Adam Holt's Blog, page 2
December 15, 2018
Q&A with Writer and Pro Volleyball Athlete Billy Ketch Allen
This week, the Lone Star Rambler introduces you to two people.
This is writer Billy Allen.
This is pro volleyball player Billy Allen.
Okay, well, one person, and I'm glad he agreed to an interview.
A brief bio...
Billy Allen is a pro beach volleyball player and writer, among other things. He played volleyball and studied Creative Writing at Cal State Northridge. He hasn't stopped doing either of those things, and he's done them both quite well. As a beach volleyball player, he has racked up impressive wins on the AVP and some solid finishes in international play, with an eye on qualifying for Tokyo in 2020. As a writer, he's recently published his debut novel, Good Blood. Watch him win a tournament here. Skip my interview and read his new book here!
Still reading? Okay, cool. :)
I've been thinking about the interplay between my own writing and volleyball lives. How do they influence and improve each other? With his Olympic ambitions and recent publication, Billy seemed like the perfect person to ask.
I was not wrong.
Q&A | ADAM ASKS BILLY...
First of all, give us a great elevator pitch for your new book, Good Blood.
It’s a fantasy novel set in a medieval world where blood is the most important commodity. The ruling class has enslaved a race of people to harvest their healing blood for themselves. When a mysterious boy shows up with off the charts blood, everyone fights to get their hands on him.
In your book, the characters’ bloodlines determines their fates. Where did this idea originate?
It started with the idea of the different blood types. How some, like a universal donor, could be more valuable. Then it became, what if people were born with a special blood type that had healing properties that could be transmuted to others? What would your responsibility be to others if your blood saved lives? What would the government do to control that blood? Is it ethical to force a small group of people to save countless lives?
At first, it was going to be a sci-fi book, but then I read a fantasy book I really liked (The Name of the Wind) and I thought it would be fun to write a story in that vein. So I shifted the premise to a medieval fantasy setting.
Will you also give us a great pitch for yourself as a volleyball player?
Ha, not as exciting. I’d say I’m an everyman who worked hard and stuck with it longer than most, basically outlasting the competition. I’m not the best in a single category, but I have a good all-around game and I’m steady. I get a little better every year and that has paid off for me.
You’ve trained as a volleyball player since your earliest years and now play the beach game at the highest level. What about that has shaped your creative process?
I think the work ethic of an athlete translates to writing. Putting in the effort and working hard even when I don’t feel my best, or am lacking motivation. Sitting in a chair and making stuff up can feel hard sometimes, but it’s easier than going to the gym.
Also, in my volleyball career I’ve seen how much improvement comes from learning new things and working on my game little by little. I didn’t expect to be a pro right out of the gate. I look at writing the same way. My focus is on improving more than being perfect today.
Do you look at literature as an escape from your daily life? If not, what about your art imitates your life?
I think creative projects balance me out. They give me a different outlet than competition and physical training does. Literature, reading the books of others or thinking about my own stories, is something I can do even when I’m tired. We also travel a lot. Lots of long flights and downtime in hotel rooms, so there is plenty of time to give my mind a break from the stress of volleyball and how I’m doing in a tournament.
Training for sand, like revising and editing, can be grueling processes. What keeps you motivated during that process? How do you overcome barriers, whether it’s writer’s block or a setback at a tournament?
Taking the long-term view has helped. It’s easy to get frustrated with one bad game or one bad tournament, but if I’m learning from it and improving, if I’m moving in the right direction, then it’s paying off. Every rep I get is making me better and putting another brick in the foundation. It’s the same with writing. The story might not come out as good as the idea sounded in my head, but I did the work, it’s on down on paper. I can learn from it and the next one will be better. Those words, even the bad ones, are necessary steps in getting to the better ones. As far as editing, it’s easier to be objective and get feedback when I separate my value from the book and look at it as a piece of work I’m trying to make better.
Also, you should enjoy it. Sometimes it will suck, but it helps me to step back and reflect on how lucky I am to be where I am or to look at what I’ve created. I lost in an AVP final this year after having match point, and it crushed me for a couple of days. Then I realized how much the me from a couple years ago would be dying to get the chance to play in a final. It’s all about progress and how you bounce back.
What’s one tip for improving as a writer? And what’s one you can give me - I mean, us - about playing great volleyball?
Done is better than perfect. That idea has helped me. I’ve always written, but I never finished projects, things just stopped and existed as abandoned stories on my hard-drive. If you fiddle with stuff forever, afraid to put it out there and show others because it’s not as good as To Kill A Mockingbird, you’ll never finish anything.
For volleyball, I’d say have a specific focus in practice. It’s easy to resort to old habits and what’s comfortable when you’re competing and there is a score involved. Use training games to push yourself out of your comfort zone and focus on improving one specific focus, rather than juggling too many things or just trying to win.
Who are your mentors in volleyball and writing? What do they have in common?
In both I mostly modeled from afar, watching videos of Todd Rogers play or reading writers like Kurt Vonnegut. What those two have in common are precision and efficiency. No wasted movements or words with those two.
John Mayer is a more recent mentor for me in volleyball, and I’m lucky to have him coaching me now. His work ethic and how he values learning is inspiring. Similarly, the prolific writers of today who publish multiple books every year are extremely inspiring.
As an athlete, you’re shooting to qualify for Tokyo 2020. How does that affect your everyday life? What would you consider “medaling” as a writer?
Volleyball is my priority right now. Some days are too full with training and lifting and watching video that I know I won’t get writing in or as much as I’d like to. I’m learning to be okay with that. My volleyball window is much shorter, but hopefully I’ll be writing for the rest of my life. Anything I do now is a head start on the post-volleyball writing career.
I guess medaling as a writer would be growing a readership of people who love my books and be to able to make a living writing full-time, not just in the cracks of my life or when I get home from a real job. But I can’t control the money part as much as the work I produce, so, job or hobby, I’d like to keep putting books out that I’m proud of.
You said, “I am not my book just as I am not my hitting percentage. If I look at it objectively I will welcome feedback and watch those mistakes over and over so I can make changes. Mistakes are only changeable if they’re acknowledged.” I love this idea of creative distance. I try to apply that, too, and I tell my students “You are not your results. You’re not your grades. You’re more important than that.”
Yeah, who you are as a person is more important than your performance. That separation is important and something I have to remind myself.
So now that book reviews are coming in, how are you doing with keeping that creative distance from your work?
Ha, I think all those times I’ve been heckled on the volleyball court has been preparing me for bad reviews. I tell myself this book just isn’t for them. There are books I didn’t like or didn’t connect with for whatever reason, and it has nothing to do with thinking the writer is a bad person. The negative reviewers don’t know me or hate me, my book just wasn’t their thing.
Does this idea of “I am not my book,” of identity beyond accomplishment, bleed in to your fiction? If so, how?
I think I set my expectations pretty low for myself. I like Good Blood a lot, and I’m really proud of it, but I told myself throughout the writing process that it is my first book and that the next one I write will be better.
As far as bleeding into my stories, I might be more understanding of a character’s mistakes. They’re going to try and fail and lose fights, but losing doesn’t define them. How they respond does. I love a hero who gets up and keeps fighting, no matter the outcome.
You’re writing fantasy. How did you develop your world? What influenced it, and what overlaps do you see with our real world?
[image error] Man, I love a good map in a book, too, Billie...(Pictured: The Lonely Mountain in The Hobbit.)Creating a new world is fun, coming up with the differences in currency, religion, and names. I want it to be mostly familiar—not too out there so the world is unrecognizable--but to definitely have some tweaks. But you can get lost world building and planning out every detail. I keep the setting descriptions pretty light and get on with the story because that’s what I like as a reader. Two pages describing a tree can be pretty self-indulgent. Though, creating a map was fun.
There are lots of overlaps to the real world, human nature stays the same. People in power take advantage of those without power. My characters have struggles and temptations and dilemmas like everyone faces. They just fight it out with swords :)
Which AVP pros willingly nerd out with you about fantasy? Which ones are immune to fiction? I know some of my volleyball friends are non-readers, but I’m making some progress.
Lauren Fendrick is a big fantasy reader and one of the first people I approached to read an early draft. I’ve talked to Todd Rogers about fantasy books and authors, I sent him an early copy, but I never heard back. He must not have liked it.
I’ve chatted with Travis Mewhirter about writing and publishing. He writes non-fiction, but we both can share how good it feels to get the cover art back or to get that first copy of your book in the mail.
So we’re wrapping up 2018. I know this because Facebook reminded me with an acoustic-guitar driven photo montage. So I’m wondering what 2019 holds for you as a writer and athlete? And as a father (if you like)?
I’m playing with a new/old partner this year, Stafford Slick. We’re trying to qualify for the Olympics so we’re going to as many tournaments as we can. So, it’ll be a busy year of traveling. More than I ever have in the past. My goal is to commit fully and go for it.
As a writer, I have two projects I’m working on and would like to finish in 2018. They’re different genres. One is a thriller set in present-day Jaurez/El Paso. The other is a coaching book, based on lessons learned from Coach Your Brains Out, a volleyball coaching podcast I’ve done for a few years. That one is a collaboration with John Mayer, so it has been fun writing with someone else. After that, it’s back to the fantasy world of Terene with the Good Blood sequel.
Anything else you want to add?
Thanks for chatting. It’s easy to get caught up focusing on the next tournament or the next book, it’s nice to stop and reflect for a change.
Ready to start Good Blood or hear more from Billy? You'll find all your needs fulfilled right here.
BONUS CONTENT! Billy had some good questions for me, too. I'll post some of those as bonus content at some point, but here are two.
Q&A | BILLY ASKS ADAM...
How are you getting better at volleyball? What are you working on, what’s your approach?
