Redemption in San Francisco

I woke up arriving at the San Francisco airport. My breath still characterized by the smell of acetone from an excessive amount of screwdrivers from the night before my 6.00 a.m flight from NYC. All paid with my dead-end accountant wage. Last thing I remember before taking off was a raven blocking my sight of the New York skyline, but my urge to rip it apart seems distant now.

 In SF airport I dragged my body outside, and as the first thing waved at a cabdriver. He stopped and the driver asked me where to, to which I replied, “just the centre.” The driver introduced himself. “Hi, I´m Scallion” His hair and skin approved the name. “Welcome to Sylvia!” he continued. He apparently named his cab. I repeated the gesture, “Jeff McClenna.” Scallion hinted that I was not from town and suggested to be my guide for the day. I approved in lack of better.

I was given a tour which began in Castro Street which flowed with rainbow patterns, amongst men wielding water guns which ejaculated towards the air in the epicentre of some parade, which contained no creatures of Venus. The freedom of these men seemed a distant privilege. Before moving on, my new acquaintance and I went for lunch in a small Italian restaurant named The House of Original where Scallion said, “here, my friend, La pasta de Lorenzo.” My first Italian meal and it was nothing like my usual pork and white potatoes.

       From there, my new acquaintance took me to a place I´ll soon forget. The smell of Italian garlic soon evaporated and was replaced by another herbal scent. Haight-Asbury, sharing the same exceptionally liberal atmosphere as Castro, was decorated by small groups of peacocking hippies hanging out in front of colourful local shops. Never had I seen anyone smoke a joint. No smoke had ever interfered with my lunges. In fact, Wall Street was more fast and hazardous, but I liked the turtles. Graffiti was a dominant art here and a big painting of a hummingbird caught my eye and ear.

In this street, the hub of the summer of love resonated the sounds of a band whose name spoke of a happy death. Scallion guided me through the masses of dancing bodies which had come to escape from an old country. I felt like a trespasser in this environment but my steps into this crowd kept resonating ‘come in we’re open’. An openness of love, of solidarity, a distant familiarity which the towers of Wall Street had choked out of me.

The detachment from my family became a regret. To lay off emotions of sympathy and empathy to make those crucial business deals, was a mistake. Instead I was now attached to the electrifying power cables of San Francisco. My encounter with this the alchemist had prolonged my life and Thomas Jefferson’s famous statement of pursuit of happiness is for me no longer the pursuit of riches but the pursuit of community.

Florida update!

Hey dad,

Just wanted to write you to tell you how things are going here in Florida.

It’s so beautiful here in Fort Myers, where Sandy lives. It crawls with herons by the lakes, and there are multiple signs saying “Please do not feed the alligators” it’s kinda funny and scary at the same time.

Mom and I rented a car and drove to Miami for one day. She had to pay attention to all the traffic signs saying “No outlets”, and  “No turn on red” cause traffic here is a bit crazy. We parked at Ocean Drive and went to South Beach, which was so lovely. We also went to Fort Myers beach, and I hoped we would see a lot of exotic animals, but all I saw was fish and seagulls.  A little disappointing, but on the way home, we went to McDonald’s and I saw armadillos outside, which was so awesome. You would never see that in New York.

The shopping opportunities are great here and everything is so cheap. One morning, mom went shopping with Sandy, while I was at home by the pool, and when she came home, she brought me the newly released “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child” which only cost half here, and Sandy bought a fake Mona Lisa painting for 10 dollars, just to put something on those bare walls in the corridor. So cheap! Another day, we went shopping at Miromar Outlets, an outdoor mall, where I got Chanel’s new lipstick, Rouge Allure, and some everyday basics, such as Venus shavers, sunscreen and so on. There was this little boy screaming “I’m hungry” and when he got a sandwich from his mom, he was attacked by a hoard of pigeons, haha!

I met two girls over here, Andrea and Ciara, who are so sweet! I have never met someone so eager to sit in the front seat of the car when we have to go somewhere! They always yell “Shotgun!” at exactly the same time. It is hilarious.

