The Second Time Around

When I came to Barcelona the first time, I was 20 years old, my Dad had recently passed away, and I felt like there was an entire world out there ahead of me. I decided to do something different, and planned a trip across the pond with Barcelona being my first stop. I absolutely fell in love with the city--it's churches, it's narrow and dark streets, it's tapas, it's understated beaches, it's funky modern art (that is featured in almost more places than you'd like), and just about everything my eager self could experience. I continued to travel over the next few weeks, and nothing I experienced gave me the same feeling that Barcelona did.


If you can't catch a sunset, you can always opt for the sunrise... The beach in Barcelona.

I began my second venture into the city by catching a sunrise on the beach, which was made all the more easy by staying in Barceloneta--the sort of fishing district of the city full of old-timers. I then spent the next couple of days visiting the same sights and reminiscing a little bit (Is there an age or some kind of defining moment that permits somebody to reminisce? I don't really feel like I'm old enough...). I walked the city and road the subway to almost everything I had been to before: La Sagrada Familia, La Padrera, Parc Guell, the beaches, and of course, the absolutely ridiculous shrimp statue that resides along the waterfront between Barceloneta and La Rambla (Barcelona's main and unavoidable boulevard full of "gifted" performers).

From Left to Right: L-Antoni Gaudi's unfinished tribute to the Sacred Family, La Sagrada Familia. It's still the most impressive cathedral I have ever seen, and it almost makes me want to go to church. M-The chimey's of La Padrera, another of Gaudi's mystifying works. R-Parc Guell, yet another one of Gaudi's productions, initially a privately owned park that was eventually opened up to the public.

I took in some new things too, like the nighttime music/fountain show at Montjuic (It sounds really cheesy, but damn, if there is anything more romantic than watching the sun set from above the city with a huge museum in the background, a fountain in front of you, and Madonna blaring over the speakers then I want to know about it--whether you're alone or not), and continued my fascination with world futbol by taking in an FC Barcelona game (Thanks George!). I made friends with the guy that worked at the Burrito joint down the street, and found a comfortable watering hole [read: tapas joint] complete with surly AND nice servers. All in all, everything that I experienced didn't lack any of the emotions I've experienced in my prior 6 months of travel, and it wasn't all that different than the first time I came here, but at the same time was.


I was privelaged enough to almost perfectly capture the closest thing to a goal that I saw during the FC Barcelona v. Getafe football match.

So what did I learn from going back? I'm still trying to figure it out. The city has remained pretty much the same, but my experiences this time around were different. I knew how to speak Spanish (even though the population prefers to speak in their native Catalan tongue), I wasn't with my buddy Thomas, and I've grown up--though I still like to visit the occasional club, my daily routine was a lot different this time. Plus, you'd think that seeing so many things would skew my fondness for Barcelona, but I don't think it really did or has. It's always going to be the first place I ever traveled abroad, and even if it happens to suck each and every time I go back, I'm still going to have those memories. And I will constantly be reminded of what was probably the most important period of growth in my entire life every time I think of the city.

Now, it's off to Istanbul and Turkey...


Dear Uncle Gary, Finally, here is another picture of me. I have decided that I will not cut my hair until I get home. Mostly because I will probably never let it grow long again in my entire life, or at least until a supersweet midlife crisis. But also, because I am afraid of getting my haircut in all of the countries that I will visit. Love, Cullen

There Were No Rabbits

As I write this my fingers stick from lemon juice and wreak of seafood. It’s probably because I just finished up a little tapas session in Sevilla, though it could be a result of saving three elderly women who were coming out of Easter Mass from being hit by a produce truck that happened to also be carrying shrimp. Really, it’s a result of whichever cause you prefer. Anyway, I’ve been here for just a couple of days now, but it already feels too long. I’m not sure exactly why--the sky has few clouds, it’s about 70 degrees, and everybody around me seems to be in a pretty good mood. On the other hand, my short stint here didn’t really start on the right foot...



