I can feel my time in Juneau coming to a close. Shortly after the 2016 4th of July celebrations, I feel much like a buddy of mine’s dog who turned loose and got his head chomped by a wild bear. I stay up all night, packing what things I can carry. I bid Eli farewell, come dawn. He groans. Whether he believed me or not when I told him my plan the night before, he said it was just plain stupid.
I board the ferry for Skagway with $50 to my name
On arrival, it dawns on me how fine a line I’m walking. I’ve got one week to catch my flight to Zürich, and absolutely no idea how to make it to my connection in Anchorage. Nevertheless, I continue North on a bus to Whitehorse with just five dollars to spare. At the border checkpoint I panic, unable to recall if I’m carrying a firearm with me or not. The officer picks me out of the crowd of passengers, and asks me a few questions. I thank God, quietly to myself, when he just leaves it at that.
“I’m looking at a very confused man”, says the gentleman who shared his campsite with me the evening before
He’s bipolar, so I suspect he knows what confusion looks like. He acts as a kind of archetypal Gatekeeper. The stories he tells me are terrifying, and fill me with self-doubt. While I won’t be asking for my job back, as suggested, I fear he could be right. In the event that I don’t find a way to my connection in Anchorage, I may be stranded here long after my flight leaves Juneau. Bus tickets back to Skagway are sold out for weeks. All I can do is check back at the kiosk, first thing every morning, and hope that I can eventually fill in for a cancellation.
While debating the question of my own sanity, I run into a psychiatrist
He’s stranded as well, and offers to share his campsite with me. By day, he assures me of the soundness of my mind. By night we crash a bachelorette party and witness the relative restraint of Canadian police officers who watch calmly as a girl urinates in public, while browsing on the city’s ornamental plants. He tells me one last goodbye in Juneau would do me well, so I determine to do just that.
After several unsuccessful attempts, I eventually score a return bus ticket on the last possible day. However, I fail to retrieve my baggage from storage before the camp office closes. I’m able to gather my belongings in time to catch the bus the next day, only because a staff member arrived for work early that day. For that, I give her a generous tip before heading back towards Juneau.
Back at the border crossing, I realize that I still don’t know exactly what I’m packing. Sure enough, they pull me aside and ask me to bring all of my luggage. I’m half-convinced that my 500 caliber is in there somewhere. Incidentally, a couple of Swiss are being interrogated nearby, and I think to myself that this could be the closest thing that I ever get to visiting their country. I stay strong regardless, and when the officer searches my bags, he finds nothing suspicious at all.
I pay respects to all the family I’d made in Alaska’s capital before my departure
My friend in Whitehorse was right. Emotionally, I would’ve suffered a great deal without saying my last goodbyes. Alone on the boat, I’m reduced to a blubbering mess at the idea of leaving behind the pristine wilderness and vibrant native community that make up Southeast Alaska, but I’m later reassured that the people will always be here for me. That evening, my last night in town, I’m invited to feast on local sockeye at the home one of my dearest friends – an aerial silks acrobat and one of Juneau’s most beloved local artists.
The day of departure finally arrives. Eli drops me off at the airport, in a reversal of the action I made with Joey barely a few weeks ago now. I tell him I love him, and put him and Alaska behind me. The idea of Europe terrifies me: the antithesis of everything I cherish so much about life in the last frontier. The overcrowded and overregulated land that my forefathers once escaped from is now my destination, and I wonder if I’m walking straight into a trap. Because of love, and dedication to a dream, I carry on anyway.
After almost missing my connection in Iceland, I find myself finally looking down from the airplane window at a much more verdant and sunny countryside than I had ever imagined Switzerland to be. Reuniting with Fabienne is nice, albeit a little underwhelming. I figure she’s just in a hurry to avoid paying extra for parking, but in reality she’s just not happy at all with my antics as of late. It’s hot outside. The streets feel extremely narrow and winding, and the way that we’re zipping around in her tiny Suzuki Splash makes me feel like we’re playing a level in Mariokart.
I’m struck by how futuristic, and yet somehow still medieval, the towns all seem
Fabienne’s mother leaves a homemade tart, in the shape of a smiley face, called a Spitzbüeb, waiting for me on the kitchen counter. The atmosphere is very rustic and pleasant, but I can’t shake the disquieting onset of culture shock at the lack of open space. A human presence is evident everywhere I look. This, combined with being effectively broke and having invited myself to an extended stay, weighs heavily on my mind.
