The Jaded Wanderer, 3 months in Europe

I arrived in Frankfurt on December 12^th, 2024.  The election had already been decided, and a looming dark cloud on the horizon was soon to be overhead .  The storm was starting January 20^th, and whatever he and his cronies had in store had many of us running for the cellar doors.  For me, I was running to Europe, specifically the Alps, hoping to escape a forecasted dry El Nino winter in Southwest Colorado.

Upon my pre Christmas arrival, I had already booked my trip from my winter home base in Germany to Spain.  My long time German friend had an Atlantic oceanside condo in Southern Spain I could use for 3 weeks while waiting for the busy ski holiday to pass.  My arrival to Andalusia was as welcoming as the warm ocean breeze and sunny skies I enjoyed from the upper terrace.  I could see the waves, and eventually grabbed my surfboard and loaded it in the car and headed to one of my favorite breaks.  Being my third extended trip to this part of Spain I was looking forward to time in the ocean and hopefully a few waves.  I called a local friend to meet me.  He, his girlfriend and I met on the beach in front of  the somewhat crowded break.  As I waxed my 7’6” board that had been sitting in the same spot in the garage as I had left it two years prior, my friends quickly turned from the subtle formalities to an abrupt,

“What the fuck is going on with your country?”  In a thick Spanish, almost Tony Montana, accent.

I paused and exhaled.  The same question had been rhetorically proposed several days prior in Germany.

“I don’t know man, I mean… I really don’t know.” I said looking down at my foot coursing through the sand trying to come up with a better answer. 

I didn’t have an answer.  Similarly, I didn’t have an answer when I laid in bed the morning after the election.  How could the country that I loved have voted for such a narcissistic criminal.  I attempted to retort with excuses like, the Democrats had no real leadership with Kamala, that young people didn’t vote, that immigration was a real issue, that many Americans didn’t want a modern day woke society… the excuses jumped out of my mouth as fast as my frontal lobe could manifest.  I didn’t have a clear answer. 

Weeks passed and his first day of revenge finally came.  One of the first things he did was to try and rename the Gulf of Mexico.  Next came the talks of buying or bullying the sale of Greenland.  Then came the Nazi salute from Elon.  These senseless tyrannical acts of aggression just kept coming.  What and who were next?  Of course, Ukraine was and is a big topic in Europe, and whether I felt one way or another, Ukraine is Ukraine… not Russia, and the Russians did in fact invade Ukraine.  Did I feel like he would put an end to this over 3 year war, yes.  Did I feel like he would try and negotiate a deal to end this war with his long time coconspirator, yes.  Was this a good thing… yes and no.

I took a ski trip in late January to the lovely country of Georgia.  Although maybe a step back in time in many ways, I also felt Georgia was a country of educated hope.  Most of the people were happy to see foreigners enjoying their mountainous countryside, and Mt Elbrus being the tallest in Europe is something to behold.  Back in Tbilisi for a few days before flying home I had the chance to meet some locals and discuss the goings on both in Georgia and the world.  These locals were not happy with Russia, and most knew that any deal struck to end the war in Ukraine would most likely mean Georgia would be held back once again regarding any sort of trade agreement with the European Union.  My Georgian friends explained how the Russians were slowly, but daily, moving the Russian border further and further south into recognized Georgian lands.  Surprisingly, one of them touted our new president as a hopeful leader who could possibly recognize Georgia as a future partner, and help propel them towards a brighter future.  I shook my head knowing he would not.  The game of Risk meant taking, not surrendering, and unfortunately our President probably has no idea that Georgia is a country at all.

Back in Germany, and in a bar in Essen, I met some interesting fellows who were excited to talk to me about the US.  One of the Germans was of Lebanese decent, and the other Iranian.  The Lebanese was more interested in talking about the Wild West, guns and how long you go to prison in the US for killing someone.  I tried my best to deflect any actual feelings on these subjects, and instead focused more on the soft well spoken Iranian German.  He had family in Los Angeles and had worked in the US for some time before coming back to Germany.  His family had escaped Iran in the 70’s some to the US and some to Germany.  He owned a fitness gym and specialized in self defense.  He explained that he at one time was full hate as he grew up discriminated against most of his life, but through time learned like I, that people are people no matter where you are from.

