Nicaragua - San Juan del Sur

We awoke on our last day in Granada with a couple hours to blow. Sarah and I walked into town and wandered the local “Walmart”, a street market that sprawled over a couple blocks. Finding the local market is a favorite way of mine to hang with locals and discover that we are all fans of cheap Chinese shoes.

Our van soon showed to take us for the hour-long ride to San Juan del Sur. Our route ran along side Lake Nicaragua at times giving us a view of the two volcanoes on Omentepe, the island that sat in the middle of the lake. It’s supposed to be pretty bad ass. Next time.

We pulled into San Juan del Sur soon enough. A small fishing village that has turned into a surfing Mecca the last few years, San Juan del Sur is full of expatriates, those in pursuit of the endless summer and Nicaraguans coping and benefiting from it all. We checked into our hotel, a nice place run by a couple of older American gentlemen. The five of us would share a room. A quick search in a Blue Moon travel book led us to set up surfing lessons for the next day at a local surf camp. We ended up getting to know the owners, two Nicaraguan surfers who turned their childhood home into a no frills surf camp. Amenities were few but the atmosphere was thick with “Diacachimba”, a Nicaraguan surfer battle cry that I concluded was a fusion of Hawaii's "shaka" and America's "fucking A".

We grabbed a lunch at a touristy joint that sat along the bay. A few folks lounged on the sand and fishing boats crowded the small bay. After eating and settling into our rooms, we hiked to a hotel near ours that had a great view for the sunset. It was swanky joint that we later found out was a non-profit organization that ran a wildlife refuge and several community service programs in the area. Plus it was Margarita Monday. After enjoying a couple of Mexico's finest cocktails we called it an evening.

At some point in our travels Sarah let out a cough and an "uh oh". She knew when she was getting sick. Swine flu? One never knows.

This was a good vacation because it allowed for relaxing, something I normally don’t do when traveling. The mornings were lazy and the evenings were low key. Mid morning that next day we went to our surf camp for our lesson. Our group, along with a few others, piled into an old conversion van complete with a Canadian flag in the mirror, an Obama sticker on the bumper and a bungee cord keeping the door from flying open. That bungee cord was soon put to use as we discovered that paved roads in the San Juan del Sur area were limited to the town. We navigated the bumpy dirt roads to a beach a few miles away known for its smaller waves. The beach, while isolated, was surrounded by a few villas. Walking from the parking lot to the sand we passed a sidewalk full of the most random collection of statues.

We enjoyed swimming in the warm, blue water while we waited for the surf to come in. As the waves started rolling in our instructors called us together. There were three of them. One spoke English well and so spoke for them all. He introduced them by the Christian Nicaraguan names, but we would remember them by the nicknames he gave us. He was Shaggy and his two compadres were Curly and Mr. Mustache Man. Our lesson lasted for a couple hours. I got the hang of it in the shallow water – kind of. I grew up skateboarding, wakeboarding and snowboarding. Many of the fundamentals are the same, but it was a whole new beast. We stayed in the shallow breaks. If I did get up, there wasn't much of a wave left to ride. We hung out for awhile near the beach and got to know our new pals. It was a good day. I liked surfing.

We rode back to San Juan del Sur and our new Nicaraguan surf buddies invited us to Curly's birthday party that evening. After cleaning up, Sarah and I went out to find dinner and to explore. She was starting to feel the sickness. In that Central American setting, thoughts of swine flu what ifs danced through my head. I was confident that my immune system was strong enough.

We walked through the streets of San Juan del Sur as the sun set over the Pacific. We stumbled upon some young boys playing a game of something. Give a group of boys a ball, a stick and a street anywhere in the world and they'll come up with some sort of game. We enjoyed the competition for awhile and moved on. For dinner we grabbed our group and stopped at an open-aired restaurant known as the place where the chicken lady resided. My Spanish is okay, but there were some charades involved as we all ordered the house special... chicken. Off the grill. As darkness fell the bugs began to congregate around the couple light bulbs. They were a nuisance, but not enough that we didn't enjoy our meal. Some of the best pinche pollo I have ever had.

Leaving full and happy we grabbed a few six packs of Nicaragua's finest beer and went to the birthday party at the surf camp. It was a good time with a few highlights.

