Hail-o from the other side.

On Comm. Ave. in Boston, there is a charter high school that sits in what used to be a car dealership. While it’s hard to imagine what it looked like when seeing at the grand main staircase the splits halfway up into two smaller staircases designated for up traffic and down traffic, it’s quite easy to picture in the big hall that has floor to ceiling windows that open up onto one of Boston’s busiest streets. It is in this big hall that I encountered hail for the first time. Over this past summer, I took part in a four week teacher prep course that actually paid me to become a better teacher. ( Teacher Launch Project for any aspiring first or even second year teachers out there, I cannot recommend this program enough).  One afternoon, a cloud so dark and ominous rolled over the city as if out of a cartoon or movie and some divine being was going to cleanse us with rain. While no deities were witnessed, that is essentially what happened. Pearl sized hail pelted down upon us, and never having encountered it before, I was fool enough to go outside to experience it. For about 5 seconds before taking a piece to the head and not enjoying it anymore. Once the hail died down, the rain picked up in the wind creating white bursts like surf obscuring our view from these big windows we were all pressing our faces against. We watched as Comm Ave put on it’s best Charles River impression, and I noticed two huge patio umbrellas from a Dunkin Donuts across the street had been blown asunder (note the only time you ever see Asunder is with torn or blown) and were blocking the train tracks. Former Dunkin Donuts employee and avid T rider I am, I asked “Someone has to go rescue those, should I do it?” I was scoffed at and called crazy. Yet the temptation was too strong, and I went out into the onslaught of rain, across the fully flooded street in my khakis and button down shirt, and grabbed the first umbrella. Too frenzied and hyped up to close it, I held it fully open behind me, fighting the wind for every step. Carrying a large metal rod was safe in this storm because there was an umbrella on top, right? I was met at the door of Dunkin Donuts by an anxious and very gracious middle aged woman working there who relieved me of the umbrella as I went out for the second one even further down the tracks. In the final stretch of returning it, I noticed a train coming and was even more glad I undertook this foolish endeavor. With about twenty feet remaining, I had to plant my feet and stand my ground or become the world’s wettest and worst Mary Poppins impersonator. Reclaiming my balance, I was met at the door by the woman again, and the assistant manager who lived across the street but had come down to slow to match my heroics. I was given all the food and drink I could ask for, and told to come back whenever for free food and drink, but I didn’t even care about that, and “saving” the train was nice too, but ultimately the experience of the hail and driving winds and rain were the real reason I did it. The T driver will never thank me, the “free food and drink” turned into a measly senior discount from the actual manager later that week, getting on the air conditioned train in soaked clothes made me shiver like no other, but the exhilarating rush of running through giant umbrellas in hand such a force of nature was worth it.

Video footage of the second umbrella as proof.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDK6kYL3qrA

Say Yes More

“Say yes more,” is a simple challenge uttered to Danny Wallace, author of the book Yes Man one of the only books to ever shape my life. It led him on a months long, international adventure. While one of three books I’ve read more than once for pleasure, I don’t think adventures in yes will be as grand. Yes Man is way better than it’s very loose movie adaptation due in large part that is all true. The first time I read the book, I was at a point in my life where I needed to say yes more. It was four years ago, and I was in a rut. Much like Wallace, I was tragically single, I bought it for £3 while visiting England with a friend. My former classmates were graduating in a few months, and I was still not going anywhere fast, living with my parents and working at Dunkin Donuts, uncertain of what to do with my future. The trip itself was a big push to try and spark something for myself. I finished the book and knew I needed to start being a little more proactive. Within a year I’d have worked a more rewarding job, gone through wilderness therapy in Utah, and gotten myself back into college.

 Re-reading the book recently I find myself at a point where I want to say yes more. I’m making more money at a slightly more rewarding job than Dunkin Donuts.

This time is started with me trying to more proactive with my social life, reaching out to friends for hangouts instead of waiting for an invite or planning a big party. After my re-reading, my goal became clearer: Say ‘Yes’ to myself. If I want to see someone, I don’t wait, I say ‘yes, now let me make a plan’. So I met up with more friends, got out more. But the biggest reward of ‘Yes’ came this past weekend, but it needs a little set-up.

