Goodbye 2013

A year that started in the cold, dark snow of a Swedish winter and ended in the warm, gentle sun of Mexican one. Over 12 countries visited and life changing decisions made, 2013 has truly been one to remember. Thank you to everyone of those who I was fortunate to interact with along the way, most importantly those who supported me in following my passions and welcomed me into their homes. 

Some of the countries along the way.  

I am really excited to see what take shape in 2014, being based in Punta San Carlos and experiencing a lifestyle many only dream of.  To learning new skills and improving old ones. 

Adiós 2013

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The Meaning of Life

As I wallow in the zesty afterglow of a solid day on the water, my thoughts trail back to a session I had a few weeks ago. It was the first time I had gone out windsurfing since getting back from a trip to the States, there weren't many waves but the wind was enough to make it fun. I had made a few good gybes and had thrown in some duck gybes to test myself, when it suddenly occurred to me, this is the meaning of life. Improvement.

The concept has been rattling around in my head since and the more I think about it, the more I have to conclude that it is that age old question cracked. One first has to consider what are we really asking when we ask, "What is the meaning of life?" I am going to make the assumption that what we are actually asking is, "What is the purpose of life?" Or more specifically, "What is my reason for being?". When phrased like that the answer makes more sense, the aim of our lives, all life is to improve.

Tony during the session that left the glow.

Think about it. You buy a bigger house, a faster car; you are improving your belongings (by traditional standards). You study, you practice sport; so you can improve your knowledge or skill level in your field. You go to the gym, go on diet; you are improving your body, most likely so that you can improve your chances of finding a better mate and therefore result in offspring that have better genes. I guess this isn't a new idea, evolutionists have essentially been saying the same thing for awhile now, evolution is the result of mutation the improves a beings chances of survival and thus its chances of passing on its genes.

This has lead me to conclude that we are happiest when we can see ourselves improving in some area. Ever noticed how self help books are always based around an improved you? The problem here lies in the fact that we are constantly measuring ourselves on a daily or even hourly basis such that the improvements are so minute that we do not notice them. It is like watching a plant grow, if you actually look at it every hour or day, you won't notice that it is getting bigger but if you don't look at it for a week and then check it, you will likely notice a significant difference. The same is true for measuring our improvement, when we take a break from something, our reference to how good we were at it remains the same so when we get back to it we notice our improvement more against that previous reference.

For me this has been the case since getting back on the water after a couple weeks away, not only have I noticed an improvement in my windsurfing but also SUP and surfing which has meant enjoying myself even more and general happiness. So if you are getting frustrated with yourself or down on your purpose in life, take a break, try something new - it is easy to see improvement from nothing to something, more difficult from something to something. When you get back to what ever it was that you were focusing on you will notice the improvement and thus on top of the improvement noticed trying something new you will feel a sense of purpose and renewed enjoyment manifesting itself as all round happiness.

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Final Taste

It is hard to believe that it has been over a month since we closed camp for the winter and tied down anything that was liable to blow away in the dreaded Santa Ana winds. Despite a few days seeming to go on forever, the month has passed relatively speedily, probably due to the various interjections which have broken it up.

The brothers enjoying a longboard session/

To begin we had a couple of visitors in camp. Two brothers who where cycling from San Francisco to Cabo San Lucas with their surfboards, seeking out the perfect waves. They stopped by the camp for a few nights to stock up on food and water before moving on down the coast. I enjoyed having the guys here and it was great to chat to them about their journey and breaking down perceptions of how dangerous the trip was. I relished in the contrast that America still has a travel advisory out against people travelling to Baja, Mexico while the guys were telling me how much easier it had been travelling in Mexico where everyone went out of their way to help and accommodate them apposed to in America where most people treated them like bums. After a couple days sharing waves and even a windsurfing lesson they managed to negotiate a lift in a fishing boat down the coast, once again proving the willingness of the locals to help out where they can.

All closed up. 

A few days after the boys left Kevin, Joey and Tim were back in camp to pick up some gear and to put the finishing touches on the winter shutdown. We put a new roof on the board room from which I am still finding tar spots on various parts of my body and boarded up the exposed areas of camp, leaving it looking somewhat deserted. I took the opportunity to get a lift back to the States with Joey to get my last fix of civilisation for the year. He was kind enough to let me tag along to a weekend away in Lake Havasu, Arizona. While the place was completely dead, they assured me that during season it is the place to be with massive boat parties and scantly clad twenty somethings soaking up the sun. The sun did not make an appearance for us so instead we soaked up the beer in the local bar whilst entertaining the lonely barman with pearls of whiskey wisdom.