Telling this to a pro makes me feel like I’m confessing my sins. “Forgive me, it has been five days since my last decent cut shot.” So I play a few times a week and it’s often king of the beach. I like the KOB format, to play with different people and try to figure out what it will take for us to win. It’s helped me become a better indoor coach, too. But I think in particular, I’ve worked on aggressive consistent jump serving and better defensive reading. Playing well in open tournament has always been my long-term motivation, and trying to win our KOB tournaments is the short-term. I don’t get fixated on winning since this is a hobby for me, but I do want to play my best every time I hit the court.
What does being a successful writer mean to you?
When I get questions about the book from young readers, that feels like success to me. I’ve made them think, and that’s one of my big goals. But more broadly, thinking about poetry and music, too, I want to write and perform in such a way that is inspiring and uplifting to readers and listeners. I don’t know how many people will end up reading my books, or when they will get read. Maybe I’ll be long gone or maybe not, so I can only define success by picturing those small impact adding up over time, kind of like the number of words in my current draft. Success is one more word than yesterday.
Love and rockets, - A
This is writer Billy Allen.
This is pro volleyball player Billy Allen.
Okay, well, one person, and I'm glad he agreed to an interview.
A brief bio...
Billy Allen is a pro beach volleyball player and writer, among other things. He played volleyball and studied Creative Writing at Cal State Northridge. He hasn't stopped doing either of those things, and he's done them both quite well. As a beach volleyball player, he has racked up impressive wins on the AVP and some solid finishes in international play, with an eye on qualifying for Tokyo in 2020. As a writer, he's recently published his debut novel, Good Blood. Watch him win a tournament here. Skip my interview and read his new book here!
Still reading? Okay, cool. :)
I've been thinking about the interplay between my own writing and volleyball lives. How do they influence and improve each other? With his Olympic ambitions and recent publication, Billy seemed like the perfect person to ask.
I was not wrong.
Q&A | ADAM ASKS BILLY...
First of all, give us a great elevator pitch for your new book, Good Blood.
It’s a fantasy novel set in a medieval world where blood is the most important commodity. The ruling class has enslaved a race of people to harvest their healing blood for themselves. When a mysterious boy shows up with off the charts blood, everyone fights to get their hands on him.
In your book, the characters’ bloodlines determines their fates. Where did this idea originate?
It started with the idea of the different blood types. How some, like a universal donor, could be more valuable. Then it became, what if people were born with a special blood type that had healing properties that could be transmuted to others? What would your responsibility be to others if your blood saved lives? What would the government do to control that blood? Is it ethical to force a small group of people to save countless lives?
At first, it was going to be a sci-fi book, but then I read a fantasy book I really liked (The Name of the Wind) and I thought it would be fun to write a story in that vein. So I shifted the premise to a medieval fantasy setting.
Will you also give us a great pitch for yourself as a volleyball player?
Ha, not as exciting. I’d say I’m an everyman who worked hard and stuck with it longer than most, basically outlasting the competition. I’m not the best in a single category, but I have a good all-around game and I’m steady. I get a little better every year and that has paid off for me.
You’ve trained as a volleyball player since your earliest years and now play the beach game at the highest level. What about that has shaped your creative process?
I think the work ethic of an athlete translates to writing. Putting in the effort and working hard even when I don’t feel my best, or am lacking motivation. Sitting in a chair and making stuff up can feel hard sometimes, but it’s easier than going to the gym.Also, in my volleyball career I’ve seen how much improvement comes from learning new things and working on my game little by little. I didn’t expect to be a pro right out of the gate. I look at writing the same way. My focus is on improving more than being perfect today.
Do you look at literature as an escape from your daily life? If not, what about your art imitates your life?
I think creative projects balance me out. They give me a different outlet than competition and physical training does. Literature, reading the books of others or thinking about my own stories, is something I can do even when I’m tired. We also travel a lot. Lots of long flights and downtime in hotel rooms, so there is plenty of time to give my mind a break from the stress of volleyball and how I’m doing in a tournament.
Training for sand, like revising and editing, can be grueling processes. What keeps you motivated during that process? How do you overcome barriers, whether it’s writer’s block or a setback at a tournament?
Taking the long-term view has helped. It’s easy to get frustrated with one bad game or one bad tournament, but if I’m learning from it and improving, if I’m moving in the right direction, then it’s paying off. Every rep I get is making me better and putting another brick in the foundation. It’s the same with writing. The story might not come out as good as the idea sounded in my head, but I did the work, it’s on down on paper. I can learn from it and the next one will be better. Those words, even the bad ones, are necessary steps in getting to the better ones. As far as editing, it’s easier to be objective and get feedback when I separate my value from the book and look at it as a piece of work I’m trying to make better.Also, you should enjoy it. Sometimes it will suck, but it helps me to step back and reflect on how lucky I am to be where I am or to look at what I’ve created. I lost in an AVP final this year after having match point, and it crushed me for a couple of days. Then I realized how much the me from a couple years ago would be dying to get the chance to play in a final. It’s all about progress and how you bounce back.
What’s one tip for improving as a writer? And what’s one you can give me - I mean, us - about playing great volleyball?
Done is better than perfect. That idea has helped me. I’ve always written, but I never finished projects, things just stopped and existed as abandoned stories on my hard-drive. If you fiddle with stuff forever, afraid to put it out there and show others because it’s not as good as To Kill A Mockingbird, you’ll never finish anything.
For volleyball, I’d say have a specific focus in practice. It’s easy to resort to old habits and what’s comfortable when you’re competing and there is a score involved. Use training games to push yourself out of your comfort zone and focus on improving one specific focus, rather than juggling too many things or just trying to win.
Who are your mentors in volleyball and writing? What do they have in common?
In both I mostly modeled from afar, watching videos of Todd Rogers play or reading writers like Kurt Vonnegut. What those two have in common are precision and efficiency. No wasted movements or words with those two.
John Mayer is a more recent mentor for me in volleyball, and I’m lucky to have him coaching me now. His work ethic and how he values learning is inspiring. Similarly, the prolific writers of today who publish multiple books every year are extremely inspiring.
As an athlete, you’re shooting to qualify for Tokyo 2020. How does that affect your everyday life? What would you consider “medaling” as a writer?
Volleyball is my priority right now. Some days are too full with training and lifting and watching video that I know I won’t get writing in or as much as I’d like to. I’m learning to be okay with that. My volleyball window is much shorter, but hopefully I’ll be writing for the rest of my life. Anything I do now is a head start on the post-volleyball writing career.
I guess medaling as a writer would be growing a readership of people who love my books and be to able to make a living writing full-time, not just in the cracks of my life or when I get home from a real job. But I can’t control the money part as much as the work I produce, so, job or hobby, I’d like to keep putting books out that I’m proud of.
You said, “I am not my book just as I am not my hitting percentage. If I look at it objectively I will welcome feedback and watch those mistakes over and over so I can make changes. Mistakes are only changeable if they’re acknowledged.” I love this idea of creative distance. I try to apply that, too, and I tell my students “You are not your results. You’re not your grades. You’re more important than that.”
Yeah, who you are as a person is more important than your performance. That separation is important and something I have to remind myself.
So now that book reviews are coming in, how are you doing with keeping that creative distance from your work?
Ha, I think all those times I’ve been heckled on the volleyball court has been preparing me for bad reviews. I tell myself this book just isn’t for them. There are books I didn’t like or didn’t connect with for whatever reason, and it has nothing to do with thinking the writer is a bad person. The negative reviewers don’t know me or hate me, my book just wasn’t their thing.
Does this idea of “I am not my book,” of identity beyond accomplishment, bleed in to your fiction? If so, how?
I think I set my expectations pretty low for myself. I like Good Blood a lot, and I’m really proud of it, but I told myself throughout the writing process that it is my first book and that the next one I write will be better.
As far as bleeding into my stories, I might be more understanding of a character’s mistakes. They’re going to try and fail and lose fights, but losing doesn’t define them. How they respond does. I love a hero who gets up and keeps fighting, no matter the outcome.
You’re writing fantasy. How did you develop your world? What influenced it, and what overlaps do you see with our real world?
[image error] Man, I love a good map in a book, too, Billie...(Pictured: The Lonely Mountain in The Hobbit.)Creating a new world is fun, coming up with the differences in currency, religion, and names. I want it to be mostly familiar—not too out there so the world is unrecognizable--but to definitely have some tweaks. But you can get lost world building and planning out every detail. I keep the setting descriptions pretty light and get on with the story because that’s what I like as a reader. Two pages describing a tree can be pretty self-indulgent. Though, creating a map was fun.
There are lots of overlaps to the real world, human nature stays the same. People in power take advantage of those without power. My characters have struggles and temptations and dilemmas like everyone faces. They just fight it out with swords :)
Which AVP pros willingly nerd out with you about fantasy? Which ones are immune to fiction? I know some of my volleyball friends are non-readers, but I’m making some progress.
Lauren Fendrick is a big fantasy reader and one of the first people I approached to read an early draft. I’ve talked to Todd Rogers about fantasy books and authors, I sent him an early copy, but I never heard back. He must not have liked it.
I’ve chatted with Travis Mewhirter about writing and publishing. He writes non-fiction, but we both can share how good it feels to get the cover art back or to get that first copy of your book in the mail.
So we’re wrapping up 2018. I know this because Facebook reminded me with an acoustic-guitar driven photo montage. So I’m wondering what 2019 holds for you as a writer and athlete? And as a father (if you like)?
I’m playing with a new/old partner this year, Stafford Slick. We’re trying to qualify for the Olympics so we’re going to as many tournaments as we can. So, it’ll be a busy year of traveling. More than I ever have in the past. My goal is to commit fully and go for it.
