The Camel Man

When I was a child I would day-dream about being an astronaut, climbing trees with monkeys, and finding a princess on a cloud. As these dreams fade and my waking life starts to seem like a fantasy, I see that our juvenile wishes are not the only things that can bring us joy in adult life.  Being an easily distracted youth my restless thoughts were constantly wondering. Now as a young man my restless travels take me wondering into experiences that even the creative mind of a child would not draw up. I never will walk on the moon, but I did spend a hand-full of days living the gypsy life.

You need two things to be a proper gypsy, one is a head wrap and the other is animal companions. During my time learning this life-style I put much effort into befriending a camel. Over five days I grasped tightly to the opportunity to help my gypsy friend take care of his animals and learn his way of life. The whole experience is an outstanding chapter in my book, but with the camel especially I have developed a story. Here is the flip-book version...

She is not so willing to let a new guy get too close 

You will learn to keep your distance; her size is quite intimidating

With time she will let you share an intimate moment with her 

Although this does not mean she won't quickly change her mind and try to take a bit

If you are lucky her Dad will let you ride her

But there is still a risk she will try to throw you

After a few dangerous conflicts with the camel I grew to fear her, so when she invited herself into the human living space I could do nothing but offer her some bread

The only one she will be obedient for is, Gorhan. Gorhan, The Camel Man has been traveling his life along The Silk Road, the gypsy way. He goes about in a fashion that some can not imagine. He travels with a donkey, a cat, a hawk, goats, dogs, chickens, and a quail. Of course the camel too, who pulls his "camel-car" in which he sleeps and carries all of his possesions. He lives off the resources of the land as much as he can, all organically. He is a living inspiration for anyone interested in traveling or living with sustainability.  
Fresh goat's milk and honey soak his mouth each morning, but even out-side of society a man does not find complete bliss. I spent many hours listening to parts of his tale and I see that as he becomes more of an aged man the struggles of his life on the road come out through his physical health and attitude. Although he has faced many difficulties and finds his situation less hopful it is clear that his journey has lead him to be more spirit than man. 

"to live is to travel, to travel is to dream, to dream is to live"

No Meat-Meet

After a super-naturalist stay, living in caves, Jebadiah had a few ideas swelling like a tide through his head. "Slow-travel" was one train of thought that moved him to make a change in the way that he journeyed. Starting now, he proceeded with his transit without a rail, bus or plane ticket; he proceeded with his transit by means of auto-stop. With his feet on the road, he shinned like the glorious day that it was. He made one stop and then another. In his third success, an eighteen wheeler, he found himself laying horizontal in the cabin's sleeping accommodation, while his current and temporary companion sat upright in the passenger seat of this gas -guzzling-transport-machine. In this surprisingly restful hitch,  Jebadiah and Ash rolled through any doubts of  a failed hitchhiking experience. With this ride they avoided hours of thumb-aching on the side of the road and completed 320 kilometers into their desired destination- Ankara, the capital city. 


As Jebadiah was assuming the position of laziest, kicked-back, trucking through the heart of Turkey he contemplated another thought that he had while roasting a fresh pepper over an open fire outside his former cave abode. A meatless life? Although he had a few qualms surrounding the issue, in his mind he had made the decision of trying the style of vegetarian. 


