Travel is the meaning of life.

Simon and I expect that we are going to be traveling most of our lives and certainly for the better part of the next several years.

I said this to my mother last night, who apparently thought that "sailing around the world" meant goofing off in a boat along the coast of Europe for a few months before settling down in San Diego. She got mad at me. She said, "You are going to abandon your family to go see a world that doesn't give a shit about you." I laughed, which didn't help.

Penultimately, she has never understood why I want to see all of the world so badly. So let me try to explain. Traveling is aligned with the purpose of my existence. Without it, I wouldn't know why I was alive.

I live on Earth to experience the joys and abundance of the world that God put me on. I'm here to experience. That's it. That's the meaning of life. So, I want to experience the wide and vast array of life, rather than just one small slice of it. I want to absorb the world like a sponge absorbs water. I feel like I would be ungrateful to God for the life I was given if I did anything else.

A year and a half ago, my sister asked me, "Why are you going to Chile?"

My response: "Because it is on the planet." That's the honest answer, in its simplest form.

I may be a success or a failure. I may be brave or irresponsible. I may be searching or content. It's all a matter of perspective. What I am is what I am. But travel is my truth. It gives me the greatest joy and makes me grateful to be alive. I doubt that will ever change as long as I live.

How I became A Welsh coalminer. Part IV. Subtitle: Simon and I stay in a haunted castle.

You might be wondering how many parts this Welsh coalminer saga has in total. The answer is five.

April 8, 2008 is officially the most exciting day that Simon and I have ever had, bar none. In Part II, I told you about how we haggled our way into a concrete boat in the morning. In Part III, I told you about how we were highway robbed by a police officer in the afternoon. That evening, I learned how to drive in England and then we spent the night in a haunted castle turned luxurious hotel.

Simon drove for a little while after our agitating encounter with the police officer. After a few minutes, though, I suggested that I drive to give Simon a break. I don't know how much of a break I managed to give him, though, as roundabouts and driving on the left side of the road turned out to be slightly harder than I expected. Nonetheless, I enjoyed being behind the wheel for the first time in a couple months and I only drove on the wrong side of the road a couple times.

We hit the idyllic valley after about an hour and stopped at the B&B, thinking we should just pack it in for the day. However, it was booked. The same was the case for three more B&B's that we encountered along the road, despite the fact that we were in the deep countryside, on a random weekday in cold early April. We ended up driving into Shropshire, England long after night had fallen.

We drove past a castle that was lit like a beacon in the deep dark of the countryside nighttime. "That castle is a hotel," Simon observed. "Want to try it?"

"Yeah! It's not like I get to stay in castles very often." I answered. After a tricky U-turn, I drove the car up the gravelly lane towards the castle and parked in an open space under a giant tree.

"It might be too expensive," Simon warned, so we left our bags in the car and walked up the path to the front entrance.

The castle is named Rowton Castle and was beautifully decorated and renovated. It was warm and inviting but also held all the fantasy and historical charm of an 800 year old castle. The room was £104 for the night, which was actually pretty reasonable. "Please. I want to stay in a castle." I begged. Simon indulged me.

"Are there any ghosts?" Simon asked the receptionist jokingly as we registered.

"A couple of the rooms have them. There is supposed to be one in this front hall, too."

"Cool." Simon said. But I didn't think that seeing a ghost would be cool at all, though not surprising considering how crazy this day had been.

We collected our bags from outside and I was followed by a cute black and white stray cat. (I may have petted it. Somewhere Liz is annoyed with me and calling me a crazy cat lady.)

We went up to our room after ensuring that the kitchen would remain open a few minutes longer for us. Our room was beautiful, with a large bed and beautiful bathroom. We celebrated with a quick whiskey and Coke before heading back down for dinner.

The hotel offered to keep its white table-clothed dining room open for us, but, rather than be too bothersome, we decided to eat in the lounge. The lounge was actually an elegant drawing room with leather couches, tables, and a fireplace. The fabrics were rich and the twin life-sized statues of greyhounds were genuinely appropriate and nice touches.

We had just ordered a bottle of red wine when the receptionist came over and apologized profusely. "I should have upgraded you," she explained. It took us a minute before we understood that she was offering to give us a better room since the hotel was quiet and its four-poster suites were empty. Naturally, we accepted this upgrade happily. She was genuinely distraught that we had to move our luggage, but Simon assured her that we were delighted, not upset. "Which room would you like?" she asked us.

"Which room do you recommend?" Simon countered.

She pointed us to two rooms and said, "this one has a better bed."

"Sold." I said.

