He Hath Founded It Upon the Seas (part I)

"The Earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein. For he hath founded it upon the seas and established it upon the floods. Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? Or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands and a pure heart; who hath not lifted up his soul into vanity, nor sworn deceitfully." (Pslams 24:1-4)

Life in the Cayman Islands has always been centered around the sea. It breeds life and community to the small nation. Industry and prosperity has always depended on its vast resources and opportunities. A God-fearing people, Caymanians are witnessing the mutiny of their seas, once reserved for fishing and the like, by outsiders and a hell-bent overindulgent master. Sorry David, Vanity is the new resident.

On slow days in Del Sol I couldn’t help but to look out the door at the port that lay just across the street and wonder what this small developed city looked like ten years ago and then twenty and then even fifty. I determined it much look like other parts of the island with thick bush and palm trees and gorgeous beaches. Sadly, I considered the exceptional costs of industry and so-called progress. And yet, without them I likely wouldn’t have been sitting there pondering on these things. Most of life is like that, I decided.

During high season Grand Cayman has a cruise ship in port nearly every day, excluding Sundays. Extremely busy days will have up to six or seven with probably an average of 3,500 passengers on board each ship. For six ships that’s around 21,000 people. The population of the Cayman Islands is roughly 50,000; roughly 21,000 people reside in George Town where the ships dock. The streets looked like the streets outside an arena after a major sporting event. A serious cause of anxiety for locals and anyone with an aversion towards crowds (including me). On a busy day in Grand Cayman the population can nearly double for a few hours.

Enter free enterprise. High end jewelry stores, low end tee shirt shops, and tourist attractions to boot have popped up all over George Town in hope to cash in on the cruise ship culture. Beaches were heavily trafficked and the town was treated as if it were the beach. Men walked around shirtless; women in bikinis; and bottles of beer and mixed drinks were carried about as if their drinkers were at home. Vanity (mixed with a high level of tacky) was a part of this ever growing culture. I just happened to be along for the ride.

Fortunately, the cruise ships were not the form of travel I embarked on for Grand Cayman. For me, I witnessed and participated in the cruise culture only while wearing my “work hat.” At the end of the day I left that hat in the store, where it belonged.

Grand Cayman has much more to offer than what can be explored in a single day. For six months I tried to take in as much as I could and I still didn’t get to see it all. Part of the reason for this, of course, is the lack of funds and time spent working; as well as spending half of that time living by myself. As far as the things I did spend my money and time on, I loved it. Grand Cayman will forever stick out as an experience that was equally rewarding, relaxing, introspective, and enjoyable. The friends and memories I made there will remain as essential pieces to this intricately woven life of Stumpe.

I Feel Funny

It's been a day of a myriad of emotions and at the end of the day all I have is my dear friend, blog, to comfort me. Together, though, blog and I can conquer the world so I'm not too concerned.

Before I get into the day itself the last week has rained upon me a wide spectrum of thoughts and emotions that collectively is best described as "bitter-sweet". I soon must leave the wonderful island of Grand Cayman and my new found friends. I will leave my job and my quaint but peaceful apartment. Yet, the thoughts of family and friends and simple luxuries denied to me here, beckon me and fill me with glee akin to a child getting a new bike. As they must celebrations and gatherings will pass and I will have to get back to work and start "building my future" in an an certain world with an uncertain future. In reality though, I look forward to it and hope I will be able to apply the changes I have made in myself here back at home.

All day today I eagerly looking forward to the time after work when I would be able to hear word from the University of Utah. As I watched the press conference (albeit late) and read the articles concerning the move to the PAC 10, I was undeniably proud to be a University of Utah alumni. Previously, I had just shrugged it off as it could have been any school. Yet today, even though my contribution has been at-best minimal, I am unashamed of my pride in my alma mater. As I do, I was trying to read the news from a variety of sources for a wide perspective of what the future will bring for the U. As I was doing so I found myself in the comment section of the Salt Lake Tribune. My high was quickly brought down. I know better than to read these ramblings but one caught my eye and I'm suddenly trapped. The comments typically made are full of ignorance, hate, and malice from both sides. Many times I want to make a comment as a rebuttal or defense, but fortunately I have learned my lesson. No one will care and it will just make me mad. I'm always game for a good argument amongst friends, and even frenemies, but these comments serve no purpose. The thing that makes me mad is that I let it effect me.

