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**Note: These are not in order. That would be impossible. These are just songs that I happen to love and that, for one reason or another, make me think of the open road or a journey, both physical or mental.  This isn’t a pretentious list that I ripped off from Pitchfork magazine. This isn’t a list to show off my knowledge of obscure indie rock. It’s just music. And music is probably the only thing I care about.

1: Iggy Pop & the Stooges – The Passenger

Iggy Pop and the Stooges – The Passenger

I put this one first because, well, I think that it is the best travel song of all time, not to mention just a terrific song in general. My brother actually custom made me a t-shirt for my birthday that read “this world was made for you and me, so let’s take a ride and see what’s mine”, which is from this song.

If you want to see the most awesome/terrifying performance of this song, check out the video below. A mix of passion and very high heroin content in his bloodstream. This show was at the Hacienda nightclub in Manchester, England. I can now say I’ve been there. It has a different name now, though. And it’s filled with skinny-jeaned hipsters wearing ironic 80′s Foghat t-shirts, being cynical of everything. I used to think that inside the heart of every cynical person there is a disappointed idealist. But now I’m not so sure.

Once, when I was 18, I was on a night train on the French Riviera, going from Barcelona to the Italian border. I met some Tunisian guys and we smoked some dangerously strong hash in the train’s restroom. I started to have a freak out and got what Hunter S Thompson refers to as “The Fear”. So I went to those “in-between” spaces between the train cars. I put this song on my headphones and I stuck my head out the window and watched the city lights go by as we sped along the winding French oceanside . It was one of the most memorable experiences of my life.

2: Hank Williams – Ramblin’ Man 

Hard Travelin'

Hank Williams – Ramblin’ Man

Like Bob Dylan, I didn’t get into Hank Williams until I hit 21 and lived in New Orleans Why? You have to really put back a few whiskeys and get your heart torn apart before you can truly appreciate Hank Williams.  He’s the true Godfather of folk, and is the single reason I can say that I like country music. The lyrics ought to be the theme song of any young and restless traveler. Either one who gets out and does it, or the one who sits at home dreaming of what lies over the hill.

“I can settle dow-own and be doin’ just fine
Til I hear an old train rollin’ down the line
Then I hurry strai-aight home and pack
And if I didn’t go, I believe I’d blow my stack
I love you ba-aby, but you gotta understand
When the Lord made me
He made a Ramblin’ Man.

Some folks might sa-ay that I’m no good
That I wouldn’t settle down if I could
But when that open ro-oad starts to callin’ me
There’s somethin’ o’er the hill that I gotta see
Sometimes it’s har-rd but you gotta understand
When the Lord made me, He made a Ra-amblin’ Man.

I love to see the tow-owns a-passin’ by
And to ride these rails ‘neath God’s blue sky
Let me travel this la-and from the mountains to the sea
‘Cause that’s the life I believe He meant for me
And when I’m go-one and at my grave you stand
Just say God called home your Ra-amblin’ Man.”

Damn.

3: Blues Image – Ride Captain Ride

Blues Image – Ride Captain Ride

2011 was the year that I discovered/become obsessed with “Star Trek: Original Series” and watched every episode in it’s entirety, and so I dedicate this song to the noble and brave Captain Kirk. Also, shout out to Spock (who, by the way, is pretty much a Vulcan version of Barack Obama. Seriously. Their speaking styles are impeccably similar). Live long and prosper, my friends.

4: Ride – Leave Them All Behind

Ride – Leave Them All Behind

So I’m sure no one will like this, because I unfortunately live in the shittiest generation of the last century where no one appreciates wall after wall of tone bending, guitar driven, drone rock. Musically speaking, this is a damn impressive song. It was my theme song for a few months last year. I’m really into the early 90′s English shoegaze stuff, and Ride is actually one of my favorite bands from that era. At 2:08 in, it explodes into absolute sonic madness. I love the guitar, and this band sounds like it has a wall of at least 17 of them. “Wheel’s turnin’ round….”

If you want to see a live performance of this, check out the video below of a show in Brixton, London. 1992 was a good year. Again, I hate the time I live in.

5: The Allman Brothers – Midnight Rider

Allman Brothers – Midnight Rider

That’s right, I didn’t go with “Ramblin’ Man”. You’re not gonna catch the midnight rider. Great band from Georgia headed by two brothers, one of which (Duane) was one of the greatest guitar players from his generation, at least in my opinion. He died in a motorcycle crash when he was my age outside of Macon, Georgia. He played the slide guitar like it was going out of style.

Duane Allman

6: RHCP – Soul to Squeeze

Red Hot Chili Peppers – Soul To Squeeze

Everyone loves this song. I don’t see how you couldn’t. “Where I’ll go I just don’t know, I gotta gotta gotta take it slow. When I find my peace of mind, I’m gonna give you some of my good time”. I personally am not a fan of the Chili Pepper’s latest albums. I still think John Frusciante is probably the best guitarist of the last 20 years, though. Quite a sad song, and it makes me think of a really good friend who will remain nameless.

7: Bob “Like a Rock” Seger – Against the Wind 

Bob Seger – Against the Wind

Yes, It’s in “Forrest Gump” when a bearded Tom Hanks decides to run across America in the 80′s.  Overplayed? Maybe. But it’s still a great song. You can’t but help loving Bob Seger with his motorcycle and Midwestern handlebar mustache. He’s the Uncle everyone’s always wanted, but never had. He is the godfather of the “Midwestern Mustache Rock” genre. I made that up. I hope it sticks.

"Don't mind me, I'm just standing on train tracks with my Les Paul and my mustache. That's what I do. That's what Bob Seger does."

8: Rod Stewart – Every Picture Tells a Story

Rod Stewart – Every Picture Tells a Story

Okay, we all know Rod Stewart mostly sucks. But this is a beautiful song about growing up and seeing the world. “Paris was a place you could hide away, if you thought you didn’t fit it”. I never found this to be the case, but what the Hell do I know.

9: Styx – Come Sail Away

Styx – Come Sail Away

I’m sorry. I really am.

10 – Gerry Rafferty – Baker Street

Gerry Rafferty – Baker Street

Alright, this is a rant. I was driving down Interstate 5 near Seattle when the radio DJ announced that Gerry Rafferty died (this was over a year ago). I pulled into the nearest Mall’s parking lot, rolled the windows down, lit a cigarette, played “Baker Street” at full volume, and wept like a school girl. When I got home later that night I got on CNN to read about his death, but there was nothing about it. The only entertainment news was that Justin Bieber got a new haircut. I truly believe that that was the moment I gave up on everything and threw in the towel.

The song may be a bit cheesy, but fuck you. It’s a beautiful song about being lost in the cities. Also, is the single reason that thousands of people tried to learn the saxaphone. I still get teary every time I hear it. It may as well be my theme song.

“Winding your way down on Baker Street
Light in your head, and dead on your feet
Well another crazy day
You drink the night away
And forget about everything
This city desert makes you feel so cold,
Its got so many people but its got no soul
And it’s taken you so long to find out you were wrong
When you thought it held everything

You used to think that it was so easy
You used to say that it was so easy
But you’re tryin’, you’re tryin’ now
Another year and then you’d be happy
Just one more year and then you’d be happy
But you’re cryin’, you’re cryin’ now.

He’s got this dream about buyin’ some land
He’s gonna give up the booze and the one night stands
And then he’ll settle down
It’s a quiet little town
And forget about everything
But you know he’ll always keep movin’
You know he’s never gonna stop movin’
‘Cause he’s rollin’
He’s the rolling stone”

Damn.

11: The Animals – House of the Rising Sun

The Animals – House of the Rising Sun

The funny thing is, I used to hate this song.  And then I spent three years living next to the Mississippi River in New Orleans. I love this city, but it’s been the ruin of many a’ poor boy, and God knows I’m one. I’ve watched the rising sun creep through the shades one too many times to this song. Best keyboard solo ever.

“I’ve got oooooone foot on the platform, the oooooooother foot on the train. I’m gooooooooing back to New Orleans, to wear that ball and chain.”

Damn.

12: Dion – The Wanderer

Dion – The Wanderer

I Wish I could say that this is my theme song. When I’m feeling particularly manic and self righteous, it often is. The very (very) few times I’ve found myself in the company of a nice lady on the road, I can’t but help think of this song. And it makes me smile. Now I just have to tattoo “Rosie” on my chest.

13: Otis Redding – Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay

Otis Redding – (Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay

Soul Man

“I can’t do what ten people tell me to do, so I guess I’ll remain the same”. Obviously this is one of the greatest songs ever made, sung by a man taken away far too soon. When Steve Cropper plays that guitar slide right before “Looks like, nothin’s gonna change” I can actually feel my loins quiver. It’s just that fucking good. One of the most underrated guitarists ever, by the way. And one of the first white Memphis guitar players to agree to play with black musicians in the early 60′s. That south wouldn’t let the black Stax records crowd play in their venues, so they did a lot of touring in Scandinavia, of all places. This^, by the way, is what music should look like.

14: Muddy Waters – Mannish Boy

Muddy Waters – Mannish Boy

“When I was a young boy, at the age of five, my momma’ said I’z gonna be, the greatest man alive”. Goddamn straight, Muddy. Best intro verse ever. The song makes you feel like you can conquer the world. Also, there’s a great scene in Goodfellas that features this song. Marty Scorsese loves the blues. And the Stones. So I love Marty Scorsese.

15: Chris Thomas King – Hard Time Killing Floor Blues

Chris Thomas King – Hard Time Killing Floor Blues

Sitting around a slow burning campfire, contemplating life. These hard times will drag you from door to door. Great scene from “Oh Brother Where Art Thou?”. The original song is by Skip James. This is a cover. Ridiculously beautiful guitar work. Turn that shit up loud and you can actually hear the crickets chirping in the background.

16: CCR – Lodi

Creedence Clearwater Revival – Lodi

I’ve been stuck in Lodi, California before. In the Jack in the Box drive through. So I’d like to think I understand this song. I ordered a Jumbo Jack and two tacos. Ate it in the parking lot. That was my experience in Lodi.

17: NAS – The World Is Yours

Nas – The World is Yours

Whose world is this? Best rapper that ever lived, in my opinion. Certainly off the best hip hop album, if nothing else. And he dropped it when he was nineteen years old. When I compare it to what’s coming out today, it makes me want to cry.

18: Billy Joel – Vienna

Billy Joel -Vienna

Cheesy as hell, but a good song. It took on a new meaning for me when I was 17 because (I can’t believe I’m actually publishing this) I lost my virginity in Vienna. So there ya go. Even more embarrassingly, here are the two songs that played in the nightclub immediately leading me to retreat to an outside alleyway and lose my virginity: ABBA’s “S.O.S” and Billy Idol’s “White Wedding”. If there’s a trashier way to lose one’s innocence, I’d like to hear about it. Sorry Mom.

 19: Marshall Tucker Band – Can’t You See

Marshall Tucker Band – Can’t You See

Yeah. Heart-wrenching. Gut-achingly fucking heart-wrenching. “I’m gonna find me, a hole in the wall, I’m gonna crawl inside and die.”

This is definitely a travel song, and the cause for travel is definitely a woman. Marshall Tucker Band, like Jethro Tull, made massive strides in attempting to make the flute look cool. I think they almost succeeded at one point.

20: Bob Dylan – Stuck Inside of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again

Bob Dylan – Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again

Oh, Mama, could this really be the end?

The Tambourine Man

Bruce Springsteen – Nebraska

Great song about falling in love with a 12 year old girl and driving around the Badlands of Wyoming with a sawed-off shotgun murdering everyone in your path. We’ve all been there, right fellas? Youuuu know what I’m talkin about. The entire record shows a very different side of The Boss. Best song off an absolutely incredible album. The harmonica sounds like the Great Plains weeping.

Bruce Springsteen is someone who I used to always think sucked until I got a little bit older. I’m a sucker for the mid-Atlantic working-class rock.