We spoke about the future of the West, and both agreed that the new US president was bad for everyone except the super transcontinental rich.  We both agreed that immigration in many ways throughout the modern world was out of hand, especially in places like Germany, and was creating more hate.  Just a side note, I lived in Germany in my youth in 1985 and 86, and the faces did look quite different.  Currently, almost 25% of Germany has recent immigration roots whether themselves or parents.  The national right wing parties have grown in places like Germany, France, Holland, Ireland… pretty much all of Europe since the EU agreed to accept a large number of refugees from third world warring nations or nations of conflict such as Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, Sudan… (the list goes on and on).  We both agreed, like most I had spoken with over the last 2 or so months that the majority of these people were good and only looking for a better way of life.  I spoke of seeing an actual human caravan walking slowly north on a highway in southern Mexico the year before.  A woman with a black plastic trash bag in one arm and a young infant in the other.  She like the many others walking with her were looking for the only chance they had left, and they were all willing to walk thousands of miles in hopes of finding it.  Finally, he looked down at his beer and asked the same fleeting question,

“How could the country that represents every culture in the world allow such a criminal back into the seat of the President?”.  Again, I had no real answer.

After several more weeks of skiing, my trip and visa (90 days) were coming to an end.  The skiing was at times great, but the winter overall extremely dry, and any hope of more snow into March, doubtful.  The climate is changing, and the rapidly receding glaciers of the Alps are proof.  Sure, my gas fueled travel arrangements weren’t helping solve the problem, but I digress.  I decided to take a short trip to Ireland.  With flights from Germany as cheap as 35 Euro, it was a great option to finish out the trip. Plus, I always wanted to travel to the land where many of my ancestors came to the US from as immigrants. 

The Emerald Isle, the land of sheep, rain, whiskey and more sheep.  A German childhood friend of mine decided to take the trip as well.  We landed in rainy Dublin where a rented two door stick shift awaited.  Oh yes, driving on the left and a stick shift no less!  After a night of many pints we hit the road and headed for County Kerry and specifically the lovely quaint little town of Kenmare.  I had to stop at Morleys Bridge on the way and pay my respects.  Not sure which house or barn my family sprouted from so I just pointed at one out of the 3 and joked with Niels that there was the spot. 

“Oh yes, this was where the ideas and hopes all culminated into the family loading up whatever they could carry on their starving backs and venture to the land of hope and dreams!”  Their chance for a better life.

Of course, they did leave like so many others during the famine of the mid 1800’s and all of that eventually leads to me.  The week carried on to some sunny hikes along the Ring of Kerry and above Dingle and eventually north to the lovely town of Galway. 

We found ourselves in a small street corner pub on a windy and rainy afternoon.  With the university around the corner, we settled in to one of tables near the front window.  The street was bustling with young people moving in every direction.  A few pints and surprisingly delicious fried buffalo seasoned cauliflower later, we were joined by two young ladies.  Its customary for people to sit close in Ireland, and an open seat is an open seat and a table is to be shared.  No problem, and my ears were elated to hear the two converse both in english and Irish.  Irish is a language that thankfully will not die.

“So, is Irish a language you grew up with, or?” I asked to the one sitting next to me.  The two seemed gracious enough to break from their conversation I interrupted and indulge the buzzed American.

“Well, for me its been my whole life both home and school.  In fact, English is my second language.”  She and her friend laughed at that.

“Im learning still, I guess.”  Said the other then quickly said something in Irish that made them both laugh.

The next few minutes were spent explaining our backgrounds and what we both do.  Niels in Germany and me from the States drew curious questions and smiles as our nearly 40 year friendship was explained.  The conversation went on as more pints were emptied.  At one point I asked if either had been to the US before. 

“No,” said the one next to me bluntly, “I don’t reckon I will neither.” Her glass hit the table hard as she finished.

“Seems like things are just getting more and more strange from the land of milk and honey.” Said the other, and again a few words in Irish.  There facial expressions seemed to sour.

I drew in a deep sigh. 

“I know.  Its difficult to express my feelings at the moment.  I only hope that maybe something or someway things will change the reckless path we are on.”

“Slainte to that.” Said the other, “Just do betta!”                                                                                               The glasses all went up and clang together in harmony, and with that both Niels and I got up, exchanged warm goodbyes and made our way out into the soft evening rain.

I knew what she meant.  I know what has to be done.  I know we can change it.  I know there is still hope.  In my hope, maybe this orangutang of a human will die tomorrow, or maybe he will somehow see his wrongful path and correct it.  No, no he wont.  I know that he he will not be the last to try and selfishly control the masses in such an obviously wreck less manner.  I also know that the United States has a choice, a choice that requires an educated decision.  We can either be sheep or we can stand on two legs and correct the path.  We can vote.  We can learn.  We can travel.  We can experience something new.  We can educate ourselves and become better humans.  I know there can be no hate in a better world, and don’t we all just want a better world?

As a person who travels as much as I possibly can, whether throughout the western US or to Europe or Mexico, I have learned that people are genuinely good.  We just need to remember that, and do betta!