I had to go blow off steam so I headed up to the gym. My plan had been to watch game 7 of the NBA finals while running. As a back story, at first I didn't really care about the series. Yeah, I wanted the Lakers to lose but I didn't find myself paying too close attention as I don't have cable to watch it anyway. Well, I found myself emotionally involved in game 7 after some ignorant and out of place comments made by an acquaintance. Again, I shouldn't care, but I let it get to me. Celtics winning would have made him look like an idiot, so I wanted the Celtics to win. If you have ever watched a sports event with me where I have a favorite, you know I sometimes have soft, gentle conversation with the inanimate TV. Needless to say, my blood pressure goes up as well as my heart rate. Combine that with running. The game was so tight that my heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest. Plus I think I would constantly scare the people around me when I let out a gentle yell at the refs. Upset alert: Celtics lost. I lost. Jerkface won, kinda. In the end, not that big of a deal.

By the end of the night I had calmed myself down and watched Ol' Yeller and cried. Just kidding. I had been reading and decided to stay up to see what would happen with the planned execution of Ronnie Lee Gardner. It was bizarre. I'm not trying to open a debate of whether it is right or wrong but to discuss the happenings leading up to the execution. This is the reply I left for a friend on Facebook: Weird world we live in. I watched updates via Google latest; news which consisted mostly of Twitter feeds. Mark Shurtleff (or his staff) was even updating his Twitter. Also as I waited the comments via ustream the comment board was open and live. Some people are just morbid. It's a strange strange world.

As to not scare anyone a way, I wouldn't consider this my daily range of emotions. If scientists some day find that men go through PMS (let's keep it to the emotional stuff), say, two times a year, I would believe it. I wouldn't even say it was a tough day, just interesting. And at the end of the day (which is actually on to the next day (kinda) now that it's 2:30 am) I'm tired and pretty sure I'll sleep easy!

Our Prejudice World

I don't consider myself to be a prejudice person but today my eyes were opened. As I was walking today I saw a chicken in a tree hopping up branches. I don't recall ever seeing a chicken in a tree before. I may have without remembering, nonetheless, I found the behavior peculiar. I stopped and watched it for a while. I even tried to get a decent picture/video of it. A Caymanian security guard for the school the try was by asked what I was looking at. When I told him I'd never seen a chicken in a tree he laughed and said that it happens all the time. As we walked away he chuckled and shook his head. I may have even heard him utter "white boys" under his breath. I walked away thinking about this whole new world I just walked into full of all sorts of new and exciting possibilities. I also thought about turkeys.

Believe it or not, chickens are birds. Why should they not act as other birds and chill in a tree? They have wings and birdly desires just like any other bird? Why did I insist in my own mind to keep them grounded? It was a punch in the gut to me. Probably not unlike the men of America felt in the 1800's when they realized "Hey, women are people, too, and well, they want and deserve those same things declared in our constitution." And so it is with the chicken. All birds are created equal (some just taste better than others). I long for the day when I can see a penguin getting what's his and relaxing, pipe in mouth, in a tree of his own. Or better yet, him and his friends the emu and ostrich and the kakapo all chilling together at a table of birdhood.

I continued walking ashamed of my prejudice and to my disbelief I saw a tree in the distance full of many chickens. It was then that chickens in trees began to feel natural. Sadly, however, these chickens were not so keen on other birds in their trees as I witness several chicken belittle and gawk at an unidentified non-chicken.

Just the other day I had read in the newspaper here that the longest recorded flight of a chicken is 13 seconds. Long enough to get all up in a tree I suppose. Side note: The paper prints a small "Did you know?" box where it mentions random trivia facts. Twice I've noticed facts about chickens and oddly enough I remembered them (not unlike the only facts I remember from biology is that snakes have two penises that work in junction with a female's organs similar to a lock and key, preventing cross breeding). The other chicken fact was that a chicken uneaten can live up to 8 years. I wonder how long a chicken can live when it is eaten...

