Fall down seven times, get up eight.
Enough said.
Me and my cousins on Coronet Peak, Queenstown:
QUEENSTOWN ROCKS!!
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Showing posts with label video. Show all posts
Showing posts with label video. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Snowboarding and the Art of Perseverance II: LYNCHMOB
QUEENSTOWN ROCKS!!
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
In Search of the Great Aussie/Russian Monkeyman...
There is a local myth of an Apeman roaming the Noosa hinterlands.
I went in search of this mythical creature, and narrowly escaped with my life...
I went in search of this mythical creature, and narrowly escaped with my life...
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
World Thong Throwing Championships!
STAY TUNED FOR THE COMPLETE EPISODE...
On Sunday I was lucky enough to be included in the field of international competitors for the 30th Annual World Thong Throwing Championships as part of the King of the Mountain Race at Pomona in the Noosa Hinterlands.
The competition was fierce, with the former Junior Champion making an impressive return after a twenty-year absence. The American Champ even flew 22 hours non-stop to be Pomona in time for the event, and late in the day controversy erupted as rumors of performance-ehancement usage led to random drug-testing...
My training and technique was clearly lacking, leading to an early elimination at the hands of an intimidating curly-haired-eight-year-old [you can catch a glimpse of him in the trailer]. Luckily, my uncle was on hand to put on a good showing for the Lynches, beating out the eight-year-old's throw by a few inches.
Stay tuned for the complete webisode to be posted soon!
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Saturday, June 6, 2009
Tasmania: Day 3 - "Guns Don't Kill People; People With Moustaches Kill People."
Theme [Road Trip] Songs For The Day:
ROADTRIPS ROCK!
Today's mission is to make the four hour drive up to Launceston in time to meet up with another traveling friend for lunch, then make the two-hour journey up through Devonport to Ulverstone, where we will find our way to the Bedford's property in the mountain bush in time for dinner.
The drive up through Tassie's Midland Highway takes us through the agricultural center of the state. The sky is filled with puffy, backlit clouds, the asphalt disappears quickly beneath the campervan, and the iPod is cranking out some great road tunes.
Trucks shake the van as they thunder past in the opposite lane,while the gently rolling hills and greenery stretch all the way to the mountains carpeted in dark green eucalyptus stretch on the horizon, punctuated every now and then with a craggy cliff face yawning skywards. These mountains beckon silently, persistently: "Come, explore us, hike us, wander us...there is much to discover."
AUTUMN IN LAUNCESTON
Launceston sneaks up on us at around 2pm, and the autumn sun is shining brightly. This town looks and feels very much like Hobart, with its short, squat buildings and no-nonsense vibe. Autumn is still very much in effect here, and the afternoon sunlight sets the orange and yellow leaves ablaze. I am always so impressed with Autumn, and the warm, brightly shifting hues that celebrate its arrival.
We make contact with Aisha, a friend of Jill's who has just completed a week's worth of WWOOFing on a horse ranch in the area we are headed towards. There is time to kill before she can meet up, so we find our way to the public library for some quick internet access to check email accounts after two whole days without internet access. I am amazed that I have survived 48 hours without updating my Facebook status... hanging out @ home for the last few weeks, I have been updating my FB status 20 or 30 times daily, cliffhanger updates and deep thoughts such as "eating toast" and "gone out for another coffee" and "why do we have toes anyways??"...
100 new emails later, I find myself being kicked off the computer by an annoyed librarian, so I head out to catch up with the girls who have gone ahead in search of lunch. Launceston is a wonderfully small city - more like a country town - you can almost see horse & carriages being driven around the wide streets here.
I pass a group of Harley riders relaxing in front of a two-story brick government building with tudor windows that is right out of an old British colonial movie. I walk around a few city blocks with my mobile phone thrust infront of me, snapping pics every 10 steps or so, fascinated with the long shadows and dramatic lighting that the afternoon sun is casting.
Aisha is catching Jill up on her travel adventures since the last time they saw each other, and they are poring over highlighted maps in their guidebooks when I find the cafe they have been hiding in. We slow down to 5km/h and push her out of the back of the campervan to drop her off at her hostel and cheerfully wave goodbye in the rearview mirror on our way out of town; it is 4:30pm by the time we leave Launceston and strike out for Ulverstone.