With my tan beginning to fade it was time to head back west and pop in at Palm Springs for a couple of days to visit a few friends who were also passing through. I couldn't help but feel that it, like so many other American cities, is a place to check off any extended stay list. Strip malls and cookie cutter neighbourhoods just don't do it for me, if I am going to live in a city it is going to be one where things are on top of each other and I can at least walk to my local pub. Stopping in Palm Springs did afford me the opportunity to catch the train to San Diego which is something I have been itching to do since arriving in the States almost 5 months ago. Okay so it was a bus to Fullerton and then a train but it still made for a scenic journey and gave me just a small taste of what it would be like to explore the States by rail. As I have mentioned before, rail is my most preferred method of travel and I find there to be something extra alluring about American train travel, maybe it is the culture of train-hopping manifesting itself in a more elegant form. For the most part the train hugs the coast, passing by the houses of the movies and the beaches The Beach Boys sang about, stirring up notions of California dreaming and making it a must on anyone visiting the areas itinerary.

I had only intended to stop in San Diego a couple of nights but found myself staying a little longer as I covered the extremities of the city in search of a new laptop power adaptor. The traversing of the city provided a snapshot into the "dirtier" side of America which at times had me had me pondering how a country can be so involved in everyone else's affairs when it has so many issues to sort out itself? This created a bit of a conflict inside me as that part so wanted to run away from the mask of consumerist behaviour back to the solitude of Punta San Carlos while another part enjoyed the bustle, the conversations and the coffee shops. Which leaves me contemplating how I can model a life that allows me to dip in and out of these two personalities as I please?

When the time came to leave San Diego there were difficult goodbyes to say and new ideas and perceptions to mull over on the trip south. So early Sunday morning I trudged, sleepy eyed over the border to get on a bus which would take me to El Rosario where I had arranged to have someone meet me and take me the next two hours to camp. The journey was an easy one, the bus was comfy, come to think of it so comfy that I slept most of the way, and my lift was there as arranged though it certainly affirmed that if I am going to be staying in Mexico, I need to learn Spanish. Fortunately Joey introduced me to www.duolingo.com, which I would recommend to anyone trying to learn a language. I feel I have learnt more Spanish in the week I have been back than I learnt Swedish in the 6 months of living there.

It seems as if in the couple of weeks away winter decided to move in. The days seem far shorter with sunrise around 6 and sunset around 5, nothing like winter in Sweden mind, and there is a definite nip in the air. The wind was scarce for the first few days, but I caught the back end of a good swell and managed to get a few SUPing and surfing sessions in. I have enjoyed both sports, hell I am enjoying becoming a more rounded waterman but it is the surfing that has surprised me. I could go into a whole monologue as to what it is like being out there in the water alone or what surfing means to me but I recently read a post from a friend which sums read far me eloquently than my words. So instead I'll leave you with the link and the words: It really does take only one wave to make it all worth it.

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Baja - Winter Watchman

10/11/2013

Packing up for winter. 

"Who is going to look after Sam all winter?" That was the question that came from most all the guests that heard him asking for attention throughout their stay. The stock answer was "Mark will." Most thought it was a joke, but last week as the last of the visitors set to the sky on their way back home, the reality of spending the winter here in Punta San Carlos came true. All the equipment has been de-rigged and packed away until the guests start arriving again in April, there are no tents to distract the sun rising over the mesa and the waves crash on an empty beach enjoyed only by the odd dolphin or three.

Sam Carlos.

After travelling for seven months and still no idea of where or what next the opportunity arose to take on the role as winter watchman for the Solosports camp, I thought when does one ever get 5 months to do with whatever they please and I had to accept. What is that you say, I have just spent seven months doing whatever I please, how is this different? Well for starters I am not going anywhere, I can't. I am in a camp two and a half hours by dirt track to the nearest town with no means of transport. I have no commitments or schedules to keep and the only means of communication is the internet and even that is limited to 400Mb a day. The only things that demand my attention are the wind, the waves and Sam.

Those who have heard that I will be here all winter have asked but won't you get lonely and bored. To them and those who are reading this I thank you for your concern and offer up the solution of my wishlists page.