As I continued to walk my hyperactive mind got to thinking that I should make a blog entry. At first it was going to be simple, like "Hey today I saw a chicken in a tree and that is all". But then I got thinking about how I wouldn't have observed the whole chicken in a tree thing had I not been walking. Side note: My car is being fixed; hence the walking. So then I started thinking about all the things we fail to observe because we insist on driving and don't allow ourselves to slow down. This made me consider how much I enjoyed the beach earlier. I sat there enjoying the sun, the sand, watching kids play, watching a dog swim after a tennis ball (which made me really want a dog), girls in bikinis, and a book to read. Nothing MTV would be interested in-except, of course, the girls in bikinis-but certainly enjoyable. Eventually my mind slowed down enough to conclude that I need to walk more.

I Adopted a Baby!

In an effort to practice being a celebrity-which will, inevitably, one day come-I adopted a half-African half-Asian baby (Angelina aint got nuthin' on me!)! At least that's what the box said...



Actually, I will never be a celebrity, so that excuse failed. In reality I wanted more people to read my blog and I heard that if you put baby pictures up people will read it (or at least look at the pictures). So in an effort to gain a wider audience I adopted a baby so I can take pictures of it and post it in my blog. Other than that I don't really know what to do with a baby (any ideas?!?)...

Okay, okay, it's all a ploy to snag you with an absurd title. There is no half-African half-Asian baby that came in a box. I just needed to stay up on my posts so I have more posts in 2010 than in 2009 and 2008. I hope to be done posting by August...

Also, I was bored. A catchy title like that hopefully caught enough people's attention. The one thing I miss most while I've been in Grand Cayman is my family and friends. You guys are great! It's truly is hard to realize how good things are when you have them so readily available. Although I know you are all a simple phone call away nothing is more meaningful than being with you all. I look forward to seeing you all again in about a month, but I will be sad to leave my friends here behind. Seriously, my life would be meaningless without you. So, thanks!

Whooshes Lady is Alive and Well!

Anybody that has abhorrently tortured themselves by following my blog may remember the seemingly naked "Whooshes Lady". For all of you that have been dying for an update you'll finally have it. My good friend Perkins sent me a message over Facebook the other day and since he doesn't have a blog (at least not that I am aware of and if he does it would be interesting to see what sort of alter-ego and secrets he is hiding; I personally envision a blog entitled The Daily Happenings of the Morphsuit Man) I am going to paste his message here.

I think Perkins is the purple one. He seems to prefer purple.

So, I'm in the pharmacy to day and I see what appears to be a naked lady. She wasn't however, she was just wearing a tube top that I couldnt see. I realized she looked very familiar to me. It was the whooses lady (who I had actually seen last night once again on your blog). I got so excited. I pulled up your blog and showed a few people the whooses & whooses.

When she came back to pick up her rx I made sure it was I who handed it out to her. I told her I believed that I had seen her on the news about a year ago. She confirmed and stated "they made a whole joke of it, like i was naked."

She looked just like she did in the wooshes clip!!! Made my day right there.

p.s. Whooses lady is missing one of her front teeth

Many of you may not know this but Perkins is freakin' hilarious. My favorite part, if I may, was the line "...and I see what appears to be a naked lady. She wasn't however, she was just wearing a tube top that I couldnt see." He painted it perfectly. Anyway, if you haven't seen the video I'm going to do the whole Ikea thing and make you scroll through my blog, and in the process hopefully see something that you just can't pass up reading, until you eventually say "eff my life" and leave without watching the video. Just kidding, don't leave without watching the video!

Let me point out other reasons for this post. First of all, to note that I have readers, or at least one. And secondly, you never know when my blog will be useful in daily life. You may even use it as a tool or a reference to stress a point amongst friends and coworkers! Lastly, to thank Angie again for keeping that on her DVR last year and sharing its glory with us!

Thanks Perkins for the update and don't kill me for not first seeking your permission to post this! Without you my blog may have waited another two months before a post!