I have a beer-appreciative friend coming to visit in June, and so a few weeks ago I bought us tickets to the Hyper Local Craft Brew Fest coming to Somerville, MA for those interested. The tickets were sold through a website called Eventbrite. Last week, out of boredom and curiosity and a little bit of ‘Yes find more to do with your summer’ I looked through other upcoming events in Boston. Sam Adams Brewery, in celebration of Craft Beer Week, was hosting a Bluegrass Barbecue dinner at which they were debuting a new beer. It was two days away and tickets were only $20. But I had no one to go with. I was reluctant, should I go alone? But a perk to public drinking events is that is easy to make friends, no matter how fleeting, and not even due to inebriation. So I bought a ticket, and that Friday I dashed from work a little early to hop a bus to get on a train to make it. On the bus, my phone broke. It froze and the touch screen was unresponsive. I tried a few ineffectual methods ignorant to the obvious fix. I became hyper-fixated on it, as is my wont, and I started to stress.  My ticket was on my phone via Eventbrite (which I highly recommend checking out). Would I be able to get in without it? Fortunately they had a guest list and were able to find me. My first thirty to forty-five minutes were spent with smatterings of small talk during what seemed to be date night as everyone I saw was paired off and I was perpetual third wheel. I was eyeing people’s phones looking for a fellow galaxy user who might have tips for fixing.

The bluegrass band (Four Bridges) started off okay but not grabbing my full attention, and I was mildly regretting my decision to come. I noticed that some people had food already, and thought “Oh good. They’re serving food now; I’ll get some of that roast pig (with signature mouth apple) I saw outside. The line was already massive. After about five or so minutes in line, I managed to ease myself into a conversation with the couple behind me. Nick (a leaner, bearded Tom Wellington look alike, the actor who was Clark Kent in Smallville) and Michelle (no D-list celebrity lookalike to my knowledge) were on a date, and at an interesting point in their relationship from the little snippits I gathered. He was meeting her brother, and perhaps parents, for the first time the following day. We talked about beer, where we were from, the standard topics, but it was smooth and very much appreciated. At point Nick pulled out his phone and I noticed it was an android and he gave the obvious answer of pulling out the battery and putting it back in, which I didn’t think of, know was possible with my relatively new phone.  My phone worked fine, though I had significantly drained my battery. After getting our food, and a new beer while in line, I went ahead, giving them the chance to go off and eat together sans some stranger third wheel. But with a timely glance back, I saw them wave me back and show me where they were aiming to sit. I was so touched by this. I know they wouldn’t have truly been alone no matter where they sat, but I gave them an out and they didn’t take it. We had more conversation comparing our beer choices and even gave some out of towners suggestions what to do with the remainder of their weekend visit. (Lawn on D. A whole nother topic in and of itself).

After eating and drinking, the music got better. Hearing a bluegrass cover of My Humps is something special. The Johnny Cash cover was expected and enjoyed nonetheless. The night was a great success.

            The next day, was the three-year anniversary of Paint Nite, which my girlfriend works for. It was at House of Blues Boston, they had giant Jenga, a slew of caricature artists, cornhole and other fun things. This wasn’t a big ‘yes’ because we had bought tickets weeks before I started this, but I attribute ‘yes’ to what happened as a result. For $20 bucks, we got an arm’s length of tickets, using my lanky arm as the measuring tool. Apparently my arm is 19 tickets long. There were many prizes to choose from but the three we focused on were nights at two Boston hotels, and a brewing session at a make your own beer place. This was another time of hesitance, but we said yes and because of it, we (she) won us a free night at the Boston Sheraton. Another testament to the rewards of going out and doing things you always say you could do, but pass on for no valid reason.

            The final reward of ‘Yes’ to happen recently was this past Tuesday. I had worked my longest shift of the week (admittedly only seven hours), and was exhausted settling in to play some Xbox before working on job applications. My parents had just ordered Chinese. It was going to be a nice night in. Until I got a text “Come play pool at Tasty Burger with me.” A little over an hour on the T, it was already 9. I wouldn’t get there until at least 10:30. But through force of will I rallied and made my way.