The LET'S GO IN AUSTRALIA guidebook says that the best view of Devonport "is from the rearview mirror", but as we approach this town the sun is setting dramatically right in front of us. Nature's lightshow is expansive and brilliant and dramatic and calming all at the same time, and oooohs and ahhhhs bubble from my lips unconsciously as the spectacle unfolds.
SUNSET ON THE ROAD TO DEVONPORT
Problem is, the late departure from Launceston mens that we arrive into Ulverstone, another quaint coastal town [from what can be seen], well after dark. Now we are faced with the task of finding our host, who lives deep in the mountains on a self-sufficient compound that he has built to escape from society. What's more, he doesn't really want to be found. The directions to his place are somehwat cryptic:
In hindsight, the directions actually make perfect sense... though not while winding through unfamiliar narrow roads in the darkness from Ulverstone. The road gets progressively narrower and more unsealed, and a couple of logging trucks barrel down past us, their bright lights looking like alien motherships in the complete absence of streetlights. The campervan shudders as the roar past and I pull nervously onto the shoulder to give them a wide berth.
We take a turn marked LEVYN CANYON and the road surface is no longer sealed - not quite blacktop, but not quite dirt road. A few turns in and I slow right down to about 40 km/h as the bouncing bottoms of some small furry creatures bound away from the headlights. Pairs of glowing eyes turn away and become bouncing tails disapperaing into the night. They look like plump, oversized rats on pogosticks, and for the longest time we are unable to catch a good look at them. We find out later that they are wallabies, very plentiful in this part of the world.
The road drops away on one side, and treetops can be made out at eye level - we are skirting the edge of a valley, or perhaps the sheer edge of a canoyon wall; we cannot tell in the darkness. After the two trucks, there are no other cars to be seen, and the houselights on either side of the road become fewer and further between, until eventually we are buzzing along in near-total darkness, with only a slim sliver of moon and the twenty meters or so of headlights lighting the way.
After an hour or so, we slow right down to make a sharp corner at the bottom of a switchback, and spot a lone house up a hill to the left. The sign says FIRE BRIGADE, and this touch of civilization gives us a surge of renewed confidence that we may be on the right track.
The night is teeming with wildlife, and as the bitumen (asphalt) ends, the campervan clatters on over corrugated dirt road and even more wallabies scatter out of headlight range. I swerve to avoid a large possum that looks like a cross between a large cat and a racoon, and is sitting adamantly in the middle of the road. A ghostly shape whispers through the air in front of us, and for a few moments we follow a tawny frogmouth hunting along the road on silent wings.
The road gets rougher and rougher, until it is clear that we are creeping along logging tracks now, massively wide tree trunks dimly visible through the thick underbrush caught in our headlights on either side of the road. We've gone 16 km past the end of the bitumen into the mountains, and I notice that the petrol tank gague is reading 1/4 full... time to turn around before we break an axle or run out of gas or get bogged or... HIT A WOMBAT..!
...a fat little ball of muscle and fur waddles calmly across the road directly in front of the van, and as I hit the brakes he doesn't skip a beat as he calmy walks under the front wheel well and off into the night. It is well known in Australia that if you hit a wombat, he is likely to do more damage to your vehicle than you are to it... this is an animal who evades his predators by burrowing into the ground and presenting his bum to his attacker, whose teeth are unable to penetrate the tough, bony hide there.
We continue back the way we came, deciding to ask directions from the last house we saw before the end of the bitumen, keeping our eyes peeled for those 6 or 7 mailboxes referred to in the directions. There are more possums and wallabies on the way back out, and some Tassie devils even lope along side the van for a few meters, do a couple of confused circles as we stop to get a closer look, then decide to explore the underbrush off the side of the road. As we near the end of the dirt road, a couple of very unhelpful cows look very bored when we stop and ask for directions and shrug us off without so much as a grunt or moo.
The Fire Brigade turns out to be an older white-haired couple who eye us suspiciously as I jump up and down to catch their attention. He sizes me up, this wild-haired, unwashed, brown-skinned traveler doing jumping jacks outside his window in the middle of the night in front a a rental campervan that reads HAVE A DEVIL OF A TIME on his driveway... he decides that yeah, he could take me... and comes outside into the cold to see what I want.