P.S. Here's a shortcut to the first Wooshes Lady post if you're in a hurry!

Two new posts below (aka written word vomit)

So once again I managed to turn what was suppose to be a two or three paragraph post into a novel. It's written word vomit; once I get going I can't stop. And then I had put the effort into it so I might as well post it! It's broken up into two parts. If I keep growing my hair out I'll need somebody to hold it back for me next time... Enjoy!

This may be a tee shirt on threadless

Wednesdays with Stumpe – Unneccessary Intro (read first)

I knew I was in for a treat of a day when I woke up ten minutes to nine in a panic thinking I was nearly hour late for work. I managed to calm myself down in order to try to figure out what time I was actually suppose to be to work. The thing is, is it never changes. Every morning I am expected to be to work in a meeting with my manager, Chad, by 9 o’clock. Insomnia had taken over the night before and I made the silly mistake, out of desperation, of taking a Tylenol PM at about 4 am. Sleeping through my alarm accompanied by a panic and grogginess should have been anticipated.

I managed to shower (which is basically my morning coffee and a must here because of the humidity) and make it to work only a few minutes late. Feeling the need, I headed up to the local coffee shop-Café Del Sol, oddly enough-for a breakfast sandwich and an iced café mocha. As a side note, the iced café mocha is a new personal discovery. I’m usually not a big fan of coffee. I tend to agree with my friend’s dad who claims coffee tastes like burnt water. When I do drink it I feel like it should be like how a real takes his whiskey, straight. Black coffee is actually kind of like drinking straight whiskey: hard to swallow, burns going down but warms the belly and the heart all day long. But I regress, in an attempt to wake myself up one day after a similar spell of insomnia I discovered that ice coffee was not great. The next time I needed a pick me up I ventured into Café Del Sol thinking I would stick with the greatness that is an iced chai latte (the problem with these, however, is ultimately the small levels of caffeine). As I waited in line, I watched the barista make a iced café mocha for a customer. “Was that chocolate syrup I saw her put in the coffee?” I wondered. My eyes were verily opened.



Back to today. I usually treat myself to maybe one a week. This one was my second already this week; and it’s only Wednesday! Furthermore, I asked for a double shot. I felt like I would need all the support I could get. The plan seemed to work. The whole day I felt energetic. I didn’t even crash. I felt great and I was selling tee shirts like it was my job! My coworkers, namely Maria, told me kindly that I should lay off the caffeine. Apparently, I was a little crazy. I figured it was typical behavior, but they suggested otherwise.

In reality, nothing too exciting happened during the day. I did at one point manage to scare Daniel, one of my coworkers, as he was turning a corner. I saw the opportunity and just couldn’t pass it up. Luckily, I’ve had enough experience and have watched enough AFV to know to be prepared for “fight” rather than “flight” from the victim. And I say luckily because Daniel, upon being startled, reacted with a kick heading to my man parts. With a roll of the twenty sided die I managed to parry, dodge, and block the oncoming attack (perhaps one reader of my blog will relate to that reference, but probably not). The day was filled with similar pranks but that was the culmination.





I was happy today when I noticed the Honduran fishing boat was back. Previously, the boat arrived and docked for a week or so selling fish from the boat. Some of the girls in the store bought some and squabbled out of them some free fish. By time I decided I wanted some the fishermen were dry. They triumphantly returned today with more fish. I announced I intended on buying some and Andrea so politely volunteered to retrieve the fish for me…in exchange she would get the free fish. I concurred and went home with a fresh two pound snapper and instructions from Andrea on how to cook it.

Before I would get around to cooking the fish I wanted to make it to the gym and the grocery store for some basic ingredients. On my way out the door to head to the gym I damn near stepped on a frog on my front porch. I let out a manly yelp and jumped right into the front door that I had just closed. (Don’t get me wrong, I’m not scared of frogs. It just startled me). I looked around for Daniel but he was nowhere to be found. I guess it was karma…what a bitch…

Upon returning home--from the “alpha male” night at the gym (Why!? Why did they start invading my hour at the gym?!?) and the grocery store from which I can’t seem to escape without spending more than I expected or should--I found my new friend, the frog, up on the edge of the window. It was then I envisioned the beginning of a beautiful mutualistic relationship. I would leave the porch light on for him attracting a plethora of bugs and he would, sequentially, eat the bugs upon their arrival. Karma: I retract my earlier words.