Sadly, we spend most of our time arguing with each other. I lose out on a considerable amount of money I’d been counting on. I’m treated with unbelievable hospitality, yet I struggle to find common ground with people. I become more and more aware each day that the way that I’ve been living is incompatible here. Everything is meticulously managed, which is beautiful in many ways, but I long for the wild. Separated from nature’s bounty, I begin to feel washed up. I get a salmon sandwich for lunch one day, and with it comes a profound sense of sadness.
All of this is immediately forgotten once we arrive in Zermatt
The fairytale beauty of the entire region is pure enchantment. Here I begin to understand what the hype surrounding Switzerland is all about. We’re blessed with perfect weather, as we stroll through the old village, completely void of automobiles, passing 500 year old wooden buildings that look straight out of a storybook. We take a cable car up into the mountains, passing herds of goats grazing, while glaciers sparkle down below us.
Back in the village later that evening, my gag reflex is tested as we pass by, what I assume to be, a broken sewer pipe. Fabienne grabs me by the hand and chases down the noxious fumes. Mouth watering, she tells me it’s her favorite food – a local specialty called Raclette. It appears to be nothing more than a plate of mostly just melted cheese, but I have to admit the flavor is pretty amazing.
The Swiss charm grows on me
Considering that quality local produce, cheeses, dried meats, some of the best chocolate in the world, a comprehensive public transportation system, trail system, bike network, public safety and even an affordable worldwide helicopter rescue system, are all placed at a premium here, its not hard to see why. Switzerland’s emphasis on security, and convenient access to life’s simple pleasures, might place it at the opposite end of the spectrum from the mystique, and raw adventure, that I’ve grown used to, but I try my best to adapt to my new environment.
The effort is rewarded over the next couple of weeks, as we visit some of the other spectacular regions of Appenzell, Graubünden, Bern, and Ticino, all within a couple hour’s drive from each other, yet with their own distinct landscapes, cultures, local dialects, and, sometimes, even languages. The nation’s historical legacies leave me in awe, though many locals I talk to apparently couldn’t care less. The Swiss affinity for drinking coffee with friends, dessert, and hours of idle chit-chat, truly leaves me in awe as well.
But I’m most smitten by Fabienne’s grandparents, and the lake we pass to see them
Lake Walen, or the Walensee, is perhaps that most dramatic thing that I’ve ever seen from the comfort of a moving vehicle. Astonishingly, most people seem to be able to pass it by without so much as the batting of an eye, but to me it is hard to believe that this place isn’t already a UNESCO heritage site and National Park. There are simply no words to describe how beautiful this place is to me.
Likewise, Fabienne’s grandparents are, for me, a real treasure, and shining example of what all people should aspire to become like. Their contentment, and level of peace within the world, is unmistakable. They are dedicated and practical. The utmost concern of theirs, is the well-being of loved ones. This is in sharp contrast to the self-righteous attitude prevalent back home, where pursuing one’s dream is the top priority. I’m told not to take it personally if they don’t take to me right away. On the contrary, I feel a very deep connection with them from the moment we meet.
Time passes. Everyone falls back into a daily routine except for me. When I’m not helping out with small projects, I try to figure out where I’m going to go, and what I’m going to do, once my visa expires. The question of marriage also looms. For that, there is no easy answer, especially since our arguments have only become more heated lately.
Then, out of the blue, the boyfriend of Fabienne’s sister invites me to Croatia
For a long weekend, I take part in filming a promotional video for a boat charter company based out of Split. When we’re not boating, we’re out hiking, canyoning, or exploring the local ruins. I’m an oddity here, where I’m told that most people don’t accept partners far beyond the nearby villages. A local explains that he doesn’t need to travel, because he is perfectly happy here. I envy him in a way. When he finds out that I’m considering going to Australia, to work on a farm before getting married, he just shakes his head saying, “There’s no money in that!”
I learn that, since leaving my job, an entire playground burnt to the ground, a near-fatal stabbing occurred at the campground, and a human leg was found during routine dredging of the channel. I’m glad I left when I did, but struggle constantly with what to do now. Eventually, I settle on Australia. I send in an application, and within a couple of weeks I’m granted an Australian Working Holiday Visa.