22: A Tribe Called Quest – Award Tour

A Tribe Called Quest – Award Tour

It’s the only ATCQ song that even remotely relates to travel, so I had to put it on here. Because I happen to love them. Queens represent.

23: The Byrds – Wasn’t Born to Follow

The Byrds

First heard it in the movie “Easy Rider”. Total American hippie anthem. Graham Parsons died too young as well. It seems like this happens a lot. I give the Byrds credit for inventing the reverb-ed out Rickenbacker-through-a-VoxAC30 sound that has since been used by R.E.M, Brian Jonestown Massacre, etc. The Byrds are just legendary.

Quick story about drugs: when I was like 12 years old, I was at my Grandma’s house in Washington D.C. I was talking to my Aunt about music, and I told her that every night I listen to oldies radio, and I recorded mix tapes of the songs I liked (this is before Napster). I told her my favourite song was by The Byrds. She said “Well that’s because they were all on acid.” Later that day I looked up LSD, and determined that I needed to get a hold of some immediately. When I was 12. Be careful what you say to kids.

24: Jimmy Buffett – Son of a Son of a Sailor

Jimmy Buffett – Son Of A Son Of A Sailor

I’ve seen a grown man cry to this song (he was drunk). I never was a huge Buffett fan, in that I don’t enjoy beaches, margaritas, or parrots, but you have to like this song. I’ve read dozens of books about heroes and crooks and I learned some from both of their styles…

25: Oasis – Supersonic

Standing completely still with your arms clasped around your back, and looking so damn cool doing it. I think Liam Gallagher is the best frontman of the last 20 years. This track is off their first album, right before they exploded with “What’s the Story Morning Glory”. Everyone seems to hate Oasis, especially Americans, because Liam and Noel are pompous assholes. But that is part of their appeal. They had attitude. But this is just no-gimmick, astoundingly good alternative rock. One of the greatest chorus’s of the 90′s. Also, Noel Gallagher blatantly rips off the lead guitar part from George Harrison’s “My Sweet Love”. Can you hear it?

26: Oasis – Listen Up

Oasis – Listen Up

“One fine day, gonna leave you all behind”. This is a rare Oasis b-side, and I’ll never know why it didn’t get more airplay. If it’s not clear by now, I’m going through a bit of an Oasis phase. I’ll try to keep it under control from now on.

27: Neil Young – Sugar Mountain

Probably my favorite musician in existence.

Neil Young – Sugar Mountain

I guess this song doesn’t have much to do with travel. But if there is a better song about growing up, I’d like to hear about it. I don’t want to even talk about Neil Young because I’ll start gushing.

28: Neil Diamond – Solitary Man

Neil Diamond – Solitary Man

You know how there are those songs that you hear once when you’re really, really young (like, a kid) and it sticks with you your whole life but you don’t know who plays it, and you don’t know any of the lyrics so you can’t Google it, and not being able to find it tortures you for years? For me, this is that song. I was at a bar last year in New Orleans at 5:00 in the morning when this song came on the stereo. I literally grabbed the bartender by the collar and demanded he tell me who sings it. “Neil Diamond”, he responded. So there you go. One of my all time favorites. There’s a great cover by Johnny Cash as well. I was a bit taken aback that my new favorite song was by none other than Neil Diamond. Kinda lame, really. But also kinda badass.

29: Johnny Nash – I Can See Clearly Now

Johnny Nash

Johnny Nash – I Can See Clearly Now

Beautiful song sung by a nice man who was killed by his housekeeper. What a world.

30: Blind Faith – Can’t Find my Way Home

Blind Faith – Can’t Find my Way Home

Eric Clapton at his finest. “I’m wasted and I can’t find my way home”. If I had a nickel…

31: James Brown – Down and Out in New York City

James Brown – Down And Out In New York City

James Brown in '73

When I lived in a shack in New York, I delusionally thought of myself as an aspiring writer, and attempted to write a book. I called it “Down and Out in New York City”. I discovered this song two months later. Just my luck. But seriously, best James Brown song ever. The chorus is so soulful, man. R.I.P.

32: The Looking Glass – Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)

The Looking Glass – Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)

Every travelin’ man wants to marry a Brandy. I used to get my haircut by a girl named Brandy and once, mid cut, I said “Brandy you’re a fine girl. What a great wife you would be!”. She had apparently never heard the song. That was the last time she cut my hair. Last I heard she moved to Miami and is doing porn.

33: Ca$h Money Millionaires feat. Big Tymers – Get Your Roll On

Big Tymers – Get Your Roll On

“Getting your roll on” is New Orleans slang for “traveling”. Not really, though. I just find the song hilarious and wanted to put it on here. Now everybody go get your mother fuckin’ roll on.

34: Otis Redding – Tramp

Otis Redding – Tramp

Otis Redding defending the dirty, unshaven, broke, country boys. RIP, Otis.

35: The Pretenders – I Would Walk 500 Miles

Obvious.

36: R.E.M – Strange Currencies

R.E.M in the early days

Doesn’t really have anything to do with travel except for the title. But it’s a great and sad song from an awesome band out of Athens, Georgia. Apparently my Mother went to college with Michael Stipe, too, which is cool.

Here’s another R.E.M song that doesn’t really deal with travel but, to me, is the best lyrical description of Southern attitude that I’ve ever heard. Definitely my favorite R.E.M song. I read somewhere that it’s Michael Stipe’s favorite as well:

It’s crazy what you could have had.

37: Sublime -Scarlet Begonias

Sublime – Scarlet Begonias

Bradly Nowell

Originally a Grateful Dead song, covered by Sublime. “We toured to the North, South, East, and West. We sold some mushroom tea, we sold some ecstacy, we sold nitros, opium, acid, heroin and PCP and now I hear the police comin’ after me….”

Less funny knowing now that heroin killed Brad Nowell.

I conducted a scientific study once, and determined that, when it comes to modern music, Sublime serves as the “lowest common demominator”. Meaning that, regardless of the crowd, everyone can tolerate it. Rock and Roll kids, Rap kids, popular hat wearing kids… everyone. You put it on at a party and everyone is satisfied.

38: Three 6 Mafia – Twirk 

Three 6 Mafia feat. Project Pat – Twirk

Okay, this song has seriously nothing to do with traveling, but it’s on this list for a reason. Once I was walking through Estonia in the snow, trying to find a bus station. This song came on my headphones, and I started to laugh hysterically. It’s one of those moments where you can be sure that you’re doing something that no one has done before (listening to Three 6 Mafia in the snow in Estonia). It’s the most outrageously stereotypical black song I’ve ever heard, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I’m a total sucker for down South rap. Also, if you don’t know what “Twirking” is, look it up on youtube. Since moving down to New Orleans, I know it all too well. When you’re traveling, make a point to listen to music that has absolutely no business in your location.

I would also accept the following:

Play that while you’re riding a camel through Mongolia.

39: Wyclef Jean – Gone Til’ November

Wyclef Jean- Gone Till November

Every time someone leaves, someone gets left behind.

40: The Rolling Stones – Love in Vain

Nothing really needs to be said about this song and about this band. Rest in peace, Brian Jones. Coolest guitar player in the world. They found him in a swimming pool.

The Greatest Rock Band on the Planet

Fuck Bon Jovi and everything else that originates from the state of New Jersey. But you have to like this song. Sometimes you tell the day, by the bottle that you drink. Sometimes when you’re alone, and all you do is think.

I “got” to see Bon Jovi “perform” their latest “song” live in 2008 at the Brandenburg Gate in Berlin, Germany. It was the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall. Bon Jovi aside, it was a pretty outstanding and emotional night.

42: Woody Guthrie – This Land is Your Land

Woody Guthrie – This Land Is Your Land

Woody Guthrie. Godfather to Neil Young, Bob Dylan, and any dick you hear on an acoustic guitar at a coffee shop, myself included. A song about the freedom. Written almost 70 years ago. I hope that the freedom and spirit that Woody sings of is still alive. If you’d like to hear the only poem that has ever made me cry (and I’m an English major), dig this:

He wrote that when he was younger than me. It’s not about Woody at all. It’s about what music can do for a person. And not just music. Art in general. When you’re lost and alone, it’s like a hand reaching out that says “I understand”. The last line fucks me up.

43: Bob Dylan – Like a Rolling Stone

Bob Dylan – Like a Rolling Stone

No explanation needed. Rolling Stone magazine calls it the greatest song of all time, and I don’t disagree. When this guy dies, I will wear black for an entire month.

44: The Deftones – Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

Deftones – Be Quiet And Drive (Far Away)

When I was 15 I would sit in my room and be very angry and listen to this song. I’m not as angry as I was then, and I gave up most of my screaming metal bands, but you gotta respect the Deftones for this. Great melodic guitar and passionate screams. The last minute is just haunting. If I ever had to fight a man twice my size, I would listen to this song beforehand.

45: DEVO – Gut Feeling

DEVO -Gut Feeling

I guess it’s not really travel related at all. But the intro build up is so cool and creates this crazy feeling of restless anxiety that makes you want to run away as fast as you can. Also, pretty mean lyrics. “Something about the way you taste, makes me want to clear my throat”. Also, totally badass keyboard playing. DEVO is from Akron, Ohio. There was a period during the mid 1980′s where Akron, Ohio actually had a prominent music scene. I’m serious. Ohio was once cool. It’s hard to believe, I know.

Fleetwood Mac- Station Man

Before Stevie Nicks came along and started fellating every member of the band, Fleetwood Mac had a very different sound. This song is incredible and has one of the best guitar tones I’ve heard. “Where I’m going I don’t know, but you tell me I must go, when we’re leaving i don’t know, but you tell me nowwwww”. Absolute 60′s gold.

47: Cat Stevens – Wild World 

Cat Stevens

Obvious choice. Cat Stevens converted to Islam and changed his name to Yusuf Islam. The government placed him on a “No Fly” list, and for ten years he was unable to fly to the United States. Just take a listen to some of his lyrics and you can tell that this guy’s got “terrorist” written all over him.

Very fond memories of listening to Cat Stevens driving around California with my Mom and Dad when I was nine years old. So, for me, Cat Stevens is directly associated with happy times.

48: Bert Jansch – Ramblin’s Gonna be the Death of Me

Bert Jansch is weird but totally underrated. I can’t really recall how I discovered him. He’s a British folk singer and guitar player from the 60′s who focused primarily on weird picking patterns and open tunings. Great lyrics.

Ask me why a rambler aint got no home
Ask me why I sit and cry alone
I wish I knew, I wish I knew
If I knew, I’d know what to do
Day in, day out seems I’m a-runnin’ all on my own
Day in, day out there is weakness a-growin’ in my bones
Wo, it aint no use, nah, it aint no use
My mind is dead I got to turn my body loose
Wish Mama you could hear the words that I cry
wish Mama now at home I could die
But my time is late, my time is late
I’m on my own and Lord I’ve got it straight
No girl I’ve loved has ever held me down
No reason can I give for leaving this town
My love is true now, my love is true
But the road is long, I’ve got to see my journey through
So Girl, don’t deny the freedom that’s born to me
Girl don’t deny that a rambler must always be free
Someday you’ll see now, Babe, someday you’ll see
That my ramblin’s gonna be the death of me.

Damn

49: Chuck Berry – No Particular Place to Go

Chuck Berry doin' his duck-walk

Great Chuck Berry classic about trying to make the moves on your girl in the front seat but can’t unfasten her safety belt. We’ve all been there, which is why I deeply discourage the use of seat belts. Cruisin’ and playin’ the radio, with no particular place to go.

50: Primitive Radio Gods – Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in my Hand

Primitive Radio Gods – Standing Outside a Broken Phone Booth with Money in my Hand

“A plane takes off from Baltimore and touches down on Bourbon Street”. If this happened in real life, we’d have a lot of drunken bead-covered corpses on our hands. Great song, and uses a cool B.B King sample. Good rainy day song. I’m pretty sure it was a one hit wonder.

Dedicated to Melissa Raymond, who will probably never read this.