Wednesdays with Stumpe (read second)

Here’s where the night unfolds into the chaotic splendor that is my life. I begin to cut up the peppers, mushrooms, and onions upon which the fish will sit upon during its steam bath. As I am doing so the knife slips a little and I cut my thumb. Very shallow cut, nothing major. I figure wrap it up in a paper towel with some pressure and I’ll be back to cutting veggies in seconds. Well, the cut has different plans and decides to NOT STOP BLEEDING. Blood is just soaking up the paper towels. I had never seen so much blood from such a shallow cut. With no real first aid kit or bandages I start my hunt for the next best thing--which would actually be duct tape but in this case—electrical tape. I look everywhere and can’t seem to find my tape. As I am searching however I do find an ugly scary bug sitting on top of the doorframe to a closet. Concerned about the bug but focused on the bleeding I continue my search. I decide that super glue might do the trick and try to seal the cut. Once again, the cut has other plans. Rather than just oozing out, the blood finds its way to the ends and escapes the seal forming beads of blood that would eventually grow and want to drip. Seeing this failure, I check one last place for the electrical tape, the drawer where it belongs, and lo and behold, there it is. With paper towel underneath I tape up my thumb and turn my attention to the ominous bug sitting upon the doorframe watching my every move.



A bit of a side note: I hate bugs. This is mostly a recent development. We had minor cockroach infestation when we first arrived. Ben would hear them at night in the kitchen in plastic shopping bags that sat on the floor or counter tops. He also heard them ruffle through the tin foil that sits in the stove top bowl things. At night when I woke up needing to pee (Another side not here. This is a new development too. I use to sleep straight through the night. Is this an old age thing? Lord have mercy!) and as I would simultaneously turn on the bathroom light and walk into the bathroom roaches would scurry about. One time particularly, a cockroach ran in the worng direction and into my path. As I began to complete my stride with foot to the floor I lightly stepped on the cockroach, let out a manly yelp, and stepped away very calmly (okay so maybe I screamed and ran like hell). It was gross and effectively creeped me out. Another time as I was sorting out dirty laundry from my hamper to be washed, I picked up a shirt and out runs a cockroach onto my arm and down my hand. I flung that thing across the room and spent the next hour hunting it down.

I’ve since been able to rid my apartment of cockroaches with roach bait. At first this made them really stupid. In the past, we mostly had encountered them at night. One morning as Ben was eating breakfast one walked up right next to his cereal bowl on the table. It soon found itself dead. In another instance, I was taking my morning shower, or drinking my morning coffee you could say, when I notice a cockroach poke its head around the shower curtain. All hopped up on roach bait the cockroach proceeds to walk down the bathtub wall toward the water, and more importantly, toward me. I let out one of my manly yelps and not so gracefully jump out of the shower nearly killing myself in the process. Thankfully, I haven’t seen one of those dirty roaches in my apartment for some time now. I still check my shoes before I put them on, just in case… I guess I should give them credit though for motivating me to keep the apartment clean and crumb free as much as possible!



So back to the menacing bug in my apartment earlier today. My plan of attack at first involved Windex and shoes. Instead of killing it I decide I should take it into work and see if anybody knows what it is and if it is to be feared (in truth, it’s probably harmless, but that doesn’t make me like it anymore!). My new plan of attack involves a broom, my shaving gel (which had been used successfully to trap dirty roaches on several occasions), and Tupperware. As far away as possible I nudge the thing with no response. I then nudge with a little more force, it seems annoyed but its grip is strong. Finally I had enough and knocked it off of its ivory tower. Forced in one direction I suppose it was being led toward harm so it turned around and ran straight towards me. And let me tell you, this little bugger was fast. I was finally able to see its whole body and it was merely a centipede. All worked up over a centipede. Regardless, I managed to trap it in the Tupperware and left it to squirm. Sometime in the last few days I acquired an annoying, itchy bug bite the size of a nickel on my ankle. Any bug spotted in the apartment is now a possible threat and will be treated as such. I would later read that some are poisonous or harmful. So I kept him and maybe I’ll use him as a prank or scare tactic tomorrow…

