The Traverse...from the Caspian to the Black Sea...

On September 11th, Inge and I are starting a traverse through some fascinating places (so we've read)...

Below is the route...more or less...

So here we go...

The Route

Mount Shahdagh

Svaneti (Georgia)

January - May, 2004: Passport Pages 3 & 4 – Granada, Spain

When I walked off the plane from our adventure to Australia (see prior entry), I knew it was only a matter time before I´d be off again...the only question was when...

Ever since 7^th grade at the Montgomery Academy, I had been studying Spanish – for why I don’t have a concrete reason other than the program at our school was exceptional – from Señora Sholtis to Señora Baker. When I started studying way back when, I never would have thought it would have led me to where I am now, but it undoubtedly started the process. I can vividly remember our classes through the years including Brian Cone (I think this was actually from a study hall in her room) driving Señora Baker absolutely crazy by setting her computer desktop to such a diminutive size she could not read the screen to those excruciating days in the language lab practicing our speech.

As painful as some days were, they laid the foundation for the decision I was about to make (i.e. what I talk about below) and contributed to communication skills which have opened up countless doors to fascinating people, absolutely stunning landscapes, multiple continents, countries and cultures.

Now, as was the case with so many opportunities, I was at the doorstep. All I had to do… was step through it.

Instead, I jumped in…with Granada, Spain. After researching my university´s resources and my own “googling” on various cities in Spain, I ended up selecting a program with an organization named International Studies Abroad (“ISA”) mainly because they provided the option to stay with a family. UGA did not, which, to me, is ridiculous given the merits of doing so far outweigh spending time in a dorm full of non-native speakers. Just my two cents..

Granada supplied an extraordinary location nestled deep in Andalusia, surrounded by the highest mountains in mainland Spain – the Sierra Nevada, melded with Moorish influence, considered the "home" of the concept of tapas, and has a large university population constantly pumping the city full of energy year ´round save for the siesta from 2 – 5 pm…EVERY AFTERNOON.

Accompanying me was a my friend, Drew Weil. He made it pretty easy given he asked me to do all the research, and once I picked a spot, he´d go. Shocking, but cheers to that. It is hard to think of a purer form of trust or laziness (I like to think of it as the former!).  In retrospect, I think “we” collectively made the right decision.

So on we went.

The program started in Madrid a few days after New Year´s 2004, and there were two realistic options: (1) fly over and arrive the day before the program started or (2) come over several days before and celebrate New Year´s or as I would learn “La Noche Vieja.” For me, the decision was easy. Go and celebrate the Noche Vieja in Madrid.

I was fortunate enough that a former classmate and friend of mine, Ilouise Bradford, was studying in Madrid, and the family she lived with was kind enough to let a redneck from Alabama stay with them on the 31^st of December. So, I arrived that day and went straight to the family´s “piso” and met Ilouise.  That day she showed me a few parts of Madrid but in the back of both our minds was the night / celebration to come.

The plan was to go to a spot called Puerta del Sol in central Madrid with a group of her friends and all the alcohol we´d need to make it to when the clock struck midnight. Spain (and much of Europe for that matter) is relatively lax when it comes to drinking in public areas, regardless of the time of year, and is referred to as a “botellon.” After midnight, the plan was that we´d gradually make our way to an after party somewhere else. However, before we made it to the Puerta del Sol, we dropped by a few bars, and in one place, I was introduced to one of the more bizarre beverages / mixtures I´ve ever come across. The cocktail is a Spanish adolescent´s pastime and can be drunk in large quantities and, more importantly, cheaply.  It is called Calimocho and is a mixture of cheap red wine and Coca-cola  Shockingly, it is actually pretty good but will deliver an almost guaranteed hangover.

After putting down a few of the Calimochos, we headed on to celebrate the New Year with another Spanish tradition – grapes or ”uvas.” For each stroke of the clock, it is customary to eat a grape to bring good luck for the coming year. So, we rung in 2004 and began making our way to the after party, and within minutes of trying to work our way through the melee, I was separated from Ilousie, her friends and to top it all off without a cell phone, Ilouise´s number or a clear idea of where her family´s flat was, of course.