51: Lynyrd Skynyrd – Tuesday’s Gone

Lynyrd Skynyrd -Tuesday’s Gone

“I don’t know where I’m going, I just want to be left alone”. Skynyrd rules! The South will rise again! Derpederr! But seriously, such a great guitar riff. Portrayed quite well in the film Dazed and Confused. There’s some outrageous piano playing at the end as well.

52: Bone Thugz N’ Harmony – Thug Mentality

Bone Thugz N’ Harmony – Thug Mentality

The last minute serves as a geography lesson to thugz all over tha world.

53: Wu – Tang Clan – Wu Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthin’ To Fuck With

Wu-Tang Clan Ain’t Nuthing ta Fuck With

Same as above^.

54: The Kinks – Apeman

The Kinks – Apeman

“I don’t feel safe in this world no more, I don’t want to die in a nuclear war, I want to sail away to a distant shore, and live like an ape man”. True that.

55: Jimi Hendrix – Hey Joe

Jimi Hendrix

Jimi Hendrox – Hey Joe

This song is the reason I first picked up a guitar, and it is still quite possibly my favorite song. Like, ever. It’s about a guy who shoots his cheating woman down and flees to Mexico (after a truly knee-weakening guitar solo). “I’m goin’ way down South, way down where I can be free. Ain’t no hangman gonna, he ain’t gonna put a rope around me.” Fuckin’ right, Jimi.  Rest in peace, voodoo child.

56: Death in Vegas – Scorpio Rising

Death in Vegas – Scorpio Rising

Okay this isn’t really about travel at all, but I heard it for the first time at a Diner outside of San Francisco as I was making my way to Las Vegas. The rhythm is a total rip-off of “Pictures of Matchstick Men” by Status Quo (great song). I ended up listening to this song at least 100 times on that trip. I love it. All my friends hate it. Liam Gallagher of Oasis does the vocals, and I guess I’m gay for him because I think he just tears it up. Very psychedelic. It’s my favorite 4-chord progression of all time.

It’s a good song to listen to do when you’re driving 110 MPH through the Nevada desert in the middle of the Summer wearing Wayfarers and chain smoking camels.

“If I don’t go crazy, I’ll lose my mind.”

57: Oasis – Champagne Supernova

Oasis – Champagne Supernova

No one knows what these lyrics even mean, so no one can say that it’s not about traveling. But it’s probably not. It’s just a really, really good song that one should listen to as they gaze out an airplane window watching the world pass below. One of those eight minute rock ballads that will live on forever.

58: Canned Heat – Goin’ Up the Country

Canned Heat – Goin’ Up The Country

Hippies leaving all the fussing and fighting in the cities behind. Also, another attempt at making the pan flute a respectable rock instrument.

59: Bob Dylan – Cold Irons Bound

Bob Dylan – Cold Irons Bound

Travel anxiety.

60: Oasis – Slide Away

Oasis, looking cool.

Oasis – Slide Away

Pretty sure this song has nothing to do with traveling. I just think it’s beautiful. Legendary guitar sound and vocals. I’m writing this in England, and I can tell you that Oasis is deeply entrenched in British popular culture. The impact they made in the States is nothing compared to out here.

I climbed down the 5 floors of Michael’s apartment building today wearing nothing but Michael’s Crocs, my grey underwear with the rip in the back, and an undersized kebab-sauce-stained wifebeater. The entire time I’ve been staying here with Mike, I haven’t run into one other human who lives in the building. On this morning’s walk, I ran in to five. All with justifiably disgusted looks on their faces. I can’t blame them. It’s like having Cousin Eddie living in their building.

"Shitter was full"

In the ground floor of the building I opened Mike’s mailbox to find, yet again, an empty black hole. No passport. Shutting it in disgust, the elderly man next to me said something in Danish, to which I responded with the whole “point-to-my-mouth-and-shake-head” motion. He translated it with a wide grin on his face – “No news is good news, yes?”.

“Not in this case, my friend” I said. “Not in this case”, as I walked back up the 8 flights of stairs in Michaels ridiculous looking Crocs.

No passport. If Rod was here, I would strangle him with his Rastafarian necklace and throw him down every flight of stairs in this building.

Michael and I have been living off bread and pig liver for the last five days. We spend our nights wandering around Aarhus arguing over whom owes who more Kronas. These arguments usually end in my falling on the ground laughing at how shitty our lives are. There was one instance in a crowded shopping mall where things got out of hand. A public scene was made.

“No, because we got 10 Kroner back when I returned the beer cans!”

“Fuck that! You owe me for the cheese I brought from Sweden!”

“I take your cheese and raise you my frozen pork chops!”

“Those tasted like shit! And you never gave me back the deposit for the ping pong paddles, you rat Mexican fink!”

“Yeah because I bought you that Tuborg from 7-11. You owe me 20 Kroner for that!”

“That was me who bought it! And besides, we’ve been using my garlic and basil this entire time! And my red pepper flakes.”

“You had a piece of bread and some of my pig liver. And instant coffee!”

“I rolled you cigarettes. At least like 7″.

(At this point, Michael breaks down crying and curls in the fetal position, wondering how his life has come to this).

“Oh come on dry your eyes Mikey. It’s gonna be okay, man. We can always dig through some trash cans and return more bottles”.

(Crying intensifies).

This^, has been my experience with staying with Michael in Arhus. A glimpse into the dark, undocumented side of so-called Socialist utopia. As Mike says, he’s got enough for the carnival, but can’t take any of the rides.

Anyways.

My friends, the Holiday season is clearly upon us. If anyone wants to get ol’ Steve-o an early Christmas present, here is what I want more than anything in the world: I would like to have Rod, the hostel owning passport thief, right here in Denmark, tied to a chair in a windowless supply shed somewhere outside of Aarhus city limits.

I wouldn’t have him gagged, because his pleads would be comical and would fill me with Christmas glee. I also want a pillow case full of oranges (we could call this a “stocking”). Preferably, I’d also like to have Ving Rhames in the room. He wouldn’t necessarily have to assist me with the beatings – he could just stand in the corner slowly nodding his head knowingly with his arms folded.

"Get in that ass, Kovach"

That’s all I want for Christmas. In anticipation, I’ve already come up with a playlist that I’d play during the unmerciful beating of Fuck-Rod. Here are some standouts.

15 – Johnny Nash – I Can See Clearly Now

046 – Whitney Houston – I Will Always Love You (1993)

Die Motherfucker

Get Together

Anyways, the fact remains: I need my passport. I could travel around Scandinavia without one (it’s worked out so far), but honestly I think I need to get out of Scandinavia before I commit suicide. The darkness, the costliness; it’s all too much. I walk around with a grimace and watch beautiful people drinking coffee and beer, shopping, going to concerts – none of which I can afford. Michael has spent the last six years of his life living in such a way, and it has left him rather disenchanted (much to my amusement).

The cold is getting to me. More than the cold, the darkness. It is so damned dark here. Even when it’s “daytime”, it’s just a foggy haze.

Snow!

There is some good news. JP (as I know him) is a Finnish guy who studied with Michael and I back in Washington when we were 17. Michael and him have remained very good friends ever since. Michael is visiting JP in his town in Finland on December 8th, and I’ve been invited to come along. I’ve accepted this invitation. It’s in a town about 6 hours North of Helsinki. JP is a guitar player and he’s in a band, so I can imagine we’ll be rocking out a’ plenty.

Before we all meet in Finland, I had planned on taking a ferry to Helsinki, and then to Tallinn, Estonia to travel around the Baltics for a bit. I’ve been there once before, and Estonia and Lithuania are perhaps two of my favorite countries in Europe. And the cost of living is about 1/50th of what it is here. And I’ve got a good friend in Tallinn. But without a passport, none of this is possible.

DECEMBER 3

LOCATION: Berlin, Germany. Again. In Kreuzberg neighborhood eating a Turkish kebab and drinking a large cup of coffee. Cost me THREE U.S dollars total *Moans and caresses nipples in dollar-saving ecstasy*.

You might ask yourself why I’m back in Berlin. The reason I’m here can be placed squarly on the shoulders of my favorite person in the world, Rod. The passport isn’t coming. I’ve accepted this. So now I’m going to have to get a new one. The Embassy in Copenhagen does not offer this service, nor does the one in Stockholm or Hamburg. So I’m here. It was the closest U.S Consulate to Aarhus. And I have a date with the U.S Embassy on Monday morning.

I left Aarhus yesterday afternoon and took five different trains to Berlin. Took 10 hours total. 10 hours on trains doesn’t even phase me anymore.

Love,

Steve

DECEMBER 8

It’s 8 a.m in Berlin. I was up all night with the Irish at Dr. Pongs playing some extremely dramatic ping pong against the Chinese. The racist overtones were quite apartment. Beating the lead Chinamen in the final match was perhaps one of the greatest triumphs of my entire life.

I have given up on obtaining my original passport, and this morning I shall walk to the consulate here and pay for a new one. I met with the folks at the Embassy yesterday (nice guys, by the way), and found it would be 80 Euros. While a rather large hit, it’s not the end of the world I suppose. The thing that I’m most upset about is that I really liked my old passport. I had some pretty epic visas and entry stamps on that bad boy. I got it when I was 17 years old, the day before I flew to London with my good friend Andy. Since that day, it’s certainly seen some use. And now it is gone. Back to square one. Can’t impress girls with my Serbian and Porteugeuse stamps.

The decision to get a new passport was inspired by my inability to go to Finland to join Michael and JP. To get to Finland, I would have had to take a ship from Stockholm harbour to Helsinki. I contacted the ship operators and asked if I would be able to join them if I only had a photograph of my passport. They said they could not sell me a ticket without a valid working passport. So it suddenly became impossible to get to Finland, which was something I was looking forward to. Seeing old friends is always good for the soul.

Love,

- Steve

DECEMBER 15

Got an e-mail from the Prague people; the passport has been returned to them. I’ve been in Berlin for the last ten days, and it’s been a bit rough. Won’t get into it here. About to board a train to the Czech Republic to retrieve my passport after all this time. After that, I don’t know what I’ll do.

This is an enchanting land where the sun hardly rises before it sets. A land where you cross paths with heaving-bosomed blondes and leather-skinned vikings all in the same stride. It’s also the land of six dollar cups of coffee. Traveling here is tough and I’ve been left a bit demoralized – like a kid who gets into the carnival, but can’t afford any of the rides.

So far, I’ve spent most of my time here walking the snowy streets of Oslo, Gothenburg, Stockholm, and Aarhus and listening to Swedish hardcore death metal.

This^ is one of my favorite songs, and I don’t mean that sarcastically at all. Yes, I like an ABBA song. And I’m okay with this.

Here’s some more great Swedish metal:

Look at that hair. Just look at that hair.

NOVEMBER 21

Location: Oslo, Norway. Downtown. Park bench beside ice skating rink. Blonde children and small dogs wearing Christmas sweaters everywhere I look. The dogs here dress more fashionably than I do. I imagine that with every passing day, I look more and more like the kind of guy you’d see on the side of the road selling raccoon pelts from the back of a Daiwoo. Right now I’m sitting on a park bench smoking rolled cigarettes, cackling maniacally at the “elves” as they do synchronized skating around the rink.

I awoke early this morning and washed the krill and plankton from my hair in the kitchen sink. The jump into the ocean last night caused some weirdly intense relaxation, and I slept very well on the floor. Nicholas left at around 7 to go teach Kindergarten. So I walked from his boathouse to downtown Oslo. It took roughly 2 hours. I had to cross three islands and several industrial parks just to get here. It’s bloody freezing. I strolled around the city center for hours checking out all the new Christmas decorations. Oslo seems to be going all-out this year. I passed by the site of July’s Oslo bombings. Nothing like some good ol’ fashion domestic terrorism to fill your heart with warm Holiday cheer.

