Peter - Peregringo

Germany/Austria/Hungary/Slovakia/Czech Republic, 1996

Palling with Paul throuth Teutonic lands

This was my first trip with Paul. We happened to have the same vacation time, he was headed to Norway and I to Rome but there were complications. So at the last minute we decided to vacation together and quickly planned a whirlwind tour of Munich, Salzburg, Vienna, Budapest and Prague — in 10 days!

To our amazement it all came together and on October 13 our adventure began: we laughed, played, drank and sang our way all through these incredible cities. Hungary and the Czech Republic were breaking out of their Soviet shell with vigor; those were trying yet exciting times for the locals we met. Prague was especially beautiful and vibrant, the Velvet Revolution still palpable and with capitalism plunging forward.

Budapest was struggling more; we encountered a largely listless populace resigned to a wildly fluctuating prices, crumbling buildings and rusty Soviet public transport. We viewed an overcast Slovakia through our train window as we sipped hazy weissbiers and communicated clumsily with our fellow travelers just emerging from the other side of the Iron Curtain.

In Prague we happened to lunch with playwright and then-1st President of the Czech Republic Václav Havel. A man of the people, he preferred to eat in local pubs and so by coincidence we all chose the same locale that day. He was courteous and lighthearted, chatting with other diners in Czech and with us in English and he departed wishing us a pleasant trip. A surreal experience!

This trip is significant in another way: October 13 marks our anniversary. I consider it the genesis of our lives together as more than just pals. Why this trip? Previously I was protective of my travel time and preferred to journey solo. But after 10 days of marvelous fun together I discovered that Paul is an awfully good companion. I was sold.

Venezuela, 1996

Another solo adventure into Latin American lands. I escaped the piled snow of New England and basked in the warmth of the gentle Caribbean waters. I toured the high Andean villages, watched soaring condors over Mérida, rambled through colonial Coro and other coastal towns, and listened to the African rhythms of secluded Choroní, and avoided any mishaps in Caracas. There were very few travelers; it was easy to interact with the locals.

Kenya, 1995

This trip was a pure gift. My good friend Miki (originally from Dubuque but living in Boston) organized the travel program for ArtsBoston at the time. She invited me along on an all-inclusive safari to Kenya provided I help with the group arrangements once there. It was fantastic in every way, the majestic wild animals in the Masai Mara and Serengeti wowed me. I loved being with Miki and met many wonderful people on the trip.

Costa Rica, 1995

My first excursion to foreign lands as an independent traveler without the structure and support of a cultural or educational program. It was thrilling and I was free, camping on beaches, climbing peaks, eating exotic and filling foods. Every moment amazed me: everywhere monkeys, music, mountains, beaches and birds, friends and flowers.

Spain, 1990-1991

I spent my junior year in Madrid as part of Wesleyan University’s study abroad program. I was a young man in Europe, establishing a life in a new continent, loving the beautiful language and culture and sensuality of Spain. My experience was overwhelmingly positive but I often felt alone in Madrid, lost perhaps in a bustling metropolis in a foreign land, but each day I discovered new things about myself and my confidence grew steadily.

Change was in the European air: Spain was progressing at breakneck speed a mere decade after Franco’s despotic fascism loosed its death grip on democracy, the culture and economy a whirlwind. The Maastricht Treaty was in the works, promising full European Union economic integration. The Iron Curtain was crumbling, mass migrations were straining every border. There was war in Iraq, US fighter jets landing at Torrejón Air Base and tanks on the streets of Madrid. In the spring I suffered the most extreme personal tragedy I had known. I was on the move constantly, visiting every corner of the Iberian Peninsula and much of the Continent. I was restless, emotionally and intellectually hungry, and my identity was changing too; in Madrid I found enormous courage to finally accept my sexuality. I came home from Spain stronger, grown.

I have returned to Spain countless times since that first year. While it continues to change, Madrid always feels like home.

Uruguay, 1987

Playing the role of Uruguayan gaucho ~ Drinking yerba maté, the ubiquitous Southern Cone tea-like treat — Playing the role of Uruguayan gaucho ~ Drinking *yerba mate*, Uruguay’s ubiquitous tea-like treat

I was exceedingly lucky be selected by my high school as an exchange student to Minas, Uruguay during my junior year. Words cannot describe the excitement, the challenge, the thrill, and the difficulty I experienced leaving one world and arriving in another. I returned from Uruguay with new vision, the world in an instant larger, compelling, irresistible. I was ready for more, lots more.

This experience was the defining moment of my teenage years, rooting my wanderlust, and opening my eyes and heart to the Great Out There. Uruguay is forever a part of my soul, my love for my family there and the exhilarating yet poignant memories I hold close to my heart.

My warm & wonderful adoptive Uruguayan family (clockwise from top left): Mamá Lilián, sis Alejandra, bro Jorge, sis Analía — My warm & wonderful adoptive Uruguayan family (clockwise from top left):
Mamá Lilián, sis Alejandra, bro Jorge, sis Analía

In the classroom at the Instituto Eduardo Fabini in Minas

With my Norwegian AFS friend Anne at the Plaza Libertad in Minas

"The return of kidnapped children depends also on you... your signature decides" ~ Sign supporting a referendum to bring the military leaders to trial following a repressive dictatorship that ended in 1985 — *The return of kidnapped children depends also on you… YOUR SIGNATURE DECIDES*
Sign supporting a referendum to bring the military leaders to trial following a repressive dictatorship that ended in 1985

A more formal moment with my family before a fiesta de quinceañera birthday bash — A more formal moment with my family before a *fiesta de quinceañera* birthday bash

This is how I remember my family — all love and warmth!

New England, mid-1980′s

My mother moved to the Boston area after my first year of high school and I happily spent my summers and holidays in New England. Mom was great about taking full advantage of the region’s culture and history, it was wonderful introduction to living elsewhere.

Walden Pond, my teenage spiritual center.

Despite sharing a larger national identity, there are distinct differences between the Midwest and New England. I discovered new friends, new ways of talking and interacting, found new things to learn and new landscapes to explore.

Cape Cod National Seashore, 1980's — Cape Cod National Seashore, 1980’s

Summer So Far

So it’s been a typical, Arcadian summer here on the Maine coast… weather has been dry and warm with sunshine, the best in memory! Mark and Amy have provided super companionship, a renewed interest in all the area has to offer, and we have welcomed a number of visiting guests.

2010 Inaugural Ride

Sailing to Byzantium by William Butler Yeats

Sailing to Byzantium
William Butler Yeats
That is no country for old men. The young
In one another’s arms, birds in the trees
—Those dying generations—at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unaging intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God’s holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enameling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

My idea as an accompaniment to my summer riding this year is to photocopy random poems from my Immortal Poems of the English Language anthology received from Mom back in 1984 (I can’t believe this edition is still in print, same cover and all).

With a poem taped to my handlebars to keep me company, my aim is to spend time reading and reflecting while cycling the seacoast. As a kid I loved reading poetry, memorizing favorite ones. As an adult I find it difficult to make space for poetry, so why not carve out time while doing something equally rewarding. Or in our modern idiom: kill two birds with one stone, as it were.

So a couple days ago I cracked the volume to Yeats and thumbed to the intriguing title Sailing to Byzantium which starts “That is no country for old men.” Perfect for my first pedal of the season!

A workday reverie…

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did.

So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails.

Explore. Dream. Discover.

~ Mark Twain

Licuado en la Isla de Ometepe, Lago de Nicaragua