As I like to do before getting to the “meat” of the post, I’d like to mention a couple things that are present on my mind right now:
1) I’m REALLY tempted to write about my personal life, but even though I sometimes did on Where’s Wetzler, I’m not going to here. Maybe I will on Patreon. But it’s probably better just to keep my mouth shut.
2) It’s cold as shit here in GDL and I’m pretty sure I just felt an earthquake. And yes, a quick search on gewgal (sp?) tells me that this just happened:
I was sitting on the toilet and the plant started shaking. I thought about whether or not I should get up should things really start shaking. I elected to not.
3) I prayed to the universe last night for something wonderful to happen today.
4) I woke up last night at at 2:50am and my mind was as clear as it’s been in a long time. I realized the possibilities for teaching English online. And Spanish, for that matter. So far I’ve only been targeting the Spain market. But what about Saudi Arabia? What about Kuwait? What about the rest of the world? There are people willing to play big doubloons for good teachers.
And now I have told you something the things that are present on my mind and can continue to the illustrious photo essay, A Nomad’s 2017 in Pictures.
Our journey starts and ends in Germany. Actually, if I’m not mistaken, our journey starts on a 787 Dreamliner somewhere above the Atlantic. And actually the journey starts in Lisbon, where I spent one night before Germany. But I’m not going to talk about Lisbon. All you need to know is that something happened there that would drastically affect the next few months. Something that would cause me to move to Hamburg. Something that would cause me to not drink for a few months. Something that would cause me to wonder if I was a bad person, even though I know I’m not.
In Hamburg I studied Germany with a guy named Seb from the Canary Islands who had a French mother and English father. I ate a lot of rice. I drank a lot of lapsang souchong tea. I read Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth and thought it was really, really, good. I tried to learn how to solve a Rubik’s cube.
After Germany I flew to Nice, France, and then traveled over land into Italy. The above picture was taken in Portovenere, just south of Cinque Terre. The town of Portevenere is every bit as beautiful as the Cinque Terre towns, but much less visited. Here I looked through these archways and contemplated the meaning of life. I contemplated the meaning of coffee. I contemplated the meaning of money. I contemplated the meaning of pizza. I contemplated the meaning of barbecued ribs. I talked to a Portuguese girl just outside this fortress. I can’t remember her face, only that she was beautiful.
Then I went home for seven months. This was from March to early November. Not in many years had I been home for so long. I taught Spanish at Shoreline Community College. I interpreted. I broke my wrist. This would also prove pivotal in my life, because once my wrist was broken I had no choice but to revive my passion for soccer. With this came passion for Christian Pulisic, and would the major factor in my decision to go back to Europe, and ultimately Germany, at the beginning of November. But the above picture has nothing to do with soccer or Washington State. The above picture was taken in Central Park, on a balmy day in early August. I went there for Music in the Park with my friend Jen. The concert was wonderful. I fell asleep during the concert.
After Seattle I flew to Copenhagen, where I stayed with my friend Linda and spent too much money. Then I took the long way to Paris, where I stayed with my friend Darren, pictured above. Darren is a back-end programmer. He loves Paris. He loves electronic music. We drank a lot of red wine and roasted a duck on Thanksgiving Day because we figured a turkey would be too much meat. We were wrong.
After Paris, I went to Portugal, then Morocco, and then back to Germany.
This is the beautiful Florsheim am Main. It’s just west of Frankfurt. I spent a wonderful five nights here in an Airbnb run by a couple from Bosnia. The first night I noticed there was a clock ticking in my room, but it appeared to be part of the thermostat. I quickly realized disabling it would require minor masonry. The next day I mentioned it to Ben, the husband, and he spent the next half hour figuring out how to make it shut up. “I think you’ll sleep well tonight,” he said when he finally removed it. And he was right. I slept well in Florsheim. It started off a bit shaky, but I slept well at the end of 2017.
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