As a writer, I have two projects I’m working on and would like to finish in 2018. They’re different genres. One is a thriller set in present-day Jaurez/El Paso. The other is a coaching book, based on lessons learned from Coach Your Brains Out, a volleyball coaching podcast I’ve done for a few years. That one is a collaboration with John Mayer, so it has been fun writing with someone else. After that, it’s back to the fantasy world of Terene with the Good Blood sequel.
Anything else you want to add?
Thanks for chatting. It’s easy to get caught up focusing on the next tournament or the next book, it’s nice to stop and reflect for a change.
Ready to start Good Blood or hear more from Billy? You'll find all your needs fulfilled right here.
BONUS CONTENT! Billy had some good questions for me, too. I'll post some of those as bonus content at some point, but here are two.
Q&A | BILLY ASKS ADAM...
How are you getting better at volleyball? What are you working on, what’s your approach?
Telling this to a pro makes me feel like I’m confessing my sins. “Forgive me, it has been five days since my last decent cut shot.” So I play a few times a week and it’s often king of the beach. I like the KOB format, to play with different people and try to figure out what it will take for us to win. It’s helped me become a better indoor coach, too. But I think in particular, I’ve worked on aggressive consistent jump serving and better defensive reading. Playing well in open tournament has always been my long-term motivation, and trying to win our KOB tournaments is the short-term. I don’t get fixated on winning since this is a hobby for me, but I do want to play my best every time I hit the court.
What does being a successful writer mean to you?
When I get questions about the book from young readers, that feels like success to me. I’ve made them think, and that’s one of my big goals. But more broadly, thinking about poetry and music, too, I want to write and perform in such a way that is inspiring and uplifting to readers and listeners. I don’t know how many people will end up reading my books, or when they will get read. Maybe I’ll be long gone or maybe not, so I can only define success by picturing those small impact adding up over time, kind of like the number of words in my current draft. Success is one more word than yesterday. Love and rockets, - A
December 3, 2018
Travel Pics and a Poetry Exhibition!
The Lone Star Rambler is alive and kicking, and I hope it finds you well!
What a summer and fall...
I could tell you, dear blog, about my return from Europe, how I only spent three weeks in Houston this entire summer, but that happened in July.
Or chaperoning my volleyball team to a camp in California, but that happened in July, too.
Or about our volleyball season, how the team had great wins against our biggest rivals, how the guys really rose to the occasion and won their final match of the year, but that happened in November.
Or about Thanksgiving! My parents' house is now completely renovated, so we celebrated extra hard last week. But, alas, that was last week.
So, instead of all those things, dear blog, let me simply share a few pics and tell you two things.
1. POETRY
When I finally made it back to my apartment after the Euroventure - a 24-hour trek
Iceland ---> Austin -----> Houston
all the while thinking about all of the cafes I visited...
all the places I wrote poems while watching World Cup games...
all of the additional cafes I visited...
all of the books I read while wandering around Paris...
....of the lovely Prague cityscape...
all of the rainbow-tinged waterfalls...
all of the standing in front of waterfalls admiring the view...
all of the memorable people I met...
all of the hikes I took in Southern France...
all of the poetry-inspiring art: Chagall, Matisse, Picasso...
...yes, when I finally made it home, and just before midnight I should add, I had one thing on my mind.
"Cerulean": a shade of blue ranging between dark azure and darker sky blue.
It was also one of the poems I wrote over the summer, inspired by Picasso and the color of the Mediterranean and maybe just someone's eyes. It starts like this:
When the poet grows olderHe can no longer tell the girl that her eyesare the color of old world cerulean. He must instead drink ceruleanAnd lay in the noonday sunUntil it glistens on his skin. Or he must run steam through the colorAnd drink the rich beverageUntil his heart nearly explodes. But if he were to try, he would say:Your eyes were a color but I will not say its name.Your eyes were the weight of fog.Your eyes were the Mediterranean the morning you left
And did not want to.
Anyway, I had read about an exhibition that seemed to fit it perfectly. Color: Story, an art and literature exhibition, a proposed collaboration between two fantastic Houston artists looking for poems to incorporate into or inspire their work.
In all, I submitted three poems to Color:Story,
And so...
A few months later,
I'm pleased to say "Cerulean" and a few other poems
inspired by art and nature
will
in turn
inspire art.
I'm looking forward to meeting with Marlo Saucedo this weekend to discuss her work, my work, and how they will fit together for the project. Here's a sample of her visual narrative style. Yes, those "lines" on the paper are actually lines of prose and poetry. I'm not sure what she will do with "Cerulean" or "Through a Window Through a Poem," but we shall see... :)
Okay, enough about the color I will not mention again.
2. TULLY HARPER
Even though I was recovering from a weekend volleyball tournament and a bout of food poisoning (you don't want to know), I enjoyed the Kinkaid book fair and introduced a bunch of new folks to the Tullyverse. I sold oodles of books to folks, many of whom I know, so that's always a delight.
Here I am posing for a photo opp with Gurple, the purple and gold, literal bookworm mascot created for our book fair. Like Ron Burgundy, it's kind of a big deal. We shut down an entire gym for several days to run the book fair. For me personally, it's a great transition, from being Coach Holt in this gym one week and an author the next.
And I'm making progress on book four.
Okay, viva le Lone Star Rambler. The blog returneth, and there's your poetry and prose update. Next up will be pictures from the exhibit or possibly a travel post. We shall see!
What a summer and fall...
I could tell you, dear blog, about my return from Europe, how I only spent three weeks in Houston this entire summer, but that happened in July.
Or chaperoning my volleyball team to a camp in California, but that happened in July, too.
Or about our volleyball season, how the team had great wins against our biggest rivals, how the guys really rose to the occasion and won their final match of the year, but that happened in November.
Or about Thanksgiving! My parents' house is now completely renovated, so we celebrated extra hard last week. But, alas, that was last week.
So, instead of all those things, dear blog, let me simply share a few pics and tell you two things.
1. POETRY
When I finally made it back to my apartment after the Euroventure - a 24-hour trek
Iceland ---> Austin -----> Houston
all the while thinking about all of the cafes I visited...
all the places I wrote poems while watching World Cup games...
all of the additional cafes I visited...
all of the books I read while wandering around Paris...
....of the lovely Prague cityscape...
all of the rainbow-tinged waterfalls...
all of the standing in front of waterfalls admiring the view...
all of the memorable people I met...
all of the hikes I took in Southern France...
all of the poetry-inspiring art: Chagall, Matisse, Picasso...
...yes, when I finally made it home, and just before midnight I should add, I had one thing on my mind.
"Cerulean": a shade of blue ranging between dark azure and darker sky blue.
It was also one of the poems I wrote over the summer, inspired by Picasso and the color of the Mediterranean and maybe just someone's eyes. It starts like this:
When the poet grows olderHe can no longer tell the girl that her eyesare the color of old world cerulean. He must instead drink ceruleanAnd lay in the noonday sunUntil it glistens on his skin. Or he must run steam through the colorAnd drink the rich beverageUntil his heart nearly explodes. But if he were to try, he would say:Your eyes were a color but I will not say its name.Your eyes were the weight of fog.Your eyes were the Mediterranean the morning you left
And did not want to.
Anyway, I had read about an exhibition that seemed to fit it perfectly. Color: Story, an art and literature exhibition, a proposed collaboration between two fantastic Houston artists looking for poems to incorporate into or inspire their work.
In all, I submitted three poems to Color:Story,
And so...
A few months later,
I'm pleased to say "Cerulean" and a few other poems
inspired by art and nature
will
in turn
inspire art.
I'm looking forward to meeting with Marlo Saucedo this weekend to discuss her work, my work, and how they will fit together for the project. Here's a sample of her visual narrative style. Yes, those "lines" on the paper are actually lines of prose and poetry. I'm not sure what she will do with "Cerulean" or "Through a Window Through a Poem," but we shall see... :)
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Okay, enough about the color I will not mention again.
2. TULLY HARPER
Even though I was recovering from a weekend volleyball tournament and a bout of food poisoning (you don't want to know), I enjoyed the Kinkaid book fair and introduced a bunch of new folks to the Tullyverse. I sold oodles of books to folks, many of whom I know, so that's always a delight.
Here I am posing for a photo opp with Gurple, the purple and gold, literal bookworm mascot created for our book fair. Like Ron Burgundy, it's kind of a big deal. We shut down an entire gym for several days to run the book fair. For me personally, it's a great transition, from being Coach Holt in this gym one week and an author the next.
And I'm making progress on book four.
Okay, viva le Lone Star Rambler. The blog returneth, and there's your poetry and prose update. Next up will be pictures from the exhibit or possibly a travel post. We shall see!
July 25, 2018
Summer reads - Neil Gaiman and Saint-Exupéry
I've knocked out a few novels this summer while traveling, and I've got room for another novel or two before summer ends. Any recommendations? Here are mine. - A
Fiction: The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman - "the recollections of a man who thought he was lost but is now, perhaps, remembering a time when he was saved." - This is the Neil Gaiman book I've been hoping to read - semi-autobiographic, with the kind of mythic, lyrical power you'd expect from Gaiman. An almost sweet, pastoral mood exists alongside this dark edged world that keeps it light enough for a summer read. It's one I began beside the pool and finished late at night in a frenzy.
Non-fiction: Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine St. Exupery - before he was the author of The Little Prince, St. Exupery pioneered longhaul mail flights through many wild and remote places. From the Sahara Desert to the Andes Mountains, Exupery takes you into the cockpit to meet the men he looked upon as godlike. He lands - and crash lands - you into strange worlds that no longer exist, and in the end, has some meaningful things to say about his own place in the universe. I read this book on flights across Europe, and it made the horizons seem wider. Flight is a miracle! Napping is no longer an option.
Signing off with a few pictures,
- Adam
British Airways treating me well.
Read, write, tea, repeat.
A page of Wind, Sand, and Stars.