"Bedford is it?" he says, looking me straight in the eye. Then something like "Yeah, figures..." under his breath before he proceeds to give me directions on how to find the cluster of mailboxes at the side of the road that will tip us off to the entrance to the Bedford property.
5km after the end of the bitumen, we just make out the mailboxes at the edge of the headlights, and find tire tracks leading off into the woods to the right, so I gun the engine to get the van up the embankment. The "road" is rocky and the van slips and slides underneath us as we twist and turn and finally crest a hill. A cold, solitary light can be seen shining through the trees up ahead. The van slips down the slope and the headlights show us a junked car next to a horse shed, building materials scattered around the yard, and old Toyota 4wd parked backwards against the main house. The digital clock in the van blinks 10:07pm.
A moustached man in a beanie is moving around under the solitary compact flourescent lightbulb that lights the place, and as I kill the engine Jill says, "Good thing you didn't wear your moustache t-shirt today..." We jump out of the van bearing gifts, wine bottles in hand and are greeted by a happy, slobbering, leaping juvenille bulldog and the moustached man, who has a glass of wine in one hand.
I notice a severed wallaby head squinting up at us behind the two, and gulp as I reach out my hand to introduce myself: "We've brought wine!"
"Finally found the place didjya?" he says quietly. "Yeah well it's not easy is it....I'm Poida, nice to meet ya. Come on, let's have some wine and then I'll give ya a tour of the place!" he says, with a handshake as hard as rocks.
Above, the moon has set, and the Milky Way stretches out across the entire night sky, silhouetting the tall eucalyptus trees that close in all around us.
I smile and blow warmth into my hands: Welcome to Tassmania.
'NUFF SAID.
- "Ramble On", by Led Zeppelin
- "Never Going Back Again", by Fleetwood Mac
- "A.M. 180", by Grandaddy
ROADTRIPS ROCK!Today's mission is to make the four hour drive up to Launceston in time to meet up with another traveling friend for lunch, then make the two-hour journey up through Devonport to Ulverstone, where we will find our way to the Bedford's property in the mountain bush in time for dinner.
The drive up through Tassie's Midland Highway takes us through the agricultural center of the state. The sky is filled with puffy, backlit clouds, the asphalt disappears quickly beneath the campervan, and the iPod is cranking out some great road tunes.
Trucks shake the van as they thunder past in the opposite lane,while the gently rolling hills and greenery stretch all the way to the mountains carpeted in dark green eucalyptus stretch on the horizon, punctuated every now and then with a craggy cliff face yawning skywards. These mountains beckon silently, persistently: "Come, explore us, hike us, wander us...there is much to discover."
AUTUMN IN LAUNCESTONLaunceston sneaks up on us at around 2pm, and the autumn sun is shining brightly. This town looks and feels very much like Hobart, with its short, squat buildings and no-nonsense vibe. Autumn is still very much in effect here, and the afternoon sunlight sets the orange and yellow leaves ablaze. I am always so impressed with Autumn, and the warm, brightly shifting hues that celebrate its arrival.
We make contact with Aisha, a friend of Jill's who has just completed a week's worth of WWOOFing on a horse ranch in the area we are headed towards. There is time to kill before she can meet up, so we find our way to the public library for some quick internet access to check email accounts after two whole days without internet access. I am amazed that I have survived 48 hours without updating my Facebook status... hanging out @ home for the last few weeks, I have been updating my FB status 20 or 30 times daily, cliffhanger updates and deep thoughts such as "eating toast" and "gone out for another coffee" and "why do we have toes anyways??"...100 new emails later, I find myself being kicked off the computer by an annoyed librarian, so I head out to catch up with the girls who have gone ahead in search of lunch. Launceston is a wonderfully small city - more like a country town - you can almost see horse & carriages being driven around the wide streets here.
I pass a group of Harley riders relaxing in front of a two-story brick government building with tudor windows that is right out of an old British colonial movie. I walk around a few city blocks with my mobile phone thrust infront of me, snapping pics every 10 steps or so, fascinated with the long shadows and dramatic lighting that the afternoon sun is casting.Aisha is catching Jill up on her travel adventures since the last time they saw each other, and they are poring over highlighted maps in their guidebooks when I find the cafe they have been hiding in. We slow down to 5km/h and push her out of the back of the campervan to drop her off at her hostel and cheerfully wave goodbye in the rearview mirror on our way out of town; it is 4:30pm by the time we leave Launceston and strike out for Ulverstone.