Sandy has been very productive. She put in a door under the stairs, so she can use it for storage. She didn’t have any help. She only asked her neighbour if she could borrow his saw, and went to buy screws and hinges, but otherwise she did the whole thing by herself. For New Years, Roger is making something with sweet potatoes and shallots and mom bought Ben & Jerry’s for dessert. Nothing huge, but I like it. I heard Christina, the young girl next door, talking about throwing a party in her garage, so I am going there. Don’t wanna sit with mom, Sandy and Roger, and listen to their doctor friends talk about kidney transplants – I would rather have beer and fried onion rings with people my age.

Anyway, all I really do is hang by the pool. The weather is so nice here. I’ll be landing in the John F. Kennedy airport on Wednesday 11 am, see you then!

Love you

A Trip to The Butcher

We stepped out of the train, and my heart was screaming of excitement. I couldn't believe that I was finally in Kasan, Russia. Unfortunately, we had no time to look around, we were already late; we had to visit Boris’ family before dinner, and I’ve heard a lot of good things about the Nemtsov’s family recipes, and I was ready to shovel their delicious meals down my throat. As we left the train station I stopped and noticed the architecture, I did not expect Russia to have such beautiful and odd buildings! Several buildings had domes, which reminded me of colorful Bermuda onions. Boris noticed how mesmerized I was and let out a nodding smile, indirectly saying "Yeah, I know, pretty sweet, huh?". My head was up in the sky, it was an amazing moment. However, Boris brought me back to Earth and noted we had to pick up a few things at the butcher shop for his mom before evening. At this moment, I knew that the trip to the butcher would be very quiet on his behalf, he usually is a pistol, although he quickly tends to get stressed when he is in hurry. We made haste and went deeper into the city, as we continued I noticed a gradual change in the architecture; the roads were narrower, the shops seemed smaller and more peculiar. Some of the employees were sitting on plastic chairs in front of the stores, there was even a beautiful statuette of a swan, which felt misplaced because it did not belong in such an area. We headed towards a small building, which had a large yellow symbol, and I could recognize that symbol from miles away; it was the McDonald’s M symbol, however, everything after the ‘M’ was in Russian, but they couldn’t fool me! I wasn’t expecting to eat right away, and although I was hoping for something more exotic, I could certainly settle for a burger right now. We were standing in front of the building. “We’re here”, he said satisfied and relieved, as he looked up at the large yellow sign. “We’re here?” I parroted surprised. He smiled and said: “This is the best butcher, we call him ‘The Golden Eagle’.” “Why?” I asked. “He always gets the freshest meat, and much faster than the rest of the butchers.” We entered the shop, and Boris immediately greeted the butcher and began making orders. While they were talking, I noticed there was a small Asian man sitting on a stool in the corner of the shop. He appeared to be hammered, as he was attempting to open his Pepsi can with a screwdriver while humming a strange melody. I heard an abrupt groan from the butcher, yelling: “WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, CHINESE NEW YEAR? BACK TO WORK!” His breath filled the room with the stench of old garlic, I headed for the exit to catch my breath. As I looked at the buildings, and people, I realized I wasn't hungry for food anymore. All along, I was hungry for new experiences, travel, and excitement.

A Trip to Copenhagen

A Trip to Copenhagen

In the afternoon I stepped out of the bus and into the streets of Copenhagen. My first though was that it was a scene taken right out of the Hunger Games. As I walked through the streets, I could hear conversations from the many people around me. “He is just the worst, such a douchebag!” “He really is”  “And he just treats me so bad” “It's so good that you got rid of him”“really!” “but I just have to” “there is nothing you HAVE to do”. These teenage girls sat talking about this young douchebag while eating their Cheasy skyr. Behind them I saw doves fighting for leftovers from the Burger King around the corner, where people were lining up in front of an elevator that was out of order. Further down one of the smaller streets a child riding a bike could be heard yelling “Look at me, look at me, I’m doing it!”, until the bicycle chain broke and the enthusiasm turned into crying. Some teenagers walked past her while discussing one of the girls’ broken nail, when suddenly a boy ran past them shouting “shotgun!”. On one side of the street, the local grocery store had put out spring onions, red onions and red potatoes, showcasing healthy living with Kennedy’s Irish Bar catching an early start on the other side of the street with Blackbird by Beatles on the speakers. Ironic. As I looked at the people there I saw everyone looking as if they were guarding their own personal ships as if they were all Jack Sparrow on the Black Pearl hanging onto their anchors in failed attempts to stay grounded. There at the end of the street was a stop sign, it was a dead end, but I was on foot, so I decided I would just keep going. If we had just stuck to walking there would be more than simply one way to choose on this earth. As I walked down all the roads I desired, the sun was starting to set over Copenhagen, and the darker it got, the more I wondered where the starry night had gone. Maybe it disappeared in pollution.