Run DMC – Xmas In Hollis

My thoughts on Oslo: it’s a great city if you are a Norwegian. It’s not traveler friendly at all, mainly due to the fact that a beer costs roughly 15 U.S dollars. A coffee is about 6 dollars. For a regular cup of filter coffee. I’m dead serious. Hence why I’m writing this on a bench outside of the coffee shop. Scandinavia as a whole is very expensive, but Oslo is notorious. There isn’t a Hell of a lot to see here too. There’s some pretty churches, a massive castle, a shopping street, and that’s it. I tried to take a tour of the castle, but they wanted to charge me 50 Kroner. It’s more of a “living” city than a “visiting” city. But that’s cool in it’s own way.

Norway’s foreign policy towards the rest of the world is essentially as follows: “Fuck you all. Keep your wars and your capitalism and just leave us alone up here”. It’s an astoundingly rich country. They feel no need to join NATO or even the European Union. They got really lucky with their oil reserves.

So far, on the Scandinavian leg of my journey, I’ve been pretty successful in doing it on the cheap. I stayed with Michael in Denmark, and I camped with Brittany in Southern Norway. Here in Oslo, I’m couch surfing with an incredibly nice guy named Nicholas. Couchsurfing, by the way, is an online community of travelers that I’m a relatively active in. You simply stay with people or host people for free. It may sound weird or dangerous, but I’ve had nothing but great experiences with it. I’ve hosted quite a few international travelers back in New Orleans. If I was staying in a hostel in Oslo, I guarantee you I would not be enjoying the city (it’s relatively boring here). But staying with a local, meeting all his friends, swimming in the ocean – these are all reasons I will never forget Oslo. And you can only get these experiences by staying with people who actually live here. He’s 22 years old, half Danish and half Norwegian. He looks like a viking. He’s the one who convinced me to jump into the ocean last night. Top man, really.

When I got off the train last night in Oslo, I had serious trouble finding the bus that would take me to Nicholas’ island. I randomly asked a girl as she walked down the street if she knew where the station was. Next thing I know, she’s walking me all the way to the bus station. Then, she pays for my entire bloody bus ticket. Then, upon discovering that the next bus wasn’t for another hour, she takes me to a bar and buys me a beer. A 15 dollar beer, at that. We sat and drank lager whilst Cat Stevens played softly in the pub. This was probably the best introduction to a city I’ve ever had in my life. For all the complaining I do, I must admit that luck is often on my side.

Her name is Johanna, and she’s a Norwegian law student. I came to find out that she had just said goodbye to her Swedish boyfriend at the train station, and was using me as a distraction so that she wouldn’t have to go home to an empty apartment and spend the night crying. I was more than happy to fulfill this role. In fact, I’m well versed in this role now. If she’s buying the beer, she can use me all she wants. The Offspring sang about this topic, actually. So did Bill Withers.

She walked me back to the bus stop where I actually found the long haired Viking called Nicholas waiting for me.

At his house, we made some homemade alfredo sauce and some pasta, discussed religion, and discussed his ex girlfriend: a Maltese actress. Her parents did not approve of the relationship, so they bribed the government to have Nicholas deported from Malta. True story, apparently. He’s had an interesting life. After that, we jumped into the ocean (after much convincing). We watched The Watchmen on his home theater (yes, home theater), and crashed. Decent 3 hour film with a great soundtrack.

059 – Bob Dylan – The Times They Are A-Changin’

If you’ve ever seen The Watchmen, you’ll get the Dylan reference.

Yesterday was a really good day.

I believe now I will take a stroll around Oslo. I told Nicholas I’d cook dinner tonight (I try to do this as much as I can when I couchsurf), so I believe I’ll find a market and buy Steve’s traditional travel meal – pork chops, gravy, and a massive bag of frozen vegetables. I must have made this meal at least 30 times on this trip. I’ve gotten pretty goddamned good at making the perfect pork chop. I’ve also grown quite fond of a heaping plate of carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower. It’s all pretty cheap as well.

There seems to be an abundance of pigs up here in Scandinavia. A tin of pig liver costs 8 Krona here, which equal to about 1.2 dollars. So everyday I generally get a large baguette bread (12 Krona), and a tin of pig liver. That generally lasts me the entire day. Pig liver and bread. Every day. This is the life I chose, this is the life I chose, this is the life I chose…

Love,

-Steve

NOVEMBER 22

Location: Stockholm, Sweden

Sitting in a hostel in Stockholm, Sweden, drinking a Carlsburg beer with an alcohol percentage of 2.5%, which is the legal ABV limit for beer here in Sweden. I find this to be unacceptable. They also make it very expensive. Essentially, it’s really tough to be a drunk in Sweden. All this^ was a measure taken by the government to combat the high rate of alcoholism due to the depression people here experience during the long and dark winters.

Warm night in Gothenburg

So yesterday I said goodbye to Nick, who will be missed. He’s a goodfella. He’s the kind of the guy that genuinely believes in “Chakras” and Eastern philosophy, and he lives his life accordingly. He seems very at peace with himself. You have to respect that. I wish I could believe in something the way he does. I caught the bus from the island all the way to the train station, eating a pig liver sandwich on the way. I arrived at the station with the plan of going to Bergen, a very picturesque city located on the Western coast of Norway out on the fjords. It never happened. Now I’m in Stockholm (via a few hours of walking around Gothenburg). The lack of planning I’ve given this whole thing is nothing short of staggering.

I unfortunately was unable to find free lodging for tonight in Stockholm. I wrote a few couch surfing messages, but nothing panned out. Generally people like more than 2 hours of notice. By the time I actually got here to Stockholm it was about 9:30, so I figured I’d just bite the bullet and get a hostel. I did find a reasonably cheap one (for Nordic standards), at 25 dollars a night. I had to wander around for 2 hours trying to find it, and, as you might expect, it’s pretty damned cold here. My lips were trembling so much that I could barely explain myself when I arrived at reception. I’ve found that it’s difficult to explain myself in this climate. It comes out as a jumbled mess.

Anyways, hostels in Scandinavia pride themselves on being clean rather than being social, so I doubt I’ll be meeting anyone tonight. I think I’ll get to sleep early. Perhaps stare at the wall for a couple of hours or play some sad traveler music on the ol’ guitar.

NOVEMBER 24

Sitting in a coffeehouse in the Old Town of Stockholm. It’s 2:00 p.m, and it’s pitch black outside. This building appears to be at least 800 years old. It’s very dark in here, and the tables all have candles. I feel like I’m in the year 1400. I’m sharing a table with two Swedish girls, and they both happen to be deaf. They are signing with one another and appear to be really enjoying themselves. It’s a really pleasant thing to be around. I’d like to somehow join the conversation, but can only assume that I’d make a total bumbling fool of myself and make everyone feel really uncomfortable.

So Stockholm is made up of eight different islands, and the Old Town is located on the smallest one called Gamlastan. It feels very medieval here in the Old Town (because it is), and the streets are all cobble-stoned and very narrow. I had originally planned on getting up early yesterday and leaving town (hadn’t decided on a destination, though). But I decided to stay one more day, due in part to meeting one of the coolest guys I’ve met on this trip. He’s my age from Melbourne, and we had the best conversation about music last night that I’ve had in years. He was going to some Indie rock club later that night, so I decided to stick around and book one more night at the hostel.

Stockholm

I’m not complaining at all. Stockholm is in the top five on my favorite cities in Europe list. It’s absolutely beautiful here. The only problem is that the sun sets at around 2:00. So things can get a bit depressing. Yesterday, in fact, was one of the most depressing days I’ve ever experienced. It was so stormy and cloudy out that it was as if the sun never even rose at all.  But that didn’t deter me too much – I walked around the city for hours. I went to another island called Solderman and I took a tour of an old Viking ship. I told myself that I wouldn’t pay for this kind of stuff whilst in Scandinavia, but the ship just looked too enticing.  I’m fascinated by the Vikings and their total disregard for the well-being of anybody beside themselves. I can relate to that. So I bit the bullet. After that, I bought some groceries and cooked up some pork chops and veggies. I met up with Dan, the guy from Melbourne. I came to find out that I have a ton in common with Dan.

Later that night, we went to the Indie club. There were some old A.M gold blastin’ from the jukebox. There was much rejoicing. I became engaged in argument with a local about the history of Rock n’ Roll music. He was rambling on about Motown music being overrated, and I emphatically disagreed. At that moment, a Stevie Wonder song came on that I hadn’t heard in years. And it was good. So good. Great Motown makes me want to cry and slam my head over into a wall. And so that’s what I did. Clearly, the argument was won (?). I think Stevie Wonder is disgracing himself with the work he’s produced over the last three decades, but back when he was a young man, the guy had some fuckin’ soul.

We went back to the hostel at around 1 in the morning. I fell asleep listening to Stevie Wonder on repeat. It was a good day and night in Stockholm, Sweden.

Love,

-Steve

NOVEMBER 28

Sitting drinking a four dollar cup of coffee in Aarhus, Denmark. Why am I back in Aarhus instead of making my way North? There’s a couple of reasons. First, I really have no choice in the matter. Rod, the bong-water-stained wanker (whom I have since nicknamed “Fuck-Rod”) has mailed my passport to the only address that I know in the entire continent of Europe: Michael Lambarina’s. The second reason I’m here was that I became rather depressed on Thanksgiving in Stockholm, and Michael had the idea that I come down and we have a late Thanksgiving. It was a good idea.

So I spent a total of four days in Stockholm. I met two really terrific guys there. Dan, from Australia, is a record collecting hound who shares my disdain for the present and lust for the past. His top five recording artists are the Replacements, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, The Charlatans, Link Wray, and some Australian band whose name I cannot recall. I don’t think I’ve ever connected more with a person musically. He plays the blues harp. Josiah is 27 from Boston. Very American in all the good ways. Huge baseball fan. We changed our names and roamed the streets on the last day in Stockholm (I’m “Peter” now, if you get a call from a girl named Julia). I wanted to see if I could naturally introduce myself with a different name. It came surprisingly easy. Josiah was Richie, and Dan was “Miguel Sanchez”. I proposed the name, because at the time it seemed hilarious.

Dan (Miguel Sanchez), Steve (Peter), Josiah (Richie)

On Thursday evening, I somehow became separated from the group and I found myself smoking a cigarette in the harbour listening to The Brian Jonestown Massacre and thinking about life. This is an experience every young man goes through at one point or another. Brian Jonestown Massacre, by the way, is a band that was introduced to me by Dan, and has since been a regular fixture on my iPod. Borderline obsessed.

10 Anemone

1-09 Straight Up and Down

I became quite lonely at this moment, and sauntered of into the night in a direction I figured may as well be towards the hostel. About 20 minutes after this^, I found myself sipping champagne at 4 in the morning in the back of a stretch limousine with three Swedish girls and a socialite oil tycoon. How did this happen? I’m still not quite sure. But it did. I don’t know how or why these types of things happen to me. There were some very, very strange vibrations in this particular limousine. The socialite oil tycoon, whose name I cannot recall/do not wish to recall, threatened to kill me on more than four occasions.

You can't tell, but I'm in the back of a limousine. I promise.

“I was in the Swedish Marines. I can kill you with these two fingers” *holds up two fingers*

“Yeah? Let’s see you fucking try” (I said this purely to look cool in front of the girls. This man terrified me)

(Several minute glossy-eyed-stare-down)

(Smiling) “You! I liiiiiike you! I liiiike this guy!”

And so on.

After his last threat, he promptly took a hit from a champagne bottle and fell asleep on my shoulder. And so for the next two hours I rode around in a limo blasting (awful) music and drinking champagne with three Swedish girls. All on the passed out tycoons dollar. The girls didn’t know him either. I had met them on the street, and we were randomly invited into the limo. It was one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever done. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in limousine. It had a full bar stocked with expensive champagne. So you can imagine what happened.

The next morning I awoke on the floor of an apartment 30 miles outside of Stockholm with cat whiskers drawn on my face. Julia had several penises on hers. It was a bizarre sight to wake up to. I said goodbye to Julia and her roommates (the ones who drew on us), put on the wayfarers and hit the streets. I had absolutely no clue how to get home. I had to take two buses just to get to the end of the metro-line, where I then got the train to the hostel. People stared, as they should have. It’s not often you see a hungover American with cat whiskers.