But for some reason, it did not occur to me to be an issue, and the party continued in the streets. I remember meeting all kinds of interesting people: some Spanish, some English speakers, people in purple and pink wigs (not sure why I remember that), some people who didn’t speak English or Spanish but somehow we managed to communicate. It was amazing, and I enjoyed every moment of it. Miraculously, I managed to navigate my way back to Ilouise´s place around 5 or 6 am…how? To this day, I do not know.

A day or two later, the remainder of the ISA group arrived, and the semester abroad officially started. From Madrid it was on to Toledo, which is a spectacularly situated medieval town located in the center of Spain. There really wasn’t all that much to see other than walking through its small, narrow and antiquated streets, but one of the more interesting things of my whole trip happened that day. Something I will never forget, and always serves to bring a smile to my face.

It was one of those surreal moments in your life where you coincidentally become separated from everyone you know, and then something truly inexplicable takes place. As I was walking through a small plaza on the way back to our bus, a group of about 10 or 15 girls, who were probably about 9 or 10 years old, saw me, and then it happened. Before I knew it, I had a bunch Spanish “niñas” circling around me, literally, with their hands locked and singing. Like I said surreal. I didn’t know what to do so I just stood there trying to work through what the hell was happening, and once they finished, I had to ask a smirking bystander to take a photo with me and girls. Even though my camera was lost later in the trip, I still vividly remember the contents of the picture with two girls trying to kiss me and with a massive smile on my face.  And then like a gust of wind, the it was gone.

From recollection, the next leg of the trip was our home for the next 5 ½ months, Granada. I don’t recall exactly why I selected it, but I know as soon as I read about the city of about 200,000 I knew it was the place I wanted to go. It is a city steeped in a fascinating historical progression tracing through both Arab and Christian times. Visitors are reminded of this coexistence as they pass through the city and see the Alhambra towering over, the cathedral where the famed Ferdinand and Isabella are buried and witness the teeming calles of both the Albayzin and Gracia districts. Combine this with the white capped Sierra Nevada and Mulhacen peering down on Granada, and you almost feel as if you are entered into a fairy tale existence. For those who have witnessed this benevolent mixture of culture, history, and setting, you completely understand why the Moors perceived Granada as their “crown jewel” and allegedly wept as they left it during the Reconquista.

So finally, we arrived. It was here and now where the trip really began, and on that street corner, my flat mate and I first met. One of the few things I had known about him up until that point was his email address: notaplayernemore@hotmail.com. No offense to him, but seeing that email didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. BUT, to be fair, I once arguably reigned over an email address with an even more ridiculous reference: milf69@aol.com. So, with that being said, I will stop there, at least on the email front.

The other thing I knew about my flat mate was he was the guy we had identified as the most metrosexual guy (whatever that may mean to everyone) and was hitting on every single girl in our group. Apparently the email address didn’t carry much truth with it. Anyway, his name was Jordan from Reno, Nevada, and irrespective of his fashion sense and hair styling, he ended up being an absolutely fantastic friend of mine.

There and then our semester abroad began with us meeting our “señora,” Leonor Fernandes who is still, to this day, one of the kindest women I have ever met in my life. I still speak to her and have gone back to visit several times, and she always has a bed for me when I come back to Granada.

With that introduction, I will attempt to summarize the highlights of our trip to Spain:

• Hackin’ in all the plazas throughout Granada. Unlikely such intense hacksackying will ever take place again
• Spending many nights taking advantage of the wonderful tapas bars throughout the city. The most memorable places being Poë (close to plaza Gracia), Poderia (in plaza Gracia), two other small restaurants – one with the four squiggly line sign and the other by plaza del Toro – I can’t remember their names to save my life
• Bar Emilio and the perones
• Drew Weil making multiple Germans (we had just met the prior day and decided to go camping with) throw up in Cabo de Gata – you’ll have to ask him how and why
• Many a long night in the various discotecas: Three, El Principe, and El Camborio (among others...)
• The botellones by the Hiporcor and with Jordan and our friend named Miguel (the tennis instructor)
• Our hike through the Alpujarras with a group of about 7 or 8 guys where we were completely lost for about 3 hours but for good reason
• A crazy weekend in Nerja when we had a bunch of friends in town…nights spent on the rocks by the sea with guitars and drums played late into the night…being mugged and karate kicked by 15 13 year-olds…and then having my stolen wallet, credit cards, drivers’ license, etc., all returned to Alabama several weeks later (gave me faith in humanity)
• A weekend in Lagos, Portugal where we were fortunate enough see some things which few will understand (other than those who were there) and witnessed Jordan to smash our villa’s flower pot with a massive staff. 
• Trips to the following places in Europe (and Africa):
• Prague: never will forget the disco called Roxy and James’ inability to control himself. We also had a buddy named Pete who got separated from the group one night and tried to make it back to our hostel. He didn’t speak Czech and, to complicate things even more, did not remember where the hostel was located other then the fact it was close to a large black roofed steeple. Needless to say, it took a long time to filter through the dozens throughout the city 
• Amsterdam – twice
• Morocco – 2x. One trip to Chefchauen in the north and where we went on a trip to climb a mountain, which turned into a death trek involving thorned bushes, hash totting farmers, goats, an insane decent down the face of the mountain and a miraculous view from the top. Second trip to Fez, and on a local bus between villages, I sat next to a man who still to this day had the worst breath I have ever smelled
• A weekend in the previously referenced Cabo de Gata. One of the most spectacular places in Spain 
• A phenomenal final week in Granada when we spent night after night in the various plazas playing music until all hours of the morning…nothing but good memories
• Many a mountain bike ride up through Granada, past the Alhambra, through various single tracked routes in the mountains with a phenomenal decent back into Granada accompanied by spectacular views of the Sierra Nevada above
• My first encounter with EasyJet
• The obsession with coffee began here, and it has not left since…
• Sitting a top the Mirador de San Nicolas in the Albayzin with an extraordinary view of the Alhambra and Granada and listening to the gitanos singing in the background…pretty hard to beat

I am sure I´ve missed some other things that happened, but these are the ones that immediately spring to mind.

It was unquestionably a trip that added even more momentum to the desire to see and experience even more places, people and unforgettable moments.

May – August, 2003: Passport Page 1 & 2 - Australia

Introduction

Some time ago as I was walking along the Thames River on the way to meet a friend, I began to think about the things which needed to be done over the coming weeks, and one of the main tasks was to send off for a new passport. My current one was in condition that gave me trouble entering foreign countries. But, not to worry, for all the grief I received, it was equally reciprocated by my own country, the U.S.

It took almost 9 years to beat and shred the passport to its state whether through the washing machine, blinding Brazilian mist and dense mud,  Swiss snow, oppressive Australian sun and sea, freezing English rain, mind numbing Slovenian gales, Spanish botellones, Patagonian expeditions, Moroccan bush, and the rough and tumble back pocket of my jeans. It has been through its test, survived and, now, retired.

On my way to put the document to rest, I took it out one last time to look at all it had been through. As I flicked past the blue, frayed and tattered cover and began looking through each of the worn pages, I started to realize what a journey it had been on. Over the past 9 years, a collage of stamps had been littered over 54 pages and, in doing so, left a trail crossing 5 continents, over 30 countries, encountered a collection of some of the best people in world from so many different backgrounds and generated memories that have and will continue to propel my soul to the place it eternally longs for and will never cease searching for again, again and again.

Each page, unequivocally, owns a unique memory, person or group of friends, a memorable place, an adventure and, ultimately, a place in my heart that will forever bring tears of happiness to my eyes for the life and friends that I´ve been so fortunate to have. As I go through, what I consider to be, my life´s journey up until now, I want to sit down and memorialize a selected memory from each page of my passport in an effort to crystalize and record the amazing times we´ve shared over such a short period. Even more importantly, such an endeavor, I would hope, will ultimately serve and remind us of the opportunities we are so fortunately given and to take of advantage of them as you never know when they´ll pass you by again.

So, on we go….

May – August, 2003: Passport Pages 1 & 2 - Australia

To this day, I can remember the genesis of the idea, which started, for better or worse, the insatiable desire to travel as far as the mind will permit.

It was in the University of Georgia library in Athens while ostensibly there to study. For what? It wasn´t important whatever it was since the idea hatched that day has undoubtedly led me to where I am today.

It was the beginning of our sophomore second semester, and I was there with a group of four or five friends pondering what we could do over the upcoming summer. There was the usual talk of going to the beach and finding work, perhaps doing a road trip to Bonnaroo or doing summer school – to name a few. However, the most compelling and seemingly far-fetched idea that emerged was to head to Australia, find work and live in a city like Melbourne or Sydney - the only two places we had even heard of at the time.