We grab Luxembergerli in the airport before catching my flight
The flight is so long from Zürich to Perth, that I almost sleep through the final boarding call from Singapore. I continue sleeping until just before landing. The woman sitting next to me drives me to my Hostel afterwards. It’s a nice enough place, though I expect to stay only briefly before finding a job out on a farm somewhere. I quickly learn that I came at the exact wrong time for that. It’ll be months before anyone starts hiring farmhands.
This is not at all what I was planning on…
The first thing I do when I wake up is go for a run. I always dreamt of moving to Australia. Stepping outside, it’s just as I had always imagined. Flocks of wild lorikeets and black cockatoos flit by. Black swans float in the river and kookaburras laugh in the gumtrees. The sun is strong, the accents are bold, and everything is moving in the wrong direction. The only problem is, I can’t enjoy it for too long. I’ve got work to do, and I need to find something quick.
Weeks pass, and still I find nothing
I practically live at the local library, which is luckily only a few blocks away. I search for work from sunup to sundown. Determined not to spend money accumulating things that I’ll have to get rid of once I find work elsewhere, I live like an ascetic, in a 24-person dorm, with people partying at all hours of the night. This is in the center of downtown Perth, in front of a broken window without a curtain, where a bright streetlight shines directly onto my bed at night, a cold wind blows, and sirens, and homeless people, wake me up constantly.
My meager savings is slowly being eaten away, along with my last nerves. If it weren’t for the little family I form together with a Finn and a Malay, I don’t know that I could’ve managed to keep my sanity this long. A fellow American also helps keep me afloat. He tells me about a well paying geophysical surveying job that he’s sorry to leave behind, as his visa will be expiring shortly. One particularly stressful day, I see him at the library. He apparently missed his flight out. I beg him to give me the address of his old company and he obliges. I turn in my CV to the owner’s wife.
Finally, I get a job working as a removalist
The crew consists of mostly Brits, who like to drink and hang out together after work. We get along great, but the pay is poor and the days long. Living in the hostel is really beginning to take it’s toll on me. I narrowly avoid causing a serious accident, and the next day, manage to wedge the van into a low-ceiling parking garage, severely damaging a brand new plumbing system. Thankfully, everyone keeps quiet and nothing ever comes of it. Still, I feel miserable. I keep depression at bay by running regularly, until I develop a hip injury.
After several weeks, resigned to the idea of just pushing through this for as long as it takes, I get an offer for the surveyor position, starting immediately. This is my ticket! I thank God for the opportunity of a lifetime: heading for the Outback to live in the bush and make good money driving moving loop electrical surveys. My first day, walking proudly to company headquarters, ready to ship out, I approach the garage door, as it slowly begins to slide open. Just then, as it rises, the unbearable weight of a deep depression immediately descends upon me.
On so many levels, I think that I’ve finally reached the ultimate level of insanity
At the same time, as we continue deeper into one of the last great wilderness areas, I try as hard as I can to disregard that thought. Everything is depending on this. But the empty desert incessantly calls back my ruminations: walking out on my life in Alaska, fleeing to Canada, imposing on Fabienne in Switzerland, getting stuck in another tight spot with hardly a dollar to my name. Is this all a complete delusion, or am I now stuck on the depressive end of an endless manic-depressive cycle? Do I have an actual condition or am I just crazy?
The two blokes I’m with are solid, but I can tell that they notice somethings up. “You seem lost”, the crew leader tells me on our first morning. More than anything, I wish to explain myself, but I don’t dare. Besides, I’m unable to. My verbal communication skills have crashed, and along with them, my ability to concentrate and problem-solve – a horrible combination for this job. I figure the best thing to do is just to try and ride this thing out as long as possible.
Right off the bat, I accidentally fry a $10,000 piece of equipment
It takes an entire day for one of us to drive to the nearest town for a replacement. Meanwhile, my partner and I BBQ and watch Eastbound and Down. The main character is a washed-up delusional mess, and it’s hard for me to stomach. A few days later, while driving the MULE with my boss, I smash into a hidden stump causing his head to split open. This happens to all of us at some point – we call it the mark of the MULE. I earn the title the Tree-Seeking Missile for the same reason I broke my finger, suffer a concussion, and obliterate one of the vehicles.