The LET'S GO IN AUSTRALIA guidebook says that the best view of Devonport "is from the rearview mirror", but as we approach this town the sun is setting dramatically right in front of us. Nature's lightshow is expansive and brilliant and dramatic and calming all at the same time, and oooohs and ahhhhs bubble from my lips unconsciously as the spectacle unfolds.
SUNSET ON THE ROAD TO DEVONPORTProblem is, the late departure from Launceston mens that we arrive into Ulverstone, another quaint coastal town [from what can be seen], well after dark. Now we are faced with the task of finding our host, who lives deep in the mountains on a self-sufficient compound that he has built to escape from society. What's more, he doesn't really want to be found. The directions to his place are somehwat cryptic:
"Not easy to find, its better to phone with a map in front of you. If your in Ulverstone head to Sprent, Castra, Nietta, Leven Canyon, go past Leven Canyon until the bitumin, continue for 4.8 Klm, we are on the right just past 6 or 7 letter boxes that will be on your left."
In hindsight, the directions actually make perfect sense... though not while winding through unfamiliar narrow roads in the darkness from Ulverstone. The road gets progressively narrower and more unsealed, and a couple of logging trucks barrel down past us, their bright lights looking like alien motherships in the complete absence of streetlights. The campervan shudders as the roar past and I pull nervously onto the shoulder to give them a wide berth.
We take a turn marked LEVYN CANYON and the road surface is no longer sealed - not quite blacktop, but not quite dirt road. A few turns in and I slow right down to about 40 km/h as the bouncing bottoms of some small furry creatures bound away from the headlights. Pairs of glowing eyes turn away and become bouncing tails disapperaing into the night. They look like plump, oversized rats on pogosticks, and for the longest time we are unable to catch a good look at them. We find out later that they are wallabies, very plentiful in this part of the world.
The road drops away on one side, and treetops can be made out at eye level - we are skirting the edge of a valley, or perhaps the sheer edge of a canoyon wall; we cannot tell in the darkness. After the two trucks, there are no other cars to be seen, and the houselights on either side of the road become fewer and further between, until eventually we are buzzing along in near-total darkness, with only a slim sliver of moon and the twenty meters or so of headlights lighting the way.
After an hour or so, we slow right down to make a sharp corner at the bottom of a switchback, and spot a lone house up a hill to the left. The sign says FIRE BRIGADE, and this touch of civilization gives us a surge of renewed confidence that we may be on the right track.
The night is teeming with wildlife, and as the bitumen (asphalt) ends, the campervan clatters on over corrugated dirt road and even more wallabies scatter out of headlight range. I swerve to avoid a large possum that looks like a cross between a large cat and a racoon, and is sitting adamantly in the middle of the road. A ghostly shape whispers through the air in front of us, and for a few moments we follow a tawny frogmouth hunting along the road on silent wings.
The road gets rougher and rougher, until it is clear that we are creeping along logging tracks now, massively wide tree trunks dimly visible through the thick underbrush caught in our headlights on either side of the road. We've gone 16 km past the end of the bitumen into the mountains, and I notice that the petrol tank gague is reading 1/4 full... time to turn around before we break an axle or run out of gas or get bogged or... HIT A WOMBAT..!
...a fat little ball of muscle and fur waddles calmly across the road directly in front of the van, and as I hit the brakes he doesn't skip a beat as he calmy walks under the front wheel well and off into the night. It is well known in Australia that if you hit a wombat, he is likely to do more damage to your vehicle than you are to it... this is an animal who evades his predators by burrowing into the ground and presenting his bum to his attacker, whose teeth are unable to penetrate the tough, bony hide there.
LOST IN THE BUSH
We continue back the way we came, deciding to ask directions from the last house we saw before the end of the bitumen, keeping our eyes peeled for those 6 or 7 mailboxes referred to in the directions. There are more possums and wallabies on the way back out, and some Tassie devils even lope along side the van for a few meters, do a couple of confused circles as we stop to get a closer look, then decide to explore the underbrush off the side of the road. As we near the end of the dirt road, a couple of very unhelpful cows look very bored when we stop and ask for directions and shrug us off without so much as a grunt or moo.