In Ankara, Jebadiah and Ashlei were greeted by a one-two punch of a hospitality. The combination was a mother-daughter duet. The expectation of warmth from Alya and Ayse was fulfilled physically, emotionally and in Jebadiah and Ash's stomachs. 
Jebadiah's interest in both eating and preparing food drew him to watch Alya, the mother, work her way around the Turkish kitchen. Through a secret recipe for orange cake and a well known one for a savory pastry, Jebadiah wondered when his newly decided consumption habit would be put on trial. He had a full day without a meat dilemma until a bed of rice supporting an arrangement of fish in a flower pattern came out of the oven, smelling delicious for dinner. At this moment Jebadiah instantly replayed all the events leading up to his denial of eating animals. 
-
While having a late morning walk through a valley of cave art and artifacts just a week before, another companion who abstained from all animal products ironically said, "Oh, if only I ate meat," as a wild goose walked by. "Shoot, I couldn't kill that bird and I love eating carcass!"  Jebadiah said as he relived a scene from his past when he had participated in the killing of a chicken. Jebadiah's mind replayed a highlight reel of this memory.  Images of one piece of poultry hanging upside-down by bound feet, a dangling-broken neck, flapping wings, desperate squawks, and a slow stream of blood pumping the last bit of life from its veins flooded his conscious. A mental light paused him from continuing his walk.  Out-loud Jebadiah proclaimed, "If I am disturbed by the killing of a chicken, I definitely can't fulfill the task of slaughtering anything breathing for food."  
-
Now with Jebadiah's attention back on the fish at hand, he scanned his memory for any traumatic first hand fish murders. Coming up empty, he soothed his doubts and enjoyed the perfectly seasoned and spiced fish right down to the last tail-fin. "Maybe just a pescatarian,"  Jebadiah said to Ash as she gave a smirk towards his weakness.  


Jebadiah has a habit of meeting people on the road and using their references as momentum towards finding intriguing opportunities that need seizing. It is through this channel of receiving knowledge that he had directions to a small hillside village that was  "worth-visiting." This tip came from a pair of French nomads who lived out of a tractor-trailer. Their mobile-home was fueled by recycled cooking-oil, was well-furnished and burned wood for warmth inside. The couple gained experience by personally exporting vehicles into Africa; therefore, their recommendation was coming along with a feeling of well traveled knowledge. 


After one last homely breakfast with Alya and Ayse, Jebadiah and Ashlei kissed the pseudo-relatives good-bye and were on the road again. On route to the village, Seyhamami, Ash and  Jebadiah found humor in a taxi drivers discouraging remarks towards their refusal to pay for his service. "You are heading towards a cold remote place and you will be in danger of execution if you walk there," they guessed as the meaning of his Turkish warning.  


Safely and easily the pair of comrades caught a ride to their destination.  The village was three buildings, six homes, and nine times the amount of live-stock compared to humans. This pin-point sized town was deeply submerged in a valley sorrounded by three-hundred and sixty degrees of emerald mountains sparkling with winter's frost. Just as directed to expect, Jebadiah and Ash found Durson Dundar at the center of it all. This grey man seemed to be colored-in when he saw the faces of the travelers. Jebadiah understood Durson's enthusiasm better when Ash introduced herself. Ash, Jebadiah had learned, was similar to the Turkish word ashk, meaning romantic love. Upon mistakingly hearing the young angelic woman call herself "romantic love," Durson formed a cheeky expression and his face reached a bright shade of rose. It was clear that Durson was a lonely man and just the presents of Jebadiah , and mostly Ashlei, was bringing him pleasure.

Durson is the owner of the only business around- the hamam, the Turkish style bath. He was proud of this establishment and took Jebadiah and Ash to enjoy a gender divded bath. In the hamam a low framed wooden door opened to reveal a dark passageway streaming with a flow of fog.  Jebadiah stripped from his cocoon of dirty clothes on his way down the corridor and unfolded himself into a soothing, hot, browned-water pool. He glided through the liquid that was visibly lifting directly from the earth, up between the stony floor, to fill the container. The mountainous area's thermal springs created a most authentic humidity and sustainable heat for this natural sauna. Jebadiah viewed the scene from the back corner of the bath and gave his attention to it as the pulse of the traditional Turkish Bath thumped its beat.  


The water rippled to it's limits finding form in the Islamic architecture. The steam reluctantly became independent as it lifted in a cloud from the water. The domed ceiling's windowed center let the past noon's light weave through the vapor; the floating moisture expanded its molecules and played with the reflection on the bath's surface. The quartet of water, walls, air and light mingled together, slightly swaying.  Jebadiah gracefully hummed a gospel song to test the acoustics before a voice joined the performance singing a different tune.  Jebadiah yielded to the Turkish lyrics of his host, Durson, who sung a wooing melody.  The song echoed into Jebadiah's perception and his creative intention began to tingle.  Jebadiah withheld from developing the tickle of inspiration to let the poetic moment sink deeply into his excited senses. Now, like the steam, he felt his own molecules separating; his body was loosening beyond its solid state. 