1. A surfer dude came out and sang a guitar about being a mellow surfer dude in San Juan del Sur.

2. Mr. Mustache Man did the running man to Vanilla Ice.

3. Tio. Tio is Spanish for uncle and the name we affectionately gave Curly's uncle. In a room full of folks in their 20s and early 30s, 50-year-old Tio was by far the loudest and most boisterous. He amplified the music with his mad beatboxing skills and dancing. Our friend Dana cut the rug with him. Curly and his brother kept apologizing for their uncle, but we thought he was rad. Tio and I parted ways by embracing and singing an impromptu song entitled "ADIOOOOS AMMMIIIIIGOOOOOOO". He continued the refrain as we left the camp.

The next morning I set out to find the local pharmacy. Sarah was feeling the flu full on. As much as we poo poo'd the whole swine flu hysteria back in the states, you started to wonder. She was a trooper though and after taking some meds decided to join the rest of us for a second day of surfing. We went back to the surf camp where Curly and company were understandably a little slow to rise and get moving. But once again we loaded up the dilapidated van and set out for a new beach. The road was more treacherous than the day before and we cajoled and rooted for the van to make it up some of the hills.

Once we hit the beach, Sarah went down. She would spend the day in the shade with a fever trying to find relief from the heat. The poor girl was miserable.

The rest of us had a nice day at the beach. I kept trying with the surfing. Whereas the day before I stayed on the small beach breaks, I was determined this day to go out to the big breaks. There were no huge waves that day, but for a beginner, 3 feet is big enough. My biggest fear out there was upsetting the other surfers. I didn't know the etiquette yet. There was a really nice guy who knew what he was doing out there who waved me over and gave me pointers. He had Olympic rings tattooed on his back and it turned out he was on the American freestyle skiing team for the past two Olympics. He was a really cool guy and expanded my knowledge of the fundamentals. I got a little better at surfing – got up on the board briefly, but for the most part I tired myself out paddling and fighting through the waves. Surfing is awesome exercise and I have a whole new appreciation for it. If I ever live near the coast again, I'll pick it up for sure.

A storm moved in early afternoon and we scrambled to leave. Our van wouldn't have made it through those roads if they were muddy. I was happy to leave a little early for nothing else than to get Sarah back to a bed. As well, during the day I felt a tickle in my sinuses. I got sick on my last vacation and knew the feeling well.

Shit.

I set up a fishing trip with a guy at our hotel and after returning from surfing I met our fishing guide. He was just a local fisherman, who from time to time took some gringos out with him for the day. All I can say about the guy on first impression was that he was crunk. His smile revealed a row of golden chompers. Straight up gangsta.

The next morning we awoke. I felt the crud. Sarah still felt like shit. The other three in the room mocked our sleeping noises. Did you know that Adrian sounds like a dinosaur when he sleeps? It was news to me.

Our fishing guide picked us up in his pickup and we headed to the bay to catch the boat. There our yacht waited. Simple. Cool, but simple. The boat was probably about 15 feet long, had an outboard motor and tarp to protect us from the sun. Not exactly what I was expecting but I liked it none the less. Captain Crunk and his first mate readied the boat and we climbed aboard. They spoke absolutely no English but smiled a whole hell of a lot. They were really nice guys who seemed happy to spend their days out on the water fishing.

We headed out into the open sea. Off in the distance we could see Costa Rica which was only a few miles away. Don't think I'll ever go there, but I saw it which is close enough in my book. We found out from a few Nicaraguans that there is a bit of animosity between the two countries. Allies in the past, their relationship has become strained. Nicaragua is to Costa Rica what Mexico is to the states labor wise and it causes tension.

We did some fishing for red snapper first. Our poles were made from a tablet of wood with fishing line wrapped around it. We threw some squid on the tackle, dropped it in the water and waited for a tug. Old school style. Our reeling in was us yanking in the line rapidly to find either nothing or a nice little red snapper attached. It was cool in its own way. It was like straight up survival style fishing, but these guys do it every day. I’ve got that skill set down for after the apocalypse.