            After a few drinks, she brought up this house we’ve talked about that is down the street from her and set to be demolished. We had previously half-assedly tried to pick the lock and check it out to no avail. But earlier in the week, she noticed the front door was open. We ditched our game of electronic bean-bag toss and went to explore. It was an old house, two floors, one bedroom, the obligatory eerie basement. Our greatest find, which led to an in depth discussion as to who got what, was pages of the Boston Globe dated May 4, 1938. The greatest debate was between who got the “Fuehrer visits Rome Memorials” and who gets the movie listings including Ella Fitzgerald and Bing Crosby movies and most importantly Snow White, the very first Disney film, in its original run. The dollar was worth five pounds, Red Sox had won a game in the tenth inning. There was so much history preserved here, not all of it good such sexist ads and racist cartoons, but this wasn’t even a lifetime ago for some people. On our way out, I noticed there was mail that would never be opened and checked the name of the last resident. Loretta West was born in 1917 and in the 1940s, she was a Rockette, curiously after these newspapers findings came out by over a year, and before she passed away at 94 in 2011 she worked at a bakery down the street. With no apparent children according to the online findings, I hope this post in some (very miniscule and insufficient way) honors her memory…or something.

            Thanks to Yes, I’ve had many great adventures and experiences I wouldn’t have had if I didn’t say yes to myself and go do the things I wanted to do, even I could’ve been content doing less.  I’m always happy to stay home and play video games, or just hang out at bars and do the usual, but I took a more active control to my life, and while I have made a few no’s since then, I regret them. So, go out and say yes more is my challenge to all of you handful of people who read this.

Bremen...Breadmen?

It’s been a day and a half in Bremen and I have no idea what we would do without Astrid, whose glowing personality seems to shine through just as well here as it did to everyone in the States. It’s not the getting around part that would make me nervous. It just feels so embarrassing being in a place where I can’t speak the language more than, “Hello,” “Goodbye,” and “I’m eating bread.”

Our first day was nothing more than a taste of Bremen, but meeting Astrid’s family and seeing her house was a cultural experience on its own. Astrid’s mom in particular is endlessly kind. She and Astrid spend nearly the entire day remedying a problem we’d had with our plane tickets for a weekend trip to Zurich.

Her mom has been taking English classes in order to prepare for our visit and the confusion that arises from our conversations is one of my favorite parts about traveling. Google Translate, which always seems so accurate at the times when it least matters, provides the best fun.

After taking a nap on the first day, we had our first German meal of schnitzel, mashed potatoes, and tomato salad for lunch. Astrid’s parents offered us beer. I politely declined and Joe accepted. Astrid’s mom appeared concerned and asked Astrid why I didn’t want the beer, wondering if it was just the type of beer I didn’t like. It apparently hadn’t occurred to her that I might just not be in the mood for a beer midday.

Many of our humorous cultural differences seem to come up around food. On our second day, Joe and I woke up quite late due to our lack of sleep from the flight on the previous night. At breakfast, Astrid brought out a selection of breads, salami, and spreads. Astrid asked if we would like eggs since she was making some for herself. We said no thank you and I asked if she would be having some of the bread and stuff like us. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “I already had breakfast!” and sat down with her egg and fried potatoes.

Astrid left for Hamburg on our second evening to attend an event for school. When her mom came home, she enthusiastically showed us a package of sliced white bread, pulled out a panini press, and said, “Astrid say you like sandwiches.” She proceeded to clean all the nooks and crannies of the panini press for about ten minutes and made us some salad. After we finished the salad, she went off to bed and we left the kitchen, clueless as to what she was hoping we would do with the bread and panini press.
-RJ Lynch

Riding in cars with dads

On road trips or en route to scheduled things like dinner or an event, my dad is a terrifying driver. He is constantly trying to get around and ahead of people, jerking between lanes. It is the only time that I prefer to not be riding shotgun, a luxury which my mom often gives me due to my long legs. When I do sit up front, I am tightly gripping the overhead handle.
But there are other times when riding with my dad is the best. When it is just the two of us picking up firewood, returning empties, or any of the other chores and errands we work on together, that is when we are in sync. We both have strong personalities and been called stubborn or worse on numerous occasions, which can lead to some disagreements between us for being too similar. I don't associate times of year with people, save my dad. He is the fall. The time of year when our earth tone flannel shirts are in season, our brown leather jackets are fitting, and we do things around and for the house together. When I was younger, this included things like 'policing the yard' which I will never force upon another person, but now I take comfort in working beside him. Creating a system for hauling firewood from the driveway into the garage, playing patio furniture jenga as we stack tables and gliders, or move things into the musty crawlspace.
This past autumn, he had me come with him to pick up a hoosier that he had found antiquing. We had to go all the way to Norwood which is about a twenty to thirty minute drive. The antique store was in an old mill building that had actually been converted into a very interesting complex of stores, each room a new vendor with new motifs and types of goods ranging from aged Americana to the more expensive boutiques. This was my first time going there, and I only had a glimpse as the place was closing down for the day, but I knew I'd have to come back, and have been twice already.
On our way back, we made comfortable small talk, and not the daily kind like "How is work/school?" but things like Michael Brown, the Ukraine, ISIS and the state of the world (I think 2014 has been a globally depressing year). And it felt right to be in that car, riding with my dad past the foliage looking like flaming trees on the side of the highway.