Starry night in London

Starry night in London

‘’Hurry up Mars, we’re running late,’’ my mom said while she was running around in the house to make sure, that we have everything that we needed for our trip to London. Our flight to London was at 14:15 so my mom ordered a cab to drive us to the JFK airport, but we had to make sure to be there in time because of the insane traffic in New York. The plane across the Atlantic was unbearable long, especially when I was seated next to a kid who kept saying “mommy, are we there yet?”. But the newly released “Black Bird” was shown on the way, which made the trip less boring.

When we arrived to London, the first thing we did was to find a Uber to drive us to our destination, The Kingfisher’s Inn, since it was impossible to find a taxi. Finally, we find an Uber driver, who could take us. He had a thick cockney accent and introduced himself as Screwdriver, where to my dad jokingly said his name was Hammer. The uber driver and my parents all found this funny, but I, however, found it embarrassing.  

Upon arriving to The Kingfisher’s Inn my dad called my uncle to tell him, that we had arrived to London and that everything went fine on the trip. My dad told him of the Hammer joke with the uber driver, which was so embarrassing I had to exit the room. I decided to go downstairs just to clear my mind and to get rid of my dad and his embarrassing jokes, that he makes all the time. Without even realizing where I was going I saw a Enter sign down to the reception, and I choose to sit there just to get some peace and quiet from my parents.

After making it through the first night in the same room as my parents I got to decide how to spend the day. The plan was to go shopping, but since my parents wanted to explore the city we went by foot from Croydon. My incompetent parents had not no clue as to how far this was, so we had to stop at a place called The Peacock Pub, where they had a pint while we waited for an uber that could take us the remaining miles. After a great deal of shopping we decided to go to Burger King for lunch. This month it was Hercules Theme, where the obvious choice would have been to get the kids menu with the Hercules toy, however, my dad made me try the British Styled Burger with owas, pearl onions and chips.

In the evening we had tickets to a play called “Pistol”. Already after the curtain falls I knew that I would be disappointed and rather watch a play about Twilight, since that would be a lot more interesting. After the play we went for a walk in the city of London because my parents wanted to see the statue of King Edward. While my parents were having a conversation about King Edward, I found myself looking at the starry night of London, hoping to return to London without my parents one day.

Backpacking in Ecudaor

It was 11 am, and the heat was consuming. I tried to get comfortable in my armchair underneath the parasol.

I grabbed a couple of Oreos from my bag and ate them in one bite while watching a Lady in Red (girl in a red swimsuit) buying a coconut with a straw from a moveable booth further down at the beach.

I had really been looking forward to spending time doing nothing but drinking and hanging on the beach all day. However, because Montañita is located so close to Equator, I couldn’t stay exposed to the sun for more than fifteen minutes without being burned to the ground.

A week had passed by since I’d left my travelling group without telling, and headed back towards the centre of the Quito. Before I knew it, I had taken the liberty of changing the original plan and postponed my trip to the rain forest, and instead taking a twelve-hour long bus ride to Montañita, a small coastal town located on the Peninsula of Santa Elena. 

The first thing I noticed was sand. The city was covered in it. The streets and even the floors in some bars and restaurants were covered in it. I had booked myself into a small hostel, where a small woman with tanned skin and yellow teeth showed me up on the top of the hostel where madrassas were lined up next to each other and covered with shackled mosquito nets. The canopy was in a desperate need of a fix: it was leaky several places, and a hammer, a drill and some paintbrushes were carelessly thrown next to the cabinets assigned for the guests.

Nevertheles, I would be traveling to the rain forest at some point. I mean fuck, I’m in my twenties. I need to get out and experience the world.

At the moment I was reading about he bird life in Amazonas, and I noticed a colourful bird named “Stinky Turkey”. The wildlife was sure more interesting than the birdlife back home consisting of nothing but blackbirds and woodpeckers.  

On my last night in Montañita I had my last supper: a portion of chicken soup with shallot and spring onion seasoned with coriander, and on the side: deep-fried sweet potato, and an offer of three buns for two

Two guys at the table next to my table, looking like they’d had the most horrible hangover, eating nothing but French fries.