So then and there, the research began. I can vividly remember the dreams of immaculate luxury we thought we´d be able to afford given the strength of the greenback relative to the Aussie dollar. We envisaged renting beautiful condos perched in the center of Melbourne or Sydney with sun drenched pools, living a stone´s throw from the beach, surrounded by American crazed women and, who gives a damn, it was Australia!

It was going to be an adventure fit for kings, Australian beer (probably Fosters) and the all too obvious kangaroos, koalas and “crocs.” Of course, this was ignoring the fact we did not have jobs even remotely close to arranged, much less even started considering. As the journey unfolded, we could not have been further from the truth except for the beer (but not Fosters).

Unlikely where you think it would be....

As the trip began to materialize with the visa process and rounding out the cost, the number of interested and disillusioned fell down from five to four and then there were three left at the end. John Fleming, Wes Conner and me (and eventually my brother Jackson).

After considerable research and whimsical dreaming, the final plan was a cinch and as follows:

• Fly 24 hours, halfway across the world to a place we had never been. Like taking candy from a baby.

• Arrive in Sydney, get our bearings straight over 2 days and buy a second hand car. Ok, slightly more complicated but easy enough. We can drive – never mind it will be on the left side of the road.

• Drive north, no particular destination in mind, and find a suitable home for 6 – 8 weeks. Dreaming is easy. Reality…we´ll get to that when we have to.

• Find a job. Secondary…shouldn´t be tough…

• After 6 – 8 weeks, quit the job and travel for another 4 weeks or so. This was what the trip was all about...

•  Fly back to the U.S. and start our junior year of college in late August. Crikey!

In early May, it began. 

I was the first to arrive in Sydney with John and Wes touching down two days later. By the time my comrades had gotten to Oz, I had picked up and moved out to Manly Beach to begin the search for our car and, lucky enough, I had already tracked down a “gem,” which would later earn the name Bessy - what a bitch she would be but we loved her.

To give you an idea of the machine we had purchased for about USD$1,000, she was a Holden Commodore manufactured in 1979, ran on leaded fuel, came with some camping equipment you could have likely bought at the DollarTree on sale and was jammed full of other surprises which would uncover themselves as the trip took its course.

What a bargain, right? We had no idea what ole´ Bessy had in store for us.

After a quick tour of Sydney´s harbor quay, Opera House and spotting the fountain from the first Matrix movie, we headed out to Manly to pack up our things and meet up with an English bloke travelling with us for the first leg of our trip up to Nimbin, a hippie community in north New South Wales, located about a 8 – 10 hour drive from Sydney.

Since Brandon was from England and was accustomed to driving on the left side of the road, we opted to let him start the driving. It was soon apparent he wanted to get there quickly, so Bessy was awakened – with a vengeance. Brandon, followed by us, proceeded to push her as hard as she could go, and within 2 – 3 hours, she started to become aggravated and began to rattle. Not bothered one bit, onward we went as fast as Bessy could manage. Close to 6 or 7 hours into our drive, the rattling and ceaseless engine whining became so loud talking was not an option, but on the flipside, you were given a never ending ass massage from the car´s vibrations.  Our journey continued ignoring the cacophony of sounds engulfing us.

I can clearly remember when the noise and vibrations stopped while cruising through a roundabout. We thought “it must have fixed itself”! Finally, conversation could resume. Shockingly, five minutes later we immediately knew an issue had arisen when we saw the temperature gauge off the chart, and before we had time to think that one through, steam started billowing out from underneath the hood. Immediately afterwards, the engine stopped.

And there we were – our first real night in Oz, on the side of a dark isolated, Australian back road somewhere about 5 miles from a town called Casino with dingos howling, thunder rumbling off in the distance and road trains occasionally blowing by us with no intention of stopping. This wasn´t at all what we had imagined back when the idea took hold back in Athens.

Finally, after a pathetic attempt at trying to fix the engine, we managed to hitch a ride into town, have the car towed and spent our first night on the road sleeping inside that bitch Bessy. The next day we fortunately were able to locate a mechanic, fix the car, make it to Nimbin and meet one of the more memorable characters of our trip – an old burnt out, nearly toothless hippie named Jimmy.