The curve of the Earth, the blue-black of a high sky.
JK Rowling's most recent play, now in production in London. It's a good read. I wish I'd had time to see it!
Fiction: The Ocean at the End of the Lane by Neil Gaiman - "the recollections of a man who thought he was lost but is now, perhaps, remembering a time when he was saved." - This is the Neil Gaiman book I've been hoping to read - semi-autobiographic, with the kind of mythic, lyrical power you'd expect from Gaiman. An almost sweet, pastoral mood exists alongside this dark edged world that keeps it light enough for a summer read. It's one I began beside the pool and finished late at night in a frenzy.
Non-fiction: Wind, Sand, and Stars by Antoine St. Exupery - before he was the author of The Little Prince, St. Exupery pioneered longhaul mail flights through many wild and remote places. From the Sahara Desert to the Andes Mountains, Exupery takes you into the cockpit to meet the men he looked upon as godlike. He lands - and crash lands - you into strange worlds that no longer exist, and in the end, has some meaningful things to say about his own place in the universe. I read this book on flights across Europe, and it made the horizons seem wider. Flight is a miracle! Napping is no longer an option.
Signing off with a few pictures,
- Adam
British Airways treating me well. 
Read, write, tea, repeat.
A page of Wind, Sand, and Stars.
The curve of the Earth, the blue-black of a high sky. 
JK Rowling's most recent play, now in production in London. It's a good read. I wish I'd had time to see it! July 21, 2018
The Grand Tour, Week Three: ICELAND, YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING!
PRE-RAMBLE
I am officially renaming Iceland. This should have been done long ago, in the same way we should rename killer whales. They're really the largest species of dolphins, and we all know that dolphins are both smart and friendly, much like the inhabitants of Iceland.
But I digress.
Iceland is heretofore known as Cold Hawaii. Or Hawaii North. Or North Sparkleland. Take your pick, but more people would have visited by now if someone in the anti-PR department hadn't taken to naming the place.
There, go visit, or at least read about it below.
- A
MAIN RAMBLE
A few weeks ago, Iceland "beat" Argentina in the World Cup. It was a 1-1 tie, really, but when you live in a country of 350,000, and your country's goalie is a filmmaker, and the other team's star player makes $40,000,000 a year, a tie is a win.
I didn't see the game. I was on a plane to Iceland as the game got underway. Halfway through my flight to KEF, the pilot announced the tie with Argentina was final. I wish I’d seen it, don’t know how they did it, but you should have heard the eruption of applause on the plane. It was a fortuitous beginning to this leg of the trip, and also a show of the unity this tiny country possesses.
Iceland also possesses natural wonder. Everyone has asked me since my return, "How cold was it?" My answer is, "Not cold enough to matter." It was summer solstice when I was there. The sun rose at 2:30am and set at midnight - that's a lot of daylight to keep you warm. So at the coldest? 40 degrees and rainy. At the warmest? 70 and sunny.
Not in the ice cave though. One attraction in Reykjavik is The Pearl, which sat on a hilltop above the hostel where I was staying. They've built an ice cave under the building, which stays a chilly 20 degrees all year long. It's packed with slightly warmer, cutting edge exhibits like a 3D puffin exhibit. You walk up to a fifty foot cliff wall full of fake puffins and fake puffin poop, but voila, when you peer at the wall through virtual reality glasses, suddenly puffins are whirling around overhead. That, along with some striking interactive maps of climate change in Iceland were the highlights for me. OH! And the coffee shop on top! With a 360 degree panorama of Reykjavik and the ocean, is not to be missed.
HOSTELS
Look. Let's get this straight. It's your choice.
OPTION 1: You can CHOOSE to spend all of your money on your own hotel room in Reykjavik.
OPTION 2: You can sleep in a futuristic pod for a third of the price and blow your money on travel and food.
I went out of my way to book a pod at the Pod Hostel in Reykjavik, in all honesty. You took the pod, right? How could you not? There's too much to gain in staying there. I'm fond of hostels, in general. If you're traveling solo, they make great sense. You meet people from around the world - Brazilian lawyers, wandering college students from Rice University, professors. And if you're staying at a hostel in Iceland, it's not like you wandered in there on a whim. No. You planned an epic adventure. You're good folks, and you're going to be up for hanging out with the likeminded.
Add caption
At any rate, in a nutshell, and not to ramble any longer about it, the pod hostel lived up to expectations. Upon check-in, your issued an access card. You walk down black chalkboard walls full of colorful graffiti - but mostly former occupant's Instagram usernames - and then swipe the card to enter your podroom. And...it's full of pods. 12-16, I would say, stacked in neat rows like bunk beds at summer camps. Only these bunks are mechanically sealed living quarters. You swipe your card and enter. There, you find a tidy, sizable bed, environmental controls, smart tv, and blazing fast wi-fi. It's the perfect escape from the midnight sun. You crash, and in crashing, feel like you may just Rip Van Winkle your way into the future. Hopefully, to quote Lord Byron, "God's in His kingdom; all's right with the world."
I should have done a live video from here and called it the Podcast. Next time.
WATERFALLS AND RAINBOWS: A TALE OF TWO BUS TRIPS
On the first trip, you're crammed in to a Mercedes mini-bus and given an audioguide. The windows are dirty. At one point, the tour guide actually says something. "There are lots of volcanoes around this lake." You take off the headphones and ask the tour guide, "Which one of those hills are volcanoes?" He simply says, "Oh, they're around here." The few minutes you're allowed at each tour stop, you run as far from the bus as possible and wonder at the waterfalls and geysers, like this one that you capture in slow-mo on your nearly dead phone.
Strokkur - notice the size of the people for comparison. Can you smell the sulphur and feel the heat? Strokkur is right beside Geysir, which is where we get the word "geyser." Geysir is now largely dormant. She blows her top occasionally,
Undaunted, you take a second trip. :)
On the second trip, you've got an entire row to yourself. And you've got Arnie, who used to work in banking but seems ordained by God as a bus tour guide. He gets to know everyone on the bus, will hike your right up to the edge of a glacier, and sings Icelandic lullabies on the way home. Look no further than this company if you want a good bus tour of the Golden Circle, and that includes some of the greatest wonder of North Sparkleland packed into a tidy 7-8 hour trip: https://bustravel.is/. The waterfalls are glorious. I won't even start. I'll just paraphrase what Byron said about them: "Today at the waterfall, a rainbow came down from Heaven to visit us."
Okay, maybe I'll say this about Seljalandsfoss, my favorite waterfall in Iceland. There's a great trail that loops behind and all the way around the waterfall. You'll want a rain jacket and swimsuit (picture below) to properly experience it. And if you catch Seljalandsfoss in the afternoon, you'll probably see a lovely rainbow in front, pictured below. Whenever I see something this magnificent, I never want one view. I watched people pile off buses, take a picture from one angle, and then head back to the bus. You can't capture a magnificent thing from only one angle. If given the chance, you encircle it because each angle makes it seem like a different thing, too majestic to view from one spot.
Don't you know this is true of so many things? Books, movies, cities, people. If we limit ourselves to one view, we've never really seen these things for what they are. In fact, it's this limited perspective that is most likely responsible for Iceland's name. Vikings, sailing along one coast, used it to navigate the route to Greenland, which had been named as a marketing ploy to get people to settle there. Makes sense. You'd sail right by Iceland to get to Greenland, too. However, if those sailors had seen the rest of it, they would have dropped anchor in my magical North Sparkleland long before they reached the rugged coast of Greenland.
Ah, yes, Seljalandsfoss. It literally means "selling the land of waterfalls." Now that's a well-named thing. Nice job, Iceland. I knew you'd come to your senses.
Signing off from Reykjavik, which means "Smoky Bay"(another story), from the comfort of my pod,
Adam
Seljalandsfoss - my favorite rainbow-infused waterfall. I wore my Mr. Swim swim trunks and waterproof jacket, so I got right behind the waterfall and enjoyed the heck out of the power of the water and the heavenly views.
Skógafoss - you can't walk behind the waterfall, but the rainbow will walk right up to you when the mist rolls your way. Having a rainbow on the end of my nose redefined the word dazzled for me - your eyes just don't know what to do with it.
Cliffs and coffee and black sand beaches.
Just cliffs.
Iceland loves hot dogs.
But I did not try this Krap.
That is a glacier covered in black sand.
TLC was wrong.
Bus Travel Iceland - Arnie the tour guide serenades us. POST RAMBLE
TLC will tell you "Don't go chasing waterfalls / please stick to the rivers and the streams that you're used to," but as I recall, and then I checked on Youtube, they are indeed dancing in front of a waterfall in the music video.
I am officially renaming Iceland. This should have been done long ago, in the same way we should rename killer whales. They're really the largest species of dolphins, and we all know that dolphins are both smart and friendly, much like the inhabitants of Iceland.
But I digress.
Iceland is heretofore known as Cold Hawaii. Or Hawaii North. Or North Sparkleland. Take your pick, but more people would have visited by now if someone in the anti-PR department hadn't taken to naming the place.
There, go visit, or at least read about it below.
- A
MAIN RAMBLE
A few weeks ago, Iceland "beat" Argentina in the World Cup. It was a 1-1 tie, really, but when you live in a country of 350,000, and your country's goalie is a filmmaker, and the other team's star player makes $40,000,000 a year, a tie is a win.
I didn't see the game. I was on a plane to Iceland as the game got underway. Halfway through my flight to KEF, the pilot announced the tie with Argentina was final. I wish I’d seen it, don’t know how they did it, but you should have heard the eruption of applause on the plane. It was a fortuitous beginning to this leg of the trip, and also a show of the unity this tiny country possesses.