We’re forced to drive as fast as possible through bramble so thick, and filled with so much debris, that it would be hard to even bushwhack through. Every tire leaks air, every day something breaks down, and we’re constantly getting bogged down or boxed in. There’s no windshield to keep out poisonous spiders or spear-like branches. At one point, I speed down a sandy track around 100 km/h, when the vehicle slides, just perfectly enough, to start tipping over onto both right-side wheels. My partner and I brace ourselves for rolling down a steep embankment, but the truck rebalances itself again.
My first hitch is over after roughly a month. Despite my predicament, I look back fondly on the camp where Dingos would dig up and eat our poop everyday. A wildfire would shortly rip through and incinerate everything. I remember once spotting a thorny devil out of the corner of my eye. I remember chasing a herd of camels, and using a carcasse as a landmark. I remember walking barefoot, at sundown, over the burnt-red earth, deep into the Outback, feeling like I’m on the very fine edge of reality.
I miss the flight for my second hitch – incurring the wrath of God from the big boss
Apparently, I misread my itinerary. The owner calls and tears me a new one. Shortly afterwards, a howling terrorism alarm goes off throughout the airport. Because of me, three of us lose a day of work and spend the night in Adelaide. We journey, all the next day, into the South Australian outback, which constitutes a different form of desolation. Spotting my first wild emu, the owner tells us he used to have one as a kid, which he loved, until his father shot it. I ask (before thinking) if he ate it. I think he probably hated me up until that point, but afterwards I know he does for sure.
I hit a baby kangaroo on the first day of a job that turns into more of a disaster as time goes on: I sleep in when my phone automatically switches time zones, damage property, lose equipment, get lost on foot, neglect to follow simple instructions, flood the complex with precious water, cause a vehicle to overheat and then drive it onto a busy highway while trying to push-start it again, eat raw bacon because they call it ham, and walk in on the owner naked one day; the same day I cause us to lose at a winning game of pool by hitting in the 8-ball on the last shot.
NevertheIess, I make friends with a coworker who advises me to apply with a rival company
During the long and humiliating course of the job, I actually learn to laugh at myself and how to hold my head up high. Just getting through another day seems like a miracle, yet as the weeks progress, I start to believe in myself and my goal once more. I spend Christmas and New Year’s back in Perth, along with my surrogate family there. I meet another American, who, after spending a few weeks together, assures me that I’m only suffering from prolonged stress. I interview for the new job and get it… even after becoming lost and needing to be picked up.
I’m able to enjoy myself a little bit, finally, for a few weeks before the next job starts. Previously, I only went out to eat at a pay-what-you-can Indian restaurant, or to the local bar for the biweekly $5 dinner deal. I join other travelers in doing things normal travelers do, like hitting up the beach, checking out the arcade, or going to the movies. A barefoot German I meet, drinking a half gallon jug of chocolate milk outside on a hot day, gets his wallet stolen at the beach, after telling me about a man he knows who maintains the will to live by checking his water meter every hour.
My stuff, sitting right next to his, was left untouched
The next company I work for runs gravity surveys. My first hitch is like speed walking all day through the fields and ranchlands of Barmedman, New South Wales. I prove capable enough, especially at jumping barbed wire, and scaring off wild horses and emu, thereby securing myself a good position back in Western Australia, in the salt pans region surrounding Menzies, nearby the area where I first started out. It’s hard work, for weeks or possibly even months on end, but the pay is good. Slowly, I feel myself returning back to some semblance of normalcy.
But the fun isn’t over quite yet
I make the mistake of veering off the beaten path one day (submerged under feet of recent rainwater) and get us bogged down for good. After hours of digging and jamming brush underneath the tires, not only is it clear that my partner and I have developed heat stroke, but a satellite phone call to the office informs us that we will most likely have to spend at least one night out until help arrives. We’re both dehydrated and low on water. A few hours later, a couple of stockmen arrive and pull us free. Our boss’ quick call to the nearest pub was just the trick.