The Fire Brigade turns out to be an older white-haired couple who eye us suspiciously as I jump up and down to catch their attention. He sizes me up, this wild-haired, unwashed, brown-skinned traveler doing jumping jacks outside his window in the middle of the night in front a a rental campervan that reads HAVE A DEVIL OF A TIME on his driveway... he decides that yeah, he could take me... and comes outside into the cold to see what I want.
"Bedford is it?" he says, looking me straight in the eye. Then something like "Yeah, figures..." under his breath before he proceeds to give me directions on how to find the cluster of mailboxes at the side of the road that will tip us off to the entrance to the Bedford property.
5km after the end of the bitumen, we just make out the mailboxes at the edge of the headlights, and find tire tracks leading off into the woods to the right, so I gun the engine to get the van up the embankment. The "road" is rocky and the van slips and slides underneath us as we twist and turn and finally crest a hill. A cold, solitary light can be seen shining through the trees up ahead. The van slips down the slope and the headlights show us a junked car next to a horse shed, building materials scattered around the yard, and old Toyota 4wd parked backwards against the main house. The digital clock in the van blinks 10:07pm.
A moustached man in a beanie is moving around under the solitary compact flourescent lightbulb that lights the place, and as I kill the engine Jill says, "Good thing you didn't wear your moustache t-shirt today..." We jump out of the van bearing gifts, wine bottles in hand and are greeted by a happy, slobbering, leaping juvenille bulldog and the moustached man, who has a glass of wine in one hand.
I notice a severed wallaby head squinting up at us behind the two, and gulp as I reach out my hand to introduce myself: "We've brought wine!"
"Finally found the place didjya?" he says quietly. "Yeah well it's not easy is it....I'm Poida, nice to meet ya. Come on, let's have some wine and then I'll give ya a tour of the place!" he says, with a handshake as hard as rocks.
Above, the moon has set, and the Milky Way stretches out across the entire night sky, silhouetting the tall eucalyptus trees that close in all around us.
I smile and blow warmth into my hands: Welcome to Tassmania.
'NUFF SAID.# # #
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Street Music
AUTUMN SUN ON MELBOURNEMelbourne's streets thrum with music, art and life at all hours. It's one of the things I love about this city.
The other day, I walked with the crowd up the stairs from the train platform at Flinders St station, in the midst of a mystical musical landscape created by a busker sitting on his guitar amp caressing his strings. The guitar had a clean tone, and the sweetly haunting music cascaded down the steps and washed through the crowd.
As I neared the top of the steps, a voice like butter wove lyrics that were vaguely familiar....after a couple more steps the penny drops, and I marvel at his strangely sweet version of Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters". His music is like eating foie gras: it's oh-so-good, and it's oh-so fine... and you know there is a dark side to the pleasure you are indulging in the whole time.
I step onto the crosswalk and into the night, surreal now with his music fading into the background of moonlit city streetscapes.
It happened so quickly - the time it takes to walk up a flight of stairs, through the train station turnstyle, and to the sidewalk. I have the presence of mind to flip a $2 coin into his open guitar case, but not to stop and take a photo; though my guess is that would have diminished the surrealism of the experience. The moment, and the feelings he evoked in me, are etched into my memory banks of Melbourne.
Walking around the streets of Melbourne, this kind of experience can happen at any time, so rich is the tapestry of buskers... I have seen child prodigies on pianos, flautists, guitarists, quartets, preachers, acrobats, jugglers, beatboxers, comedians, and freaks... some talented, some you would pay to shut them up...
The other day I read an article in the newpaper about Rupert Guenther, a Melbourne street-busker who honed his unique style of improvising classical music on his violin for five years, eeking out a living by playing music for passers-by.
He attended a masterclass in February at the renowned Julliard School in New York being given by Dr David Dolan, a professor at Guildhall and the Menuhin School. Dr Dolan was so impressed with Rupert that he suggested he audition in the UK at Guildhall's Centre for Classical Improvisation and Creative Performance. Rupert took his advice, and is now on his way to becoming an internationally acclaimed artist and teacher, like many of his alumni at the prestigous school.
Sounds like a screenplay in the making... I just love the creativity that just oozes from the pores of this city!
NOT RUPERT GUENTHER
NOT RUPERT GUENTHER EITHER!