Iceland also possesses natural wonder. Everyone has asked me since my return, "How cold was it?" My answer is, "Not cold enough to matter." It was summer solstice when I was there. The sun rose at 2:30am and set at midnight - that's a lot of daylight to keep you warm. So at the coldest? 40 degrees and rainy. At the warmest? 70 and sunny.
Not in the ice cave though. One attraction in Reykjavik is The Pearl, which sat on a hilltop above the hostel where I was staying. They've built an ice cave under the building, which stays a chilly 20 degrees all year long. It's packed with slightly warmer, cutting edge exhibits like a 3D puffin exhibit. You walk up to a fifty foot cliff wall full of fake puffins and fake puffin poop, but voila, when you peer at the wall through virtual reality glasses, suddenly puffins are whirling around overhead. That, along with some striking interactive maps of climate change in Iceland were the highlights for me. OH! And the coffee shop on top! With a 360 degree panorama of Reykjavik and the ocean, is not to be missed.
HOSTELS
Look. Let's get this straight. It's your choice.
OPTION 1: You can CHOOSE to spend all of your money on your own hotel room in Reykjavik.
OPTION 2: You can sleep in a futuristic pod for a third of the price and blow your money on travel and food.
I went out of my way to book a pod at the Pod Hostel in Reykjavik, in all honesty. You took the pod, right? How could you not? There's too much to gain in staying there. I'm fond of hostels, in general. If you're traveling solo, they make great sense. You meet people from around the world - Brazilian lawyers, wandering college students from Rice University, professors. And if you're staying at a hostel in Iceland, it's not like you wandered in there on a whim. No. You planned an epic adventure. You're good folks, and you're going to be up for hanging out with the likeminded.
Add captionAt any rate, in a nutshell, and not to ramble any longer about it, the pod hostel lived up to expectations. Upon check-in, your issued an access card. You walk down black chalkboard walls full of colorful graffiti - but mostly former occupant's Instagram usernames - and then swipe the card to enter your podroom. And...it's full of pods. 12-16, I would say, stacked in neat rows like bunk beds at summer camps. Only these bunks are mechanically sealed living quarters. You swipe your card and enter. There, you find a tidy, sizable bed, environmental controls, smart tv, and blazing fast wi-fi. It's the perfect escape from the midnight sun. You crash, and in crashing, feel like you may just Rip Van Winkle your way into the future. Hopefully, to quote Lord Byron, "God's in His kingdom; all's right with the world."
I should have done a live video from here and called it the Podcast. Next time. WATERFALLS AND RAINBOWS: A TALE OF TWO BUS TRIPS
On the first trip, you're crammed in to a Mercedes mini-bus and given an audioguide. The windows are dirty. At one point, the tour guide actually says something. "There are lots of volcanoes around this lake." You take off the headphones and ask the tour guide, "Which one of those hills are volcanoes?" He simply says, "Oh, they're around here." The few minutes you're allowed at each tour stop, you run as far from the bus as possible and wonder at the waterfalls and geysers, like this one that you capture in slow-mo on your nearly dead phone.
Strokkur - notice the size of the people for comparison. Can you smell the sulphur and feel the heat? Strokkur is right beside Geysir, which is where we get the word "geyser." Geysir is now largely dormant. She blows her top occasionally, Undaunted, you take a second trip. :)
On the second trip, you've got an entire row to yourself. And you've got Arnie, who used to work in banking but seems ordained by God as a bus tour guide. He gets to know everyone on the bus, will hike your right up to the edge of a glacier, and sings Icelandic lullabies on the way home. Look no further than this company if you want a good bus tour of the Golden Circle, and that includes some of the greatest wonder of North Sparkleland packed into a tidy 7-8 hour trip: https://bustravel.is/. The waterfalls are glorious. I won't even start. I'll just paraphrase what Byron said about them: "Today at the waterfall, a rainbow came down from Heaven to visit us."
Okay, maybe I'll say this about Seljalandsfoss, my favorite waterfall in Iceland. There's a great trail that loops behind and all the way around the waterfall. You'll want a rain jacket and swimsuit (picture below) to properly experience it. And if you catch Seljalandsfoss in the afternoon, you'll probably see a lovely rainbow in front, pictured below. Whenever I see something this magnificent, I never want one view. I watched people pile off buses, take a picture from one angle, and then head back to the bus. You can't capture a magnificent thing from only one angle. If given the chance, you encircle it because each angle makes it seem like a different thing, too majestic to view from one spot.
Don't you know this is true of so many things? Books, movies, cities, people. If we limit ourselves to one view, we've never really seen these things for what they are. In fact, it's this limited perspective that is most likely responsible for Iceland's name. Vikings, sailing along one coast, used it to navigate the route to Greenland, which had been named as a marketing ploy to get people to settle there. Makes sense. You'd sail right by Iceland to get to Greenland, too. However, if those sailors had seen the rest of it, they would have dropped anchor in my magical North Sparkleland long before they reached the rugged coast of Greenland.
Ah, yes, Seljalandsfoss. It literally means "selling the land of waterfalls." Now that's a well-named thing. Nice job, Iceland. I knew you'd come to your senses.
Signing off from Reykjavik, which means "Smoky Bay"(another story), from the comfort of my pod,
Adam
Seljalandsfoss - my favorite rainbow-infused waterfall. I wore my Mr. Swim swim trunks and waterproof jacket, so I got right behind the waterfall and enjoyed the heck out of the power of the water and the heavenly views.
Skógafoss - you can't walk behind the waterfall, but the rainbow will walk right up to you when the mist rolls your way. Having a rainbow on the end of my nose redefined the word dazzled for me - your eyes just don't know what to do with it.
Cliffs and coffee and black sand beaches.
Just cliffs.
Iceland loves hot dogs.
But I did not try this Krap.
That is a glacier covered in black sand.
TLC was wrong.
Bus Travel Iceland - Arnie the tour guide serenades us. POST RAMBLETLC will tell you "Don't go chasing waterfalls / please stick to the rivers and the streams that you're used to," but as I recall, and then I checked on Youtube, they are indeed dancing in front of a waterfall in the music video.
June 28, 2018
A Brief Story That Is Not About Paris
Written in a cafe in the 9th Arrondisement of Paris near Sacre Coeur. They sold their last chocolate croissants right before my eyes, so I'm trying to keep a brave face.
Here is a brief story that is not about Paris.
I missed my British Airways connection to Paris by seconds. Seconds! Just one more sprint down a corridor might have landed me on the plane, but as it sat there just a few feet away, I knew it was a lost cause. I cursed my bad luck, but threw on a smile and marched over to the British Airways help desk in hopes of a meal voucher, which, after some discussion, appeared. Still, mere seconds, just a few quicker steps, if that man hadn't unloaded the entire contents of his bag to reach his liquids at security, if only I'd split the massive horde of tourists in two, I would've been on that plane and not stuck at the airport for another four hours.
I thought that surely my love for Paris would sway the odds in my favor or stay the pilot's hand: maybe a door would jam, or there would be an insignificant problem that would slow the plane's roll just enough to let the plucky Yank on board. Like, they'd forgotten to top off the tanks or misplaced their store of Earl Grey tea. Alas, it wasn't to be.
But this is not about Paris. I swear.
I have a hunch. Now that I think about it, Paris probably knew what I tell you now.
I fell in love with Prague.
View from the Panorama Cafe, a peaceful rooftop patio. The first drink is free if you're staying at any Czech Inn hotel.I never set foot in a bus, tram, or train once I arrived. Prague is completely walkable, and I walked it: Old Town, with its bars and cafes; New Town, home of Prague Castle, up to the park beside the castle; down to the lovely riverfront. Oh! I didn't walk on water. I boarded a tour boat and had a drink with two English travelers, and as we made our way down the Vltava River, admiring the unparalleled variety of architectures present - Medieval, Cubist, Brutalist - Sue shared with me her experience here when Prague was under Communist rule.
Breakfast at the Cafe Louvre: Kafka and Einstein regularly met at "circles" here to talk about literature and physics, respectively. I made a Mimosa. :)
The National Opera (Narodni Divaldo): the best seats are only $35 US. I saw a ballet entitled "Tremble."I walked through Wencelas Square, full of shops and streets vendors where a generation ago people endured beatings for shouting the word "Freedom!" Communism now dead, liberty abounds in this riverside city.
Street vendors.Prague is inexpensive and friendly. (I never spent more than $25 on a meal, and I tried.) The older Czechs learned Russian because their country accepted communism. The younger Czechs learned English because their countrymen returned to Western ideals after a short darkness under an iron curtain of their own making. To see a city where in the midst of relighting the flame of freedom is inspiring - I won't apologize for my melodramatics. I walked their streets for days, admiring the return to splendor that is today's Prague.
Culture? Czech. Great food? Czech. Public transport? Czech. Hotels, castles, cafes, riverboat rides, the Museum of Communism, which inspired this post? Czech, Czech, Czech. #puns #sorrynotsorry
I prefer castles from a distance, but I hear the inside of this one will bring your childhood fairytales to life.I have one story to relate to you. One day, during the communist era, the premier became upset that the locksmith had not more quickly fixed his door. He told the locksmith, "Surely I could do this faster." To which the locksmith replied, "You're right, sir. Because you are a locksmith by trade, and I was a university professor." I've never wanted to use my freedom more than after hearing that story.
Entrance to the Museum of Communism.Communism has no need of a person's individual genius. The rule is more important than the individual being ruled. My job - teacher, writer, consultant, whatever else - would never have existed, and I can only think of those millions of other people, like the professor, who were relegated to roles never meant for them, where they struggled to mold themselves into misshapen forms that this odd machine would accept.
I am proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free.
If you've got questions about Prague, let me know. Up next, Iceland, but enough for today. I've got to go find that final, elusive chocolate croissant.
Communist beer. (Museum has a sense of humor)
A bit better: a bar, also an art deco wonderland.