Tools of the trade

Eventually I make it back to the original task at hand: Dinner. I let my mind wander here and there as I slice and dice. A light bulb eventually pops up. I decide to take pictures of my cooking escapades to prove to the girls at work that I can manage to find my way around a kitchen. At this point, the fish is relaxing in its steam bath atop a pile of veggies. I had just turned the stove on high to boil the water for the rice. With very little thought, I run out to my car to fetch my camera that I had left in the middle console. Gone but ten seconds I come back to a smoky apartment and small flames coming from the stove top drip bowl thingy (I really have no idea what that thing is called). Something that just didn’t sink in from Home Economics: Never leave the kitchen while cooking. Mom’s and dad’s do it all the time. No harm, no foul, right?



One idea phases into another and I decide rather than trying to impress just the girls at work (who are mostly much older than me, married, and well, just not compatible with me) I should post pictures on Facebook. In this way I can woo the ladies--even from afar—and impress them with my culinary talents. Then they will see what a suitable husband I would make! Better even yet, why not blog about it!?! I’ll have their heart in no time!... And somehow it evolved into this.

Dinner turned out better than I expected. I even ate one of the eyeballs! Typically I only mange to make, at the very most, food that is edible. This time, however, I found it to be rather tasty. Now whether or not others would think so is to questioned. I do have some leftovers if anybody is feeling like a midnight snack! The pictures don’t really do it justice. In fact, the pictures made the fish look kind of sketchy. But take my word for it, it was delicious!





To top off the night I treated myself to a brownie (also made by me—what do you think about me now ladies!?) covered with Grape Nut Ice Dream made on the magnificent Cayman island of Grand Cayman. Shortly after I finished my delectable dessert I chased down a moth with be broom sending another bug to its ill-fated destiny.





As all good things do, the day came to an end. I can’t help but to be reminded of the quote from the old and wise Professor Morrie: “Once you learn how to die, you learn how to live. Once we accept that death is inevitable we will begin to appreciate life and take advantage of the time we have here. Furthermore, I wish that someone would make a “where they are now” documentary on the likes of Amelia Bedelia, Steve Urkel, and Mr. Bean so that I might know my fate! In the end, though, as awesome as the day was, I was gently reminded…

Return to Smith's Cove

“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.” Such was the thought of le Commandant Cousteau, lover and friend of the Ocean. Jacques Cousteau saw the ocean for what it is: A giver of life. It’s no wonder that the glory and power, and yet the peace and tranquility, of this great body of water can excite the notions of God within people. Perhaps the Great Creator designed the ocean to represent His passive-aggressive attributes. Or on the other hand, perhaps the ocean shifts simply according to gravity and the rotation of the earth. Regardless, the ocean has an uncanny ability to draw individuals and groups of peoples to its edges for life’s most celebrated and contemplative moments.

Both mountain and sea have successfully cast their spell on me. As my current state is on an island to the ocean I go. Two weeks ago I returned to the twofaced shores of Smith’s Cove of which I described in my last blog entry. Clouds roamed the sky that day but allowed the sun to shine through from time to time. A soft breeze accompanied the warm air and undulating ocean. Kids and adults laughed and played both in and out of the water. Such a picturesque day was to be the setting of a series of small but memorable events.

I made myself comfortable on the beach and quickly found myself immersed in the saga of Jason Bourne via The Bourne Legacy. My concentration was interrupted as I noticed a stranger videotaping me. This stranger laughed and said she was going to show all the girls at work. I soon realized the stranger was a girl that worked in one of the neighboring stores. Once again back in the misfortune that surrounds Jason Bourne I was once again interrupted; this time the interruption came via a little wet puppy desiring my attention and warmth. Unwilling to go back in the ocean as its child owner insisted it stayed by my side only to leave for a short time and quickly return. Fortunately, the dog brought further interruption in the form of attractive European girls that found the young pup adorable.