Like waking up from a dream, Jebadiah suddenly found himself out of the bath, dried, clothed and sitting with Durson and Ashlie in the living space of Durson. The high from the bath must have let him suppress the torment of leaving the soak. In a haze from the transition Jebadiah passively watch Durson roll, light, and pass a large cigarette. With this, Jebadiah subtly melted into his seat and Durson began to fill the table with food. None of the fruit, cheese, bread, nuts, or chocolate really caught Jebadiah's eye. However when one platter was uncovered his attention was held. It was smoked, spiced, savory-red-meat.  

Discover Cappadocia

As a lone traveler I venture down many roads and think, the places I see and the things I pass by are too magnificent to describe. As a person with many valued relationships left behind, I work to convert the intangible into a picture book to tell the story of my voyage.  This duality in my identity has left me in contemplation before. Up until now it has been a question I ask myself, but while I have been experiencing life lived in a cave the question has surfaced as more a personal dilemma. 


Why do I write? Is it for you; is it for me? It seems as with all things, I find words to string together into sentences for a spread of reasons.  I have family and friends who I adore and who I hope enjoy following my adventure line. At a more superficial level, I hope people will view what I am doing and see it as something worth giving recognition to.  However, these reasons for writing are only additional motivation behind the source of my inspiration. I would not create prose and I would not publish photos if it wasn't for the feeling  that my products are something evolving inside of me with the intention to become a part of the world. Although I have this organic desire to write and create I wonder now if it is truly pure. I am worried that the pressure of sending updates may soil any true passion for this art.  I always am pleased with my finished work when I put The Energy into it, but that energy is sometimes exhausting to access. As an amateur writer I can not help but wonder if this form of self expression will fade from my life.   


As I bring you, now, into my present I am even more hesitant to reveal in detail what I have been doing. It is not because I am ashamed or feel guilt; in fact I am proud and revived by it. There is a place in central Turkey that was inhabited one thousand years ago by a civilization of people living in caves and off the land. Now this place, called Cappadocia, is spotted with tourists and lush with abandoned caves. Here I have been living for ten days, cooking over an open fire, exploring ancient artifacts, collecting wild fruit, and sleeping on straw in a low dark cut-out of rock.  I am shy to share this experience in full because it has filled me so deeply with life and I think that telling anyone about it would be a cheat to feeling it for yourself.  My loose sense of morals are telling me to be vague in hope that you will discover this experience on your own. 


For a small push in the direction I will leave you pondering this... 


What, beyond body warmth, is created when you share an ancient way of life with new found companions?  

How must it feel to wake up after your first night sleeping  within stone, wondering if your shelter is going to keep you secure, to find that you slept in the warmth of a cradle and the valley you reside in is covered in snow? 

How far away does modern society feel when you gaze at the same celestial pearls from the same earthly abode just as one did a millennium ago? 

The answers, I wish for all to find themselves, but I will tell you what they may provoke in you. For me the time here has led me to decide on the continued growth of my hair and beard and discontinued use of soap above my neck and discontinued consumption of meat.  

Cappadocia is a way of life...

Dedetepe-Well-Being

Warm rays of pink, orange and gold sink through my eyelids, drawing me to rise just a moment before the sun can rise herself, over the Autumn forest hills. Rhythms of this life, no need for alarm. I wake-up well.

Her body is scored with scars. She looks at the world through a cloud of trauma, seeing with only one eye. I accept her fear towards our tailless kind. Slowly gently, I absorb her aggression and get close to tend her wounds. Day by day I can hear more comfort in her response to my call, "Hey girl." I care well.

Earth: births the olives that drip the oil, sprouts the seeds that grown to be food, gives the mud that is molded for an oven, supports the trees that ignite for cooking, holds my feet, so I can patiently combine the gifts into an organic slow-food meal.  I am nourished well.

photo from Linda and Eriks

Focused energy streams through my actions producing progress to the task I attend. A group of bodies sharing a breath, food's fuel goes unwasted. Physical tasks accomplished satisfy more than my host. I labor well.  

photo from Linda and Eriks

I follow the music to find what I hear, I go to the land's edge to see what I find. Off the guide-book-trail I work to crack the surface of what is here. I inquire well.