Highly recommend the Hotel Adler. Standout breakfast, snacks in the afternoon, free coffee, and beer for one euro. Check google for rates, but booking.com had it for least for me.
Wonderful quote.
Here is a brief story that is not about Paris.
I missed my British Airways connection to Paris by seconds. Seconds! Just one more sprint down a corridor might have landed me on the plane, but as it sat there just a few feet away, I knew it was a lost cause. I cursed my bad luck, but threw on a smile and marched over to the British Airways help desk in hopes of a meal voucher, which, after some discussion, appeared. Still, mere seconds, just a few quicker steps, if that man hadn't unloaded the entire contents of his bag to reach his liquids at security, if only I'd split the massive horde of tourists in two, I would've been on that plane and not stuck at the airport for another four hours.
I thought that surely my love for Paris would sway the odds in my favor or stay the pilot's hand: maybe a door would jam, or there would be an insignificant problem that would slow the plane's roll just enough to let the plucky Yank on board. Like, they'd forgotten to top off the tanks or misplaced their store of Earl Grey tea. Alas, it wasn't to be.
But this is not about Paris. I swear.
I have a hunch. Now that I think about it, Paris probably knew what I tell you now.
I fell in love with Prague.
View from the Panorama Cafe, a peaceful rooftop patio. The first drink is free if you're staying at any Czech Inn hotel.I never set foot in a bus, tram, or train once I arrived. Prague is completely walkable, and I walked it: Old Town, with its bars and cafes; New Town, home of Prague Castle, up to the park beside the castle; down to the lovely riverfront. Oh! I didn't walk on water. I boarded a tour boat and had a drink with two English travelers, and as we made our way down the Vltava River, admiring the unparalleled variety of architectures present - Medieval, Cubist, Brutalist - Sue shared with me her experience here when Prague was under Communist rule.
Breakfast at the Cafe Louvre: Kafka and Einstein regularly met at "circles" here to talk about literature and physics, respectively. I made a Mimosa. :)
The National Opera (Narodni Divaldo): the best seats are only $35 US. I saw a ballet entitled "Tremble."I walked through Wencelas Square, full of shops and streets vendors where a generation ago people endured beatings for shouting the word "Freedom!" Communism now dead, liberty abounds in this riverside city. 
Street vendors.Prague is inexpensive and friendly. (I never spent more than $25 on a meal, and I tried.) The older Czechs learned Russian because their country accepted communism. The younger Czechs learned English because their countrymen returned to Western ideals after a short darkness under an iron curtain of their own making. To see a city where in the midst of relighting the flame of freedom is inspiring - I won't apologize for my melodramatics. I walked their streets for days, admiring the return to splendor that is today's Prague. Culture? Czech. Great food? Czech. Public transport? Czech. Hotels, castles, cafes, riverboat rides, the Museum of Communism, which inspired this post? Czech, Czech, Czech. #puns #sorrynotsorry
I prefer castles from a distance, but I hear the inside of this one will bring your childhood fairytales to life.I have one story to relate to you. One day, during the communist era, the premier became upset that the locksmith had not more quickly fixed his door. He told the locksmith, "Surely I could do this faster." To which the locksmith replied, "You're right, sir. Because you are a locksmith by trade, and I was a university professor." I've never wanted to use my freedom more than after hearing that story. 
Entrance to the Museum of Communism.Communism has no need of a person's individual genius. The rule is more important than the individual being ruled. My job - teacher, writer, consultant, whatever else - would never have existed, and I can only think of those millions of other people, like the professor, who were relegated to roles never meant for them, where they struggled to mold themselves into misshapen forms that this odd machine would accept.I am proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free.
If you've got questions about Prague, let me know. Up next, Iceland, but enough for today. I've got to go find that final, elusive chocolate croissant.
Communist beer. (Museum has a sense of humor)
A bit better: a bar, also an art deco wonderland.
Highly recommend the Hotel Adler. Standout breakfast, snacks in the afternoon, free coffee, and beer for one euro. Check google for rates, but booking.com had it for least for me.
Wonderful quote.June 19, 2018
The Grand Tour, Week Two: Switzerland
Half of my blog posts go unpublished. Half of the words in the published posts get cut. At best, they reappear in my poems, short stories, or as places and things that Tully Harper experiences. At any rate, I’ve written a number of posts about France - and a number of poems and short stories - but here’s my first published post.
A Rainy Day in the Life.
Most times I find it more compelling to talk about what I see rather than how I travel, but the travel receives the spotlight this time, simply because I’m using the Swiss Pass to navigate this beautiful country. There was a “5 day for 4 days’ price” sale on the pass, and I took the opportunity to purchase the first-class pass, which gives access to nearly every type of Swiss mobilization imaginable: cable car, funicular, bus, train, cow, rolling wheel of cheese, giant chocolate bar. You name it and you can ride it with a Swiss Pass.*
It allowed one particularly good moment of serendipity a few days ago. It happened near Gimmelwald in the Yungfrau Region of Switzerland. God took more liberties in designing Switzerland than I care to elaborate just now. It’s a beautiful valley nestled between famous peaks. I could describe it to you, but why don’t you just read Tolkien’s description of Rivendell, where the elves live? Or if you’re feeling lazy, just google it or watch the movies. It’s all waterfalls, flowery meadows, cows, and snowcapped peaks. You get the idea.
So I hiked all morning through an Alpine forest, which swung behind a waterfall at one point. It seems the Swiss took as many liberties as God when designing their trails. They’re well-marked and peppered with grand waterfalls and vistas as well as rustic restaurants and inns.
Then it began to rain. Visions of summiting Bryndli, a nearby peak, quickly vanished with a clap of thunder. I’ve got a lot of things on my bucket list, but taking a bolt of lightning in the bucket certainly isn’t one of them.
I took refuge at the nearest cable car station on the mountain. That may sound like roughing it, but it’s not. The Murren cable car stop has a full restaurant with a great coffee and beer bar, a Swiss Army knife and knickknack store, and live webcam views of the summit of the Schilthorn, the Piz Gloria. Rising 2677M above sea level, the summit offers a stunning 360 view of Europe’s most famous peaks, such as the Eiger and Mont Blanc. It was also a free trip courtesy of the Swiss Pass, so after grabbing a beer, a “fit salad,” and a not-so-fit ham and cheese sandwich, I swallowed my pride and hopped on the cable car to the top. I like the idea of earning a summit view as a hiker rather than a tourist. And what’s more, panoramic views don’t mean much when you’re standing in the middle of a cloud.
I flashed my pass, wedged myself into the selfie stick wielding masses, and headed to Birg, the only stop between Murren and the summit. Our cable car lurched about in the rain and clouds on its way up the mountain. It was packed with tourists, mainly Chinese and Indian, and I stood a head taller than most of the other passengers, which gave me a great view of the verdant valley below. Looking down, I could see the path I took many years ago on my only ascent of this peak. I remembered seeing the cable cars full of people swinging above my head on that sunny day and thinking, “Why would you want to dangle your way from a string up the mountain instead of climb it?” Today, watching the swollen gray rivers barrel down the mountain, seeing the snow banks rendering the climb impassible, dangling seemed like the next best option. My heart was heavy. I’d come all this way to climb the Schilthorn, but it wouldn’t happen today or even this month. Moments like this beg the question: “Why do all of this rambling around the world anyway?” Moments like this, you don’t look for an answer. You just keep moving and see what happens next. You ignore that feeling in your gut that says, “Wasted time, my friend. Wasted time,” though it does rumble in the back of the mind.
So we reached Birg, the door opened, and out spilled the selfie stick warlords. Most of them made a bee-line for that final cable car to Schilthorn, a few stopped for souvenirs or snacks, and I popped into the bathroom to use the air dryer on my not-so-waterproof jacket and ailing iPhone. On the way out of the bathroom, I noticed raindrops still studded the webcam at the summit. Chances of a view were slim.
Chances of a thrill were high at Birg though. Surprisingly, this halfway point up the mountain had its own attraction. If I had wanted to get soaked and scared, I could’ve ventured on to a metal grated walkway the Swiss had built under the cable car on the side of the cliff wall. There, you could walk not only on grated metal - thrilling enough - but there was also a slick glass section, a metal tubing portion, and even a mesh tube to crawl through, all with a grand view of the surrounding peaks as well as the base of the cliff wall several hundred feet below. Alas, the rain came down, so I didn’t have to disprove my bravery.
I waited for the next cable car to the top with a family from Florida. We chatted about our trips to far as well as the weather here and last year’s weather back home. Floridians understand hurricanes as well as Texans, and I was touched that their teenage daughter contributed some of her own money to Hurricane Harvey relief efforts. After a while, the cable car appeared out of the mist. We boarded and headed to the summit.
The summit. I’d climbed the Schilthorn, as I mentioned, many moons ago. It took 5 hours to climb but only 30 minutes by cable car. I watched the altimeter inside the car count down the meters up the mountain, felt my water bottle expand, and smirked as the stick bandits oohed and ahhed each time the cable car bounded over a ridge.
I checked the schilthornbahn.ch to see the summit view. As expected, practically gray out conditions. We reached the top and my eyes confirmed suspicions. 36 degrees, windy, and raining.
Did I mention I was wearing shorts? No, not until now.
Fortunately the top had its other charms. In 1968, Hollywood came to the Schilthorn. For a rather terrible James Bond film, Hollywood used the brand-new Schilthorn restaurant as a Bond villain’s base. The Swiss have immortalized this movie with a James Bond Museum on top of the summit, complete with a cinema and all sort of Bond-related activities! It feels ridiculous, out of place, but somehow charming. I mean, which would you emphasize? The fact that this area inspired the Lord of the Rings or the one 1960’s Bond movie starring someone NOT named Sean Connery? It took my mind off the miserable weather outside for a while, as did the chocolate bar I purchased in the summit store.