For weeks our bodies are thrown into severe cramping fits and muscle spasms at the slightest stretch or sudden movement. Dark circles form around my partner’s eyes. We’re both exhausted, but we push on, day after day, mostly in silence, followed by droves of black flies, surrounded by an endless, almost featureless landscape that seems to warp the mind to the same effect that it does time, space, and the very fabric of existence itself.
It’s extremely wet out. Most of the areas we survey are so saturated that stopping to take any readings at all involves shoveling and pushing afterwards. There are days that we get bogged down over a dozen times. There are times that even reaching the area of survey is impossible, due to water levels or road conditions. Its not unusual to get home around 10, after starting before 6. When the opportunity presents itself, we try and chase down kangaroos or goannas, but only succeed in nearly colliding with trees.
Just as I’m starting to like what I’m doing, it’s about time to leave
My partner leaves for a wedding the same day I drive 14 hours towards the Nullarbar to drop off equipment for another survey team. Darkness overtakes me, all alone in the emptiness, and I take a short 5 minute break to kill the engine, lay out in the middle of the highway, and stare up at the Milky Way in total silence. Little did I know how much I would cherish that bit of peace over the course of my last few weeks in Oz. The next partner I team up with is either popping pills, drinking, or smoking cigarettes, all while filling the air with a constant stream of drivel.
At first, he comes off as the nicest guy, but as time wears on, so does the façade. He’s a bipolar, schizophrenic mess who, like a mosquito, bites the moment you stop swatting him away. A list of the absurd tales he tells could fill several blog posts. His last partner got a fly stuck in his ear canal for a few days. I can’t determine if that would be torture or a welcome distraction. On my last day, when I drop him off alone at his camp and he discovers that he misplaced his cigarettes, I’m so happy that I sing the entire ride home.
On the way back to Perth the next day, I become frantic over a text from my boss saying how badly we screwed up the survey the day before. The entire reading is off. The exact hardcopy he demands is written on the other side of a piece of paper that I left, as a note, for room service to hold the idiot’s cigarettes until he can come back for them. Room service sends me a picture, via text, of the data just as I arrive back at headquarters. The owner is flying a drone, and says not to worry because the map that they gave us was wrong anyway. He says I did well, and wishes me the best of luck.
I leave Australia having accomplished what I set out to do
After spending a few days in Perth with a good friend visiting from Switzerland, my Perth people send me off with some very thoughtful gifts. Though it’s not at all the experience that I was anticipating, I know I’ve gained much more, in the end, than I had bargained for. Not only did I manage to set aside a good chunk of change, I discovered that family can be found in even the most unlikely of places, and that it’s sometimes best just to take our shortcomings lightly, no matter how crazy they might make us feel at times.
I fly into Thailand to meet the woman of my dreams in March of 2017. While most travel blogs focus strongly on this region of the world, I’m not going to go into a lot of detail about the 4 months we spend out there…not here anyway. Frankly, the experience turns out to be comparatively uneventful. Our greatest worry is usually in deciding when we should get out of bed, what beach to go to, and what flavor fruit smoothie to order. Two or three week’s worth of wages back in Australia covers my half of the trip’s total expenses.
After flip-flopping around, wearing double backpacks all over the country, we eventually find a small, off-the-radar island paradise that I’m going to keep a secret here
Oh yeah…we arrive there after a two week tour of the lovely country of Laos.
Somewhere around this time, I finally feel fully myself again.
My brother comes along for the adventure, and does a great job of keeping things interesting, as we continue on through Cambodia.
We make our way back to Texas and get married, on a Tuesday, by Judge Judy, two days before Fabienne flies back to Switzerland
Over the course of the summer, the paperwork for my Swiss visa is processed
I spend this time back up in the Seattle area, with friends from Juneau that I’d previously done work for. This is right by the point of departure we’d taken so long ago in getting up to Alaska. Working during the week at a local farm, and weekends selling produce at farmer’s markets, keeps me busy enough, that I don’t get too overly sentimental about my upcoming transition. I still catch myself, at times, staring up with nostalgia towards the mouth of the Inside Passage – pointing northward towards Alaska.
I land in Zürich to the warm welcoming of a giant cow bell
I expect a long wait before finding work, during which time I can finally collect myself after a 15-month whirlwind, but after only 2 weeks, I find a job working under a local carpenter on a large building project. It’s a tremendous opportunity, as well as an enormous adjustment. My Finnish friend from Australia visits. I study the German language diligently, always keeping a batch of kombucha brewing, and keep myself centered by running and bouldering regularly at the local climbing gym. I turn 30 on the island of Corsica, where I have a transcendental experience at a polyphonic performance in the cathedral where Columbus was baptized.