Moments of laughter, moments of appreciation, moments of acceptance, moments of respect, moments of compassion, moments of communication, moments of creation, moments of weakness, moments of strength, moments we share, together our relations are well.

Here I am nature. Here I am free.  Here there is time for me to focus on me. I stroll down the river to feel the source. It is a connection like this that keeps me on course. Now as I go, self-care vibrates like a soft ringing bell. I-be-well.  

Independence

In France I traveled with a partner. In Italy I met my sister, made friends, and connected with some family. In Holland I collided with a college buddy and in Eastern Europe a friend, made along the way, invited me to share a bit of her world. Therefore I have not yet been a true solo traveler, but I am craving a change. Although it feels like, in this world with 6 billion people, someone is always nearby to cross a lonely path.

---

I decided at the beginning of the trip I would go without a mobile telephone. Up until Vienna this did not cause me trouble, and it has been inspiring me to live as if in a simpler time. Unfortunately, upon arriving at the Vienna train station my host was nowhere to be found. All payphones in the area were out of order and I had no way of contacting Claudia. After scheming my way into a hotel, free of charge, to use the internet I found directions to her address and started to head toward her home. With feelings of nervousness (I hadn't had to sleep on a park bench yet) and confidence (in my ability to navigate through problematic situations) I moved in the direction of her house. After traveling only 10 meters into my late night adventure (did I mention it was 1:30am in a city I had never been before?) I herd a hiss and a holler of my name. Of course, it was Claudia. After a miss-communication on the meeting location she found me roaming the streets as a vagabond.  I guess her impression wasn't to far off since I am traveling aimlessly from place to place carrying everything I have on my back. After that it was smooth sailing and calm seas, with a few squalls here and there of course. 

The first thing I did the next day is proof that I am fit for the degree I have recently acquired. 

The birth place of Psychoanalysis: The Freud House

 I walked through the rooms of his office in the same manner as one walks through a funeral. All people were silent and I felt as if I needed to hide the fact that I was having fun. I saw memorabilia that gave me the impression I was close to Dr. Freud's spirit. As I read the abstract of an article he published I had a realization. The article was in response to a study proving that cocaine was addictive. Sigmund used his personal experience to defend the drug, describe its benefits and to explain it as a substance not causing dependency.  To me this seemed faulty and I started to pick up on some of the contradictions all around. For example his atheist believes were surrounded by historical artifacts of ancient gods, and his sexist philosophies were followed by the support of his daughter, Anna, to become the first female Psychologist and extend his own work. Finally, I started to openly enjoy myself, take photos of silly things, and converse in the museum despite the dreary ambiance. It occurred to me that Freud was patriarchal and oppressive, and these energies still floated within the walls of his office creating the suppressed and somber mood.  

---

During my time in Vienna I have found myself somewhat tired and low on energy. I realize I am dealing with a lot of things in my life, besides being a nomad. I am no longer a student and am in the process of forming a new identity as well as dealing with other internal transitions. During times of change my life is full of greater uncertainly. As I work to deal through these things I find myself hopping to and from...

Bratislava, Slovakia  

 To eat some goulash 

and

Prague 

 To enjoy a weekend the Czech way

AND

All of Vienna 

 To spend some time with an inspiring Italian girl that a typical American would not normally get the chance to meet

And to find the son of my great-grandmothers baby brother who I call, cousin Herbert

---

Although my journey could not be going any better, the exciting present does not always work as a remedy for the shifting soul. Critiques of the past and worries of the future present a greater weight for me than my 15 kilo pack. I have met countless unforgettable people in Europe's un-replicable cities, but now I seek isolation. I am in need of some self-revival. I am starving for a greater independent connection to the power of Life, and I can't think of a better place than this olive farm in Turkey to do it! 

Rapid Reflections

Okay okay okay! I have been falling behind on keeping you up to date on my whirlwind adventure. I am alive, and seeing something new every single day! In 13 days I was in 6 different countries. For each of these nations I could tell hours of stories recreating the experiences with speech. Although for now, if I write about each moment that deserves a description I will be missing the world around me. Therefore, I will give you a small taste of where I have been and the full meal will come when I can sit down with you and keep you at the edge of your seat.  