The biggest interruption-for the lack of a better word-came as a small congregation, of what I deemed as Baptists, came singing and praising Jesus. With no intentions of being stereotypical, this group reminded me of Black Southern Baptists. Man, woman, and child were dressed in their Sunday best. With rolled up pant legs the pastor stood on the beach feet in the sand where the tide would drift up and drift away. Following suit, the men in the congregation were shoeless and their pant legs were rolled up. The women wore colorful dresses accessorized with beautiful Victorian and Edwardian hats. The music sung was boisterous, hearty, and jubilant. “Can I get a testimony,” shouted the preacher between songs. “Praise Jesus,” cried the heavy set lady in the front. And of course the occasional “AMEN” was bellowed out.

Shirtless, and certainly underdressed, I watched for fifteen odd minutes as the small congregation sung and testified. I also watched with envy as fellow onlookers, also underdressed in swim shorts and bikinis, videotaped and photographed the affair, wishing I had a camera to capture the moment.



Eventually the preacher led a young girl, seemingly in her twenties, dressed with the traditional white baptism garb, into the water. Prior to doing so the congregation prayed. The prayer giver prayed for the currents to not sweep the preacher and girl away into its depths. Fortunately it did not. God must have heard the prayer. More rejoicing and praise unto God continued as the preacher baptized the young girl “in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.”



The congregation dispersed, singing as they did so. Beach goers returned to their play and to their relaxing. I returned to my Jason Bourne saga unaware I would return to Smith’s Cove the next week for another celebration of life.



Evolutionists would have us believe that life started in the ocean; at least that’s what I get from the poster depicting evolution. The Bible would have us believe that God gathered the waters in one place on the third day. Afterwards He filled the seas and the skies with life. Regardless of the explanation people are drawn to the ocean for life. Baptism represents a new life, a new birth, as does marriage. One week later I would end up on the same beach, almost as if it were holy ground, surrounded by friends, dressed in my Sunday best, including khakis with rolled up pant legs and bare feet, to witness the beginning of a new life for Bruce and Rosa.



Le Commandant Cousteau so keenly observed that “The sea, the great unifier, is man's only hope. Now, as never before, the old phrase has a literal meaning: we are all in the same boat.” And so it is the Hawaiian proverb that we must heed and “never turn [our] back[s] on the ocean.”

A Long Winded Jog

I took a jog earlier this evening. It wasn't planned. I didn't know where I would go or by what path I would get there. I just ran. The jog was more about the opportunity to ruminate on things than it being about the fitness. The combination of the humid air, blood rushing through my body, music blasting in my ears through the ear buds, and the deathly narrow road lacking sidewalks helped open my mind up to an array of topics. As I passed The Sunset House I recalled and could taste the delicious Mahi Mahi and scallop potatoes that graced my palate as we sat oceanside accompanied by a breeze wishing to blow away our cups and napkins. From that point on in my jog the topic of conversation in my head seem to stick to what I have seen here, where I have gone in the past, and what I intend to do in the future.

As I continued to contemplate, the road I was travelling eventually led me to Smith's Cove. I had previously been to this beach with my friends and found it quite appealing. The spot is accurately called a cove. The entrance from the road leads the visitor to a grainy brown-sand beach. On either side of the sandy main entrance, a stretch of ironshore-limestone that has been eroded and weathered containing marine fossils-that creates sort-of a ominous yet serene atmosphere. The rock on both sides of the beach extends past the sandy beach slightly toward the opposing side into the ocean creating a narrow entrance to the cove in which the waters are mostly calm and swim-able.

As I walked toward the ocean, removing my ear buds, I noticed two couples sitting on the ironshore admiring the sights and sounds. They sat on the ironshore to my right; I headed left. Most of the remaining light from the day had disappeared during my jog to the beach. Very little light remained. I made my way across the ironshore and thought I had found a suitable place to sit and take the mighty ocean in. Little did I know that soon I would literally take the ocean in. Along came a substantial wave that pounded against the rock only to throw it in my face. Lucky for me it didn't drench me.