Actually I am not completely alone, other than Sam there is also another human here, Tony. Tony has spent 12 winters looking after camp, mostly on his own with only the occasional visitors chasing the winter swell to distinguish one day from another. He seems to have modelled a good existence for himself, working 7 months of the year and having 5 off, I aught to learn how he has achieved this. He will be here until early February when the temperature drops and the winter storms which bring in the big swell start to wane. From then it will be Sam and myself for a couple of months until we reopen the camp to guests. If I survive the winter and haven't turned entirely feral I'll stay on next season to play barman again.

Tony enjoying the waves to himself.

From the few days that have passed since the camp shut down, I think my days will look something like this: Wake up to crashing waves, warm sun on my bed and the incessant begging of Sam for his breakfast. Before I can finishing preparing breakfast for myself, Sam has wolfed down his and is asking for more. By the time he has realised he is not getting more and gone to sleep on his chair the conditions will have been assessed and the decision made as to SUP or surf. After a good morning session a coffee or tea will be in order as the wait for the tide to turn and wind to build is spent enjoying a book or photographs. If a windsurfing session doesn't happen in the afternoon it will be replaced by a bike ride or a sunset surf, perhaps even yoga. In sync with the sun disappearing over the horizon Sam will start begging for his dinner which will prompt me to think of mine. After dinner, the darkness will have convinced me that it is far later than it actually is and I'll turn in for the night, sometimes with a movie to aid my dreams . Wow sounds like I have already got a routine, welcome to ground hog day.

After living in a tent for two months I decided something a bit more comfortable was needed for winter

After 5 months I hope to be a decent waterman and to have completed a number of personal projects that I am working on. One of which I have already started and that is my photography portfolio which can be found at www.luckybeanz.com or on Facebook. Another is trying to convince someone to sponsor me a soloshot so that I can track my waterman progress and get some more footage to hone my video editing skills.

Pondering over a beer.

Most evenings I watch the sunset and ponder to myself how the hell did I get here, in this position? I still haven't quite worked that one out, maybe it is the why not philosophy, it doesn't really matter, I am just grateful to be able to live these experiences. I came to Punta San Carlos for a month of wind and waves and to figure a possible way into the windsurfing industry. Two months on I am still here, I suppose one could say working in the industry. I am excited to see how this shapes me and where the experience will take me, so keep an eye out for the occasional update on life as a beach bum.

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Passing Through

03/08/2013

I didn't expect to be in London again but my escape from the bubble and uninformed decision on getting to America via Bermuda saw me stopping there for a week before heading west. Expected or not, I think it is inevitable that I keep returning, London just has that draw and having spent seven years there, a part of me will always want to return.

Walking along the canal

The week was consumed in good company with both old and new friends. It started in relaxing fashion in the burbs outside the M25 where I spent time wandering along the waterways stopping off at quintessential English pubs for pints and nibbles. Courtney, the friend I was staying with even managed to get me down to a driving range, something I had not done for at least 10 years. She was surprised that I could hit a golf ball and I was surprised that I actually enjoyed it, then the beer did help. Having abused Courtney's hospitality for long enough and in the possession of clean clothes I moved into my old flat in Richmond where I felt like I had never left and I must admit it does kind of feel like I should still be there, I guess 4 years there and I have a bit of an attachment to it.

Think I need some work on my swing?

Richmond Bridge

On Tuesday I was fortunate enough to catch a gig by Martyr Electric, a band I have been following for a number of years from when it was just Jamie Martyr and her keyboard. This was the first time I had seen her with the band and I must say it adds a new dynamic, though it is still her haunting voice and taunting lyrics which hypnotised her audience as they enjoyed an evening under her spell.

The guy who lead me into the crypt

Throughout London was at her summery best and I found myself wandering the streets with little cause between lunch dates and sun-downers with my Greek barefoot ways creeping in and somehow becoming a photography project which I now seem to be continuing around the world. The wandering lead me down into a crypt in saint martins fields where I discovered an art project determined to make art affordable to the public by having the public participate. The Lake Sisters sketched me my very own piece to take around the world with me, they wanted to add a pin to a map as to where it would travel too, I told them that would be impossible so they settled for a Bermuda pin then I stole a picture to add to my own project.

Barefoot London photo project. 