My Last Day in Italy

The ending of the Avidano Family Reunion was the beginning of the cow feast. I daringly ate the brain, liver, tongue, lung, and face of a poor, finely prepared, cow. This is the kind of thing you only do, with a smile on your face, when family has served you the animal parts. It doesn't matter that the family is separated by many branches on the tree and an entire ocean. Familial love knows no distance. 

My Dream-like Week in Amsterdam

The grey haze that surrounded the city the entire time I was there gave the feeling of a dream, or maybe it was finding (on purpose) an old college roommate in Amsterdam that gave it the dreamy feel. 

 Or maybe it was this local construction worker, un-phased by the flock of pigeons as he drank milk on his lunch break, in front of the I Amsterdam structure as if to say HE is the spirit of Amsterdam. 

This lone bee also gave the feeling of fantasy. 

And where else do you find an adult size jungle-gym than in a dream. Oh yea Amsterdam!

 All you can eat, Dutch sheep and goat, cheese samples, Dreamy!

If this floating crane, plucking bikes from the canal like tulips from the garden, didn't create the illusion of a chimera, I must have been actually sleeping the whole time. 

One and a Half Hours in Frankfurt 

1.5 hours outside the train station in Frankfurt, Germany is not enough time to do anything, except have a beer and bratwurst at the near-by pub. Yes it was before noon, but when else can I do as the locals do, and the locals do drink before noon.  Actually there seemed to be a group that had been there for a while before I strolled in. I was fully loaded with my pack and travel gear and the old men seemed to be fully loaded in another way. Even on the search for this pub I saw a young man well dressed drinking from a liquor bottle getting on the bus. Maybe I am making a judgment, maybe I am wrong, but my short time in the German streets was accompanied with a somber mood. Was I picking up on some cultural pain within the people? Is there some kind of inter-generational guilt laying in the land? 

On the Road Again (part 2)

During the change of seasons weather moves quickly, and so do I. Hopping, skipping, jumping, driving, flying, and training, here is where I have been...

Cinque Terre is a place that capes off of the NW Italian coast. Five Villages, perched on the edge of diving cliffs, resist the temptations of the sea and stay nested where they are. These pastel clusters of homes and touristic restaurants  are cuddled by slopping fields of typical Italian agriculture. Evergreen trees and everlasting seas create a harmony of emerald and blue that resonates with a most beautiful tone. 

As I came out of the Milano underground, I immediately lay eyes on the Duomo and my first impression of the city. 

Bergamo Alta, the old stone city a top a hill is where Stefania and her generous Mother and Sister (my temporary host family) took me out for some outstanding pizza and unreal tiramisu. 

First impressions come and go, but lasting impressions are what you carry with you. I walk away from the region of Lombardia with the warmth of a group of friends who are a joy to share a glass of wine with next to a flowing river. 

From new friends to good-old-family, next I went to the airport. Not to catch a flight, but to meet some familial faces at the arrivals gate. From New York I found Uncle Mike, Aunt Sherry, Lovely Cindy, and of course Papa Stevie. We embarked on a Piemonte pilgrimage to visit some not so distant Italian family...

On the Road Again (part 1)

My last few days in Sicily were accompanied by the arrival of autumn. The sun became shy and the rain took its place. The wind shifted and  I had no choice but to succumb to the direction that it blew. I was carried North to where summer was still shinning and to where new friends were waiting my arrival.  


In a small village near Cinque Terre, I met Stefania (maybe you remember her from the dive shop?) and her two friends Marta and Bram. Marta and Bram are a pair of earthly lovers who operate and maintain a Bed and Breakfast/Organic Farm and Garden. The GIARDINO DEGLI ANGELI  has been hosting guests for the better part of a decade, and it receives many regular visitors who go to enjoy a weekend close to nature. The farm, on the other hand, has not been greeted with the same generous accommodations. Twelve hundred square meters of olive trees had been abandoned before Marta and Bram arrived. Countless plots of what would be oil producing plants are overgrown with all kinds of unwanted vegetation.  However, in the four months that our sustainability seeking couple has been working the land, they have transformed a section of the olive jungle into a beautifuly manicured field. Rock walls and gardens give a hint to what the entire property will look like when time has allowed their effort to show. 