I hopped aboard another night bus in Porto headed for Sevilla in hopes of catching a glimpse of the world-renown Semana Santa Processions held throughout the week, before Easter Sunday. I can’t claim to have ever been religious, but the devotion of others--and their beliefs--have always and will always be something that interests me, particularly the way they express it. I kind of figured that the buses in Europe wouldn’t be as swank as the ones in Argentina, or even Brazil, or even Bolivia, but oh well; it was a more affordable and straightforward option than anything else I had. The first part of the trip was going alright until we stopped somewhere in Portugal--I believe Lisbon--and were told that we had to change buses in order to go to Sevilla. I’m kind of used to things like this happening despite the fact that you ask in advance if you have to do such a thing, but this time ended up being a little different. I grabbed my bag and tossed it into the compartment under the bus, and headed for a seat in the bus. Only the bus driver was standing in front of the door arguing with a girl over not allowing her to bring her backpack on board. From what I could decipher (thankfully they were speaking in Spanish), he wasn’t giving her any kind of reason as to why she couldn’t bring it on board, except that she couldn’t. All the while, everybody and their mother was hustling on board with their bags--the bus driver paying no attention. I kind of felt like the guy was just being a jerk to the girl, so I figured I’d ask him if I could bring my bag on. I know I pretty much asked for it, but the guy decided to turn his power trip on me, cussing me out in Spanish and telling me that if I didn’t put my backpack under the bus I couldn’t get on. I asked him to give me a reason as to why, and he kept yelling “NO SE PUEDE!!! [You can’t]” I, being the pretty persistent kid that I am, continued on by asking him where in the regulations of his bus company did it say that I was not allowed to bring a bag on board. He kept yelling, but I noticed that the girl he was yelling at earlier had gotten on with her bag. It was at this point where I gave up my argument and put my other bag under the bus and told him that if anything happened to my stuff, he would be paying for it. Oddly enough, he seemed to calm down as a result--though I still had to put my bag under. It was ridiculous, and I was so riled up that I didn’t sleep much for the rest of the night. That, in a nutshell, is how I arrived to Sevilla.

Thankfully, I was able to check in early when I got here, and slept off a little bit of my frustration. The situation has made me continually think a bit about some of the other things I need to work on, like not letting people get to me so much. At the same time, is it a bad thing to let it bother you that people are power tripping on others that seem to be ‘smaller’ than them? If you have the answer, or at least an idea, I’d love to know.

As I said before, the city itself is beautiful. There are tons of parks, water fountains, an unbelievable cathedral--a true architectural marvel, and the Alcazar--a spectacular palace occupied by both Spanish and Islamic royalty for centuries. In short, there are tons of things to keep you busy and entertained. Plus, Sevilla is supposed to be the Tapas capital of the free world.

Unfortunately, sometimes it’s the little things that make the difference between feeling at ease, or feeling uneasy. It was hard for me to get into the Easter Processions, because of this:

I have a lot of respect for religion, and the beliefs of others, but I shivered when I saw these guys come out with pointy hoods and robes. Though I tried, I couldn't really shake my prior associations between pointy hoods, robes, and the KKK...

Plus, the tapas would have tasted better if most of the bars hadn’t limited their restaurant menus to raciones--portions larger than tapas--as a result of all the tourists in town (This means you have to order more of one item, which means you get less variety, which therefore means that you ultimately don’t enjoy the point of tapas). And more importantly, I was limited from one of the things that I enjoy most: eating.

Oh well, so my time in Sevilla wasn’t as sweet as I had hoped. Sometimes [read: Most of the times] you just have to roll with the punches and keep on moving. That’s the benefit of seeing so many things in such a short period of time. There is always something to look forward to, and some new adventure right around the corner. Though, I suppose that can be applied to almost any place in life... If you choose.

Oh-Porto (They've Got Me Speaking Portuguese, pt. 2)

After jet-setting from Dublin on everyone's favorite low cost airline Ryanair, I felt relieved and a little more relaxed. Maybe it was because I wouldn't have to look right then left anymore, or maybe it was because I was back to doing what I was used to: the daily struggles and adventures of a vagabond, nomadic, world traveler.



When you start to break through the clouds upon descent to Porto, you immediately see a country divided. Only it has nothing to do with politics for once, but rather a simple river. The Duoro gashes right through Portugal and more or less separates the North from the South, and therefore, in some ways, separates Porto from the more cosmopolitan south of Portugal. Fortunately, this seems to give the city a very unique character. A sort of unpolished, more crass, chip-on-the-shoulder-esque character that actually ends up being quite charming--at least to me. In addition, Porto is just an incredibly picturesque town: handpainted tiles adorn the facades of buildings, clay tile roofs dot the landscape, well dressed elders wander with purpose, old wooden boats bob lazily on the river, and lots of Port Cellars dominate the landscapes--probably the main attraction for most that visit Porto. Me, I don't really even like port...


I do like food though, and that's a TREMENDOUS reason to visit Porto...

