Life Unraveled

I haven't been sure what to write since returning home to Oahu some twenty-three days ago. I actually haven't been very sure of anything, to be honest. Coherent thoughts have not been my forte. Neither has staying focused, motivated, or even remotely interested in anything for very long. At first I blamed it on the jetlag. Perfect scapegoat, that jetlag. It is scientific, hard to debate, and besides, it just made sense to everyone (including me). For several days after arriving home, I would need a power nap around 4pm. Sometimes those power naps turned into three or four hour extravaganzas. Oh well. It's just jetlag. Don't worry. No other explanation necessary. See how easy that was? Eventually I realized that my body was back on Hawaii time. However, things were still not quite right. I wasn't feeling anything. For me, that is the ultimate warning sign of trouble. I had my moments, but for some reason or another, I could never quite sustain any m...

Those black marks on the soles of my feet tell the story. It is not dirt, but the dark rubber remnants from the singular pair of flip flops that has accompanied me through twelve separate countries in just over three months. They look like a permanent fixture, these dark stains, as if a part of my cellular makeup, but they aren't. On the last day of a truly epic and thoroughly fascinating trip across Europe, I feel kind of proud of them. I will eventually scrub it all off, probably when I have access to a shower for more than a few minutes once I return home (hostels aren't conducive to long, luxurious fits of bathing, in case you wondered). Yes, these slippers were made for walking alright, and have certainly accumulated some mileage while endlessly pounding pavements, trudging through hot sand, dodging puddles, and occasionally trekking up a few steep hills in the blazing summer sun. They performed their job function admirably. They owe nothing to anyone. Yet I feel a s...

Let me get this out of the way first: Santorini's beauty made me cry. There, I said it. In a summer chock full of alternately interesting, dazzling, and thought-provoking European sights, this island of all islands goes instantly to the head of the pack. Santorini is a shimmering stunner, the sort of spectacle that generates a wave of awestruck, involuntary tears. It's that simple. But not the side of the island that I'm staying on, mind you. My hostel located in the hot, deserty town of Perivolos is merely a 15-minute bus ride away, but it's a world apart. There are no cliffs on this side, no magnificent vistas to take your breath away. A half-empty black sand beach is all there is to boast about over here--not as if that is anything to sneeze at--and it's the volcanic kind that I have seen during my years of living in Hawaii, but never quite like this. The dark gray sand stretches for miles, as far as the eyes can see. It may go all the way to Athens, I d...

The email said to look for a gray Mercedes van waiting outside the train station at Empoli, which would then shuttle us uphill to our hostel tucked away in the heart of Tuscany. It seemed like any other communication from a prospective accomodation, but one thing in particular caught my eye. This email was sent by a man who called himself Guido. Though we are in Italy, this name sends massive waves of cliches through my head, and each one leads to a smile. Guido? Tuscany? Mmm hmm. This was gonna be good. At around 8:15pm, I think I see my ride approaching. On cue, it stops right in front of the station, and shortly thereafter someone emerges from the driver side. My first view of this man confirms it for me. This has to be Guido. Out spills an older, lumbering walrus of a man, his thinning dark hair slicked back (as it should be), skin tan and leathery, with dark sunglasses covering about 3/4 of his face. "Guido?" I ask rather assuredly. He responds in a smoky ra...

Strolling around Nice, I can't help but envision a huge throwdown going on between Italy and France. Word on the European street is that these two heavyweights don't particularly like each other. True to form, after eight days in Italy, my first taste of France is jarring, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. If nothing else, these two distinct places seem to enjoy vying for the title of Most Influential European Country, and transitioning from one to another is proving to be not quite as easy as I thought it would be. Let me explain. You see, I think I must have gotten used to the daily "bongiorno", or the routine "ciao", or listening to the loud-talking, friendly locals speaking Italian at warp speed. Or eating food that had me oooohing and aaaahing several times a day, sometimes even to myself. Italy left an indelible impression on my brain, stomach and heart. There is a hypermasculinity that runs rampant throughout Italia that is both some...

Venice is almost unfathomable. Does this place actually exist? Emerging from the Santa Lucia train station, head turning wildly from side to side, I lose my breath a little. It's stunning, and every direction I look draws me deeper and deeper into the mystique of this trippy city. Water taxis are the rule, not cars or buses. Naturally there is water water everywhere, canals in every direction, complete with colorful buildings lined up on either side of them with a front row seat to all the action. Oh look, there's the trademark gondolas. And there are the tourists--lots and lots of them--all with similar expressions of disbelief on their faces. Believe it. Yep, Venice is real alright, and for me it's love at first sight. Perhaps none of this is exactly surprising. After all, Venice is one of the most beloved cities in all of Europe. But this is my first visit to Italy, aka "the homeland", the mothership where my ancestors came from, my family tree's...

Listening to your instincts while traveling does not just mean paying strict attention to your own gut feelings or hunches. It also means paying heed to every conversation you have along the way, giving credence to any advice that infiltrates your world, and knowing how to decipher what will work best for you versus what is simply another's (sometimes strong) personal opinion. My stop in Prague serves as Exhibit A of what can happen when you stay flexible and let your own internal strainer do the sifting. Once my filtering process was complete, what remained turn out to be a thoroughly enjoyable three days in the Czech Republic. Now, I must be honest here. The idea of going to Prague never even crossed my mind during the initial planning stages of this trip. But over time, everyone kept urging me to czech it out. I heard it all, from how cheap Prague is compared to the rest of Europe, to how incredibly beautiful and historic it is, and back again to how inexpensive it was to ...