My friend Dana was really concerned about becoming sea sick, but did fine during the entire trip. Sarah was still feeling really sick and found a comfortable spot on the bow of the boat. At one point while I was "reeling" in my line, I noticed a green splot float by. I looked over and saw Sarah offering the contents of her stomach to the gods of the Pacific. My friend Kami would soon follow, though she insisted on apologizing to us all as she got sick. It's alright Kami. We understand.

After getting our fill of red snapper fishing, we started trolling for El Dorado. We saw some of the large, green fish hop in the water already, some of them skipping several times on the ocean's surface. Feeling the hit of a fish that big on your line is quite a rush. We caught a few of them; saw many more escape our amateurish attempts at bringing them in. Regardless it was fun.

We had been out on the water for about 4 hours when I start to feel the crud full on. We had two others who were down with sea sickness so we headed back to shore. On the way, our Captain Crunk expertly filleted our fish for us.

Returning to our hotel, I could barely stand. Sarah felt fine. Apparently you only felt like death for about 48 hours.

I had what she had.

She gave it to me.

Jerk.

I took some meds and headed to bed while the others went out. The hotel took our fish, which is Mahi Mahi to us yanquis, and made some ceviche with it. Sarah brought me a taste. It was good. I wish I had felt better to enjoy it. I spent the rest of the afternoon lapsing in and out of consciousness. The flu is the pits man.

Josh was sleeping in the bed next to Sarah and me. He would soon feel our wrath. One of the biggest victories on this trip was Josh's against nature. Josh is a descendent of the fairest of the fair skinned people. He does not get along with the sun. When we went to Peru he battled nature and got a beating. We were all concerned how he was going to do in the Nicaraguan sun. He brought a few long sleeved, beach happy shirts, loaded up on sun screen and ended up doing just fine. Until the flu got him.

The next day was Josh's turn. While he stayed in bed all day, we went zip lining. It was a fun experience. Zipping through a forest a hundred or so feet above the ground wasn't as scary as I thought it would be but it was fun none the less. Afterwards we spent the day wandering around town.

Our final day in Nicaragua came and we packed our backpacks and loaded a van. Our driver took us to a market in the town of Masaya before heading to the airport. It was cool, but definitely in place for tourists. We got to the airport and waited for our flight. The airport in Managua is small, and there was little to do but people watch and wonder if you had the swine. We got to Miami, where no heat sensors and masked personnel awaited. But there was airport Chinese food.

I still haven’t fully recovered from Nicaragua. I got over the flu soon enough. But a little diacachimba held on. I lost five pounds while there. Servings were smaller and in that heat, you just don’t eat as much. I’ve yet to fully regain my appetite. As well, my appetite for the news has fallen. I was away from all the noise for a week. During the presidential campaign I became a news junkie. But a week away form the commentaries and 24-hour news stations made me realize that a lot of it is just noise. I like it south of the border.

Diacachimba. Viva la ‘ragua.

Nicaragua - Granada

I’ve always wanted to learn to surf. I’ve also always wanted to hang out with monkeys. I’m an enlisted guy in the military though, and therefore don’t make much money. Finding a place to satisfy the convergence of these desires was a challenge.

I had a friend tell a story about being arrested in Nicaragua. That sounded cool. From that day forward a battle cry was born.

"Nicaraguaaaaa"

You have to say it slowly and it helps to whisper it. It gives it more of an allure. Sarah and I started planning a trip. Over the next few months 3 friends would sign on. We would whisper “Nicaraguaaa” to each other in passing or leave notes to each other on Facebook walls with the call to adventure.

When I travel I like planning a thorough itinerary. If I have children, I suspect this will make me a good father keeping a clan together for a well thought out trip touching on all of the cultural points. For this trip, however, I refrained. While most of the time I like cramming a trip with as much stuff as possible, relaxation was high on my list of priorities for this trip. We had two goals for this trip – hike a volcano and learn to surf. And besides making hotel reservations, we would figure out the logistics when we got there. Part of this was to keep it open ended, but more so it was because there isn’t too much you can reserve in Nicaragua via the internet. Nicaragua is still pretty far off the gringo tourist trail. I would learn that “winging” it could be just as enjoyable if not more so.

