on strangers floors. I have caught Giardia and I have been my own doctor. I have swam in the Atlantic with a setting Moroccan sun and I have passed the Camels in the rising tides. I have also riden the ones through the Sahara and climbed Morocco's only dunes.

I have walked through the wild and camped with sheep and their hearders. I have been rained upon, sun shown and frozen. I have hitchhiked out of the wilderness in the freezing rain and yelled at the drivers who did not stop. I have been thankful for the promise of warmer and drier times around the corner. Then I have slept on the first beach I came to out of Morocco and swan in it's baptizing waters.

I have seen much and certainly have more to do. I have a second part to write.

Jump! (for my love)

From East London I continued my journey along the coast through the Wild Coast and Garden Route. My one stop before Cape Town was a village of a community called Storms River. My intentions were to experience the serene mountain range of the Tsitsikamma, with it's incredible light and quite hum of nature. Also to jump off a bridge.

Storms River is home to the highest Bungee Jump in the world (216m , 709 ft) above a profound gorge developed by the Bloukrans River. I stayed in completely deserted bungalow located right next to the jump. Due to the low winter season I felt a bit of post-apocalyptic vibe the whole time considering the size of the chalet and being alone. Just another pleasure of traveling solo I guess.

Later within the day of my arrival I walked to main office to settle my lodging and came across a group of powder dusted smiles. It was a group of the bungee technicians covered in latex powder due to the giant strips being assembled for a new jump cord. A friendly group of guys, they especially made a point (all of them) to mention it was the same exact material used to condom production. My chuckles had them chuffed with the comical science before us.

I made my way over the registration booth. Handed over my cash-card and was weighed. I was outfitted in a full body harness. Our bungee guide was a riot, obviously a seasoned veteran of the Bloukrans jump. After the standard question of "How times have you jumped?" was asked, he didn't even look up but just smiled a toothy grin and shrugged his shoulders humming a noise sounding like 'Who knows.'

The whole experience of out of body. I am terrible with heights, despite my attempts at rock climbing I still get sowing machine legs at a little elevation above the ground. But this time around I was somewhere else the entire time. Just sort of floating away instead of letting the elements of the bungee preparation freak me out. Eventually it hit, right about when my toes curled over the edge of the concrete ledge.

I'm like so stoked. All the Bungee guys were real nice and incredibly laid back.

I was so happy to find out that you could jump without shoes! Totally added to the terror.

C'mere oblivion, I just want to jump into you. This is the part where my head came back into my body and I was all like, "What am I doing?"

The jump was fantastic. Felt like forever. I typically forget to scream and this was no different, on the re-bounce I decided to let out some real lung bursts. I'd totally do it again, maybe even naked. Upon returning home I can share the video of it. Great highlight of the journey for sure. It made space for great self portraits.

Okay Geographers, next installment: Cape Town Highs, Cape Town Blues, Cape Town Life

Molweni Ghost Town

Hello from Ghost Town.

I find myself flowing through the streets of East London in the arms of a family by the name of Gamiet. Their end of the city is called Buffalo Flats, yet is ever so cleverly nicknamed Ghost Town due to it's close proximity to a graveyard. Yesterday I made quite the trip jump from Durban through the Eastern Cast and down a little ways on the Wild Coast. Two words can describe the landscape of this part of South Africa, Other Worldly. I have had this feeling once before, when I looked over the rolling hills of the Guatemalan campo. Spirits of old Earth fill the air. A place that now is home to different people but has never lost the electricity of it's creation which one can almost see with their eyes. The countryside is simple and in it's openess comes an untouchable something, a something that poetry would only hope to capture.

Can you tell that I love the place?

East London holds no different a feeling though it comes in a different expression. Earlier in the day I had been picked up from a hostel in Central Durban called Nomads, a great place filled with travelers mostly out of Europe though I'm sure I got a scowl from an American girl. The host was a young English South African guy with kilowatts of energy, striking up multiple conversations between nursing his beer and finishing off various rounds of billards with an British fellow. It was built out of an old house that tourists would see throughout Durban, but rarely get to walk through. I had stayed at 3 other really great places in KwaZulu-Natal, and Nomads was the easily the icing. Yet the next place I could think about staying was in East London with the Gamiets, the family of a great friend of mine named Germaine.

Now, East London isn't nessesarily the backpacking hot spot of South Africa. If one is heading West then they are far more likely to end up in Coffee Bay or another hidden nook of the Transkei, and coming from the East it is just a stop off for supplies before elbowing North onto the Drakensburg or whatnot. Most other travelers I shared my destination with gave funny looks along with twisted heads, an expression of "Why there?" I have found that staying with people is far better than hostel jumping, yet my next stop showed me something very interesting. The bus I used dropped me off at another backpacking spot called East London Backpackers, only as a place for the Gamiets to fetch me. Though when I went inside I found it very different from Nomads, or anyother. It has the same interior setup of most backpacker spots, but the people inside were quite different. They were African. From various parts of Africa along with black South Africans. This is untypical of most hostels here. The chance to be able to sit and speak with people from the major culture in a more informal and laidback way is uncommon to the see-it-all, always moving western traveler. I was only able to say some Hellos and explain my quick passing. But to be introduced to a place with such contrast to everywhere before it breaks any bond I have with putting life on the road into simple organized boxes.