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Monday, April 27, 2009
melbourne by mobile - a photo/video tour
THEME SONGS FOR THE DAY:
Australia: by The Shins, from the album "Wincing The Night Away"
Nosebleed Section: by Hilltop Hoods, from the album "The Calling"
Note: for best effect, click on the image to enlarge... and enjoy!
OLDE IRISH SAYING:
"GUINNESS IS FOR STRENGTH"
ELIZABETH STREET TO FEDERATION SQUARE
INTRODUCING: AUSSIE HIP-HOP!
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Australia: by The Shins, from the album "Wincing The Night Away"
Nosebleed Section: by Hilltop Hoods, from the album "The Calling"
Note: for best effect, click on the image to enlarge... and enjoy!
OLDE IRISH SAYING:"GUINNESS IS FOR STRENGTH"
ELIZABETH STREET TO FEDERATION SQUAREINTRODUCING: AUSSIE HIP-HOP!
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Friday, April 10, 2009
momentary lapses of reason
The days grow shorter, each passing moment is increasingly hyper-real ...as if etching itself in my memory banks to take on the road with me....
Colors are more vibrant, soundscapes more symphonic, the smallest details jump out at me and scream "AREN'T YOU GONNA MISS ME?!?!?"
I ran into some people over the weekend that I had not seen in a while, and the first words out of their mouths were: "You're still here?"
They have a point really, I haven't really been here for the last month or so; my adventures have already started and I am evolving into a traveler...content to live day-to-day, out of my backpack, in search of daily adventure...
My body is still in Hawaii, but my mind, my heart, my soul ...is on the road already.
Old friends that I have not seen in almost a year are startled when they run into me again - I am happy, I am tanned, I am wild, and hippy, and free!
WILD. HIPPY. FREE.
I am catching myself in moments of bliss, thinking to myself, " I LOVE my life!!" How many people can truly say that they are doing exactly what they want to be doing with their life right this moment??
It may not look pretty, with utility bills going unpaid and foreclosure notices being delivered and strange, vapidly hopeful realtor / investor types knocking on my door offering a surefire solution to my housing woes... clucking their tongues with a reproachful shake of their head, then swooping in to "rescue" me...
...I am HAPPY. In the midst of all the financial turmoil and doom and gloom we are bombarded with every day, I am blessed ad fortunate enough to be listening to my soul, following my heart, and striking out on a completely illogicial, unfunded journey around the world to seek ADVENTURE, and opportunities to be of SERVICE...
I've been presented with so many ways to make lots of money in this market, and some of these ideas are going to work, and going to make some people a lot of money. AND, I have found that I am simply not interested in money right now.
WHAT LIES AHEAD, I WONDER??
I am fascinated with PEOPLE. HUMANITY. CONNECTION.
Relationships, old and new, have become newly minted, each moment shared standing out in stark contrast to the rush of the last 10 years spent chasing dollars, each moment precious with the knowledge that we may never see each other again....
...Or at least, not for a long time...
# # #
EVEN A DRIVE ON THE FREEWAY
IS BEAUTIFUL IN HONOLULU...
IS BEAUTIFUL IN HONOLULU...
Colors are more vibrant, soundscapes more symphonic, the smallest details jump out at me and scream "AREN'T YOU GONNA MISS ME?!?!?"
I ran into some people over the weekend that I had not seen in a while, and the first words out of their mouths were: "You're still here?"
They have a point really, I haven't really been here for the last month or so; my adventures have already started and I am evolving into a traveler...content to live day-to-day, out of my backpack, in search of daily adventure...
My body is still in Hawaii, but my mind, my heart, my soul ...is on the road already.
Old friends that I have not seen in almost a year are startled when they run into me again - I am happy, I am tanned, I am wild, and hippy, and free!
WILD. HIPPY. FREE.It may not look pretty, with utility bills going unpaid and foreclosure notices being delivered and strange, vapidly hopeful realtor / investor types knocking on my door offering a surefire solution to my housing woes... clucking their tongues with a reproachful shake of their head, then swooping in to "rescue" me...
...I am HAPPY. In the midst of all the financial turmoil and doom and gloom we are bombarded with every day, I am blessed ad fortunate enough to be listening to my soul, following my heart, and striking out on a completely illogicial, unfunded journey around the world to seek ADVENTURE, and opportunities to be of SERVICE...