We flew to Managua, Nicaragua’s capital city. One of the things that attracted us to Nicaragua was that it cost less than $400 to fly there. Stepping off the plane mid afternoon into the small airport, we were confronted with the fear of pandemic. Lab coats and masks pointed all the passengers to heat sensing cameras. We all took our turn in front of hyper-colored screen. No swine flu! For now at least.

We had a van lined up to take us to Granada, our first of two stops in country. The hour-long drive in the dilapidated van gave us an initial impression of the country. Hot and littered. The litter would graciously limit itself to the main highway.

Arriving in Granada we dropped our bags in our room and hit the town to explore and grab a bite to eat. We found a church early in our walk. It was pretty as churches often are. We paid a dollar to climb the bell tower as tourists often do. The tower provided a lovely panoramic view of the city and the surrounding country. Granada is the unofficial capital of Central America. One of the oldest cities that sits on the giant Lake Nicaragua, it’s roots are steeped in culture and pirates. From the tower we could see the Mombacho volcano where we would be the next day. We could also see two classically coned-shaped volcanoes in the distance – one spewing smoke or steam.

While snapping pictures, a young boy came up and told us that he was going to ring the bells. We all took positions on the outside of the thick walls to provide a barrier from the noise while the boy rocked out. In town fireworks and sirens from local emergency vehicles sounded. I wasn't sure if we were hearing a celebration or a revolution. After the bells rang, we thanked the young man for the warning and walked down the tower and into the town square. Turns out we were there for a festival at the cathedral. Clergy and Granadans of all walks of life paraded around with a band and an ornate Mary. It was a cool scene to stumble upon.

The next day we had one thing on the itinerary. Hiking Mombacho volcano. We got a sampling of a Nicaraguan breakfast, that consisted of rice, beans and fruit, and got ready to hike the volcano. I tried to line up a ride from the front desk of the hotel. He called a young man named Osmond. We ended up hiring Osmond to be our guide for the day. It was well worth the few extra bucks. We all piled in to Osmond’s old Toyota corolla and set out. The dark tinted windows and air conditioning blaring gave us some relief from the heat and humidity that we were still getting used to. As we made our way towards the volcano, Osmond pointed out some of the local sites. He had a certain way of navigating the many speed bumps along the way. One time the pavement crunched against his undercarriage.

"You know what that is?" Osmond said, pointing out an attraction and apparently not to concerned about the vehicle.

"Five yanquis," I said.

We arrived at the base of the volcano. Osmond’s Toyota took us as far as it could. We clambered aboard a ranger's pick up truck that took us up a few miles to a larger, military-style vehicle. We squished aboard the big truck with some French tourists and made our way to the top. Along the way we stopped at a coffee plantation that sat on the side of the volcano. The cool, moist air on the volcano makes for prime coffee. Russia buys most of the stuff. I bought a couple bags as my little part to spread some good old greenbacks around.

The top of the volcano had a large cabin where rangers sat ready to show tourists the many natural oddities the volcano had to offer. There were a couple trails We chose to the hardest they had available, a 4-hour walk that would take us around the top of the old volcano. The puma trail, as it was called, had 7,000 stairs. A lot of ups and downs. A good hike that I enjoyed more than some in our group. I heard two four lettered F bombs come out of a couple surprising mouths. One from a travel mate, Dana, who rarely cusses. The other was from Osmond who decided the trail was shitty enough for him to spew one of English's most elicit words. At least he has a mastery of the language. We saw a snake slither by and a couple frogs getting it on along the trail. No pumas or monkeys though. It was a good hike and my first along a volcano. They smell like ass, though it was cool to see plumes of steam escape the crater from time to time.

After finishing the trail, the big military truck put its transmission to work taking us back down the hill. Our day with Osmond wasn't done. He took us through a little vehicular tour of Granada. Driving through Granada's ghetto we passed a funeral procession. It was on foot, with horses pulling a black carriage followed by a silent congregation. A touching scene to say the least.

Our next stop was lake Nicaragua. We were headed out to an island for dinner. There were several little islands that sat off the coast from Granada. They were created when Mombacho erupted sending giant rocks from its belly into the water. Many of the little islands have become little personal sanctuaries for Nicaragua's rich and for a few rental properties. Osmond, who has never been to the states, pointed the splendor of these manors out. They were very cool, but not nearly as big or extravagant as you might expect.