Can't beat a summer pint

The highlight of my stay was an evening on the Tamesis Dock, one of my favourite spots in London which introduced to me in love and has created and captured countless memories of all varieties. The evening faded too quickly along with the heat of the sun so we went to find heat of a different kind at Hot Stuff, which used to be a London gem. A tiny one room Indian restaurant with more tables outside than inside and no menu to speak of, hidden in the back streets of Vauxhall. Unfortunately it seems as if its popularity will be its demise as it has now grown into a fully fledged restaurant with plush seating in a new space more than double the size of the original all that remains from the old is the bring your own booze policy. The night was completed by a core contingent at an old pub with some fine Scotch. I must thank all those who made it a fabulous evening.

View from The Tamesis Dock

Andy Lewis

 The week culminated in typical London fashion with a gig by Andy Lewis, who I had met out in Vassiliki, at the Hippodrome Casino in Leicester Square. Andy was on at 8pm and gave us a soulful set of his own work and interpretations of more familiar songs. After Andy left the stage Craig and I decided to stay seated and enjoy our whiskey, to our surprise we were presented with the Boom Bang Circus Extravaganza, which illuminated the reason for us not paying for our front row table when the compère started systematically taking the mick out of each unsuspecting audience member. To avoid the embarrassment of a bearded man in a blue dress rubbing a feather boa around our necks we made haste and started our own tour of the hidden bars around Covent Garden only to find ourselves back at the casino at some ungodly hour which more than likely contributed to the first of my Bermuda experiences.

Leaving London this time felt more final than the last times, the goodbyes were longer and the destinations more distant. I am uncertain as to when I will be back and with the friends that remain there all getting on with their lives, some moving afar as well, I wonder what and who will be there if I decide to return?

The morning after the night before

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The Vassiliki Bubble

27/07/2013

Anyone who has been following my blog for awhile will notice that it has been some time since I made any updates, leaving a couple of months to catch up on. The reason for this gap is that I have found myself in a bubble for the past 7 weeks, though after managing to make an escape I am now using the flight to London to add some colour to those months.

The Fish House

First though let me explain the bubble. When I decided to pack up and start travelling, it wasn't quite without a plan. There was a rough outline which formed around two particular experiences, the first of those was to train as a windsurfing instructor with the faint idea that I might decide it becomes my next career path. That is how I ended up in Vassiliki, Greece on a Flying Fish Course. Taking a rather round about route, I arrived in Vass at the beginning of June to settle in to the fish house. The intention was to stay for 5 weeks, a week of play and the 4 week course; I relished the opportunity to unpack for the first time since April. In my first days there was something I could not put my finger on, I still can't, but I have come to call it the Vassiliki bubble. It is a unique place where everyone who finds themselves under its breeze comes to love and it is not hard to see why, it is all about lifestyle. The thing is that while you are in Vass nothing of the outside world seems to get in, there never seems to be time to contact people at home, news is something that happens in places that exist in the real world and the conversations only ever seem to revolve around what size sail or board you are using or who hooked up with who the night before.

Idyllic beaches, 

Manic mountain biking and

Epic windsurfing, it is not hard to see why people don't want to leave. 

I attribute this bubble to the fact that every week in Vass is the same, people's routines may vary slightly, generally based on how well they can handle the limited hours of sleep, but mine looked something like:

• Sunday - change over day with a slow empty Club Vass, generally a light wind morning session followed by a high wind afternoon session and an attempt at an early night which normally resulted in processing photos till too late an hour. (Most people would be out on the swill on Sunday more than likely at Zeus bar.)
• Monday - Light wind morning session then high wind afternoon.
• Tuesday - Morning cycle followed by either a SUP or light wind session then high wind afternoon. Live music at Wildwind in evening and Zeus bar until the wee hours.
• Wednesday - hangover permitting (almost never) morning cycle followed by light wind session then high wind afternoon.
• Thursday - Morning cycle followed by either a SUP or light wind session then high wind afternoon. (Most others head off to cocktails at Wildwind, which inevitably ends up at Zeus bar, I never made it once).
• Friday - Morning cycle followed by either a SUP or light wind session then high wind afternoon. Evening id time for Club Vass BBQ which goes on to the early hours of the morning.
• Saturday - Day off for most which means recovery, I rarely made it out of bed before lunch, after which I'd stroll down to the beach for a photo session and then energy permitting have a high wind session myself. (A hardy few can always be found at Zeus Bar in the evening)

The infamous Zeus Bar

The only time this routine was broken was for the assessment week where I played it safe and didn't involve myself in evening shenanigans and the morning sessions were replaced with presentations both given and received. Before I knew it 5 weeks were up and I had qualified as a start windsurfing instructor but I had not given any thought as what to do next and as such decided to stay for another two weeks and fell back to the routine.