I've been presented with so many ways to make lots of money in this market, and some of these ideas are going to work, and going to make some people a lot of money. AND, I have found that I am simply not interested in money right now.
WHAT LIES AHEAD, I WONDER??I am fascinated with PEOPLE. HUMANITY. CONNECTION.
Relationships, old and new, have become newly minted, each moment shared standing out in stark contrast to the rush of the last 10 years spent chasing dollars, each moment precious with the knowledge that we may never see each other again....
...Or at least, not for a long time...
# # #
Friday, March 27, 2009
break on through...
"WHAT A FRIENDLY LOOKING HOLE.LET'S GO SEE WHAT LIVES INSIDE!"
Today I went to the other side. Literally. Physically. Metaphysically. Let me explain:
A couple months ago while visiting Olomana Gardens in the foothills of Waimanalo, I followed along with an impromptu group hike and found out about a hidden trail that follows the water flumes which wind through the mountains and provide all the irrigation water for the agriculture in the area. We came across a tunnel about 4" high that disappeared into an almost sheer face of mountainside and was told that if we were to go through it, we would come out to the Lost World on the other side...
WAIMANALO WATER FLUMES
Today I went back. Today I went through the black, and came out on the other side.
We peer into the entrance and can only see blackness 30-40 feet in. The cool water rushing around our ankles gurgles impassively, and my stomach twitches as my mind starts to paint macabre pictures of creatures that lurk in deep, dark places, and of pale gaping faces floating in the night.
FELLOW ADVENTURER AND SOUL-SEARCHER:
LUCIE VOELCKER, THE TRAVELING POET OF GERMANY
AT THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE
LUCIE VOELCKER, THE TRAVELING POET OF GERMANY
AT THE TUNNEL ENTRANCE
Adrenaline kicks in and I can feel the glint in my eye brightening. The Traveling Poet's gaze meets mine, and our glinting eyes smile in agreement that we are actually going to go in.
The 9-LED flashlight, a gift I received only the day before, can only light the way 20 feet ahead before being swallowed by the blackness. It is a strange feeling, knowing that there are tons and tons of dirt, rock, trees, and who knows what else pressing in all around you. It is perhaps an even stranger thing to knowingly descend into these dark places of the earth; once the mind starts chewing on the your fears, the chatter is difficult to stop:
- "What if the light goes out?"
- "What lives in here?"
- "Remember that creature in Star Wars that dragged Luke under the muck in the garbage compacter? I wonder if that thing lives here..."
- "Now I know how Gollum must have felt; no wonder he went insane...."
- "Don't drop the flashlight."
- "What lies ahead?"
- "What was that?!?"
- "I don't want to see any faces. Or dead bodies. I don't do dead bodies. Or floating apparitions. No floating apparitions please."
- "What if this doesn't come out on the other side?"
- "What was that that just brushed my ankle?!"
- "Don't drop the flashlight!!"
- "DO NOT. DROP. THE FLASHLIGHT."
On and on we press, losing all sense of time and space, save for what the flashlight can show us for the next twenty feet, the next 30 seconds. The tunnel walls are cold and roughly hewn, and beads of water glisten on the walls like pearls in the gray sky.
The water seems to simply appear out of thin air. The ceiling bears down upon us, seeming to get lower and lower with each step...then it toys with me, opening up every now and then enough to let me stand up straight.
Thankfully, The Traveling Poet starts singing. It is haunting and surreal and macabre and beautiful and strangely comforting all at the same time...
THE SOUND OF PITCH BLACK -
FOR BEST EFFECT, VIEW FULLSCREEN
FOR BEST EFFECT, VIEW FULLSCREEN
We pause for a moment and turn off the light. The cool water rushes around my ankles, like busy commuters rushing and gurgling to make their trains. The walls press in around me, and my unseeing eyes blink naievely, desperately groping for light.
There is no difference between keeping my eyes open or closed. Panic rises in my stomach, and I smile broadly to laugh silently and keep the fear at bay.
The screen of my mind and the screen of my retina are one and the same, both inky blank canvases awaiting inspiration and direction...
We press on, the rythym of our sloshing footsteps keeping pace with my quickening heartbeat. I force my mind to stay on the light at the end of the tunnel, though it does not come. On and on into the next 20 feet of darkness we slosh, the water no longer gurgling but relentlessly going the other way, passing silent judgment on the decision to walk against the flow.