When I returned to the hostel, Josia and Dan had been waiting all day for my arrival, very anxious to hear about where the Hell I’d been. They figured I was dead in a ditch somewhere in Stockholm or had drowned in the harbor. I told them the story. There was much rejoicing.

We all went sightseeing during the day on Friday with the little sunlight we had at our disposal. It was quite windy, but it was cool to see Stockholm with all the Christmas decorations up. We went to an art museum out of obligation. At night time we went out. It was a pretty laid back evening until something unexpected happened:

It was around midnight on the Soldermann island. I was explaining to Dan about the mid 80′s Akron, Ohio underground rock scene when a policeman screamed something in Swedish and maced me in the face with pepperspray.

Michael, my friend here in Denmark, has come up with a new derogatory curse word: “Vached”.

As in “I got so Vached last night”. It basically describes any unlucky, undeserved, and unfortunate event occurring at an inopportune time. ie: “Sorry Michael, but your kitchen has been Vached this morning”. Getting peppersprayed in Stockholm was a prime example of being Vached.

So how did this happen?

There was a group of Swedish men who had instigated a fight with the three of us. One of them spit on me. They were rough looking dudes and were very obviously looking for a fight, so we just kept walking. The next group behind us was much more responsive. Next thing we know, we find ourselves in the center of an 8 person brawl. It was actually quite terrifying. Slamming heads into cars, etc etc. A cop had just happened to be on the corner, yelled something really badass in Swedish, and maced everyone. Absolutely everyone. Including me.

So I sprawled out on the corner half-blind rubbing my eyes and coughing whilst passerby’s explained to the cops who was and who wasn’t involved in the fight. We were free to go. We even got an apology from the cops. I went to a bathroom and spent 30 minutes washing my eye balls and crying.

I hadn’t even had a direct hit to the face. He was going for another guy and I just got in the way. But I’ll tell you now that you really don’t need to get hit with much of that stuff to go blind. In case you’ve never experienced a hit of pepper spray, let me be the first to tell you that it really, really fucking hurts. I suddenly felt a great amount of empathy for the “occupiers” back home (except not really).

After this, we walked back to the Old Town for a quiet pint. At the pub we became engaged in wonderful conversation with the locals. We told the pepper spray story at least ten times. We didn’t pay for a beer all night. All in all, the Swedish people all seem really nice (obviously with a couple of bad seeds).

We went back to the hostel and goofed around until around 4 in the morning when I hugged Josia and Dan goodbye and walked alone to the station. I had decided to take the 6:20 a.m train to Arhus. Outside the station I sat amongst a group of sleeping homeless men and sang 6th Avenue Heartache on the guitar. And then it started to snow. T’was a scene I won’t soon forget.

08 6th Avenue Heartache

The journey took 12 hours, and I arrived in Denmark a sleep-deprived and pepper-sprayed mess. I stumbled into Mike’s flat, and we had ourselves a late Thanksgiving dinner. We made mashed potatoes and roasted an entire chicken. We had no idea what we were doing, but I’ll be honest: it turned out great. Seriously great. We were quite proud. At night time I met his friends and went to a packed ping pong bar. Later, a night club where Michael and I got denied by many, many women.

Got back to his flat at around 6 in the morning.

Yesterday and last night we didn’t even leave the apartment. There was a large storm outside, so we stayed in and I spent hours on Youtube watching cooking videos.

He’s now going to meet me at this coffeehouse, where we shall walk to the nearest barber and I will receive a much, much, much need haircut. I hope to God they don’t give me a “Danish” style cut. The guys here are pretty metrosexual about their hair.

All is well, but I miss the sun. I never thought I’d say that.

Love,

-Steve

NOVEMBER 29

The hair has been cut, and I now look like some Mediterranean footballer from Cyprus. Mullet and all. I should have known better than to get it cut in Denmark.

Last night we cooked some yellow curry, vegetables, pork, and watched several episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm. There was much rejoicing.

NOVEMBER 30

I checked Michael’s mailbox today for the 5th time, only to discover that my passport still has not arrived. I did the math, and the hostel claims to have “sent” it 13 days ago. So now I’m experiencing some panic. Mostly, my homicidal rage has been focused primarily on the greasy, eyebrow waxed fuck head known as Rod back in Prague. So I’ve written him a strongly worded message. I’m starting to doubt whether they even sent it at all.

Michael Lambarina. This is what five years of nothing but bread and pig liver will do to you.

LOCATION: Oslo, Norway

MORALE?

01 Joy to the World

My God, I need to do some catch-up. Soooooo about three weeks ago, I had an “incident”, so to speak, that might possibly explain the sudden halt of blog entries. Like an idiot, I took a small amount of legal (yes, legal) psychedelic drugs and boarded a night train alone from Croatia to Slovenia. To call this train ride introspectively nightmarish would be the understatement of the century. Long story short, I came to the conclusion that I needed to cut off all ties with society (that included this blog).

Prague

But that was then, and this is now: late November in Norway. This morning I awoke freezing in my tent beside a fog-covered lake in Southern Norway. Laying next to me was the beautiful, sweet Brittany. In case you (?) don’t remember, I had met this girl on the rain washed streets of Dublin, Ireland back in early October. We went camping in the Wicklow mountains. It was very, very nice. I played Oasis songs on the guitar and we got smashed on red wine. I shamelessly wrote about Brittany after we had a somewhat turbulent conclusion to our time in Ireland. I left Dublin on a solid foundation of acceptance that I’d never see her again. She flew to Oslo on Friday where I met her for some wonderfully cold camping. I quite fancy her. Isn’t that something?

18 Don’t Look Back In Anger

That was this morning, and now it’s midnight. Brittany has returned to Ireland. I’m in the upstairs loft of an 18th Century boat-house built directly on the sea on a small island North of Oslo called Malmøya. An hour or so ago, I dove (actually dove) ten meters off a cliff into the North Sea completely naked where I experienced the most heart-stopping, testicle shrinking cold of my life. I swam deep under water with my eyes wide open. The cold sent me into near paralysis, and that’s actually not an exaggeration. Beneath me all I could see was the shimmering neon-green glow of Northern plankton. Above me, nothing but stars.  I felt like I was absolutely alone in the universe, which was perhaps the must calming feeling I’ve ever experienced (does that make me a sociopath? Yes, it probably does). Arguably one of the most sensational moments of my short life. No drugs needed. As I watched the glowing plankton swarm my near-frozen body, I decided I needed to get this blog going again.

Nicholas had a waterproof camera. I cannot possibly describe how cold this was. Don't let the smile fool you. My body was in "ready to die" mode.

I’m sorry for the absence, my friends. I’ll try not to let it happen again. So here’s a very, very, very brief summary of the last few weeks of my life, covering the traveling I did from Slovenia to Denmark (quite a long way, really). Obviously it’ll take too long too write about every place I went, every museum I saw, and every person I met. So I’ll just give an outline.

After the introspective drug-fueled train ride from Hell, I arrived in Slovenia, where I spent three days. I befriended some local musicians, and we spent every single night playing music in a run down artist-commune. It was terrific. One of the guitar players was named Frederico, from Italy. We spent each night cooking needlessly elaborate Italian meals. Frederico approved of my homemade bolognese sauce, which was good to hear. Slovenia was good to me. I saw everything the town has to offer, met some great people, played some great music, and hardly spent any money. That’s a massive success in my book.

So in Ljubjiana I got an e-mail from a good friend named Rob Mathews. Rob is from Melbourne, Australia. I met Rob in Las Vegas this summer, when I spent three weeks driving my car alone from New Orleans to Seattle (4,000 miles). It was actually the best three weeks of my life. More on that later. The morning I met Rob he was a stranger. That afternoon, we (along with an Englishmen and another Aussie) had driven my car thirty miles outside of town into the desert, and were blasting 12 gauge buckshot rounds from my pump shotgun into the Nevada sky. Freedom, baby.

Rob and Steve in Dresden

In the e-mail, Rob explained that he’d be in Berlin on the 5th. I’d prematurely promised Rob that I’d meet him in Berlin. So I boarded a series of trains from Ljubjiana, and about 28 hours later I was in Berlin. Longest train journey of my life. I met some really cool people on the train from Belarus and Russia, and we stayed up all night drinking vodka. There are many things that I wish to say about this train ride, but I lack the time. For example; my roommate in the couchette car (sleeping car) lives in a zoo. Like, actually lives in a zoo. He’s a freak. That’s the best way I can describe him. He’s my age, and he lives and works in the Vienna Zoo. His boss used his “connections” with the folks at the Berlin zoo, and now he is going to live with the Panda bears for four nights. He (obviously) loves animals, and, when asked, told me that his favorite animal is the rat. I’m being completely serious. Though I find it a bit bizarre and a bit unsettling, I wish him all the best. My other couchette-mate was a girl from Belarus, whom I’m 80% sure is a prostitute. She was really nice though, and turned out to be an outstanding conversationalist. One of the more interesting people I’ve met in recent memory. You’d be amazed at the things you’d see if you spent two years selling yourself on the streets of Minsk.

Home Away from Home

Berlin, by the way, is my without-any-doubt favorite city in Europe, if not the world. It always has been. I spent five days in Berlin. It would be pointless to go over every highlight and every event from those five days, so I wont. I have been to Berlin three times before, so I had already done the big tourist stuff (Eastside Gallery, check-point Charlie, etc etc). A lot of wonderful things happened in Berlin, and I met heaps of outstanding people. But I’m a lazy, lazy man and I just don’t feel like writing about it. Luckily, I was with Rob during most of my stay in Berlin, so if you want to read about it, you can take a gander at his blog (this is my way of outsourcing labor to Oceania).

It was all very pleasant in Berlin with an exception being the participation in a screaming fight with two dwarfs in a laundromat. They were the owners, and they were twins. They both had matching Errol Flynn mustaches. You cannot possibly imagine a more frightening scenario. They tried to rip me off, and I defended myself. A scene was made. I’m not welcome in the laundromat again. Let’s just leave it at that.

The view from our tent

The last time I was in Berlin was November 9th of 2009. This was a very important day for Berliners. Why? It was the 20th Anniversary of the collapse of the Berlin wall. Half a million people gathered in the pouring rain at the Brandenburg gate. Angela Merkel, Nicholas Sarkozy, and Hilary Clinton all spoke. Bon Jovi played. Hasselhoff did a traditional German dance. People cried. I drank Jagermeister with a crowd of emotional Berliners. It never stopped raining. This night was perhaps one of the most memorable nights I’ve ever had while traveling. So needless to say, I was excited to be back in Berlin.

Rob, myself, and the lovely Sofie from Buenos Aires (taken in Berlin)

After Berlin, I traveled to Dresden with Rob and spent two nights. We did a lot of sight-seeing during the day. It was freezing. I said goodbye to Rob, who will be missed, and headed off by myself to Prague, where I stayed for five days. A lot of things happened. It was unconscionably cold.  I had some really great experiences in Prague. Getting my passport “stolen” by the half-baked French Canadian hostel stooge was not one of them. He took the passport out of my jacket for no reason (it was his idea of a “joke”) , and never informed me that he did so. It was about halfway to Germany where I discovered that it was missing.

So there we go. That^ was the last three weeks of my life.

I can now proudly (?) say that, over the last four days, I’ve crossed six international borders without a passport. The stooge, named “Rod” (of course), has received an angry phone call from me inquiring as to the whereabouts of my passport. “I have it here at the desk… sorry I forgot to tell you, bro”.

Rod is a massive Cypress Hill fan. He is from Montreal, but talks like he is from Compton. Rod wears his Yankees hat cocked to the side. Rod takes blunt-rolling way too seriously. All of Rod’s stories involve getting really high, and they never have a conclusion — they are just met with blank stares. Rod’s name is Rod. Fuck him.

He’s mailed it to my friend, and I should be getting it soon. Christ.