Light wind mornings. 

Now a month and a half on my body is feeling the toll of too many forward loop attempts and my mind is struggling to recollect the months gone by. It seems like an age has passed since I was finishing off my Africa travels by visiting family and friends in South Africa. The round about route to Greece starting with a 30hr train journey and ending with a 170 euro taxi ride contrasting my most recent travel experience of hitch-hiker friendly taxis. It is increasingly difficult to focus on the past when the second experience is looming closer and is to be coupled with a tenuous route to America, so as I weed out the memories I'll leave you pondering what the next experience might be and throw out a question. Does anyone know of a couch in Bermuda that I might sleep on next week?

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A familiar place

With an just over an hour's wait on Lusaka runway before the final hop over to Harare, looking out over a tarmac that ends abruptly in Savannah, my mind dwells not on the adventures that lay out there ahead of me but the past week in London.

When I was sitting in Stockholm Arlanda finishing the last of an expensively cheap bottle of whisky, I looked down at key ring.  It is the first time I can recall not owning a single key and it gave me a sense of homeless freedom.

Flying back into London, following the line of the Thames as if it were a vein and our plane was a blood cell pulsing along mindlessly behind those before it, easily spotting all the familiar sights. I couldn't help but get annoyed at how excited fellow passengers were at sighting this or that stadium, some confusing Twickenham for Wembly.  I looked upon Richmond bridge almost as if I was going to mindlessly make my way back along the Thames to the place I spent so much of my time in London.  Stepping out of the arrivals hall to have a familiar face waiting for me, a rare occurrence in my travel over the years, I realised that I was not home but I had plenty of homes.

My first day set a precedent by sharing a bottle of goldwasser at 10am and ended in the happy haze of margaritas and green gauccamoli with a grasshopper thrown in for good measure.  Through the week London continued to open her delights, days were lazy and hazy spent absorbing much needed sun while nights were consumed the happy chemicals produced long days in one of the worlds greatest cities. Maybe that is just the romance of not having demands on my time talking, I certainly realised how unsustainable it was by the end of the week.  It was a dizzying mix of socializing with friends, colleagues, new acquaintances and lovers past and present.  Though all through the week there was the underlying knowing that no matter where we all end up, the connections we have made in London means there will always be someone with a smile waiting at a terminal for us when you need it.

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Goodbye Stockholm

Sometimes the things we want most in life come along when we aren't ready to embrace them.  As was the case for Stockholm and me.

I wanted to move here ever since I started working in the region a few years ago, so when the opportunity arose I seized it.

The time spent here has been turbulent and testing, as is always the case when one moves to a new country. This difficulty finding one self in a new place is one of the reasons I like to move from place to place so much. It causes you to reflect on where you have been and you are, to take stock of the place you have reached and where you want to be. While I wanted to be where I was, I realised with certainty that I did not want to be doing what I was doing.

Thus it is with incomplete experience that I leave this beautiful city just as it rises out of its winter slumber. I leave to continue to navigate down a path others have traveled in order to discover their place in this world. Though I am a firm believer of not having a reason for being and prefer to just be, so I won't be seeking a definitive place or purpose. Thank you Stockholm for your part in my journey so far and to all those inhabitants who made the experiences all that more special. It was a time filled with glitter and openness, you helped me find my inner child once more and I needed that.

When I first wanted to move here I could not see how I was going to make that happen. Now, having done it, I can see that that there are always ways to make what want happen, if nothing else, just ask. I have an inkling that I will be back someday, perhaps to stay a little longer.

Until then farewell Stockholm.

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Just Ask

With the entries for mydestination now closed, I doubt my 84 votes will get me anywhere when the finalists are announced on the 15th April.  Regardless of the outcome though, I know at least some good came of this experience.

Shortly before submitting my entry, I stumbled upon the following video:



Now being someone who has never liked asking for things, probably due to the fact that I don't want to feel in debt to anyone, this video really made me think.

So during the competition, I decided to try something different, I decided to "Just ask" and sent messages to a bunch of the windsurfing pages I subscribe to on Facebook.  The result was having my entry posted on Windsurfing Magazine, SoloSport, Queen Mary Windsurfing Club and Contentseven.

I guess the real reason we don't ask for things is the fear of rejection. When ultimately we should be thinking, the worst case is that the answer is no, and if the answer is no? You are no worse off than if you had not asked in the first place.  It is an everything to gain, nothing to lose situation. 