According to Jimmy, he had travelled the world (who knows if it anything he told us was true), which was pretty cool given we had relatively limited experience, especially when in comparison to the tales we were regaled with. But, even more noteworthy was the way he compared the cost of everything, especially in India, to the dollar, Australian! Why we chose him to speak to…I do not know. He was probably the drunkest (or highest) guy in the bar, but we were pretty open to talking to anyone given what had happened the prior 24 hours.

Upon further recollection, we sat there and talked with him for hours I´d bet – probably to educate ourselves on the FX rate between Jimmy´s selected country and the dollar – Australian! So, there ended our first night in Nimbin, a beautiful and definitely unique village nestled in the green mountains of interior New South Wales.

Bessie doing the "walk of shame" in Casino

The next morning Bessy gave us another surprise. She didn´t start. Shit. We were pretty upset at that point, but we obviously had more to learn about her subtle nuances. After 30 minutes or so of unleashing a creative outpouring of disparaging remarks aimed at our workhorse, Wes figured out the key to awakening Her Majesty. The car apparently had a choke! Five minutes later, we were off and up the eastern coast of Australia
.

First to the posh, surfer town of Noosa for a night, and, after an hour or two of searching for work the following day, we decided best to push on ahead - destination Cairns in the far north of Queensland. After 18 hours of driving and unparalleled teamwork, we made it to our “home” for the next 7 weeks. Little did we know, the adventure had only just begun.

While Cairns isn´t known for its charm, it does serve as a gateway to the tropical north of Australia, and during the winter, the weather is spectacular with abundant sun, pleasant temperatures and its waters generally free of the most deadly animal in the world – no, not the great white shark, but the box jellyfish. Read about them. Pretty fascinating.

Cairns is also relatively well known on the backpacker circuit for the nightlife – good or bad…depends on who you ask.

Japenese fire twirling - our hostel´s nightly entertainment

• While I could write a hundred pages retelling the rest of our adventure, I´m going to attempt to summarize the key memories I´ve taken away and will always remind me of just how sweet our journey to the other side of the world was.

• Lived in a long term hostel, sharing a room with, initially, three but expanded to five in our last days. Other tenants were primarily comprised of Japanese and European hippies spending endless nights occupying the concrete courtyard behind the hotel, twirling fire laden rods, blowing on the didgeridoo and sucking down some delicious XXXX (Queensland´s beer).

• Within the first week, we befriended a guy who invited us out to his boat to cook us some “prawns” (shrimp) and showered us with his stories of being a fisherman. Given his congenial disposition, we asked if he wanted to move into our hostel and share a room. He did. What did not know was….while he wasn´t plucking prawns from the sea, he was contracted as a male escort, to put it diplomatically. In other words, a gigolo. Needless to say, this was a first and likely the last. I can now put a tick next to that box.

• This won´t mean much to those who haven´t spent time in Cairns, but we were frequent guests at the Woolshed, the SportsBar, Tropos – all of which were on the Cairns bar and Ultimate Party circuit. You´ll have to experience those places to understand, but I wouldn´t be in a rush to make it back, especially for the Ultimate Party side 

Not sure what I´m supposed to say here...

Our employment, following a dismal attempt at selling tickets for this shitty pub crawl called the Ultimate Party, was the following: John – a scam cook at the Hogsbreath Saloon, me – a full time dishwasher and, to this day, I don´t think Wes worked other than driving Dan, the gigolo, to his engagements. I firmly believe that over those 7 weeks I washed more dishes than many of you will do in a lifetime. Each night I can rest with the comfort that if my current job does not work out, dishwashing will forever be a profession in which I can shine like no other – pun intended.

• Hearing “Aye boys! Aye boys! It´s Dan. Let me up!” at 3 a.m. the morning.

• Watching Wes run like a little girl when a bat flew into our room.

• Watching the movies “Made” and “Saving Silverman” probably 50 times each. My favorite quote extracted from the two (it makes me laugh every time):

o   Ricky (Vince Vaughan): I don't understand why you're picking on me Max

o  Max: Because you lost my fuckin' carpet-cleaning van, and I don't like you, you cocksucker!