We ordered our food and I tested the wine while Simon moved our bags. Although I had originally had us set up at a table, the hotel's manager kindly set us up to eat before the fireplace and started the fire going. It was so nice it felt surreal. It was amazing how, despite our run in with that jerky cop, the day turned out to be extraordinary.

"You are going to hate the room," Simon teased, when he returned and found me relaxing before the fire. Dinner turned out to be extremely good, too. The restaurant is apparently busy even when the hotel isn't because the food is so nice. The room was absolutely gorgeous, of course. I especially appreciated the travertine tile work in the bathroom and the giant four-poster bed.

We were happy and contented when we settled into bed that night after more wine and a soak in the big tub. No ghosts came out despite the fact that we were in one of the supposedly haunted rooms, although I woke up several times during the night to every little bump or creak. The next morning we walked around the grounds, which are decently sized, but unfortunately abut more sheep pastures. I was totally sick of sheep by this time.

Rowton Castle is a great hotel and highly recommended as both comfortable and affordable, with excellent service and good food.

Mid-morning we drove back to London via Birmingham. We had originally intended to stop and check out Birmingham for the afternoon. However, driving through, it was so industrial and inhospitable looking that we both agreed instantaneously to skip it. We got back to London by early afternoon.

All Hell has broken loose.

OK, that is an exaggeration, but the last few days have been excitingly busy and very weird. There are so many things that I need to write about, that they have to be broken down into multiple posts. Moreover, I am still running about in a frenzied fashion, so the posts will be trickled in over the next week or so. You have the following events to look forward to reading about:

• Simon and I bought a concrete boat named Julie Anne II. I had already intended to write about our forays into the world of concrete boats (and a trip to Grimsby). Now it will be a central piece as this long, strange path has culminated in our yacht, to be renamed Polar Bear. We also met the only surveyor in all the land (literally) of concrete boats. But at least we have our yacht now, full stop (thanks to some awesome haggling skills)!
  
• We dumped Sharinda, who turned out to be a dirty, rotten whore.
  
• Simon and I have moved to Wales (temporarily).
• We spent the night on Wednesday in a real haunted castle.
• We got arrested and highway robbed. (Really, we did!)
  
• We went to Birmingham. It was like Detroit, so we decided to leave Birmingham.
• I've learned to drive in the UK and I've even mastered roundabouts.
  

As you can see, we've been busy. I can't wait to tell you all about it.

Cheers!

An American about town: comments on confronting misconceptions and cultural insensitivity as a traveling American.

This Absolut Vodka ad is one of the single-most offensive things I have ever seen. For the first time in my life, I am genuinely going to boycott a product. I urge you all to do the same. It is crappy vodka anyway.

This ad is a tragedy and I hope that it is forgotten quickly and has little actual impact. It advocates hate, malcontent and an “us vs. them” mentality. As a San Diegan, I have always loved our unique blend of American and Mexican culture. To me, being American means not only embracing our diverse cultural roots, but also celebrating our Americanness: we are a unique country of free and varied people. We should be proud to be Americans, all of us, no matter what kind of American; and we are American first. We all know brave Mexican-Americans who fight to protect our country, and an invasion of our country by Mexico (or any other country) is abhorrent to what they fight for. Further, inclusiveness is something that many Americans have fought hard for throughout our entire history. It would be a tragedy for those struggles to be in vain and a culture of separatism to triumph.

So why is this relevant to the Chronicles? This is not a political blog. Nonetheless, this is relevant because I am an extensively well-traveled American and it reminds me that I am often been asked to comment on media-influenced misconceptions about America. (Sometimes I am just asked whether I ever pass myself off as a Canadian. The answer to that is "no.")

This ad is an extreme example of how the media creates misinformation and hatred towards Americans. It also shows how non-Americans can be insensitive to Americans. Absolut, a Swedish company, claims on its consumer inquiry line, for example, that they did not intend this ad to be offensive. They further claim that it is not meant to "advocate an altering of borders, nor does it lend support to any anti-American sentiment." Which begs the questions, what exactly did they think it was saying? How could they be so unaware of how this would make many Americans feel? Are they simply unaware that America is populated by feeling people? Have they been brainwashed by popular images that suggest that America is worthy only of hatred and malcontent?

Even though I travel through places where people make fun of Americans out of ignorance, spite or jealousy, one thing I will never do is apologize for being American. We aren’t perfect, but I can tell you that no place I have been is perfect. All countries have their social, economic and political problems. But to our credit, most Americans try to live up to our ideals of freedom, tolerance and generosity. Sometimes our government doesn't get it right, but although our government answers to us, it is not the same as being us. We are a good people.

I find it incredibly arrogant for other people to think that they can approach me with the assumption that I would be ashamed of being American or that they know better than we do what America should do as a country. Americans aren't the only people capable of being culturally insensitive. But at least this helps me not behave similarly insensitively.