"You know how much that big one over there costs?" Osmond asked pointing to one of the nicer manors.

"How much?" we asked.

"Guess."

"I dunno ... a million dollars?"

"No! Wow," Osmund said, apparently a little surprised at our figure.

"I dunno man, how much?"

"Four hundred THOUSAND dollars," he said.

"Oh wow, that's not bad," we replied.

This apparently took Osmond aback a bit.

"No, no, no, not four HUNDRED dollars. For hundred THOUSAND dollars," he said apparently trying to reemphasize his point.

We explained to Osmond that in Washington DC, $400,000 might buy you a small house in a crummy neighborhood. I think we shattered his soul a little with this fact.

We pulled the boat next to an island and Osmond yelled an order to a gentleman standing near the dock. While they cooked our food, Osmond was going to take us to an island close by where there were monkeys.

Not sure how the monkeys got there, but they were there and rad in full effect. A few capuchin and spider monkeys lived there, but Osmond and the boat drivers knew that Panchetta, one of the spider monkeys, was the friendliest. As we pulled the boat up, she jumped aboard. We would all get a little quality time with the monkey sitting on our laps. She was a real sweat heart. At one point one of the other monkeys attempted to get aboard and the boat operator quickly guided the craft away. Apparently there are assholes in the monkey kingdom too. Happy that we had checked the monkey-on-our-lap block in the trip, we said goodbye to our new friend and went to dinner.

Dinner was some pan-fried fish and rice. It was really good after the long Mombacho hike. Full and satisfied we took the boat back to the shores of Granada while the sun set over the city. A beautiful boat ride. As I let my hand drag in the water, I remembered that Lake Nicaragua was home to the world's only fresh water shark. No pumas. No sharks. Life was good. Back ashore some young boys raced for our dollars making us palm sculptures.

We had one more stop to make in the evening. I had heard that Nicaragua was home to some of the world's best cigars. I'm not a huge cigar smoker, but I like them from time to time and I knew my step dad would like some. So Osmond took us to what he called the best cigar shop in Granada. It was dark when we pulled up and the place looked empty. Most of the doors in Nicaragua have iron "screen" doors to keep ventilation going during the hot night.

"They looked closed dude," I said.

"They'll open for me," Osmond replied.

He banged on the door and yelled something in Spanish. A woman appeared and after a brief conversation opened the door for some after-hour customers. We walked into a beautiful Spanish-style villa with the front room being their shop. Above the main display counter was a blown up picture of the owner smoking a cigar with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Off in a dark corner several folks were crowded around a glowing TV. The owner soon appeared. He turned out to be super awesome. He spent many years living in California, had a daughter who was an officer in the US Air Force and was the former mayor of Granada. He was proud of his new venture and gave us some cigars and soda to sample while we shopped and chatted. He was very excited that his cigar was currently number one on cigars.com. He even got one of the TV watchers who was also one of the rollers to pull out some of the tobacco, which was grown at the base of Mombacho, and demonstrate cigar rolling. She gave us all turns rolling our own cigars. They pressed them for us and gave them to us as souvenirs before we left. Smoking a cigar you rolled yourself earns your bragging rights. He was a proud, very cool gentleman and we were grateful for his time and generosity.

It was a full day and we made sure Osmond knew how much we enjoyed it before he took off. We would talk to him a couple more times before we left. Once to arrange a ride and once because he just wanted to make sure we were enjoying his country. We said goodbye, enjoyed a few drinks on the patio before heading to bed as a huge thunderstorm rolled through. We were headed to San Juan del Sur the next day.

My inauguration

I consider myself extremely fortunate. My time in the military has been extremely fortunate as well. The places Uncle Sam has taken me and the people he has introduced me to have led to some great adventures.

DC is a cool town. I often complain about the weather and cost, but living in the nation’s capital has its perks. Unique ethnic cuisine. Kickball at the Washington Monument. A Saturday spent looking at the ol’ Declaration of Independence. The inauguration of America’s first black president. The Watergate.