So what did I do? What I've been learning to do this entire time: wander aimlessly. It was sweet to just wander around the cobblestone streets, chat with locals in my broken Portuguese/Spanish, and watch the world turn a day older. I've developed this routine with just about any place that I visit. The first day is always spent wandering and getting some kind of orientation, while the afternoon is reserved for running any necessary errands (they do pop up every now and then). It's just more relaxing than forcing yourself to do something that you aren't sure you want to do. You buy more time, and figure out what your options are for the rest of the time in the area. The town itself was pretty easy to get around in though, and pretty small, which made it easy to snag a tour of a port cellar--Taylor's to be precise. I got to sample some port, take a photo op with a peacock and learn why all the port cellars have English sounding names despite their location. The day was polished off with some of the best food--the major reason why I added Porto to my itinerary--I've had since my trip commenced--wine, bacalhau, fresh olives, veal, calamari and much much more. I decided to splurge on a cruise of the Duoro on the next day, figuring I might not ever come back to Porto again, and that I'd be crazy if I didn't take in what arguably might be the most beautiful attraction in Portugal.



The cruise was spectacular, allowing you to see all of the quintas, or port vineyards, that are strewn along the river. Spring seemed to be the best time to come, as all of the orange and cherry trees that dot the landscape were in full bloom. As I expected when I singed up for it, it was full of retiros too, or retirees for you English speakers. Most of them were Spanish though, which helped me prep my linguistic skills before going back to Spain, and as I've come to find out, I enjoy speaking with my elders a little bit more than people my age. So in short, it worked out pretty well. We got back to the city around dusk, which allowed me to wander around and snap some photos of the oh-so-close-to-full moon and the monastery that sits atop the town on the south side of the Duoro.

After a couple of days, I was content with where I was and pretty set on returning some day. And to think, I put this place on my itinerary only after watching a really old episode of Anthony Bourdain: Cook's Tour from the nineties (It's a food/culture show, sort of). Oh, where would we be without television?

Off to Sevilla and the ultra-serious processions of Semana Santa and Easter Sunday.

The Trip Continues...

Ok, so this isn't a fully qualified blog installment, but rather an opportunity to show you a picture. Porto is absolutely wonderful, and here is the picture:

I will update again as soon as I can... Hopefully before I get to Morocco.

Reunions and Robots

The sweetest float in the parade, complete with crazy scientists and a rock band...

Spending a fair amount of time in English speaking and ‘westernized’ countries after my time in South America has definitely helped me to realize quite a few things: 1. Despite an economy that happens to be on a steady downstroke, we, as United States citizens (we aren’t the only ‘Americans’ you know), actually have it pretty good in terms of the costs of living 2. People who speak English are rude and rarely cheerful, and 3. How civilized are we really if we always expect people to know exactly how to do things, or to know exactly what they want? Anyway, I know that I always talk about money related issues, but I did study economics in school, and I also know that the last item was a question as opposed to something tangible. I figure that the answer can be inferred.

But I digress... When I got into Dublin I was tired and nervous. I was meeting up with my girlfriend, after five months of not seeing one another. Why in the hell would I, a 23 year old kid, stay in a relationship while going abroad for however long? It’s a good question, and to be honest, I’ve wondered it a lot myself. I think the answer is: I like her, ya know?

My flight was scheduled to arrive a couple hours before hers, and I was pretty content with waiting around the airport for those couple of hours considering the time. I got there, and sat in customs for about an hour and a half, and figured I’d probably see her in the line the way things were going. The trip through customs took that much longer when the agent claimed that he couldn’t find an open page in my passport for the Visa stamp--the empty one was stuck to my visa sticker for India... I’m glad the event happened though, as it reminded me to stop at the embassy in Dublin to snag some extra pages. But I finally get out of customs, snag my backpack, and proceed to go stake out a spot and wait for Jess. After two intense hours of thinking that I’m watching intently, I get up to use the bathroom, come back, and then ‘BAM!’ This 5’3” brick hits me, and she proceeds to tell me that she’s been waiting for an hour and a half about 10 feet away!!! Anyway, to make a long story short, we wasted two hours before making way to our accommodation on the outside of Dublin.

We spent the next couple of days exploring the city and taking a train ride out to the Blarney Stone after missing the first train, then missing the bus to Blarney, only to miss the return bus to Cork, and finally deciding to go back to the train station instead of eating where we found that the last train was in 15 minutes... I can’t say I’m not used to occurrences of that nature, but being with Jessica has definitely helped me realize I’ve let go of perfection with regards to travel (This theory has not yet been tested with anything else). Oh, and of course, we took in the St. Patrick’s Day parade on Monday. I honestly have to say too, that the countryside was easily the most beautiful part of the country. Though, as I found in traveling with my mum, the nature and the history of English speaking countries are the absolute best part. Especially when you juxtapose the people of a country like Peru with those of England or the U.S.--there is no doubt in my mind as to who I have more to learn from and who is just plain friendlier (it’s the Peruvians by the way).