“How are you? Feel like you’re recovering?”, one of them said. 

"Yeah, I’m don’t feel that nauseous anymore. Please explain to me again, what happened last night?”

The first guy rolled his eyes with exhaustion. 

"For fuck's sake, Tobes. Before I knew it, they'd carried you out through the emergency exit. Well, after you’d taken off that bucket trying to impersonate Lincoln with an AK64.

The other guy look at his friend, confused. 

"A broom", his friend explained, "You need to stop taking that shit, I’ve never seen a person's pupils that dilated before".

"It was a brownie, some dude sold it to me down the corner. What can I say, I was hungry."

A Mercenary of Unknown Origin and his First Day in Syria

At 5.30 am, Damascus International Airport looks like your typical, Mid-Eastern crater with its concrete rubble and dried-up human remains. The flight to Damascus is long and tedious at just about seven hours. Seven hours give you a lot of time to think about the sight that is going to meet you when you exit that godforsaken plane, and whatever you may have in mind it’s likely far more than you could ever anticipate. A few hours into the flight I heard two American gentlemen discuss the degree to which Damascus, and Syria in general, resembled a Hell on earth, and boy was I ever excited. Once I got off of the plane, the first thing I noticed was very much a Syrian specialty. The local birdlife is very rich, with American Drones hovering above once every few hours: within my first day in Damascus I had seen the MQ-1B Predator, the MQ-9 Reaper, and the much adored yet seldom seen RQ-4 Global Hawk. I tracked down some of my good friends at the nearest air base, and one of my favourite pieces of conversation included a small joke between tight friends: “What’s the difference between a syrian weapon factory and a school?” “I don’t know, I just fly the drone.” They were very delighted with themselves as they carried on in their daily routine, and I hurried myself on despite having a grand old time. Once I reached my own destination, dropping off my belongings at the barracks, I went to the cantina. A warm waft of mashed potatoes and such classics as Boyardee’s spaghetti and meatballs met my nose, and this brought me back instantly. It brought me back to my favourite times when the drill sergeant would drag us from the lunch table at the top of the day for us to take a ten mile hike. As I sat and ate my favourite canned Springfield’s green beans, I noticed a sign by the opposite end of the dining hall. The sign informed all soldiers not to enter into the centre of Damascus on their own, and that any and all trespasses after curfew would see punishment. I found myself grinning as I imagined what delightful scenes one might find in central Damascus at night, as it sure is a vibrant and lively city centre. Of course I went into town that first night, but as every place of social engagement had “No women allowed” signs plastered all over them, I quickly changed my mind. Middle-eastern women are true beauties, and I was sorely disappointed. I had been looking forward to having lipstick smears all over my scruffy neck. I passed a local bookstore that was nearly unburnt and I spotted a pristine copy of my favourite collection of tales, and I must recommend this to any and all who like a good bit of short form suspense: 1001 Nights is brilliant writing. This discovery inspired my curiosity and I decided on getting to know a bit more about the surroundings in which I now found myself. I had read of the prophet Muhammad and his political advances, and I found it all very intriguing. After a quick visit to the local, nearly unscathed hardware store, which appeared to be having a sale by the looks of the big yellow sign, I went to the tents that acted as the children’s hospital. When I arrived with the lighters, spoons, and tubes of glue, the children ran out to meet me - those with legs of course. I sat down to talk to a young boy named Rahim, and he kept asking me if I knew Cristiano Ronaldo. I grew tired of his questioning rather quickly and went inside to see the lazy children. I felt somewhat bad about this assumption as it turned out that most of these kids had no remaining limbs. A third child tugged on my shirt and asked me if I wanted some soup. I gladly said yes and took a bowl. However, after a spoonfull it occurred to me that the only ingredients in there were shallots, and spring onions, thus making me feel instant regret about eating any of it. I said my most polite farewells and shuffled back out of the tent, knocking over a one-legged kid by mistake. Luckily for me, it seemed he couldn’t talk and I hurried away. An unbroken street lamp highlighted my favourite painting of Assad. These were all over the city, but that did not make them any less beautiful. After having spent most of my first night in town, I was absolutely exhausted. I snuck back into the barracks and found my beloved, trustworthy L85 lying by my bed. I caressed her cool stock and went to bed, happy with knowing I was finally there, right in the middle of it all.