I’ve never cared so much about a political campaign. I think our country is at a crossroads and I thing the next four years are crucial. So I cared. I consider myself a moderate who leans left. I supported Obama since early in the primaries because I thought he would be best at bringing us together as a nation. His campaign was a journey. His proposals made sense to me. I defended them. And I defended him. At times it caused friction with some of those who are close to me. They cared about their side. I cared about mine. Shit happens. In the end blood is thicker than politics.

My guy won and this made me happy. I’m used to voting for the losers, although I didn’t really care for the past two losers too much. I cared about this one. I haven’t cared about something this much in a long time.

When Obama won, I had full intentions of being on the national mall for the inauguration. I got the day off right away. As the weeks passed, the radio airwaves filled with warnings about the crowds and the hassle that it was going to be. DC area residents were advised to stay at home. Not a chance. Last week, however, a good friend of mine who works for the sergeant major of the Army offered my girlfriend, Sarah, and me tickets to the Commander in Chief ball, one of the 10 official balls the president was going to attend. I leaped at the opportunity. We decided not to attend the inauguration during the day because getting in and out of the city twice would be too much of a hassle.

On Monday, Sarah and I went to an art show in Georgetown with pieces highlighting the grassroots campaign that helped get Obama elected. It was cool. Georgetown seemed like it does most Saturdays. Crowded. Rich people. But where we got off the metro, near the Kennedy Center, a carnival atmosphere filled the air.

I know DC is always crazy during inaugurations. Haven’t been in the city for one before, but I know that the crowds are normal. Regardless, there was a buzz in the air and you could feel that you were in the presence of history.

After the show, we walked to the Lincoln Memorial so Sarah could meet a high school friend of hers who had traveled to DC. I’ve never seen a line at the Lincoln Memorial. The crowds were thick. And there were porta potties. I’ve never seen so many porta potties in my life. It was my Shangri-La. I have the bladder of a small woodland creature. I peed several times not because I had to but because I could. It was glorious.

It was also cold, and the traffic, sirens, humvees, busses and crowds were making me grateful I wouldn’t have to come down the next day.

I woke up the next day around 6. I had a friend staying the night so that he didn’t have to drive through DC that day to get to work. I don’t have TV, but I found a couple websites that were streaming the event live. I honestly didn’t think it was going to be as crowded as there were saying. I thought the frigid temperature and the ominous threats of crowds would drive a good chunk away. So when I turned on the video feed and saw that sea of people at 7 in the morning I was shocked. It was amazing. I also saw the lines for the metro trains. I was grateful I was drinking hot coffee in my warm living room with a bathroom 20 feet away.

And then they announced the mall was full and was being closed off. For those who have not been to DC – the mall is a beast. To fill it up a couple hours before the event even started was impressive.

For the next couple hours, Sarah, my friend and I watched history on my 22-inch Mac screen along with the rest of the world.

It was then time to get duded up. I threw on my uniform with a bow tie. Sarah got a little more into it. At about 3 o’clock, we hopped on the metro to head to Chinatown – about a 30-minute train ride. The train got more packed as we got into the city. Sarah and I looked good. We looked real good. And we were a little early for the ball crowd. A lady complimented us and we struck up a little conversation. They had traveled from California. They talked about how cold and cramped it was but how awesome it was for them. They looked miserable and cold but gleamed when talking about what they experienced. They asked which ball we were headed to and were impressed with our response. I felt very lucky.

Chinatown is located a few blocks off the parade route which had yet to happen. They had the exits before and after Chinatown blocked off so that exit was packed. As we ascended from the subway, the carnival took over again. The sirens, crowds, cheering and music filled the brisk air. We had some time to kill before the ball and we were meeting a friend, so we found an Irish pub. Good call. Having an Irish coffee in a crowded pub with a humvee parked right outside is comforting. We watched the parade there and then headed to the ball.

The ball was intended for enlisted and junior officers. It wasn’t an open bar. Smart move. About 2,000 guests filled the beautiful National Building Museum. There wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Wounded warriors from Walter Reed were in attendance as were family members of the fallen. Holes opened quickly in the crowd for our wounded comrades to pass through.