From Prague, I made the heroically long journey to Arhus, Denmark to visit one of my all time best friends, Michael Lambarina. Mike has been living in Denmark for almost five years, and I’ve had the fortune of visiting him three times during those years. I hadn’t talked to him in a long time (I tend to do that), and it was great to see him. It’s been weird to watch him transform from a bumbling, walrus-toothed American to a full on scarf wearing, bike riding, Carlsberg drinking European citizen. He’s completely fluent in Danish. He’s getting his Masters degree out in Arhus, and from the sound of it, has no plans to return to America anytime in the next ten years. Honestly, I can’t blame him. Denmark is a socialist utopia, and happens to be full of the most beautiful women I’ve seen in my life. The only problem is how insanely expensive it is. Norway is ten times worse, though. I didn’t think this was possible.

At the German/Danish border, I encountered a problem.

“Passport please”, said the gun-wielding Danish Customs officer lady.

“Uhhh…. it’s all the way at the bottom of my backpack. Can I just show you my drivers license?”

“I’ll need to see your passport, Sir”.

“Okay I’ll get it”

So for the next minute I pretended to search for my passport, knowing the whole time that it wasn’t there. I didn’t know what else to do. I was preparing for the best acting performance of my life: pretending that I had, at that moment, just discovered that my passport was missing. Fake surprise. While I continued my fake search, she continued the questioning.

“Are you bringing any alcohol or cigarettes with you, Sir”

“Oh Heavens yes! Very much so. Let me show you!”

I used this opportunity to take the focus off the passport, and I enthusiastically displayed a bottle of Scotch and three packs of Slovakian cigarettes before her as if I was one of the Wheel of Fortune prize-display girls. I had purchased these items specifically so I wouldn’t have to buy them in Scandinavia where they would be 20 times the price.

The Customs Agent seemed satisfied, and walked away. I was in the clear.

I only got to stay at Mike’s for one night, as I had to make it to Norway the next day to meet up with Brittney. I was terrified of this trip, as I felt that entering Norway without a passport could prove difficult (mainly because Norway’s not in the European Union, just had a terrorist attack this Summer, etc etc). Luckily, I made it. I credit the Cosby sweater for this (more on this later… Cosby sweater has proven to be my most valuable asset I own. People tend to treat you better when you dress like a mentally handicapped person. Throw in the badger skin hat, and you’re untouchable).

Jammin' in Ljubjiana

I realize now that I must do blog entries every day, or else I’ll fall behind. So from here on out, expect to hear much more from your old friend Steve, for better or for worse.

Things are about to get interesting for me, yet again. My time in Eastern Europe and the Balkans was intense. After Slovenia, though, I hung around pretty touristy, “beaten path” type places (I don’t even consider Prague to be Eastern Europe anymore). So traveling was leisurely. I slept in decent beds or trains every night, ate lots of Turkish kebabs, went to lovely museums, etc etc. Germany is my favorite country in Europe, with some of the best people living there. And my eight days there was not an exception.

But now the days of leisure are over. It’s starting to get freakishly cold. I haven’t really outlined my “plans” for the future, but here’s a rough idea:

From here, I am making my way North. How far North?

Look up Tromso, Norway. It’s one of the Northernmost towns on the planet. I’m going to see the Northern Lights. I’m not leaving until I see them. I don’t care if I have to camp out for weeks. Seeing the Northern Lights is one of the most important goals of this trip. It’s on my bucket list.

The train doesn’t go to Tromso. It stops at a town called Norvik, which is about 150 miles South. There is a single road leading from Norvik to Tromso, which I will hitch hike. There aren’t any hostels in Tromso, so I may have to camp out. Setting up the tent might be difficult, as there are zero minutes of sunlight during the day.

From there, I’m going to screw around Scandinavia a bit until I make way to the Baltics (Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania).

From there, it’s anyone’s guess.

So there you go.

I’m back, everyone. I smell and look like a tourist attraction. A can of Tuna spilled in my backpack back in Oslo two days ago, and now cats follow me around. Children stare with horror. I haven’t had a haircut since London. I haven’t shaved since Slovenia. I’ve purchased a beaver-skin hat, a Marlboro man coat, and a Slovakian hunting knife. I have run out of my anti-depressants. Lets do this thing.

Love,

Steve

Huey ‘Piano’ Smith & The Clowns – Don’t You Just Know It

Location: Dubrovnik, Croatia. Seaside.

Morale: Dangerously high.

Beard: Coming along nicely.

“Fuck everything” I announced to the disinterested school children kicking a soccer ball around me this morning as I stood on the edge of the Adriatic sea. “I’m selling everything I own and will live here for the rest of my life”. Obviously this was a far-out and largely untrue statement, but I must admit that part of it was quite sincere. I want to start a fishing tour-guide company out here on the Damatian coast. I will find a bride, adopt a rottweiler, and build a waterfront shack. Take rich CEO’s fishing. More on this later. Strange impulses arising here on this manic morning on the Croatian coast. I’m now sitting in a seaside cafe, frantically slamming my keyboard whilst people try to read their newspapers.

So lets catch up. I left Sarajevo in the pouring rain at around noon. I had no idea where the bus station was, and I met a couple of young guys on the tram who ended up walking me all the way to the bus station, and even translated for me at the ticket counter. Crazy. So I boarded the 7 euro bus to Mostar, which is Bosnia’s second largest city located in the South side of the country. It should be noted that, as I write this, BBC is reporting that a camouflage-clad gunman opened fire at the U.S Embassy in Sarajevo today and shot at least two people with an automatic machine gun. The SWAT team was dispatched and they “felled” him (that’s how BBC put it). With my luck, I’m amazed that I didn’t get caught in the middle of it. The media is surprisingly quick to call him a “Muslim extremist”.

Anyways, the bus ride was incredible. I had no idea how mountainous Bosnia was. We drove around winding cliffs (scary at times) and along torquise-green glistening rivers. The weather was really terrible, which made everything look a bit eerie and haunting. I really enjoyed it. No one spoke a word of English. We stopped at some middle-of-nowhere mountain town and I watched a young woman get off the bus and reunite with her daughter whom, it seemed, she hadn’t seen in awhile. It was beautiful.

Bosnian River

When I arrived at the Mostar station at around 5, I got off the bus with my guitar to find a pretty Bosnian girl standing in the rain holding up a sign that said “Stephen Kovach”. I thought I was hallucinating at first. It turns out that the hostel back in Sarajevo had, without telling me, called the Mostar hostel to arrange that I’d be picked up at the station by the owners daughter. For no charge at all. Incredible. She drove me around Mostar showing me the sights before taking me to the hostel.

Ladia (that’s her name) is my age, which put her at age 5 during the start of the war. She was here for the first year, and then fled to Spain with her family. As she showed me around town, I noticed that ALL the buildings had bullet holes in them. There were half-destroyed foundations everywhere. We passed a 10 story structure which is now referred to as the “sniper tower”. It used to be a bank, but during the war it was used by Serb snipers to shoot Muslims. Apparently you can still find shell-casings inside.

Anyways, this hostel might be the best hostel I’ve ever stayed in. And I mean that. I think that, by now, I’ve stayed in at least 40 different hostels in my life. At least. So that’s a pretty bold statement. It is called Majda’s hostel, and it’s 9 dollars a night. When I arrived, all the guests were gathered around a table and Majda, the unbelievably sweet owner, made us all soup. Really, really good Bosnian soup. The hostel was at full capacity; 13 people. So you get to know everyone. It’s essentially a small apartment in a Soviet block style building. Majda is around 50 years old, and she is a Bosnian Muslim. Head-dress and everything.  She is so caring and sweet that I almost developed a preternatural-type crush on her.

Misty Mountains in Bosnia

Bosnia

I didn’t do much in Mostar, due to the weather. I just needed a place to rest my head on my way South to Croatia. I went out with three Aussies for some cheap Bosnian dinner, and stopped by the sniper tower. It was very scary (tons of holes to fall through), and we found someone on the 2nd floor shooting up heroin. Seeing that was depressing on so many levels. If you think about it, that scene sums up almost everything wrong with humanity. So we left the tower feeling depressed. We came back to the hostel and hung out with all the other guests. There was a Japanese guy there traveling with a bongo drum, so he and I played some music together. There were some great, great people staying at Majda’s that night. I met an American my age, named Jason, who is traveling for three years, working from his laptop. Another pair of Englishmen had just toured with their bicycles through 25 countries in 100 days for charity. Meeting people doing such remarkable things has become the norm lately.

When I awoke in Mostar yesterday morning, I looked out the window and saw something that I had forgotten existed — the sun. It was shining bright. I was pressured to stay one more night, and really considered it, but decided I needed to keep moving on. So Majda drove me to the bus station. Free of charge. I don’t know what it is about people here. If you are ever in Mostar, Bosnia (not that anyone of you will be), please for the love of God stay at this hostel.

My mind was shattered on the five hour bus ride to Dubrovnik with the overwhelming beauty that surrounded me at every turn. The guy sitting next to me was a Croat with a huge “Simpsons” obsession, so I spent much of the ride regaling him with Professor Frink impressions. When I got to Dubrovnik, I felt like I was on an actual vacation for the first time of this trip. It was 70 degrees and sunny. There were cruise ships in the port. There were hustlers trying to sell me cheap rooms. Fanny-packs everywhere. I might have been a bit horrified if I wasn’t so distracted by the sunshine and the coast.

Taken by Femka

I got very lost trying to find my hostel. It’s nowhere near the Old City. I had to take three city buses, and all of which were some of the most anxiety-inducing and awkward bus rides of my life. Why? Try to get on a completely packed bus at rush hour wearing a 50 pound backpack and holding a guitar case. I almost knocked over several elderly women. I don’t know how to say “sorry” in Croatian. Everyone on the bus was pissed at me. Everyone. An old man yelled at me to take my backpack off, and I tried to explain that I couldn’t take it off, because I would need at least five square feet of room to do so, which I didn’t have. He didn’t seem to understand. You can’t just “take off” an enourmous human-sized backpack when you are squeezed between four people.

But so it goes in the live of the traveler. Sometimes you just have to step on some toes.

The view from my hostel balcony. Not bad..

I finally found the hostel. It’s right on the water. I immediately ran in to Warren and Femka, as planned. Who is Warren? Warren is “that guy”. I first met Warren in the early days back in Krakow. We went out two nights together. He was on the ill-fated “Tram Crawl”. 12 days later, I ran in to him in Belgrade, Serbia. After that, I ran in to him in Sarajevo, Bosnia. After that, I ran in to him in Mostar. Finally, I just came out and asked where he would be staying in Dubrovnik, and booked the same place. He had met Femka a couple weeks back, and they’ve been traveling together since. She’s from Holland. She’s very nice.

The owner of this hostel, Ivan, is just ridiculous. The first thing we did when I arrived was sit on the porch together, eat homemade pancakes that his wife had made, and drink homemade grappa that his father had made. The grappa actually had plant-roots in it. It was very interesting. Supposed to be good for your digestive system.  A couple of hours later, I asked Ivan if I could bum a smoke off him, as I had just run out. He ran out to his car and brought back a brand new full pack of Camels and just gave the whole pack to me. I’m starting to think that the Balkans have the most hospitable and generous people on the planet. Seriously.

Look at this water. Just look at this goddamned water.

So we met two nice Americans, Nick and Gavin, who had been working as scientists in Vienna the last two years. We all went out to find food, and decided to cook back at the hostel. So we went to the market and got supplies. And boy did we cook. One of the most lavish meals I’ve had on the road. And it was dirt cheap with everyone pitching in on ingredients. It turns out that Nick spent a year at culinary school in Paris. So that helped.

Left to Right: Gavin, Warren, Sasquatch, Nick, Femka.

After dinner, we all hung out with John and Julie, a couple from Toronto. They are doing a two month tour of Europe. They are both in their late 50′s with three children. Julie is still quite beautiful. She works as an engineer, and John is a carpenter. They appear to be incredibly in love, even after so many years. We ended up all drinking a pretty decent amount of wine, and before long the guitar was out. Drunkenly, I dedicated a song to them. To me, it’s one of the greatest love songs ever written, and it applies perfectly to their situation.