I travel because I believe that it enriches you as a human being. It makes you empathetic and tolerant. It also highlights the "humanness" of people, which exists without exception, culture to culture. I've never been to a country where I didn't like the people or didn't see examples of love, hate, kindness, tragedy, hope, pettiness, humor and struggle. I only wish that more people would actually experience America and Americans before swallowing the media's popular misconceptions.

I believe that we are all brothers and sisters. And, when the questioner is actually interested in my answer and not just asking to feel superior, that is what I tell them.

Peace,

Retro Chronicles: Camping in California

You haven’t lived until you’ve camped amongst the California redwoods in November.

Simon and I drove up from San Diego, through Sonoma Valley and into the Armstrong Redwoods during early November 2007. We came equipped with our three person tent, down sleeping bags, fruit, water, eggs, hotdogs, and a bottle of whiskey, all stuffed nicely into my rucksack. The weather was misty and overcast, but it stayed at a comfortable 60 degrees Fahrenheit. The drive up the mountain was beautiful as we left cell phone reception behind and curled slowly around massive trees.

We arrived at the state run campsite around 3 in the afternoon. The campsites were abandoned and we were able to choose the plot that we felt gave us the best view. There were no rangers in the stations and we paid our fees by leaving money in the appointed box in a damp envelope. I was surprised that we were able to pull my car straight into a space next to our site, as I’ve always had to hike into small campgrounds like this one before. I was also happy to see bathrooms with running water toilets and sinks. We had our camp pitched in about twenty minutes. The camp had a raccoon locker for the food, but no signs of bears. I hid the food away, but wondered if there were also going to be bears in the night, if they hadn’t started their hibernations.

As we put the finishing touches on Casa Getchell-Dearn, a forest ranger pulled up in a truck. “Are you going to camp tonight?” he asked, unable to hide the incredulity.

“Yes,” Simon replied. “It looks like we are the only ones, though.”

“Yeah, it’s not a busy time of year. We get a lot of people during the summer, but not in November. Just so you know, tomorrow morning at around 8 a.m., we’re going to start chipping these piles of wood.” The ranger pointed at piles around the campground of gathered debris from the forest. “It’s going to be an awful noise.”

“That’s OK. We need to get up early, anyway.”

The ranger headed back down the mountain road and we decided to hike up to a clearing, to watch the sun set. The place was silent except for our footfalls and conversation and the occasional bird twittering. After a short hike, we sat along a grassy, craggy clearing above the canopy of trees and swilled whiskey from the bottle. The sun set over the mountains, but was largely obscured by mist around the various peaks. The shadows around the mountains turned the air into deeper and deeper shades of blue and the air grew crisp. We decided to head back to camp and make fire.

On our way back into camp, I noticed a sign that asked that we not gather firewood from the forest, but rather purchase it from the rangers. We had not seen any rangers at the stations, however, and we needed to eat. Conveniently, the rangers had gathered wood up for us and left them in piles for the wood chippers. “We ought to help them out,” I suggested and we used a pile of chipping wood for fire. The fire quickly roared to life while we whittled sticks into points for hotdog roasting and fried some eggs.

Our peace and contentedness was supreme up in the mountains, miles away from anyone else. We shattered the silence by playing David Gray in my car stereo, loudly enough to hear while we stared at the fire and talked about random things, smug in the knowledge that the music could echo off the trees without anyone else hearing it. Falling back into silence, we sashayed off to an early bed.

Our deep, peaceful sleep in the mountain air was punctured only by the frisky chittering of raccoons, who were unable to get our food, despite their best efforts. That is, until the wood-chipper roared to life. Simon and I prefer our mornings to start late and with coffee. We grumbled at each other about the noise and buried our heads deep into our bags. Shockingly, despite the industrial screech of the chippers, which went on for two hours, we both fell back to sleep and did not rise again until after 10. Well rested, we broke camp and headed back down the mountain and into San Francisco. The last 24 hours had been sublime.

The Polar Bear II tempts me into boat trespass.

On Friday, the strangest thing happened. I decided to run a search on Google to see if this site would appear. After a few failed attempts, I searched the terms "polar bear nauticat". In response, I found a used Nauticat 38 listed for sale in Suffolk county, which is only 70 miles northeast of London. To my surprise, it was named the Polar Bear II! The coincidence was too much. Simon and I made an impromptu weekend trip to see it, made possible by Simon's generous mum who lent us her car.