It was an affair I won’t forget. Biden talked to some troops in Iraq through a teleconference. Obama talked to some troops in Afghanistan. Barack and Michelle danced with a Marine and Soldier. They were 20 feet away. I thought about those freezing Californians on the train and how far they traveled knowing they would probably only see him on a teleprompter. I felt very lucky. The Obamas were greeted very warmly by the crowd. Yes, the military is more conservative than not. But the excitement was no less in that ballroom as we greeted our new boss. He left the stage with the troops chanting his name.

Then Bon Jovi came on. I do not support Bon Jovi since he started frosting his hair.

We stepped back out into the cold air drunk off of whiskey and the moment. Bag pipes pierced the night. I love pipes and they were just off the path back to the train. The piper was outside the pub we were in earlier. We decided to stop for a night cap. I stood outside to listen to the piper for awhile. He played the Army song for me. I did a little jig. We ended up talking for awhile. He had been to Gitmo to play for the troops there. He was a staunch republican. We discussed some of our differences in opinion. I told him I thought it was a good day to be a soldier. We both agreed it was a great day to be an American.

I’m not a cynic. I have a lot of hope for the next four years. I am a realist though. I know the honeymoon is going to end. I know Obama’s not going to keep all of the promises he made the last couple of years. I know I won’t agree with everything he does or says. I think he’s done a good job in the transition. I like the fact that he has pissed off some of the left. But Tuesday wasn’t a day to worry about policies. Republicans and democrats alike stood side by side and recognized what this moment meant for us as Americans. It was moving to say the least. It’s a new day and I’m smiling with the sunrise.

European observations

I came across this today - an email I sent to my family and friends before leaving Italy. It amused me. -

My time in Europe is quickly coming to a close. For the past 3 years (would have been four if it wasn't for Osama) I have had the privelage to live in a part of the world others pay thousands to visit. I think I've been pretty good about getting out and seeing the Europe. There is always more I could have done, but just like anywhere, some weekends are best spent sitting your ass on a couch and relaxing.

I dont think I'll ever have so many profound experiences in such a short period of time again. I'll miss living here dearly, but I'm looking forward to being back stateside for awhile. I have to say goodbye to the tile roofs and cafes of Italy, and say hi again to the vinyl siding and stip malls of the states. However! I can now make small talk with waiters and get some nachos or a slurpee at 2 a.m. if I want. I hope to one day live overseas again, but am very much looking forward to being closer to my family and friends and the conveniences of the states. Plus I'm excited about my new job. I get to corrupt young minds and corrupt the military public affairs field for years to come. Tee hee.

Below I've listed off a few things I've learned as an American and a soldier living overseas:

• Drinking Chianti IN Chianti earns you bragging rights
• The most important word to know in all of Eastern Europe is "pivo". It means "beer" in like 10 countries.
• No matter where you go in Eastern Europe, the band Europe's "Final Countdown" can be found on the jukebox and will be played at least once a night.
• Absinthe tastes like shit.
• The best pizza I ever had was in a small town in Poland. Go figure.
• Bratislava is a weird, weird place. But that is what makes it so cool.
• The coolest McDonalds in the world is at the Brennar Pass in Austria. Looking over the alps while eating a Big Mac rules.
• In Budapest, a vampire just may pop out from any corner.
• Venetians are cocks.
• Romans rule.
• I don't care what anyone says, France is awesome and the people there are nice as hell – at least in Normandy.
• A baguette and sausage is the perfect companion to a beer.
• British people can party
• Nothing is more serene and humbling than walking through the white crosses at the American cemetery in Normandy on a day when it is closed off to everyone but military and press.
• U2 is HUGE in Ireland. Who would have thunk it?
• The wonders of Ireland can be found both inside and outside of the pubs.
• Nothing is cooler than being called a "lad" by an old Irish guy.
• The countryside of Switzerland is absolutely beautiful. The girls at the Swiss Hooters are not so much.
• Rabbits are very popular pets in Germany.
• Listening to Dixiland jazz in Prague is surreal.
• The best six Euros you can spend in Europe is climbing to the top of the Duomo in Florence.
• Street sings, speed limits and traffic laws in general are mere suggestions in Italy.
• Topless beaches aren't as cool as you might think.
• There is only one kind of salad dressing in Italy. Vinegar and oil.
• If you drive to Germany for any type of temporary duty, it is an unwritten law that you bring a rack or two of Heffenweizen back with you to share.
• Weinerschnitzel is just a fried pork cutlet.
• Everywhere in Europe is pretty much what you expect it's going to be like.
• If you have a layover at the airport in Amsterdam, you drink a Heineken. Even if it is 10 a.m.
• You come to Italy expecting Tony Soprano. You get Justin Timberlake instead.
• The really dark red meat at the grocery store is horse.
• Shooting an AK 47 and riding Russian tanks and helicopters in Poland is good clean fun.
• Only a country that produced The David, St. Peter's Bascilica and Piazza di San Marco could invent gelato.
• Grappa tastes like shit.
• When skiing or snowboarding, there is no better lunch than red wine and pasta.
• Guinness tastes better in Dublin, especially on St. Patrick's day.
• American Soldiers are treated like celebrities in Normandy. WWII vets are treated like gods.
• Starbucks sucks and charges WAY too much for an espresso.
• You grow to love the sound of bell towers chiming unless you live or are staying next door to one.
• The best place to see the Italian countryside is from the top of those towers. Just don't be leaning over the railing when the bells go off.
• Watching a female's reaction after using an Italian hole-in-the-ground toilette for the first time is priceless.
• Gypsies are only cool in movies. In real life, they steal your stuff.
• The mullet is not dead.
• A man saying "ciao" is only acceptable to those living in Italy.