10 If i were a carpenter

Ugh

It went quite well. The whole room was singing. I’m probably the only guy in his 20′s who actually listens to Bobby Darin on a regular basis. There’s nothing cool about Bobby Darin. But that song, originally by Tim Hardin, is incredible. Tim died of a heroin overdose shortly after recording it. It’s been covered countless times.

The Bobby Darin version is great, but I guess I’m particular to my 60′s soul brothers.

Dedicated to John and Julie of Toronto:

Today, I awoke early to a nice breakfast on the patio with the gang. Said goodbye to Nick and Gavin, and walked with Warren and Femka to the Old City. Well over an hour walking time. We walked along the harbor, and I saw many fish, which made me sexually excited (I really, really like fish). Now I’m now in the cafe while Warren and Femka are out getting lunch. We didn’t really do anything crazy last night, and, seeing as how tonight is Saturday, I do believe that we will hit the town. I have every intention of going all-out tonight.

Christ. I’m just sitting here in a cafe alone with the beautiful olive-eyed barista, smoking a cigarette and writing while the Rolling Stones’ “Angie” plays on the radio. It does not get any better.

07 Angie

Ain’t it good to be alive.

Love,

-Steve

Warren found me in the coffeehouse, working on this blog.

 OCTOBER 30

Location: Split, Croatia. 11:46 p.m.

I’m sitting in my hostel bed in Split, which is a town on the coast, right between Dubrovnik and Zadar. I arrived here after a 5 hour stunning bus ride from Dubrovnik. The sun set on the Adriatic as we drove along the coast. I guess you could say it was pretty.

Boats in Dubrovnik!

So. This morning was a showcase of staggering contrasts. I awoke in a pretty good humor. The night had been a success to say the least. Warren and I went downtown together, leaving Femka at the hospital to read her magazines. Guys night out kinda thing, I guess. We were surrounded by Croatian women all night. Some of them invited us to a nightclub called “Fuego”. Fuego was packed, and played nothing but turbo-folk. As usual, I drank too much and  became disenchanted with the club-mentality so I  went outside alone to have a smoke and stare out into the ocean, brooding. A tall girl with long black hair wearing a birthday party had stood beside me and lit up a cigarette.

“Who’s Birthday is it?” I asked.

“Mine”, she said.

I wished her a happy birthday and asked her name.

“Lana”, she said. “Lana Kovach”

Clock Tower, Dubrovnik

She demanded that I show her some kind of identification to prove that I wasn’t lying –that we did in fact share the same surname. And so I busted out the drivers licence. I have never met anyone in my life with my last name (outside of my family). So after that, Lana and I posted ourselves at a different bar down the beach and, for lack of a better word, we drank ourselves crazy. She completely abandoned her friends who had come out for her birthday. The entire night I kept drunkenly kissing her forehead and telling her how glad I was that she was a Kovach. And I meant it. She’s one of the nicest, prettiest, and most interesting girls I’ve met in good long time, and she’s a Kovach. Her taste in music is immaculate. She’s a massive Roxy Music fan. There was a small chance, I suppose, that we could be distantly related. But that didn’t seem to matter to Lana.

^Dedicated to Lana, and to all other Kovach women. Give it a couple of minutes, as it changes drastically at about 1:30. The song basically describes how I felt the next morning. This video is from 1974.

I walked home along the coast around sunrise, listening to the Jesus Christ Superstar score on my headphones, feeling like a complete champion. I returned to the hostel at around 7 in the morning. An annoyingly chipper Femka woke me up one hour later to “see how my night was”, and I was unable to fall back asleep.

“Good morning Steve-o! How was your night?!”

“What?”

“How was your night?!”

“What?” (looking around in a half-drunk haze) “It…I don’t know…why would you…. it was fine. What time is it? Why would… Jesus Christ. Go away…. Please, for the love of God, go away. Goddamnit, Femka.”

I feel bad. I may have been a bit too harsh to her. But it was simply unacceptable for her to wake me up at such an unreasonable hour.

Living the Dream

I ate breakfast with Warren, Femka, Julie, and John, made a new playlist for my iPod, and I began the walk all the way around the harbor to the ferry port (which is also the bus station). I was walking on sunshine, thinking about the previous night. Listening to Issac Hayes while staring at beautiful redfish swimming around small sailboats.

I spent the entire walk looking down into the waters edge and watching the ocean floor burst with life. Then, all of the sudden, everything changed.

I looked into the water and almost had a heart attack. There was a kitten floating upside down, half under the water and half above. It looked as if it had been dead for less than an hour. For some reason, it was one of the more horrific sights I’ve ever seen. It’s eyes were open and it just floated there with it’s arms extended. Not knowing what to do, I took a photograph of it. This may sound weird or disrespectful, but I did it because I want to remember everything about this trip; the good things and the not so good things. The picture is haunting and, in a way, very beautiful. I really wrested with putting the picture on this blog. It’s hard to look at without getting bummed out, and the point of this blog isn’t to bum people out. If seeing it doesn’t make you upset, than you’re not a human. So here it is, and I’m honestly sincerely sorry if it upsets anyone. But there’s something hauntingly beautiful about it.

I didn’t know what to do. I stared at it for awhile, and I walked on by.

02 Walk on By

I boarded the bus and tried everything I could to get the kitten out of my head. All I could think about was dead cats and incest. On the walk, I was in a T-shirt and sweating. I cannot allow myself to get used to this weather.

I arrived in Split this evening and walked to the Old Town and found my hostel. Upon opening the door, I immediately ran in to two people I’d met previously in my travels. Russel had been on the bus with me from Sarajavo to Mostar. Samantha was the friend of the American girl I befriended back in Budapest. Small world.

They were on their way to dinner and invited me. I told them I had planned to cook dinner, and they told me all the stores were closed (Sunday), which was true. So I went.

Best dinner of the entire trip. Bar none. I didn’t have my camera, but I’m waiting for pictures to arrive via e-mail. We did it family-style — all sharing our dishes with one another. I ordered a plate of assorted pan-fried fish. Heads, fins, and all. The girls in our group weren’t too keen on eating the fish, so I had most of it. We also had cuttlefish risotto. It is essentially octopus, and the rice was black with ink. One of the weirdest things I’ve ever consumed.

We also had meatballs, lamb, mashed potatoes, rabbit, bread, and olives. We shared some wine.

We split the bill evenly and it came to exactly 10 dollars a piece. Not bad. I think we stayed at the restaurant for over three hours eating and telling stories. It was Russell, from California, Samantha, also from California, and Stacey and Andy, a couple from Toronto. A very nice group.

We went back to the hostel and I was asleep by midnight. Needed a quiet night with good food and good company.

 OCTOBER 31

Location: Split, Croatia.

Woke up early this morning and wandered around Split. I hadn’t seen the city under the sunshine yet. It’s very nice here. Picturesque seaside city with a really pretty Old Town. Pretty Croatian girls everwhere. It’s 72 degrees today. Listnening to Bobby Darin on my headphones, smiling like a goon.

Last week was Bill Cosby, now it’s Bobby Darin. Something horrible is happening.

Bobby Darin – Dream Lover

Damn...

A random observation on Croatia:

I did the math, and I’ve now been to 30 countries in Europe. All are beautiful and awesome in their own way (sans Austria), but there were only two instances where I had trouble physically handling the natural beauty of the area. The first time was two years ago when I took several trains through Portugal. I fell in love with it there, and I conjured up the fantasy of opening a fishing tour guide business on the coast somewhere in the Algarve.

Adriatic Sea and the distant Croatian islands.

The second time that this^ happened was throughout this last week in Croatia. So I can say with total sincerity, that if you are planning a tour through Europe, you must get to Croatia. It’s simply stunning. It’s swarming with tourists even now in the off-season, but it’s easy to understand why.

Anyways, tonight marks the point in this journey where I will begin using train travel exlusively. I leave Split tonight on the 9:30 night train to Ljubjiana, Slovenia. I have to to change trains at 5:00 a.m in Zagreb, where there’s an hour between trains. So I can already tell you for sure that tomorrow I will be an absolute Zombie when I arrive in Slovenia. I cannot sleep on trains for the life of me.

Warren, myself, and our 2-liter beers before going out in Dubrovnik.

I have a eurail pass. I paid 400 dollars back in the states for the “10 travel days over two months”. This means that I have ten 24-hour periods of unlimited train travel through 22 of the Eurail-included countries. So far on this trip, most of the places I’ve been are not part of the Eurail system. So I’ve waited til’ Croatia to activate it.

The Old City

If you are a first time traveler in Europe, the Eurail pass is terrific. The only problem is that it does limit you to mainly Western Europe. Some exceptions are Czech Republic, Hungary, and Bulgaria (?!).

When I was 19, I managed to turn those 10 travel days in 2 months into roughly 24 travel days in 3 months. The fact that I was never caught is unbelievable. I can’t believe how reckless I was. I essentially conned my way around Europe.

I’m now going to cook some dinner with some Croatian friends from the hostel, and then jump on a night train to Slovenia.

Love,

-Steve

I do believe that, if I had the means, I could easily live this way for the rest of my life. I love not knowing where I’ll be tomorrow or where I’ll be sleeping. I love knowing for sure that within the next week I will have a soul-bearing conversation with a stranger from a foreign land, and I love having no idea who that stranger will be. I love being on foot and more connected to the physical geography of a region, and I love that the weather directly affects my day to day life — sometimes when you’re on the road “staying inside” is not an option. The weather all of the sudden matters. I love that I have an intense appreciation for every single material good that I carry with me, from my earbud headphones to my stick of deodorant. Things I wouldn’t have cared about back home. I love staring out the windows of planes, trains, and automobiles and thinking about the big picture. I love to spread love around, and I love the opportunity to spread happiness to the live’s of others. I love how people look, act, and speak differently if you drive just 50 miles down a craggy Balkan road. I love brushing shoulders with vagabonds, peasants, and kings, and realizing that we are all the same. These are all things I love about traveling.

Turkish Quarter

I feel lucky beyond words to live a life like this. Why am I sharing these sentiments today? Because I’m in a place right now where a great deal of people never get to experience these things. A lot of these freedoms were taken away from them.

Having gotten over the pigeon attack yesterday, I resumed my wandering the streets

of Sarajevo. I passed a building and noticed the entire side was sprayed with the dents of bullet holes. It was there that I realized that this is the first time in my young life that I’ve been to a country so recently riddled with war on it’s home turf. For three years, the city of Sarajevo was surrounded by Serbian forces and was constantly barraged with mortar shells. There were sniper shootings of innocent civilians at random. This particular conflict is actually notorious for the amount of children killed by Serb forces. I found out today that this was the longest military siege in modern military history. It lasted three entire years. The city suffered mass destruction which it is still recovering from. Earl, the writer I met in Belgrade, just posted a really terrific blog entry about exactly this^. Check it out.

Sorry to get so real on ya’ll, but it’s something you can’t really ignore when you’re traveling in places like this.

Notice the mountains in the background.

So anyways, last night was one of the more soul-nourishing nights of this entire trip. I met two lovely people from Buenos Aires named Francisco and Victoria. They got engaged four days ago when they were in Slovenia (everyone speaks very highly of Slovenia by the way… very excited), and haven’t even told their families back home about it yet. We went out to a little pub/restaurant with two Aussie guys who are on a RTW trip. After a couple of drinks the Aussies left and the Argentinians and I talked on the patio until 4 in the morning while six year old Bosnian girls begged us for money, and eye infected stray cats crawled all over us.

Stray Cat Blues

My attention span is shit, and, sadly, I sometimes get tired of the same old conversations you have when your traveling (“Where are you from? Where are you coming here from? Did you like it there? Where are you going next” etc etc), which is exactly why last night’s conversation was so great. We discussed some very interesting and unusual things. I got on very well with these people, and have been invited to visit them in Argentina some day.