My life has become a cliche, and I am loving every minute of it: fear mixed with wonder mixed with anticipation shaken in mountain spring water and pressed by a hundred million tons of sheer-faced mountain...
It is no longer my imagination, the ceiling is getting gradually lower and lower now. Up ahead at the edge of the flashlight, I can make out a different shape, and I cringe....it looks like the roof has caved in, and I don't want to think about the implications of that.
As we get closer, the tunnel turns almost 90 degrees to the left, and what I thought was a cave-in is actually an older tunnel that has since been sealed. The water seems to have quickened its pace and is much louder here, and the cave ceiling keep getting lower.
Now, we are duck-walking, arse-deep in the water, and I am wondering if we will keep going like this until we shrink down and down and down into the size of m&m candies, like Alice in Wonderland, on our way to smoke hookahs with giant existentially philosophic caterpillars...
Up ahead in the distance, I see a simmering light...
It's not the Hotel California, it's the Exit to the Tunnel...and I can breathe deeply again. My thighs are aching from duck-walking the last 100 feet, but it doesn't matter now, I can see the end.
The Travel Poet emerges first, fourty feet ahead of me, and when I finally emerge blinking in the sunlight, a whole new world ... the Lost World ... comes into focus...
We are Sam Neil and Laura Dern, we are the only two humans left on the planet, we are the first two human beings on the planet...we are Adam & Eve. The other side is lush, vibrant green, a living, breathing soundscape of nature...
THE SOUNDS OF NATURE
With newly refreshed eyes and ears, each sight, sound, smell, touch is heightened, and we explore this wilderness we have discovered with childlike wonder, taking our shoes off and squishing through the mud, running up the valley walls and whooping with joy.
As the nature-induced ecstasy fades, we bask in the afterglow and settle back down next to the Exit, out portal back into the world we just escaped. Not ready to return yet, we hunker into our packs and much on organic energy bars and vegan apple cakes given to us that morning by our genius rockclimbing/smoothie-making friend [Badass Harvard Laureate]...and the Traveling Poet strums Martin [her guitar], and bursts into song again...
She is taken by the moment, channeling words and chords and melodies that speak to the moment we are sharing... I sit at her feet and am 6 years old again, close my eyes and am lifted with her voice, swirling with the notes up through the trees... she tells me later that when this happens, it is as if her soul is speaking to her through her own music. I am witnessing a faerie singing her heartsong in the wilderness with my own eyes...
INSPIRATION - CLICK FOR YOUTUBE VIDEO...Today, I sat under a mountain, and in the complete absence of light, became a thought.
A bodiless, floating thought. As if the tunnel had collapsed, and my consciousness was ascending through the layers of rock and dirt through the mountain to gain a better view...and in that moment, I experienced peace.
Peace, knowing that if I had indeed died, that I had died while adventuring, doing exactly what I want to be doing - something I love... and absolutely living in the moment.
Peace, knowing that few humans had ever trod into the heart of this mountain...and fewer still had taken the time to stop, turn off their flashlights, and savor the experience.
Peace, melting into the walls of the tunnel, becoming one with the 'aina.
Peace, knowing that the world is what you think it is.
Peace, in communion with nature.
Peace, reconnecting with the source.
Peace.
# # #
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
barber shop chair wars!
Defending Champ: Matthew Lynch, World Famous Adventurer and Travel Writer
Challenger: Lucie Voelcker, Germany's Travelling Poet
Score: Champ - 2, Challenger - 0
Challenger gets off to a [very] slow start...
Round 2
In which the Champ demonstrates that he has spent way too much time honing this skill...
The Equipment: vintage cast iron / red leather barber shop chairs circa 1940s...reclaimed from barber shop on Maunakea Streeet in Chinatown Honolulu...
....I'm gonna miss these chairs!!!
Challenger: Lucie Voelcker, Germany's Travelling Poet
Score: Champ - 2, Challenger - 0
Round 1
Challenger gets off to a [very] slow start...
Round 2
In which the Champ demonstrates that he has spent way too much time honing this skill...
The Equipment: vintage cast iron / red leather barber shop chairs circa 1940s...reclaimed from barber shop on Maunakea Streeet in Chinatown Honolulu...
....I'm gonna miss these chairs!!!
# # #
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