We aren't the earliest of risers, so we didn't head out until shortly after noon on Saturday. London traffic was atrocious and it took us four hours to get through the city. It was nearly 5:30 by the time we pulled into the marina in Ipswich. Just as we drove in, we saw the man at the brokerage shop lock up to go home. Curses! I worried that we drove all this way and would never see the boat. So we parked and wandered around the marina looking for the Polar Bear II. The wind was whipping and it was getting dark, so after about twenty minutes, we abandoned our search for the day.

Half an hour later, we pulled into the sleepy town of Felixstowe, which greets you with a sign claiming, "England's Premier Port." (Simon scoffed at this but had to eat his words when he found out that it is the third largest container ship port in all of Europe.) Felixstowe looks like a miniature version of the New Jersey shore with all the tacky lights and carnival booths, and it was similarly closed up for the winter. Although we didn't book any accommodations, we quickly came across a quaint, 4-star bed and breakfast called the Grafton Guest House. http://www.grafton-house.com/gh/. The friendly owner greeted us upon ringing the bell. It was quiet, affordable and central. Our room was immaculately clean and comfortably set up with a double bed and en suite. Recommended.

The proprietor of the Grafton House suggested that we try a restaurant on the water front called the Alex. http://www.alexcafebar.co.uk/. The Alex was a gem! We absolutely gorged ourselves on the best lamb and pork I have ever had. The house red wine was beautiful and had a distinct cherries and dark chocolate flavor to it. We finished with the cheese platter, which Simon gleefully announced had several varieties that "smell like socks" and were therefore lovely. Happily, we left satisfied and not too much poorer, as the Alex was also nicely priced.

The next morning, Simon and I got up early to search for the Polar Bear II. The previous evening, I discovered that the brokerage was closed on Sundays, so our only hope was to stumble across the boat and see if we could kick her tires informally. We quickly found the Polar Bear II gleaming in the early morning sunshine. She was hauled out of the water and set up on stilts. On the ground a few feet behind her was a ladder belonging to another boat. After a quick look around, we set the ladder upright and scurried aboard. She was beautiful! Teak decks! Lots of storage! Good condition! All she needs is a little paint, some oil, and a nice young couple to take her out to sea.

Unaccustomed to rising before 10 am, Simon and I were shocked to realize it was only 11 am by the time we were done at the marina in Ipswich. With so much of the day left, we decided to see a castle (as you do in Europe). We drove north to Framlingham to see the ruins of a 12th Century castle that was later used by Queen Mary Tudor as a hide out. The country roads sported homes with proper thatched roofs and road signs to warn of deer and frog crossings. (They must have huge frogs around there.) The castle remains consisted of a Tudor house and large, impressive, but crumbling stone walls. The castle also had a trench dug around it for a moat. It would have been awesome to run around if we were 10-year olds.
http://www.touruk.co.uk/castles/castle_Framlingham.htm.

Now that we've found the Polar Bear II, I'm working on getting her. Wish us luck!

PS - I realize that this is the second time in a year that I've jumped aboard a complete stranger's boat without permission. Unlike the last time, however, alcohol and Liz weren't the instigators. Also, I managed to remain fully clothed and was not apprehended by a Greek man who may or may not have been intending to trade me in Turkey for a goat.

I miss talking to my friends and family.

I've asked most of you to download Skype already, but here's a friendly reminder. download Skype

Skype is an extremely easy program to use to call all your Skype-savvy friends anywhere in the world for FREE. That means that you can call me when I'm in London or Antarctica or Timbuktu or San Diego. Did I mention that this was free?

Here's how it works: download Skype and add me to your contacts list. Then, when we are both online, you can call me or I can call you and we talk over the internet. If you have a webcam, we can even see each other live. I've found that the connections are pretty good, particularly for international calling. The sound quality has been better than the international cell phones and calling cards that I have used in the past. (The webcam pictures can be slow sometimes, though.) Oh yeah, and it is free; which is way better than the $50 a minute I accidentally paid from Copenhagen to call home once. That was brutal.

On top of your computer and an internet connection, you need a microphone and speakers. So, if you don't have that built in, buy a headset or a webcam. You don't need both to make Skype work. I have a Plantronics headset and a Philips webcam similar to the ones sold by Skype -- but they were more expensive through the stores -- and I like them both. You really don't have to spend a fortune to get good equipment.
Skype Store USA
Skype Store Europe

Skype also has some other fun and interesting features including voicemail, mobile phones, call forwarding to your phone or calling other people's phones from your computer. These options allow you to get away from your phone or your computer, depending on your goal. I am only beginning to experiment with how well these work, so I have no opinion yet. I will update you when I do. In the meantime, if you would like some information on these services, click here. www.skype.com

Have I nagged you enough? Sign up for Skype now so I can stop nagging you and we can start talking again. That means you, Liz. download Skype

Lots of love!