Song of the Open Road: Travelblogs.com

Song of the Open Road

Wade has been on the road for the past 8 years, in which time he has visited 25 countries on 5 continents. (Interview with Wade)

URL: http://www.vagabondjourney.com/travelogue/ | Author: Wade

Features

In Copan, they think that I do not have any huevos. I like orange juice. I go out to the local expat bar on Friday night, and I only drink orange juice. My drinks receive the hairy eyeball from the entire assemblage expat lifestyle drunks, as they sit innocently on the table in front of me like some bastard pariah child, but I like them. I also like going out at night, having fun, and then being able to wake up at 7AM with a clear head and a disposition to enjoy the beautiful Saturday day. But, sometimes, in any barroom, from the mouth of any washed out drunk, there is a chance that pure wisdom could seep into your ears amid all of the slag.

Posted by Wade on Sun, 30 Mar 08

Unearthing Skeletons at Copan

Copan is the first archaeology site that I have worked on with the regular presence of human remains. Skeletons are growing out of the bottom of trenches as the soil is gingerly removed from their exteriors. The Central American and Japanese excavators stand over the remains and talk shop. Digging up the ancient remains of humans is all part of the day’s work for these weathered Mayan archaeologists.

I cut my archaeological teeth in the forests of the United States and on the Manabi Coasts of Ecuador. A big site for me is a few post molds, a couple good hearths, and a scatter of lithic remnants and tools. Copan has pyramids. Copan is a city of mortar and art and sporting courts. Copan is far beyond anything that I have experienced in archaeology.

Posted by Wade on Mon, 10 Mar 08

Mario of Copan

They call me Mario here. This is the name that I was given by the Honduran fieldworkers on the archaeology excavation that I am working on at Copan. “Mario,” they call out to me and then laugh. There is something funny about this Mario name. I don’t know what it is. Maybe there is something funny about me.

I would not doubt it.

Posted by Wade on Thu, 06 Mar 08

Panama is alright

For every sky-rise resort soaring into the clouds, there is a hovel tucked beneath that offers the real face of a country at a skinny fraction of the cost. I am at the beach in Panama, in a cheap hovel, listening to the reggae-tone music blare over a little community on Saturday-party-night. I am feeling fine. I smile for the sake of my four walls and corrugated sheet metal roof. $6 gets me on to the next day well rested and smiling.

The tourist towers and sterile bars of the wealthy could not touch the character of this poor little town that lays only one beach away. This is a good town. But it was a hike to get to.

Posted by Wade on Mon, 25 Feb 08

Jet Blue Flight from Rochester to JFK

Two women- mother and daughter- are sitting behind me on this Jet Blue flight to JFK. The mother is thin, around 40 years old, adorned in makeup and other beautifing elements, and was probably attractive at one time. The daughter is a little fat, barely 21, and has eyes that are spread widely apart like a goat. They both have dangly, gold earrings and big mouths.

“Remember when we were on that flight to Mexico? Remember when that stewardess hit me in the head with a book? That bitch just had to wait until we got off the plane for me to kick her ass ” the daughter yelled in her best ghetto accent (they were caucasian, by the way).”She just didn’t like me singing my rap music,” she continued.

They are very loud. Everyone on the plane can hear them yelling and singing.

Posted by Wade on Wed, 23 Jan 08

Can Anyone Read Nepali?

So I was traveling in the north east of India with Stubbs back in 2005, and I was just standing around in the market watching some ladies buy oranges when a guy with a big old camera came up to me and asked if he could take my picture. I obliged him and he took a couple snapshots. I thought nothing of it.

A few days later Stubbs and I made our way back down to Siliguri and went to the train station and bought a couple of tickets to Bodhgaya or somewhere holy. As we were standing on the platform a local guy comes up to me and begins shoving a newspaper in my face. I tried to pushed him away, but he kept trying to stick the newspaper right in front of my face. Right at the point when I was beginning to get a little annoyed he suddenly yelled, "You," while excitedly pointing to a picture in the paper.

He was right. It was me.

Posted by Wade on Thu, 17 Jan 08

Visit to the USA- Back with Family

I must say that it is nice to past through my homeland of the USA every once in a while. I get to spend a little time with my family, check up on my old friends, read my books (I have lots of books!), play with my sister’s son and my little Chinese sister, and recheck my bearings.

As far as I travel I know that I can never really leave the place that I come from: Route 104 out in the country side of Upstate NY, a few miles from Lake Ontario and an hour east of Lake Erie. Farmer’s fields, orchards, woods, creeks, and lakes- a wide open landscape if I have ever known one- is my home. This is where I learned how to ride a bike and how to dream of far distant lands. Dreaming, this was the skill that I learned best here.

