My dad used to say. Adventures are what you add to the venture that is life. He was certainly an adventurer. So was his father, my grandfather, who escaped Ottoman persecution to study in Boston at the dawn of the previous century. Not feeling far enough, he would eventually pack up in search of fortune in Mumbai India, of all places, managing to earn the accolade, King of Yarn (He was in textiles). His own father, my great grandfather, had been a sailor, running a shipping operation out of Mina in Tripoli, Lebanon. He was known as the Prince of the Seas. It is safe to assume then that my father's sense of adventurism was regally rooted. And so he would trot the globe from sea to shining sea absorbing cultures from Africa to Japan to North America, assembling quite the portfolio of stories and pictures. In one, which our family has grown to cherish, he is seen riding a horse in full Mexican army regalia, presumably going off to fight some revolutionary war of independence. He never did quite say whether the picture was real or not. It was senseless to ask anyway; no one was going to take away from his sense of adventure.
He would imbue this sense in us, his kids. "Kids, your mother and I are taking you on an adventure. We will be going off to Greece with no reservations except that of a car at the airport. The rest will all be left to our collective ingenuity and destiny." Now that seemed like a swell idea for a ten year old, until we found ourselves in the middle of a Peloponnesian nowhere at 2 am looking for a place to sleep the night! "It's all part of the plan," he would wink.
I would remember this episode many years later, when my own ten-year old son and I found ourselves in a somewhat similar situation lost in Kwazulu Natal in South Africa with no GPS. Karim's acute sense of foreboding took over as he ducked his head in the space below the passenger seat to save himself from whatever emerged out of the surrounding darkness. Miraculously, we did make it eventually to a bed and breakfast, which quite serendipitously ended up belonging to the King of the Zulu nation ... We never met the man, but appreciated the royal hospitality! Evidently, this episode while frightening the living daylights out of my son must have triggered the emergence of an adventurist spirit, as some eight years later, he would go, "Dad, we're going to Russia. Right?"
"Nope. I know nothing about Russia, and I don't know if I'd like to." I answered.
"It will be awesome, Dad. The cities, friendly people, history ..."
"How do you know all this?"
"It's all right here Dad. Read read all about it!"
"Oh so you're the Rusco-expert now?"
"Trust me Dad. It will be great. It's another World Cup adventure!" he winked like his grandfather would.
"Okay I will consider, but you will have to handle the whole thing, as I don't have time," thinking (hoping) that would be the end of it.
"You got it dad."
Lo and behold, the kid not only managed to find World Cup game tickets, but airline tickets, trains, automobile rentals, hotels, and airbnb ... to cities I had never known even existed let alone could spell out. I had accidentally created a Godzilla adventurer (or maybe it was the genes) .
So off we go. Well actually not quite yet; as I am writing all this from Dublin ... Dublin, Virginia that is. A town in the southwest part of the state where my wife--another adventurer in her own right-- had suggested we go for a Master gardener conference. We end up staying in a 19th century manor in the valley below the Blue Ridge mountains. The manor had been constructed after the civil war with the original owner showing few signs of frugality in its construction, wanting instead to employ as many post-war unemployed as possible ... touching. The result is a beautiful southern-style plantation type mansion with stunning geometric wood floor designs, stucco ceilings, and sliding windows that convert to doors to allow for area breeze to flow through the house unencumbered ... Southern porch rocking chairs absolutely rock.
But I digress ...
So while I am here in Dublin, Virginia; my mind is already in Russia trying to imagine what we will need on the trip. True adventures begin in the mind way before a single step is ever taken, I reckon (speaking southern lingo now, jeez ...). Anyway thoughts lead to planning, which lead to me remembering that my hiking pant zippers need mending. Nothing a quick pit-stop at the local Dublin Walmart cannot remedy.
He would imbue this sense in us, his kids. "Kids, your mother and I are taking you on an adventure. We will be going off to Greece with no reservations except that of a car at the airport. The rest will all be left to our collective ingenuity and destiny." Now that seemed like a swell idea for a ten year old, until we found ourselves in the middle of a Peloponnesian nowhere at 2 am looking for a place to sleep the night! "It's all part of the plan," he would wink.
I would remember this episode many years later, when my own ten-year old son and I found ourselves in a somewhat similar situation lost in Kwazulu Natal in South Africa with no GPS. Karim's acute sense of foreboding took over as he ducked his head in the space below the passenger seat to save himself from whatever emerged out of the surrounding darkness. Miraculously, we did make it eventually to a bed and breakfast, which quite serendipitously ended up belonging to the King of the Zulu nation ... We never met the man, but appreciated the royal hospitality! Evidently, this episode while frightening the living daylights out of my son must have triggered the emergence of an adventurist spirit, as some eight years later, he would go, "Dad, we're going to Russia. Right?"
"Nope. I know nothing about Russia, and I don't know if I'd like to." I answered.