The Freedom of Speech

A few weeks ago I got a facebook message from a friend asking if I wanted to go on a hike that weekend, being incredibly unemployed and poor, I was excited to have the opportunity to do something social and fun that cost no money and I'd not been hiking in ages. We were going to Mt. Eisenhower of the presidential range in the White Mountains, right near Mt. Washington. I'd never been to the White Mountains before and was only mildly prepared for the three hour drive. I also started the day on just over 2 hours of sleep. And being poor and with parents on vacation and not buying groceries, I cobbled together a makeshift snack/lunch bag consisting of tortilla chips, frosted mini-wheats, and a piece of cornbread, which I ziplocked and hastily threw into a messenger bag (great bag for hiking right?) and hustled out to Millie (my friend's Yaris).
   We picked up our other two compatriots for hiking, only one of which I'd met before. I was a bit antisocial during the ride up from hunger/fatigue and gathering my energies for the long day ahead. When we began our hike, we cycled through the typical conversations and silences while building momentum for hiking until the natural flow developed. But then, as ascended the rocky slopes across little streams and bridges, we could just speak freely and intermittently without awkward lulls, our topics while nothing profound were still meaningful because they were slightly more than idle chat and uninhibited in a way that only a world without technology and daily distractions can provide. When someone talked, the other(s) would listen because out in the woods it's just you and your fellow travelers, and if you speak it's with more deliberation and purpose, and the silences are more personal either from pensive reflection, or exhaustion after climbing a particularly steep rock-face. It was one of these conversations that inspired me to write this post as a my friend asked "If you were to write a blogpost about this hike, what would you write about it?" And I had to think, because while the views were quite amazing, nothing spectacular happened, no defining memory or nugget to cherish, but I enjoyed just talking to someone, not over the phone (not that people even have phone conversations anymore), or xbox or skype or anything like that, but in person and left entirely to our own devices. I even told a story about a friend I lost (by several definitions, none of them fatal) (Hint hint at an upcoming post). And it is through this mix of naturally flowing conversation mixed perfectly with quiet time that I realized how long it'd been since I'd just talked to people without specific topics in mind.
The top of Eisenhower had some great views, and though sweaty, we decided to get to the top of Mount Franklin one summit over. The guide book accurately claimed Franklin to be disappointing and it proved true as we weren't sure we reached the summit upon arrival, it was a flat path between the other more superior summits despite being a higher elevation than Eisenhower. After relaxing a bit on the sides of the paths that made up this peakless mountain, we began our descent and played another game to pass the time for a while before exhaustion and repetitive letters got the best of us, and we split into pairs between the faster and the not as fast in the final descent.

Cranes, Rains, and Automobiles (Euro-Trip Pt. 1)