I waited around for an hour or so, updating my Instagram story and Facebook posting, things I could do on a rainy day on my couch in Houston. Finally, realizing the clouds wouldn’t break, I braved the elements, snapped a few blurry pics on the viewing platform and headed back down. You don’t come to Switzerland for Bond museums. You come for views. INSERT PICS.
Expectations can cloud the experience at hand, can’t they? As a Christian, I should know this. The disciples expected Jesus to ride in to Jerusalem and overthrow the Roman rule. He showed up on a donkey. My savior wouldn’t call down thunder and lightning on sinners when his disciples begged him to do so. Instead, he shrugged them off and nicknamed them, “The sons of thunder.”
He sometimes gives us clouds when we expect sunshine, and when clouds, the sun appears.
So I descended to Murren with a heavy heart, I suppose, about as heavy as I could muster here in the high mountain air. I only had two days in Rivendell. Frodo and company hung out there for a bit longer and wanted to linger as well, but the road goes forever on. Would I ever see that mountain view that marveled me so many years ago?
And yet, upon descending from Murren, I noticed the sky grew lighter. And lighter.
I checked the cams on my phone again, and they showed clouds, but sure enough, I saw patches of blue sky above Birg. The summit looked the same. Hmmmm. Existential questions. Wasted time if I went back up and it clouded over. Wasted time if I hiked back to Gimmewald and the sun came out. Time redeemed if I recovered my tracks and the sun appeared.
I went with option three.
And option became a real joy. (See below.) It’s a treat when the road - or the Universe - rises up to meet you.
:)
The sky doesn’t always clear. Clouds appear out of nowhere no matter how well we laid our plans. Being able to deal constructively with reality is not always my strong suit, but I’m trying to make it so, especially as I meet so many people who do. My parents in recovering from Hurricane Harvey. My mom in her battle with cancer. My friends that fight through low points in their marriages. Travelers who shrug at foul weather and curl up with a book or a guitar.
Seamus Heaney wrote in his poem “North” to “expect not revelation but auroral borealis.” I’m paraphrasing but hopefully capturing something from the poem for myself. We can only hope for the best and accept the outcomes of our best laid plans and efforts.
It’s raining again. I left the Mountain Hostel early and, thanks to the Swiss pass, am now coasting happily across the countryside, watching the rain drench the crops and knocking out a new post for the blog (or maybe just for myself). My head aches a little - not enough coffee. My stomach rumbles - maybe a bad egg I ate yesterday. But those things won’t color the lovely green and gray palate God has laid before me today. A blue sky is always hanging above it all, and whether it appears or not is not for me to say. Regardless of the weather, I’m riding the Golden Rail today. I know that sounds poetic, but it’s just the name of the train to Montreux. It’s packed with more selfie sticks than an Amazon warehouse, but I found a seat beside their baggage with a bay window view of the valleys in the rain.
How are the skies in your neighborhood today?
Next stop: to see a good friend from my last trip to Switzerland. Then, on to Iceland.
Love and rockets,
- A
*Swiss Rail Pass Exception: the trip to the “Top of Europe” in the Yungfrau Region costs an added $200 or so, but that’s only worthwhile in perfect weather.
Yungfrau Region Recommendations: Visit the Yungfrau region of Switzerland. You'll only need 3-4 days to do it and do it well. It's like Yosemite National Park, but with a softer edge and more waterfalls. Did I mention it inspired JRR Tolkien as he was creating Rivendell, where the elves live?
EAT: Oberland Hotel Restaurant (Lauterbrunnen) - eat the brosti.
SEE: Trammelbachfall - a monstrous inside the mountain waterfall, coming straight off a glacier.
STAY: Mountain Hostel or Esther’s Guesthouse (Gimmewald) - two options for lodging in Gimmewald, a carless agricultural paradise that makes a great base for hiking. Hostel if you’re up for a younger crowd and a good time. Esther’s if you want a mellower environment.
DO: Any hike you want.
June 17, 2018
POEM: I'm traveling alone, except...
I'm traveling alone,
except for the two Swedes who got lost with me in the woods on our way to a secluded beach tucked between two cliffs in the South of France, whom I drove down the side of a cliff in the middle of the night to get them to their hostel nearly four hours away,
except for my good friend who showed me Sion, her favorite town in Switzerland, where we hiked to the ruins of a castle and talked about life over pizza and wine,
except for the mountains and sunshine breaking through the clouds,
except for the older Russian woman at the bus stop who smiled and said, "See, I travel, you travel. We help each other in space. We are not so different."
except for the two girls, Spain and Italy, who danced until 3am,
except for the older man from North Carolina who never traveled abroad in his life and was now eating fish soup with me at the counter on Iceland Independence Day, whose wife and grandson were along for the ride, and the parade was outside, the rock band in the back of the truck, the woman on stilts, the protesters, the jugglers, the children in red capes posing for photos,
except for Hallgrímskirkja, the towering church in Reykjavik, where I thought of my parents and bought them a gift and heard the church bells ringing across the harbor, back toward where my bag is locked away with too much room for many gifts so I'll hand out pics and words and stories when it's the right time to give of this trip that I've taken all by myself,
except, except, except,
I've never traveled alone.
God.
He traveled alone for a time so I wouldn't have to, and neither do you.
except for the two Swedes who got lost with me in the woods on our way to a secluded beach tucked between two cliffs in the South of France, whom I drove down the side of a cliff in the middle of the night to get them to their hostel nearly four hours away,
except for my good friend who showed me Sion, her favorite town in Switzerland, where we hiked to the ruins of a castle and talked about life over pizza and wine,
except for the mountains and sunshine breaking through the clouds,
except for the older Russian woman at the bus stop who smiled and said, "See, I travel, you travel. We help each other in space. We are not so different."
except for the two girls, Spain and Italy, who danced until 3am,
except for the older man from North Carolina who never traveled abroad in his life and was now eating fish soup with me at the counter on Iceland Independence Day, whose wife and grandson were along for the ride, and the parade was outside, the rock band in the back of the truck, the woman on stilts, the protesters, the jugglers, the children in red capes posing for photos,
except for Hallgrímskirkja, the towering church in Reykjavik, where I thought of my parents and bought them a gift and heard the church bells ringing across the harbor, back toward where my bag is locked away with too much room for many gifts so I'll hand out pics and words and stories when it's the right time to give of this trip that I've taken all by myself,
except, except, except,
I've never traveled alone.
God.
He traveled alone for a time so I wouldn't have to, and neither do you.
TRAVEL POEM: I'm traveling alone, except...
I'm traveling alone,
except for the two Swedes who got lost with me in the woods on our way to a secluded beach tucked between two cliffs in the South of France, whom I drove down the side of a cliff in the middle of the night to get them to their hostel nearly four hours away,
except for my good friend who showed me Sion, her favorite town in Switzerland, where we hiked to the ruins of a castle and talked about life over pizza and wine,
except for the mountains and sunshine breaking through the clouds,
except for the older Russian woman at the bus stop who smiled and said, "See, I travel, you travel. We help each other in space. We are not so different."
except for the two girls, Spain and Italy, who danced until 3am,
except for the older man from North Carolina who never traveled abroad in his life and was now eating fish soup with me at the counter on Iceland Independence Day, whose wife and grandson were along for the ride, and the parade was outside, the rock band in the back of the truck, the woman on stilts, the protesters, the jugglers, the children in red capes posing for photos,
except for Hallgrímskirkja, the towering church in Reykjavik, where I thought of my parents and bought them a gift and heard the church bells ringing across the harbor, back toward where my bag is locked away with too much room for many gifts so I'll hand out pics and words and stories when it's the right time to give of this trip that I've taken all by myself,
except, except, except,
I've never traveled alone.
God.
He traveled alone for a time so I wouldn't have to, and neither do you.
except for the two Swedes who got lost with me in the woods on our way to a secluded beach tucked between two cliffs in the South of France, whom I drove down the side of a cliff in the middle of the night to get them to their hostel nearly four hours away,
except for my good friend who showed me Sion, her favorite town in Switzerland, where we hiked to the ruins of a castle and talked about life over pizza and wine,
except for the mountains and sunshine breaking through the clouds,
except for the older Russian woman at the bus stop who smiled and said, "See, I travel, you travel. We help each other in space. We are not so different."
except for the two girls, Spain and Italy, who danced until 3am,
except for the older man from North Carolina who never traveled abroad in his life and was now eating fish soup with me at the counter on Iceland Independence Day, whose wife and grandson were along for the ride, and the parade was outside, the rock band in the back of the truck, the woman on stilts, the protesters, the jugglers, the children in red capes posing for photos,
except for Hallgrímskirkja, the towering church in Reykjavik, where I thought of my parents and bought them a gift and heard the church bells ringing across the harbor, back toward where my bag is locked away with too much room for many gifts so I'll hand out pics and words and stories when it's the right time to give of this trip that I've taken all by myself,
except, except, except,
I've never traveled alone.
God.
He traveled alone for a time so I wouldn't have to, and neither do you.
June 16, 2018
The Grand Tour, Week One: The South of France
It doesn't matter who you are. It matters who you are where you are. - a wise old Italian man.
I brought three journals with me on the adventure - two for reflection, one for writing. I found this quote while thumbing through the earliest of those journals while drinking coffee after lunch in Antibes, a mid-sized town on La Cote d'Azur. There's nothing to do between 1-2pm. The Picasso Museum is closed noon-2pm (my primary interest), and the morning market shuts down for the afternoon. Only the many cafes surrounding the market buzz with conversation and activity. A group of Brazilian acrobats throws down some amazing tricks, all the more impressive on ancient cobblestone, to muted interest from a lazy lunch crowd drinking their coffee. And I'm reading my journal.