I’m gifted a touring bicycle that I begin taking to work regularly. Gradually, I build up to long weekend tours. My boss mentions that I should start thinking about starting an apprenticeship, and for the first time I consider pursuing a career as a carpenter. My dream of adventure travel comes back into play, as I envision having the freedom of working for myself on foreign real estate development projects.
Towards the end of the summer, my mom and brother visit. Joey passes away. The next week my boss takes a week vacation and I spontaneously ride out to Amsterdam. Shortly afterwards, my dad joins me for a ride to the Italian border. I start feeling at home in my new country. I take up jobs with other people, including working as a cook at ski and climbing camps. A visit to the gorilla exhibit, during a small job at the local zoo, plants the seed for finally traveling to the number one travel destination on my bucket list: Gabon.
Over Christmas break in Texas, we make a short trip to southern Mexico – the place that first ignited my passion for travel as a 12-year-old. To my pleasant surprise, it was every bit as magical as I remember it being. I determine to one day own my own piece of paradise down there.
A year and a half after arriving in Switzerland, I get accepted into a carpentry apprenticeship program
My dream future, of traveling and building a foreign property development business, feels within reach now. To celebrate, I fulfill a lifelong dream of traveling to Africa. Together, my brother and I have the time of our lives in the little-known central African country of Gabon. The potential for tourism is huge, and I’m inspired to one day start a website in order to bring business to this unforgettable place.
A couple of months into the beginning of my studies, I complete a circuit from Geneva to Mont Blanc, followed by a grueling tour to Barcelona. I arrive on the second day of the 2019 Catalan protests. It’s absolutely thrilling, but in the process, my bike is stolen and presumably thrown into a burning barricade. I feel like I’m experiencing a moment of historical significance, yet I have no way of knowing how thoroughly this event is about to be upstaged by something far more disruptive. We usher in New Year’s 2020 in Lisbon, and in February, make it to Texas and back amid news of some kind of viral outbreak in China.
The next year passes as if the world stopped, and began to self-destruct
I’m lucky to be able to continue working throug the pandemic, however classes shift online and my grades plummet. A chronic injury prevents me from using exercise as an outlet. The elaborate social network, and lifestyle patterns, I’d developed to keep me afloat through the delicate integration period completely come apart. Meanwhile, social and political unrest back home put me under tremendous additional stress. By the time autumn rolls around, I’ve got no more fight. I’m ready to quit and leave. My dream seems unattainable. Only because of the phenomenal support of my supervisors, and the most incredible teacher, am I convinced that I should stay, and that it will all turn out alright.
However, suppression is the only coping mechanism I have to help me push through, and it only goes so far. There are times that I feel about ready to completely snap. Still, I give 110% in an effort to stay above water, but it seems totally hopeless. I dig down deep and revive the only thing I can to put my mind at ease: pushing through this, and then taking off for a journey around the world. I hold onto this dream like my life depends on it, but when I start to suffer the same symptoms as before in Australia, I resolve to really throw in the towel for good.
In January of 2021, I return to work after Christmas break and say “I quit”
Enough is enough. I spent the entire break researching and setting up this website. I’m ready to go all in on my goal of circumnavigation, supporting myself through travel blogging. But when my boss submits the exit paperwork to my teacher, who then asks me to come in and speak with him, despite my protest to never set foot in that classroom again, I’m moved to stay. My teacher says he doesn’t want to lose me, and that he knows that I have what it takes to pass the program. He says, with conviction, that I can one day become a great carpenter if I just stick with it.
That was three months ago, as of writing this. Since then, my passion for the work I’m doing is stronger than ever. My vision is clear, my resolve unwavering. This website has become a necessary outlet for me during a very unsettling time. Having completed just this backstory is a goliath achievement for me.
But now it’s time for me to start work on the real heart of this project. I’ll start chronologically, with the landmark trip that set the entire course of my life in motion: traversing the unspoiled Caribbean island nation of Dominica along the Waitukubuli National Trail.