The BnB from one of the unfinished gardens 

This town rests above the sea. It is a village that has its own dialect and a square spongy pasta that you can not find in other regions. It is a hidden gem with a simple tradition that is alive and evident as you walk down the paths and through the streets.  

Marta's passion for green life is apparent as she leads a nature walk

This region of Italy is far different from the dusty hills of Sicily 

When I used to think of Italy I did not think of the wilderness, that has changed

 I hope my interest did not bother her, but her scarf was so colorful

 Bram imagines him and his friends inhabiting the homes in this small piazza, I can see it now Belgium beer and chickens everywhere!

Almost, a familiar pair of green eyes

...Over a year ago Jennifer painted for me a beautiful blue dragonfly. Soon after the dragonfly entered my life I flew to Nicaragua to visit my cousin, MJ. It was there I found, in every stream, pond, and river, many metallic blue dragonflies that were the same kind as the one in Jennifer's painting. Sitting on the bank of a rainy season raging river the air moved swiftly over the water and I felt that I was exactly where the universe wanted me to be. 

It turns out, dragonflies are most flexible with their travel plans. With thin delicate wings, dragonflies are in constant danger of damaging their means of transportation. When even the smallest breeze passes by, they must not resist the direction of the wind. If they do not let the moving air take them where it is going their wings will tear from opposition and they will die. 

This metaphor has been inspiration for my travels. My itinerary is with the wind, and it is taking me to places I had no initial intention to go. 

To Be Continued...

The Sea by Day, Castle by Night, A day in the life...

"The sun's warm glow mingles with the salty breeze that carries the smell of the sea, and the life it fosters, to my nose. Boisterous voices exchange passionate conversations in the street and a familiar voice sings, "Nicky" off the sea-foam-green balcony. It is Dani, my sister. I must be in Sicily!"   

It has been six weeks since my arrival in Sicily, and yes I have been indulging. "Real" pizza has been a meal many times. Bathing in the Mediterranean happens in intervals of 24-hours or less. Oh, and creamy gelato has melted on my tongue and slide down my throat regularly. I have taken it from a cone, from a spoon, through a straw and smeared in the middle of sweet bread, a brioche. Although I can taste the roast in the hazelnut gelato and the pistachio flavor is sweet and salty, the dive season is coming to a close and I feel as though this island and I have shared enough, for now.    


It is rare that travel is routine, but at the dive shop I have had a daily schedule. A day in the life.... 

Each morning begins inside the "Dive Flag Tower." It is 3 levels. Stefania sleeps on the top floor and acts as my alarm as she passes the second floor to start the day.

Task 1 of the day: Prepare Tanks

When all is ready we leave land behind...

We do the work, our guests enjoy the ride

Whenever this life seems like I dream all I need to do is look to Antonio's (the Diveleader in training) arm to remind me where I am

Giovanni, my host and Divemaster, briefs the group on the dive site

"me"

After the dive and after a pasta lunch, it is time to find some shade around the shop

  

The sun falls from its peak and late afternoon arrives.  A soft sensation wakes me from a nap. I give my attention to hear the call of the plants on the hillside garden. They are asking for water.  This place is not an official WWOOF, but it surely is a Barnstorming. 

This terrace style garden is home to a grove of young trees

The fruit love the view

Maybe it's the environment, but some of the plants look like they could be found swimming in the Sea

Night creeps over the tower as blue skies fade to purple. A typical night out is a walk for gelato... 

On the way we see...

Fishing boats eager for morning's catch

Stefania as a shadow model in front of the Castle

The Castle that gives the town its name, Castellammare

On this night a music festival! 

 A lone guitarist wails overhead, in an archway 

 He belongs with this five piece group (if you include the pooch) playing, a funk like trance set, on the steps

 A fire show too...

His name is Bunda and he is from The Czech Republic

Almost forgot the point of the walk...At last

Moon light illuminates the old port town, but when the sun fills the streets I will start it all again

That is until Wednesday when I say goodbye to Sicily...