Not ready to leave I looked for a more suitable place to sit and contemplate. A similar cove to the main part, or main cove, lay just south with a smaller but comparable beach. Wet from both the sweat from my jog and the from the ocean spraying me I sat on the sandy beach of my new hideaway. Those that know me understand the sort of trancelike euphoria I can get just by the sounds of water in nature. It is powerful yet calming. Sitting up my line of sight was framed by a narrow opening of ironshore-maybe 8 feet wide-giving me a view of the ocean beating heavily on more ironshore off in the distance. Lying down the sky was open with a countless number of stars. Light pollution was limited in the area allowing for a view, when combined with the sounds and smells of the ocean, perfect for tranquil meditation.



My thoughts remained on the travels I have made, the travels I am making, and the travels that await to be made. It could be true that I have been struck by the travel bug. The term "travel bug" often gets thrown around lightly, with good nature, as it should. I am learning, however, that I shouldn't take this bug so lightly. It is similar to being tickled: It's not painful, per se, but neither is it entirely pleasant. The conundrum in itself makes me weary. And whether it is a the travel bug or the travel itch I have, I can't be certain without a professional diagnosis. Either way it's cure has evaded me on WebMD but from what I understand treatment only causes the bug/itch to intensify.

This travel bug has filled me with strong desires and intentions to see the world. It is a compulsion that has caused me to step outside of familiar territory, filled with a wide range of comforts, on a number of occasions in order to fulfill its needs. At home I can't wait for the next adventure; while away I tend to yearn for simple pleasures not afforded to me. I leave family and friends only to miss the small laughs and easy conversations. But when I am with them I think endlessly of these lands I have yet to step foot on. I imagine myself in the shoes of Anthony Bourdain, Andrew Zimmern, Samantha Brown, and Pico Iyer, in moments when delusions of grandeur take over me. I long to go where they have gone and experience what they have experienced. I long not to simply visit a place but to experience a place involving every imaginable human sense. An experience such as this requires time away from the things I hold most dear in my life: Family and friends. Notwithstanding, I remain compelled.

At times I feel as if I am a hypocrite for I am a student and preacher of the religion of travel; and yet, my passport contains merely two stamps. Furthermore, I believe in sustainable travel that inspires and creates; however, the means to travel, transportation, in it's very nature is unsustainable and degrading. As an example, a cruise ship is not my preferred method of travel. Nevertheless, a cruise may allow me an opportunity to see most of the islands for relatively cheap on a giant boat designed for fun. Hard to say no to! Travel is full of paradoxes such as this. Travelers, if not careful, can easily destroy that thing they love most.

Questions and concerns certainly do not end there. I constantly question the type of traveler I want to be. Should I be a poor backpacker going from job to job washing dishes? Do I even have the knack for that? Or do I go home and work my ass off for the next 40 years so I can travel when I'm 70 as much as I want? How can I travel while I'm still young? Where will the money come from? Why didn't study abroad? Should I join the Peace Corps? Can I get a job with an airline? How about working on a cruise ship? Should I teach English in some foreign place? Will I be able to make friends in these place? How do I share my travels? Am I a good photographer? Videographer? Will I have enough money to really experience a place? And the questions go on and on...

In the end, I know my desires to travel extensively will continue. How these desires will actually play out remains to be seen. For now, I will retreat back to my little hideaway at Smith's Cove as often as possible. There I will dream of Mom and Dad's cooking, laughing with friends, mountains in every direction, the queen size bed I left behind, Little Cesar's pizza, drinking and goofing off with some of the best people in the world, concerts, movies, Sportscenter, Jazz games, board games with the family, and not walking everywhere. As I dream of these things I will appreciate the sand between my toes, the warm February weather, the starry night sky (and the lack of Salt Lake's inversion), my new friends, the fresh-and sometimes different-foods, walking everywhere, and the experiencing I am gaining. And when I am done dreaming and done appreciating I will do as I have always done: carry-on.

“A journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it.”
-John Steinbeck