Posted by Wade on Mon, 14 Jan 08

Sitting with the Masters

I was picked up in the morning by the master wood carver, Umesh Singh, and we rode off on his motorcycle through the busy Jaipur streets to his home in a little neighborhood near the public commodities market. Umesh is a traditional Indian wood carver and makes his living from carving and selling little statuettes and motifs of idealized Asian spiritual figures as well as the animals that once roamed the region freely. He is a very stoic, proud man and he carries himself with that particular authority of a man who has perfected his craft. I had met him the day before at his little stand of sandalwood carvings in the art district of the city palace and he invited me to come to his home so that I could watch him as he went about his work. I was very curious to learn if the contemporary Indian craftsman continues to utilize the riches of ancient tradition and folk-knowledge or if his art has also been gentrified by the impervious weight of “modernization.” I hoped that this meeting with Umesh would resolve some of my questions.

Posted by Wade on Tue, 18 Dec 07

Drinking in Lisbon- Barrio Alto

I walked out of my hotel in Barrio Alto on a Sunday morning and could only wonder about what had happened the night before. There were bars, beer, wine, a funny Russian, funnier Portuguese, a foosball table, Mira being really drunk, and thousands of people in the ancient stone streets just partying. I smiled to myself as I realized that everybody who stumbles out of into these streets after a good long Barrio Alto night wonders the same thing- “what happened?”

I suppose I was not that drunk, as I somehow managed to drag the stumbling and drooling Mira through the graffiti mazes of the old neighborhood back to our room in the hotel. It was a night. We had fun.

Posted by Wade on Mon, 10 Dec 07

Hitch-Hiking in Japan with Mr. Fuji

So I was standing on the side of the road in the mountains of Japan’s Shikoku Island in the middle of spring 2004. I was hitch-hiking the 88 temple Kabo Daishi pilgrimage, and a mini-van nearly ran me over as it quickly stopped to offer me a lift. I was not in any position to be overly critical about a particular driver’s navigational ability, as I needed a ride on to the next temple. So I jumped into the van and introduced myself to the driver.

His name was Mr. Fuji, and was a middle aged Japanese man with long bushy eyebrows that stuck up out of his forehead like butterfly antennae. He was a really short man and could not have been 5 ft tall, as he has to really stretch to push on the pedals- and this he could only do with the tips of his toes. But Mr. Fuji seemed friendly enough, even though my attempts at conversation fell a little fallow. So I remained silent as we tore back onto the highway and through the beautiful mountains of Shikoku.

Posted by Wade on Wed, 05 Dec 07

On Leaving Vila Nova de Milfontes, Portugal

The time has come again to leave behind yet another beautiful place. Today, when I get on the bus, I will leave Vila Nova de Milfontes heavy-hearted. I will look back over my shoulder and watch this town slowly fade from view. I do not want to leave. I am comfortable here, as is Mira. We have made many memories: dancing on the beach in the middle of the night, drinking absinth under a full moon while watching the waves crash violently into the shore, making silly videos, and just talking to each other all night long. This has been another stop on our collective journey, and one we surely will not forget. Mira (Wanderjahr Jill) and I have taken refuge here in Milfontes for the past month, and have enjoyed the mid-day walks to the sweet Atlantic, as well as the quietude of having nothing other than writing to do all day long. Rui, the owner of the Casa Amarela, has also been an extremely accommodating host.

Posted by Wade on Thu, 29 Nov 07

By Bicycle: from Lisbon to Setubal, Portugal Part I

Mira and I ran out of the youth hostel in Oeiras in the nick of time, as our incessant laughter and giggles were beginning to run their course with the rest of the hostel’s inhabitants, who seemed to be in a perpetual state of misery. So we hopped upon our faithful steeds (bikes) and rode out on the busy coastal road that lead to Lisbon proper.

About ten minutes out, we realized that our load was far too heavy for our bikes and gear racks to carry. I watched Mira ride over a curb only to have her mountainous bundle of baggage swing back and forth and pull the backside of her bicycle in and out of the busy highway. Something had to be done. So we pulled over into a little beach front turnoff and tore all of our stuff out of their bags and strew it all in piles about the beach. It was now time to sort out what was needed from what was merely wanted...

Posted by Wade on Wed, 31 Oct 07

The End of Ramadan

The streets are full of people and the people are full of food; for it is the end of Ramadan, and Rabat is full of festivity. Every corridor and ally of the city is crammed with food carts, ice creameries, and orange juice shops on wheels. Smiles adorn the faces of every little child and grizzled old man. Another Ramadan is has passed and a new dawn rises on the Muslim world.

Now that all sins are purged, another long year of sin making can commence. The children seem to have engaged upon this venture with added vigilance. Huge packs of little boys were running wild all over the city, throwing stones, climbing up walls, and bothering the tourist. One particularly aggressive gang of ten year olds were throwing their stones a little too close for Mira’s comfort.

Posted by Wade on Sat, 13 Oct 07

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