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Something Special

It is commonly cited that it was environmental pressures that pushed our forefathers to up sticks and venture out of Africa...

I like to think it was a deep-seated desire for exploration and adventure. After the advent of agriculture, boredom surely got to hold them and they could not explain the unsettled feeling that drove them to walk further and further from their comforts.  

Boredom is the opposite of happiness and these guys certainly know that we are at our happiest when seeking adventure. 

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The second event

Friday 28th of December 2012 
10:30am:  I am sitting in my office in Stockholm. It is normally bustling with 40 plus staff members but today? I am alone.  The emptiness of the tall ceilings seems to reflect the turmoil that is brewing inside me, while last night’s discussion and its abrupt ending only serves to feed the unsettled itch.  I have been sitting here for a couple hours and have achieved exactly nothing, it has been like this all week, but today it is worse. I need to escape.

11:30am: Done. Hands still shaking from the rush, clammy as I stick my credit card back in my wallet and re-read the email I just sent to my boss:

“Hej,

I have a small personal issue that I need to take care of. Though it requires me to be away for a bit, returning to work on Friday the 11th.

The only urgent meeting I shall miss is kicking off the eager/lazy project on Tues, but Jonas can handle that for me.

Sorry for the inconvenience. I will have my laptop on me so can be reached via email for any emergencies.

Regards,
“

Saturday 29th of December 2012 
06:30am (CET): Delta airlines ticketing lady at Arlanda airport, “No, your card has not been charged, we were unable to issued the ticket yesterday as we require 24 hours notice for online bookings. I can issue the ticket now if you like?”

If I were at all superstitious or maybe the least bit sensible I would have told her not to worry and turned around to go home and back to bed.  I am not. With 50 minutes to take off, I find myself handing over my credit card details to book a trans-Atlantic flight for the second time in as many days.  She apologies for not being able to book a vegetarian meal for the first leg of the flight, but says I should speak to the ground staff in Paris to see if they can arrange something for me.

10:30pm (MST):  After 26 hours of travel I am sitting on the doorstep of an empty house in the idle suburbs of Phoenix, Arizona.  It is surprisingly chilly and I am glad for having travelled from the -14 °C of Stockholm.  Despite having been awake for over 30 hours, the cool night air, incessant yapping of dogs alarmed by a stranger at their doorstep and the million thoughts vying for attention in my head are keeping me awake.  The thought that dominates presents itself, “You stupid fool, she has no reason to even let you through the door let alone listen to what you have to say. Where do you intend on sleeping tonight?”

Monday 14th January 2013
10:00am (CET):  Back in Stockholm, the calm provided by the escape to Arizona beginning to fade but the clarity of thoughts remains. Or maybe the clarity has only broken through as the haze from a weekend in LA finally dissipates.  Either way I know the conversation I am having is the right one:

Boss: What did you want to talk to me about?
Me: Well, and I am sorry for starting your week off on a difficult note, but I want to hand in my resignation.
Boss: Oh, I did not expect that. Are you going somewhere else, don’t you like Stockholm?
Me: No. I really like Stockholm, but I’m burnt out, I just can’t do this anymore.
Boss: I understand, are you going to stay in Stockholm?  What is your plan?
Me: No, it is too expensive to be unemployed in Stockholm. I don’t have a plan; I don’t know what I want to do. I just know it is not this.  Maybe I will go back to South Africa for a bit?


That was event two.   Okay so it was a series of events but they culminated in where we are today.  As of the end of April I shall be a vagabond, my life condensed to a backpack; my dreams and desires opened wide and allowed to explore what it means to be free, with no given cause.

I have recently enjoyed the scribbling and pictures of other friends who have set themselves on similar adventures.  Since I have not had the foresight to define an end goal, destination or date to this chapter of my life; I have no doubt that the experiences and interactions with others will influence my direction before I set off and along the way.  In fact that that is a requirement of this chapter and one I urge you to get involved in.  How you ask?  Well let us start by choosing my shell.

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Taken for granted.

I got home the other night to have a quick dinner of beans on toast.  Without much thought I took the can out assuming that I was just going to use the little lever on the top to open it.   Much to my surprise it did not have one.  

Searching my drawers I could not find a can opener which is when I realised how I have started to take for granted that can openers are still used.  I can't remember the last time I needed one to open a can.  

It is amazing to thing that the can was invented in 1810 and the first can opener was only invented in 1858, almost fifty years later.  That is a lot of mangled cans and cut hands. 

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