"It will be awesome, Dad. The cities, friendly people, history ..."
"How do you know all this?"
"It's all right here Dad. Read read all about it!"
"Oh so you're the Rusco-expert now?"
"Trust me Dad. It will be great. It's another World Cup adventure!" he winked like his grandfather would.
"Okay I will consider, but you will have to handle the whole thing, as I don't have time," thinking (hoping) that would be the end of it.
"You got it dad."
Lo and behold, the kid not only managed to find World Cup game tickets, but airline tickets, trains, automobile rentals, hotels, and airbnb ... to cities I had never known even existed let alone could spell out. I had accidentally created a Godzilla adventurer (or maybe it was the genes) .
So off we go. Well actually not quite yet; as I am writing all this from Dublin ... Dublin, Virginia that is. A town in the southwest part of the state where my wife--another adventurer in her own right-- had suggested we go for a Master gardener conference. We end up staying in a 19th century manor in the valley below the Blue Ridge mountains. The manor had been constructed after the civil war with the original owner showing few signs of frugality in its construction, wanting instead to employ as many post-war unemployed as possible ... touching. The result is a beautiful southern-style plantation type mansion with stunning geometric wood floor designs, stucco ceilings, and sliding windows that convert to doors to allow for area breeze to flow through the house unencumbered ... Southern porch rocking chairs absolutely rock.
But I digress ...
So while I am here in Dublin, Virginia; my mind is already in Russia trying to imagine what we will need on the trip. True adventures begin in the mind way before a single step is ever taken, I reckon (speaking southern lingo now, jeez ...). Anyway thoughts lead to planning, which lead to me remembering that my hiking pant zippers need mending. Nothing a quick pit-stop at the local Dublin Walmart cannot remedy.
Oh Walmart rural Walmart does causeth many a meandering, which of course I shared with my wife over a delicious veggie fajitas dinner at a highly recommended Mexican restaurant, inevitably named El Ranchero ...
"Dublin is a fairly small town," I said, "Couldn't be more than 5,000 people tops. Now does it really need this yuuuuge of a Walmart? And notice the town has no stores except Walmart, which probably means it wiped everyone else out. Of course, Walmart buys most of its goods from China, earning its shareholders quite the hefty margin, all the while paying employees fairly low wages. Clearly, rural america is being squeezed between Asia's infinite supply of labor and Wallstreet's equally infinite greed. Stiffed to the bone and to quite a visible degree! Of course, with the government unable to find a way to help all these folks out of their rut, something larger than life was needed. Much much larger and encompassing. Fortunately, Jesus stepped in! Yep! And the writing is on the wall(s)! Literally and quite ubiquitously ... 'Jesus is Here for You.'"
"Dublin is a fairly small town," I said, "Couldn't be more than 5,000 people tops. Now does it really need this yuuuuge of a Walmart? And notice the town has no stores except Walmart, which probably means it wiped everyone else out. Of course, Walmart buys most of its goods from China, earning its shareholders quite the hefty margin, all the while paying employees fairly low wages. Clearly, rural america is being squeezed between Asia's infinite supply of labor and Wallstreet's equally infinite greed. Stiffed to the bone and to quite a visible degree! Of course, with the government unable to find a way to help all these folks out of their rut, something larger than life was needed. Much much larger and encompassing. Fortunately, Jesus stepped in! Yep! And the writing is on the wall(s)! Literally and quite ubiquitously ... 'Jesus is Here for You.'"
"What about that last minute Germany goal, eh?" came back the reply across the table.
But I digress again ... Where was I? Walmart, yes! Grabbing sturdy hiking clothing that can fit in a back pack. Comfy pants, breathable shirts, odorless socks for long train rides (I figure if my son and I won't be at each other's throats after thirty hours from Rostov On Don to St. Petersburg, last thing we would need is for undesired odors to do the asphyxiation! Speaking of packing, I have learned that the most difficult trick of these sort of trips is always in the packing. Over-packing is a common fatal mistake to be cursedly paid for ... if one is not extra careful. Interestingly, it is said that what differentiates humans from animals is our ability to think ahead. How come then, animals always travel light when they go on long treks, while us humans carry uselessly stuffed baggage? Stuff for thought ... But wait! I still need my stuff at Walmart, better snap out of my meandering and grab a bunch before the place closes ...
Southern lady at the counter so friendly with an awesome drawl ... Wonder how the people in Russia will be. .. Will there be smiles? Will there be pleasant hellos ... tearful goodbyes? Will they want to kick a ball or kick us out? One thing is for sure, there will be lots of memories. Isn't that what any adventure ultimately is about? Perhaps it's what my predecessors were searching for when they looked beyond their own horizons ... And while they could not have taught us what to search for, they did teach us to dare search, and perhaps to try and add some ventures to life ...
Off to Russia ...
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