We've had a bunch of thunderstorms in the DC area this summer. More than I ever remember in this part of the world. We live on the 10th floor of our building too, so i have a nice view of storms above the trees that blanket the east coast.

I've been adding to my camera kit for the last couple of years. Recently I bought a tripod for low light shooting. The day I got it a thunderstorm rolled through. I jumped at the chance to use my new toy. Running out to my balcony to set up my tripod and camera in time to catch the storm rolling in, I realized I forgot my beer. After remedying that situation, I spent the next half hour on my deck playing with shutter speeds and apertures as a gnarley storm rolled through. I was giggling like a little girl when I took stock of my situation. I was standing barefooted on my wet, 10th floor deck with a can of beer in one hand and my other hand resting on the shutter of my camera atop a metal tripod...

Dumbass.

Power vs. Leadership

Power is the capacity to translate intention into reality and sustain it. Leadership is the wise use of this power.
I have worked for many powerful people but have had only a few good leaders. Power is easy to come by in the military with our rank structure. Finding good leaders is another thing.
I haven’t, in the past, pursued power. Often, though, I find myself in powerful positions and it challenges me to be a good leader. Right now I’m an instructor often teaching young servicemembers the craft of journalism. Our specialty in the military is highly sought after and our school is tough. There are many times when a student won’t grasp the material and I’m forced to eliminate them. That’s a lot of power – I’ll literally change their lives. They joined the military to be journalists and they’re going to end up being a military policeman or fuel specialist because of a decision I’ll make. The power came with the job. Leadership for me is how I use that power. How much I’m going to work with that student to give them the best chance of success. How I’m going to conduct myself with him as a noncommissioned officer and a mentor. These are all what make me a leader in the classroom. I don’t take my role lightly.

Adrian 2.0

My friend Josh and I are developing a class for the course I teach. It’s an evolving concept that the military is attempting to catch on to. The class will focus on how to use the web effectively to further the mission of military public affairs focusing a lot on the concept of Web 2.0. The military is way behind on the whole social media thing and wary of embracing things like blogs and YouTube. The class is meant to create discussion and stimulate ideas. The official military posture on this media is evolving. Senior leaders have started coming out and saying we need to embrace things like Facebook.

Anyways, my buddy gives a good pitch on the subject and after hearing him talk about it yesterday to my students I was inspired to embrace it on my own. I’ve often written “blogs” which I sent out to family and friends. I started them while I was in Afghanistan, sending them off when I went on a unique mission or had some little adventure. I’ve continued to send them off when I travel – an example being our Peru trip below. But I’ve decided to open it up to the world.

How far it goes … I don’t care. If this just ends up being a platform for me to unload a little, fine. But here it is, Adrian 2.0