On Tuesday morning, before I left the country, I stopped into the high security embassy of the good ol’ US of A in order to get more of the aforementioned Passport pages. It was about 8:30, and I figured I would be able to get things going pretty quickly since I had arrived so early. Only they had to have my cell phone (I use it to keep time), my camera and pens. Then they needed me to walk through the security scan, then scan me again even though I didn’t beep when I walked through the scan, and then gave me a badge, so I could walk to the door to be let into the actual building, to be scanned again after taking out my wallet and everything else. After finally making it through, I found out that there were about 30 other people already waiting... It made me wonder if we really needed that much security. Why is it necessary? Why isn’t it? I have my own thoughts about it, and of course my own questions--though I won’t put them down here... Just some things for you to think about.

Now, it's onward to Portugal and the city of Porto--one of the world's wine capitals, if I'm not mistaken.

The City of York

I grew up in a town called York... Things have changed a lot since then...

While my mom and I made our way North to Edinburgh it started to snow. She asked me if I wanted to take a break and pull over somewhere, which prompted a "why?" from my at-the-time contemplative self. She then proceeded to explain to me that it was snowing, and I was driving on the left side of the road--which was the right thing to do. I didn't really think much of it until then, because I was finally becoming used to driving on the opposite side of the road. Yet the simple explanation kind of spun me for a loop, causing me to actually think about what I was doing. And it had nothing to do with driving. Here I was in the UK, leaving a town called York. The last time I left a town called York with my Mom I was headed towards Issaquah, Washington, in a life-changing move that is probably responsible for just about every tremendous experience that I have ever had. This time, however, things were a little easier as I wasn't leaving anything behind, such as friends and a dog, but rather just a few toiletries--maybe. Despite its low-risk, the experience helped me recall the strides I've taken and be that much more thankful for where I'm at today, or any tomorrow.

The snow melted away, the sun faded into oblivion, and despite the weather, we made it to Edinburgh in one piece. We ate and prepared ourselves to part ways--my Mom back to London and then to Seattle; I to Dublin. I'm glad I got to see my Mom during this experience. I don't think that it would have felt right and I probably wouldn't have had as many things to think about going into the latter half of my trip--like why my theories on travel aren't always applicable to everything, or simply why I'm able to do this. Plus, it was probably really good for my back that I wasn't sleeping in sagging dorm beds for a week straight.

Thanks Mom, I hope the flight home went alright.

The International Airport (Hot and Cold)

You don't even want to know how I got that plane to stay still...

I sat in the way-past-its-heyday Rio de Janeiro airport for about three hours before my flight to Madrid, where I'd twiddle my thumbs for 7 hours until another flight to London. I was sad to leave South America. Absolutely bummed. I hiked more over the last 5 months than I have in my entire man-it-feels-so-old 23 years of age, saw one beautiful awe-inspiring thing after another, risked life and limb by stepping into any taxi, and wore holes in my shoes... My shoes. I just sat there and looked at them. They were probably what made me think the most about what I've done, where I've been, and what I've learned. You could just see the miles on them. They were the only thing that hadn't been washed, and therefore the only things outside of my person that carried a little bit from every place I had been.

A voice boomed over the intercom, and I gathered my cognizance. I walked on wearing shorts, a tank top, and thong sandals. 11 hours and the most uncomfortable flight of my life later, I walked off wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt. Madrid was cold, and London would be colder.

Have you ever had those moments when you are stuck somewhere, anywhere, just waiting it out? You've got no books, no music, no pens, no companions... I probably ate lunch about six times waiting for my first easyJet flight. After the final lunch, I swung around the corner to find about 65 people waiting in no particular order to try to bumrush the gate in an attempt to snag their preferred seat... I didn't understand it, and didn't really care; I was about two hours away from seeing my mom. Out of anything and everything that could let me know how far I've come, in any terms, since my departure from Seattle for my Bonderman experience, nothing could be a better barometer for change than my mom. She's been there for all of my ups and downs, and she certainly did more than her share of helping me grow into who I am--for better or worse. And I know that I wouldn't have ever received the Bonderman if it wasn't for the examples she laid out for me. Mostly because, without her, I wouldn't have ever thought it possible to go, nor would I have ever learned it was ok to never stop going.

It was just as cold as I expected, and just as great to see my mom as I figured it would be. My hole laden Adidas shoes are gone, and I've already experienced something more traumatizing than any South American taxi ride: Driving in England on the opposite side of the road at night in the rain. However, being here is an incredibly drastic change from anything I have done for the last five months. Though, I think it has made me think more about my life, and my future, than any other place I have been so far.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure my mom is having a good time too.