I've traveled a great deal in my life, starting as a lover of roadtrips to Tennessee in the backseat of a Chevy Caprice Classic, where teen Adam enjoyed the company of a jambox and a Bon Jovi tape to keep him company because his parents simply weren't cutting it. Later I graduated to a trip through New Mexico with my mom, where we endured the spiciest food on Earth and saw marvels of the Southwest. Then on to Japan as a missionary, saying howdy y'all to the students I met at Chiba University, then as a backpacker up Mount Kilimanjaro, a backpacker in Europe, and on and on until now, as a writer on the road in the south of France.
It doesn't matter who you are. It matters who you are where you are.
People view vacations as breaks from their regular routine, and maybe even their regular selves. I agree with the former, and have seen people do the latter many times. But what the wise old Italian man said to me many years ago has never fully left me, though I'd forgotten the quote until it came crashing back here today. He was, my note says, a self-proclaimed "tailor to the stars," who split his time between dressing celebrities in Hollywood and sitting peacefully on his town square sipping coffees, which is what I happened to be doing as I revisited his words in my journal. Either way, he was himself in both places, regardless of circumstance. That is a skill, I think, not one that all people value. As a solo traveler, I consider it important because being yourself, whether alone or in company, is a testament to who you are, and, in my case, a testament to the kingdom of the God Whose world this is.
Alone. I suppose as a Christian I never feel truly alone in the world, even when I am longing for companionship. Regardless, my sense of self isn't contingent on my circumstances. This is a pretty rough draft of all these ideas, but I think there's a connection between this idea and Paul's secret, which he shared in Philippians: 12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.
Anyway, a few thoughts for the morning.
Sante (to your health) from Monte Carlo! :)
I brought three journals with me on the adventure - two for reflection, one for writing. I found this quote while thumbing through the earliest of those journals while drinking coffee after lunch in Antibes, a mid-sized town on La Cote d'Azur. There's nothing to do between 1-2pm. The Picasso Museum is closed noon-2pm (my primary interest), and the morning market shuts down for the afternoon. Only the many cafes surrounding the market buzz with conversation and activity. A group of Brazilian acrobats throws down some amazing tricks, all the more impressive on ancient cobblestone, to muted interest from a lazy lunch crowd drinking their coffee. And I'm reading my journal.
I've traveled a great deal in my life, starting as a lover of roadtrips to Tennessee in the backseat of a Chevy Caprice Classic, where teen Adam enjoyed the company of a jambox and a Bon Jovi tape to keep him company because his parents simply weren't cutting it. Later I graduated to a trip through New Mexico with my mom, where we endured the spiciest food on Earth and saw marvels of the Southwest. Then on to Japan as a missionary, saying howdy y'all to the students I met at Chiba University, then as a backpacker up Mount Kilimanjaro, a backpacker in Europe, and on and on until now, as a writer on the road in the south of France.
It doesn't matter who you are. It matters who you are where you are.
People view vacations as breaks from their regular routine, and maybe even their regular selves. I agree with the former, and have seen people do the latter many times. But what the wise old Italian man said to me many years ago has never fully left me, though I'd forgotten the quote until it came crashing back here today. He was, my note says, a self-proclaimed "tailor to the stars," who split his time between dressing celebrities in Hollywood and sitting peacefully on his town square sipping coffees, which is what I happened to be doing as I revisited his words in my journal. Either way, he was himself in both places, regardless of circumstance. That is a skill, I think, not one that all people value. As a solo traveler, I consider it important because being yourself, whether alone or in company, is a testament to who you are, and, in my case, a testament to the kingdom of the God Whose world this is.
Alone. I suppose as a Christian I never feel truly alone in the world, even when I am longing for companionship. Regardless, my sense of self isn't contingent on my circumstances. This is a pretty rough draft of all these ideas, but I think there's a connection between this idea and Paul's secret, which he shared in Philippians: 12 I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. 13 I can do all this through him who gives me strength.
Anyway, a few thoughts for the morning.
Sante (to your health) from Monte Carlo! :)June 7, 2018
The Grand Tour 2018, Episode One: Points, Pics, and Inspiration
What would happen if I tried to use all of my British Airways points on one trip?
I asked myself that question around February of this past year while I was on a school snow day in Texas. School cancellation due to snow, in Houston of all places!, tends to beg such questions. After Hurricane Harvey and that bout of cold, my mind returned to a place I'd last seen at the tail end of winter and wanted to see in summer. But first, about the points...
I'd acquired lo these many miles on my trip to 2013 Europe when I opened a British Airways card. 50,000 miles for opening and 25,000 for spending a certain amount in a month. As I was headed to Switzerland at that time, spending "that certain amount" was not among my problems. I acquired the miles and busied myself with other things, like writing books, selling windows (another story altogether), and coaching.
And so the British Airways miles sat dormant in my account for a few years until this past February when the question arose. Snow in Houston tends to beg extravagant questions. I began to research and found that my miles would go farther in Europe than they would in the States. Hmmm....
The answer is, of course, finally here. I've flown halfway around the world to where I now sit - in a serviceable hotel in the south of France. Nice, to be exact, and after Nice, I'll be headed to the Chagall Museum, then a hilltop city, on through Monte Carlo, and finally rent a car for a drive up the coast to see what happens.
So, expect updates and pictures. Here's a few so far:
Color is inspiration.
All people's lives, when well lived, end up creating a chapel to the living God. That's what I get from seeing Matisse's Chapel in Vence and Chagall's Biblical paintings and stained glass, here reflecting on a piano.
Graffiti and me.
Who says the French aren't friendly? This is the South of France, and southern hospitality is as real here as in the States.
Still life with merengue puffs.
Cloudy afternoons so far.
Teenagers don't care. Here, making a splash at the end of the Promenade Anglais.
The right light for a light bite. And a drink.
Why did you decide to go to the beach halfway around the world? Why not head somewhere nearer to home?
I've asked myself that question many times, and the answer, in four parts, and in no particular order:1. I write fiction while traveling. I mean, in an airplane things come to me. I've already: - Planned a novel entitled "Tales from the Disappearing Locker." - Written a poem called "Coin Laundry and The Fifth Wonder." - Plotted the beginnings of the fourth Tully Harper book. 2. La Cote d'Azur has long been a haven for writers and artists. The poet Petrarch, impressionists like Picasso and Chagall, and the prodigal expat F. Scott Fitzgerald, writers have mined these blue waters, winding streets, and late-night bars and come away with gold. I enjoy panning in well-established places and returning to see what I find. 3. It's not as hot as Texas.4. Chocolate croissants.
Why do you travel? What is on your list? What inspired your last adventure?
I haven't quite managed to use all the points on this trip, but France, Switzerland, and Iceland seemed like enough for one Juneventure.
Expect more thoughts and pics, and let me know if you want to hear about anything else. I'm open to recommendations and more than willing to give them as well.
I asked myself that question around February of this past year while I was on a school snow day in Texas. School cancellation due to snow, in Houston of all places!, tends to beg such questions. After Hurricane Harvey and that bout of cold, my mind returned to a place I'd last seen at the tail end of winter and wanted to see in summer. But first, about the points...
I'd acquired lo these many miles on my trip to 2013 Europe when I opened a British Airways card. 50,000 miles for opening and 25,000 for spending a certain amount in a month. As I was headed to Switzerland at that time, spending "that certain amount" was not among my problems. I acquired the miles and busied myself with other things, like writing books, selling windows (another story altogether), and coaching.
And so the British Airways miles sat dormant in my account for a few years until this past February when the question arose. Snow in Houston tends to beg extravagant questions. I began to research and found that my miles would go farther in Europe than they would in the States. Hmmm....
The answer is, of course, finally here. I've flown halfway around the world to where I now sit - in a serviceable hotel in the south of France. Nice, to be exact, and after Nice, I'll be headed to the Chagall Museum, then a hilltop city, on through Monte Carlo, and finally rent a car for a drive up the coast to see what happens.
So, expect updates and pictures. Here's a few so far:
Color is inspiration.
All people's lives, when well lived, end up creating a chapel to the living God. That's what I get from seeing Matisse's Chapel in Vence and Chagall's Biblical paintings and stained glass, here reflecting on a piano.
Graffiti and me. 
Who says the French aren't friendly? This is the South of France, and southern hospitality is as real here as in the States. 
Still life with merengue puffs.
Cloudy afternoons so far. 
Teenagers don't care. Here, making a splash at the end of the Promenade Anglais.
The right light for a light bite. And a drink. Why did you decide to go to the beach halfway around the world? Why not head somewhere nearer to home?
I've asked myself that question many times, and the answer, in four parts, and in no particular order:1. I write fiction while traveling. I mean, in an airplane things come to me. I've already: - Planned a novel entitled "Tales from the Disappearing Locker." - Written a poem called "Coin Laundry and The Fifth Wonder." - Plotted the beginnings of the fourth Tully Harper book. 2. La Cote d'Azur has long been a haven for writers and artists. The poet Petrarch, impressionists like Picasso and Chagall, and the prodigal expat F. Scott Fitzgerald, writers have mined these blue waters, winding streets, and late-night bars and come away with gold. I enjoy panning in well-established places and returning to see what I find. 3. It's not as hot as Texas.4. Chocolate croissants.
Why do you travel? What is on your list? What inspired your last adventure?
I haven't quite managed to use all the points on this trip, but France, Switzerland, and Iceland seemed like enough for one Juneventure.
Expect more thoughts and pics, and let me know if you want to hear about anything else. I'm open to recommendations and more than willing to give them as well.
![[image error]](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b3/%D0%9A%D0%B0%D1%D1%D0%B0_%D0%9E%D0%B4%D0%B8%D0%BD%D0%BE%D0%BA%D0%BE%D0%B9_%D0%D0%BE%D1%D1%8B_.jpg){kind=link}