     I recently had the extreme fortune to travel to Germany, Switzerland and Amsterdam thanks to the incredible support of friends and family. Germany was the start and end to our trip staying in Bremen with a friend who had been an exchange student at my school two years ago. We were there for forty-eight hours before Zurich. During this time, we roasted sausages over a fire at my friend's house, but the most significant part of my first experience in Germany was drinking in a field, visiting my friend's horses. This could technically be done anywhere in the world, in the U.S. not quite legally. But it was the first time where I was enjoying the moment, the three of us together again, enjoying a drink, feeding and petting horses, taking funny pictures. Because as is my general philosophy, travel isn't about the places, but the people and experiences. So even something as universal as a field for horses can become an occasion for a special moment, a unique memory. Another interesting, more minor detail, was that apparently the German literature market is less sexist than ours because all the Harry Potter books were by Joanne K. Rowling, instead of J.K. They have an easier time accepting that women can be good writers than we do. But that is a whole topic in and of itself, one which is not the nature of this blog.
    We left for a day of bus rides through the rolling hills of the German country side which was picturesque and spotted with wind turbines and little villages. At the exact time to the minute we were due to arrive in Zurich, after ignoring several announcements from the driver because my German is scarce, we arrived in Konstanz, Germany. Everyone got off the bus, we panicked for a moment that somehow we had been on the wrong bus and went to ask the driver, who unfortunately couldn't speak a lick of English. We showed him our tickets and pointed, and he started saying 'nein' interspersed with more phrases and words I couldn't quite catch. Uh-oh. We were stuck in the middle of Germany with no way to get to where we needed, or so we thought. Fortunately, a French woman overheard our plight and my French, being slightly better than my German was able to gather Zurich was the next stop. We were immediately relieved and I was glad to have the most minimal multilingualism to sort it all out.
     Zurich for me is a crane and a view. There was some amazing architecture, Grossmunster Church had spectacular stained glass and an incredible organ that looms ominously over the rest of the room. I struggled to follow the No Pictures signs as the whole building was just stunning. It did allow me to judge the other tourists snapping away on their smartphones with no regard for the rules. But the views, all of the distant Alps, were amazing. I've never seen such a beautiful mountain range, not that I've seen many to really compare it to, but it was such a perfect backdrop that complimented the old stone buildings and lake of Zurich. I took several pictures almost any chance I could get, jealous of the phones that had panorama modes while I had a digital camera from 2008 which is basically a relic though only 8 years old.
    As a sort of art/cultural exhibit Zurich had three very different installations going on in the city. The aim was to demonstrate what it would be like if Zurich was a coastal city with a big port. The smallest part was those little metal things tie on to along the lake and canals throughout the city, the second part was a rare foghorn that was scheduled to go off roughly once a week to simulate a ship entering/leaving port. But the biggest, most ostentatious, and most controversial part of this exhibit was a giant green defunct crane smack dab in the center of the city. To some it was a hideous eyesore, to others it was amazing and they wanted it to be a permanent fixture. For us, it was a hilarious mixture of both. We facetiously began obsessing over "The Crane" the almighty creation and supreme being.  And thus by being unimpressed by this art, we found humor in it, which in turn actually gave it value that we did appreciate. It is an interesting process to put value on a thing you don't initially take value in. Thus for us the crane was more personally enjoyable though still kind of a hideous fail in terms of being a cultural display especially given its size. Before returning to Germany, my girlfriend and I made various crane pictures and hid them around our friends' apartment for them to find hopefully scattered over a long period of time. Each picture had statements like "I am Crane, You are Crane, we are Crane" Upon discovering at least some of the crane pictures we got a message from our host saying "I am so goofy right now." And that was my Zurich experience, and while it has some of the best panoramas I've ever seen, and given me fond memories, I don't feel inclined to visit it again.
End of Part 1. There will probably be 2-3 separate posts before this thrilling adventure concludes.
Have a story worth sharing? Email me at thegettingthere@gmail.com and I'll gladly post your story.

A Letter To My Younger Self

I was reminded of you recently, you were an asshole, hell I still am in some ways. But recently, I listened to music I hadn't heard since you were around. It was the soundtrack to Into The Wild. All Eddie Vedder. Remember how our Roommate would play it almost to the point of exhaustion? Like that one Lord of the Rings scene we caught him watching over and over? But hearing that music. I was back in the freshman dorm room. Heartbroken, embracing my pseudo-independence from my parents who were paying for that expensive tuition. Going crazy with a new social life at our first co-ed school in about 6 years. Having classmates we actually enjoyed being around after the social oblivion that was high school. We tried dating, we fucked it up, casual hook ups, drinking, diner runs and walks through woods. This was the best entire year of my life, and while the me you were then might not have deserved it as much as I might now, you needed it more. Your fuck ups and friendships and amazing memories have made me into who I am. And hearing Hard Sun and Rise Up made me miss all that in a way I've never felt nostalgia before. I wanted that heart-ache from being just out of our best relationship to date, to have so much still ahead of me, leaving hte country alone for the first time, being an almost real adult. Which is not to say I'm at the end of my line, no, we still have so much ahead of us at the ripe age of twenty-five don't worry. But I miss having that restless, unrealized, unbridled potential that came with adolescence. Pretty soon you'll go to England for the first time, it'll be your first time off the continent and you'll have a great time. Romance will come and go, and you will drop out of school for a while, travel more, and have a really hard time for a while. And I appreciate you doing all that, because it has made my life into the wonderful thing it is today even with all the little struggles I am still dealing with. I can handle them with ease thanks to you. And I hope to see you again soon.
-J. Moran
Have any travel stories about amazing people you've met or places you've been to even if it is as close as your own city feel free to email them to thegettingthere@gmail.com I am accepting all submissions.