Latin Bridge

Victoria is a “Creative Leader” at the MTV office in Buenos Aires, and Francisco is an engineer who, deep down, is obsessed with Bukowski and wants to be a poet. The classic artist’s conflict. We discussed our dreams and why it is so hard to have the courage to go out and shoot for them.

At the end of the night, Victoria started crying because of the way Francisco and I were talking. She said she was so excited to have a life to spend with him. It was a beautiful scene. Very happy and very authentic. Warm feelings abound.

Victoria and Francisco, as well as the Aussies, all left this morning to Croatia and they will be missed. They have a car and offered to bring me along, but I’d given the hostel owner my verbal word that I’d be staying three nights, and I’d feel like a dick if I left a day early. Even though I really wanted to.

But that being said, I love Bosnia. When I arrived here, I actually started noticing some unique character traits that Southeast European people have. For one thing, they have some of the darkest senses of humor I’ve ever come across. They can also be incredibly self defacing. This is something I share in common with the people here. Another thing I’ve noticed is that the people are reaaaaaaaaaaally tall here. I’m no longer the tall one. I’ve passed women on the street who were taller than me (and I’m 6’4”). It’s no secret why the Bosnians are so damned good at basketball.

He Got Game

^Dedicated to my “little” brother, Scott.

So I guess I haven’t even said anything about how I got here. There’s not much to say, really. Eight hour bus ride with several cigarette stops in the middle of Bosnia/Serbia. No one spoke English on the bus. I listened to wonderful music.

When I arrived at the East Sarajevo bus station at around 12:30 , the crowd slowly dispersed into the night, and I stood alone under a streetlight. Now, my friends, this is one of the most beautiful parts of solo traveling. Those wonderful moments where you look around phone-less, map-less, friend-less, and hope-less, and you say to yourself  ”well what the fuck do I do now?”. You have absolutely no idea where you are, there is no one around (and even if there was, there’s no one who speaks English), and you have no idea where you are sleeping. The only people around are criminals, drunks, and the homeless. It’s not a place you want to be.

Cathedral

Then, the terrifying looking man with slicked back hair walks towards you from an unliscensed, unmarked taxi cab. You refuse his offer several times, telling him that you would rather try your luck on the tram. But he’s persistent, and tells you he’ll give you a discounted price (lie). He tells you that the tram stopped running at midnight (lie), and that he’ll only charge you 10 marks (lie) and that one Euro is equal to four marks (lie).

I knew he was going to rip me off, but I had no other option. Seriously. It was either get into a car with this criminal, or remain on the corner with the other criminals. At least the car is warmer.

Sarajevo

So he chain-smoked with the windows up and blasted turbo-folk (a genre of music very popular in the Balkans. It’s…uh…really bad) as he drove aimlessly around Sarajevo. I looked at my guidebook for the address of the cheapest hostel, and he took me there. First thing I asked when I arrived at the hostel: “How much would you pay for a cab from East Sarajevo bus station?”

The answer left me arm-flailingly enraged. The Bosnian at reception laughed at me. The greasy, hair-slicked-back gypsy cab driver had taken me to the cleaner.

So that just about brings us up to date. Yesterday was spent exploring Sarajevo, dodging pigeons, and discussing philosophy with lovely Argentinians.

Belgrade vs Sarajevo.

I think Sarajevo wins. Which is odd, because Sarajevo is war-torn and considerably poorer than Belgrade. I particularly like the geography here. The city is surrounded by enourmous cliffs and mountains (the same mountains that the Serb’s positioned their armies on during the siege), and there’s a beautiful river running through the Old Town.

It’s also much more ethnically diverse here. In fact, it’s the most Islamic place I’ve ever been to; it’s roughly half Muslim here. There are mosques everywhere, and the Old Town has kind of a “Turkish Bizarre” feel to it.

The history here is pretty interesting (and sad). Today I walked across the Latin Bridge. It’s pretty much just a regular bridge. Except there was this tiny incident on this particular bridge about 90 years ago where this guy named Princip shot a guy named Franz and consequently started the first World War. No big deal.

It was really, really weird to walk across that bridge knowing that^.

As far as the people go, I haven’t met too many Bosnians thus far, but the one’s I have met were very kind. This was the same in Serbia, though. Everyone I’ve met in the Balkans has been quite friendly.

Some unfortunate news: Sarajevo, amazingly, has more stray dogs than Belgrade. I didn’t think this was possible. Upon discovering this, I did the lamest and most tree-hugging thing I’ve done thus far on the trip — I went to a market and bought a small bag of dog treats. I’ve been handing them out left and right. It’s been the smartest purchase I’ve made in weeks.

I met a dog named Bosley version 2.0 in Sarajevo’s Pigeon Square (yes, I later found out that my attack scene was literally called “Pigeon Square”). I gave him a treat and petted him. Later, I found out that Bosley 2.0 hangs out at Pigeon Square all day, and when he’s hungry, he will find a random pigeon, bite it’s head off, and it eat whole. The real world isn’t a fairy tale. Whoever said Bosley was high class, that was just a lie.

11 Hound Dog

Bosley version 2.0: The Sarajevo Edition.

I am probably going to stay in tonight. I haven’t racked up much sleep since I’ve been here. Tomorrow morning I’ll be leaving Sarajevo. I’ll either go to Mostar (in Bosnia) or Montenegro or Croatia. There is a thunderstorm happening right now, and I can see lightning crashing out on the distant mountains. Again, I love this life.

09 – Live – Lightning Crashes [1995]

Love,

Steve, Lord of the Street Dogs

P.S- Mom, I got the “Twilight” thing five times last night from strangers.

 OCTOBER 27

Early morning. Turkish coffee. Pearl Jam on the radio. Good times.

Here are the two people I hung out with last night:

Jay:

34 year old American who has been living in Barcelona for the last nine years, owns

Sarajevo

1/3 of a pizza joint right off Las Ramblas. I told him that I had spent a night in prison in Barcelona once when I was 17 (true story), and he was impressed. You can’t possibly imagine how cool it feels to do the whole yawn-and-lean-back-in-your-chair and say “yeahhhhh, I did some time down in Barcelona back in 05′”.) Phenomenal. Even more interesting; my cell mate during that night in jail was a clown. As in, a fully dressed clown with an inflatable hammer that squeaks when you hit something with it. It was straight out of an acid trip. It’s all true, too. My good friend Andy was right beside me. He can confirm this.

So last year, Jay rode his bicycle from Spain to Syria. Now, he is Kayaking (yes, Kayaking) from Spain to Istanbul. He has an inflatable kayak and he’s taking it through the various rivers here in the Balkans all the way to Istanbul. Fucking incredible. He has a fishing pole and ax, and eats fresh fish every night at his riverside campsite. He’s concerned about the increasing cold. So am I.

Peter:

44 year old from Germany. He’s traveling OVERLAND from London to India. If you look at a map, you’ll see that he has to go through some questionable nations to get there (ie: Iraq, Iran, Pakistan). He plans to travel for at least two years. Five years ago, he spent 22 months traveling from Vancouver, Canada, to Patagonia (as in, the Southern tip of South America). In Germany he’s a software programmer.

So last night I spent several hours chatting with these folks. It’s a regular occurance now to meet people like that.

That’s probably the best thing about traveling during Autumn/Winter in less “touristy” countries. The people you meet out here are hardcore. There are no groups of 18 year old Americans backpacking through France, Spain, and Italy as a high school graduation present. You meet much fewer travelers out here, but the ones that you do meet tend to be very interesting.

I’m about to get on a bus to Mostar. Sarajevo has been wonderful and, yet again, I’m staying in an outstanding hostel. The owner, Osman (!), takes all the guests out in his van for two hours every day and shows them the sights. The hostel is family-owned, and they were all living in the same flat during the siege in the early 90′s. They have incredible stories. Very, very nice family. Like I said earlier, Eastern European hostels are the best.

I sucked at taking pictures here, which is unfortunate because it’s one of the more ascetically wacky places I’ve ever been.

I need to do laundry like you cannot possibly imagine.

Love,

-Steve

P.S-

Funny story that just happened about ten minutes ago:

When you study English in college, you can point out fellow English majors from a mile away. I was having coffee in the common room at the hostel just now, when an English guy with a backpack arrived. He had apparently taken the 20 hour train from Bulgaria. When I asked him “how was it?”, I naturally expected the guy to say “fine” or something like that. Instead, he started to go off about how it was a “harrowing, Kafka-esque experience”.

I asked if he was a Lit major, and he responded in the affirmative. I have a mental image of this guy standing at a rainy Bulgarian train station, waving his fist in the air towards the Heavens screaming “Oh Fortuna! Why must I be destined to a trodden-down life of such disenchantment?! Such mistreatment?!” in response to his train being 20 minutes late. These are how literature majors behave in these situations. I would know.

His glasses are very thick. I like him already.

Here was the initial scene:

The Scheming Bastard Pigeons

“That’s a lot of pigeons”, I thought to myself. “That’s a hell of a lot of pigeons.”

I got out my camera to take a photograph, when, for seemingly no reason at all, they started to stir about. “These pigeons are exhibiting some odd behavior”, I thought to myself curiously. “Perhaps I should keep my distance”. It was at that moment that these awful birds went completely ape-shit. Through sheer journalistic stoicism, I was able to take a photograph the beginning stages of the attack. Before the attack, I had wondered why no one else was anywhere near the center of the city square, and I found out why the hard way.

The First Wave of Attacks

They swarmed me. Swarmed me like a group of New Jersey housewives at a shoe sale rack. I screamed as I held out my camera, blindly snapping photos. This^ was the last picture I was able to take before taking full cover from the pigeons. You can’t tell in this picture, but I was literally covered in pigeons. At the bottom left of the photo you can see one of them on my arm. There were just as many behind me as there were in front. They were flapping all over my legs, my head, my ears, and my neck. There is something so very uncomfortable and unsettling about having pigeon wings flap against your neck and ears. I can’t really explain the feeling, but it’s just not right. It feels unnatural and invasive. I had nowhere to go. I could not move, because I would immerse myself further in the pigeons. So I stood motionless with my hands covering my face and crotch as they eclipsed me to the point where I was probably invisible to spectators. I was violated by these pigeons. I don’t even know what they wanted; it’s not like I had crackers sticking out of my pockets (pigeons like crackers right? Or is that just parrots?) Finally it was over, and they retreated to the other side of the street.

That was my morning in Sarajevo. My crippling fear of birds has been rekindled.

Song of the day:

07 We Can Get Down

Today’s song of the day comes with a story. I have always liked this^ Tribe Called Quest song, and have been on a year-long search for the artist who they sample. No one seems to know it. It’s just four simple piano chords, but I dig that kind of stuff. Yesterday, through a very nerdy online forum I belong to, I finally found the original track. When I discovered the artist who recorded it, I couldn’t believe it. Apparently this guy used to be really into playing whacked-out, acid-induced experimental jazz and funk back in the 70′s.

Who am I referring to? Bill fucking Cosby.

Through some cosmic misunderstanding, Bill Cosby has consumed my life for the last five days. Back in Budapest, I stood in front of a group of Australians wearing my Cosby sweater, trying to explain to them who Bill Cosby is. None of them had heard of him. I couldn’t fathom this. I did my best Cosby impression, which left them slightely horrified.

So at some point in the 70′s before he made it big, Bill Cosby sat down and recorded this track about Martin Luther King’s funeral. He plays the keyboards.

This all has nothing to do with travel, and I apologize. I’ll get off this Bill Cosby kick soon, I promise.

Love,

-Steve

The Master of the Sweater

P.S- I’m now sitting here wondering how it is that I just spent the last 20 minutes writing about Bill Cosby. There is zero chance that anyone finds any of this even remotely interesting. I think that, through a mixture of the solitude of travel as well as the trauma caused by the pigeon attack, I am slowly losing my mind. There is no reason that any young man in 2011 should give more than ten seconds of thought towards Bill Cosby. Incredible. I’m sorry. I really am.

At this rate, the next post will be an in-depth explanation as to why the original members of Foghat are the greatest musical geniuses of the last seven hundred years. Christ.