• Perfecting the art of cooking ramen noodles and miraculously lowering the cost of food anytime we wanted. I remember our discovery of mixing ramen noodles with cheese, and the dramatic impact the dish had on our stay, except when you passed out with a full bowl in your bed and were reminded the following morning of the disaster it actually was. We also managed to purchase all cakes and other sweet delicacies from Woolworths, the local supermarket, on sale. How? That is for you to figure out.

• Attending a rave underneath a star lit sky in a clearing within the rainforest until sunrise, and Bessy nearly giving out while trying to drive back.

I was not part of the team, but apparently, John, Wes and Dan performed a strip show for a bachelorette / hen party, bring down the house and losing all their clothes to Jungle Boogie. Surely, that will be their fall back – far more glamorous than my dish-washing. The Yongala shipwreck by Magnetic Island - sublime at 40 meters down. Equivalent to visiting another realm, and I will never forget watching a massive ray emerge from the deep, blue Coral Sea – seemingly floating through space to a magical oasis, which we were so fortunate to experience.  Fraser Island – home to Lake McKenzie and one of the most amazing places we visited. Being turned loose on the largest sand island in the world, devoid of roads, a massive 4x4 loaded with mountains of XXXX beer, camping each night beneath the stars and a stunning coastline is a recipe for building an unforgettable trip. After the rainforest rave... My naïve brother´s comments, to be fair he was only 16 or 17 at the time, and, during a coconut shot put contest, claiming he did a proper shot put only to be proven otherwise by a photo, which I still have as evidence – hurling the coconut like John Rocker (a baseball pitcher). Pushing that bitch Bessy into the scrap metal yard and selling her for 100 bucks – Australian! Tears of happiness and sadness at the same time. Surfers Paradise was likely the craziest night out of entire trip. While on our way to a hostel, we bumped into three guys emerging from a dark alley (why? Only we will know), and after the usual exchange of witty banter – mainly from their side, they invited us to stay at their place. We said what the hell and off we went. It must have been divine intervention. This group of surfers commanded a palace on the water with extraordinary views of the ocean and the Surfers skyline. That night John and I proceeded to float atop the clouds in a dizzying array of lights, music, alcohol and who knows what else in the bars and clubs of one of the more renowned party venues in Australia. One night and one night only...that was enough for sure.

 To sum it up, it started it all. Hold on for the ride.


Comments from John:

Hit the following topics:

1. The Rave/Full Moon Party - especially Dan acting like a cop (somewhat ironic given he was arrested several times while living with us)

2. The Lagoon at the Esplanade.  Lots of topless women and a few man beasts in thongs.

3. The arrival of Action Jackson and the hilarity in ensued (i.e. his skills with women via a Smeagol impression and some long discussion about Lincoln's secretary being named Kennedy and Kennedy's secretary being named Lincoln, drooling uncontrollably after a particularly large challenge, sleeping with the dog in Surfer's)

4. The Fantasy Song League/Draft.  Picking songs that we knew we were going to hear every night.  You could probably work this in to you discussion of Sports Bar/Tropos/The Woolshed.

5. Ricardo - our Brazilian scuba-friend.  Remember when his Dad came and went out for drinks with us 

6. Playing penny slots at the Casino to get free beer and watch the State of Origin.

7. Taking day trips to Port Douglas and the rain forests north of Cairns. (I believe Wes chauferred Dan there for one of his engagements)  

8. Getting pulled over when you accidentally decided to drive on the wrong side of the road (I think we were coming back from Port Douglas) and again at night a few weeks after our registration had expired.

9. Wes working at the Good Food Cafe (with pictures of the food on the walls)

10. The pool party with the Ultimate Party Crew.

12.  The ride from whatever town where we stayed the night before Bessie broke down, I have some video footage of us topping out at about 15 km/hr with smoke coming out of the hood.

14. Mickie - the Swiss, cougar, mindbending-goddess

15. Johno's Blues Bar (Mustang Sally)

16. Being terrible at trying to sell tickets to the Ultimate Party.

17. When I was trying to drive that truck on Frasier's Island, I think I gave those Brits whiplash.

18. The shitty boat we were on in the Whitsunday Islands.  It looked great in the brochure, but is was old as hell.  Plus that guy on the crew who looked like the Australian Paul Shaffer.

Our captain...

19.  The awful food at the Woolshed, and trying to save up 50 cents to get extra cheese on your spaghetti.

20. Leaving Wes with Dan, I was worried we might never see him again