The Wolf of Harvard

In Human’s Clothing

                I’m graduating from a four year university. Is it crazy to go back? I wrote those two sentences down on a crumpled scrap of paper I found lurking in the bottom of my bag. After resisting my attempts to smoothen it, this ripped and yellowing sheet now contained the words to one of the most important questions of my life, so far. I stared at it, imagining myself melting the bits of cellulose with my eyes, envisioning the graphite dripping from the rough edges and landing, steaming and hissing, on the dilapidated backpack resting against my ankle. I glowered at the paper, frustrated that it was in the process of changing my life in a way that no inanimate object should be allowed to do. Giving up, I flipped it to the other, equally worn side and wrote…  No, must be the money.

           That was over two months ago. Now, over half-way through my senior year, I was at the final interview stage for one of the wildest job opportunities of my life. Today, a grey Tuesday in February with no true significance to anyone else, I was skipping class and driving to Cape Cod for the first official meet-up with my (hopefully) future employer. I didn’t even know his name yet. In fact, until a hurried phone call last night with someone I had never talked with before, I hadn’t even been given an exact address.

                As I got closer, and drove further into the money, I noticed the houses getting larger. Brick replaced siding, gates became standard driveway equipment, and lawns, still drowsy from their short winter nap, were being prodded to life with landscapers. I had heard that Cape Cod was nice, but I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice. As I drove by mansion after mansion I felt more and more that I had stumbled into a pretentious postcard. I didn’t belong here, but a small part of me wished I did.  

                I turned off into a neighborhood and found the driveway that the GPS was sending me to. It seemed that I had accidentally found the jackpot; the house of houses. I pulled up to the gate in my rusty, mile-laden Subaru and waited. The gate was huge, spanning nearly two lanes of brick driveway that wound up to the house. It was covered in ivy with two granite pillars standing sentry-like on either side. The granite continued to snake around the property, finally wrapping the mansion in stone as if it were a castle preparing for siege. After a few seconds of waiting in admiration, the gate shuttered and slid noiselessly out of the way.

                I crept the car up the driveway towards the three story behemoth. I had never seen a house this big from anywhere other than a road. As I drove into its shade the very shadow of it seemed to press its wealth into my bones. I parked next to a 90’s Ferrari in the corner of the lot and looked out towards the house hoping that the man I was going to meet today wasn’t nearly as oppressive.

                I turned off the engine and stepped out, feeling a bit foolish. I should have worn something with a bit more pizazz than just a collared shirt and jeans. I looked good though, I thought. Poor, but good. I laughed inwardly at the ridiculousness of the parking situation that my Subaru found itself in, all nestled next to a supercar with three times the everything. Freaking Cape Cod.

                “Kyle Simmons!” I heard, coming from somewhere by the front door. I looked over and a young man about my age was strolling towards me wearing a full tailored suit and the smile of someone who looked like they had everything going their way.

                “Yes.” I said confidently, walking towards this character. “That’s me.”

                 “A pleasure at last.” He said, holding out his right hand and exposing a golden watch that I was sure cost more than my car.

                I took his hand and shook it, noticing his perfect etiquette. Eye contact the whole time, just the right amount of firmness, fingers uncrushed. This kid wrote the book on style, I could already tell.

                “Alright,” He continued, “You’re probably fucking thirsty or hungry after such a long ride. Let’s get inside and get down to it with some lunch.”

                “Sounds good to me.” I said, astonished at this kid’s premature vulgarity. Whatever though. Was this my (hopefully) new boss? I thought. This was going to be interesting.

                We walked through the double doors that led into his house and we were greeted by what I assumed to be a butler, or someone similar. He also greeted me with a handshake and introduced himself as…

                “Geoffrey. At your service, Master.”

                “Yo, G.” Said my new friend. “Could you fix us some sandwiches? Grab us some beer too? We’ll be in the study.”

                “Of course, Master.”

                “Alright, tight. Follow me Kyle.”

                Strolling through his house my nameless friend seemed to cast a wake about him. The way he walked imposed a powerful sense of confidence, but also a happiness that didn’t spew arrogance like I had expected. With his unbuttoned suit his jacket tails sailed behind him, waving him on through his march around the premise like spectators waving at their favorite athlete. And speaking about the premise! Holy crap! This place was nicer than The Villa. Marble seemed to flow under my feet as I kept up with my host, wrapping around corners and into pillars that held the chiseled ceiling above me. We passed armoires with golden handles and glass doors that seemed to be bursting with fine clothes jewelry.

                “Don’t mind all this bullshit.” Said my host. He must have noticed apparent, open mouthed gaping. “My sister and my mom like to show off down here for some stupid ass reason.” He stopped at the entrance to a well lit room that overlooked the southern yard of the house. The sun poured in through ten foot high glass walls and even for a bleak Tuesday in February, the room felt cozier than Christmas. “Take a seat.” He said, not unkindly.

                I sat, melting into a leather armchair that seemed to be trying to eat me; not uncomfortably.

                “So this is it, huh?” He said, “The big one, the fucking big one!”

                “Uh.” I said.

                “Alright, well let’s get the boring things out of the way.” He then handed me a clipboard and told me to sign in a few spots, “The non-disclosure agreement,” and then he pulled out a really fancy envelope that had the words Harvard imprinted on the front. “And you know what this is,” He handed it over. “but you still don’t know who I am?”

                “Well, then this seems a bit unfair then doesn’t it?” I said, smirking.

                “Haha! I knew I picked the right guy.” He smirked back, obviously enjoying a bit of sarcasm. “I’m Jordan Chimefort, and if the rest of today goes fucking fantastic I’m going to be your new boss for the next four years.”

                “I’m pretty sure it will, as long as those sandwiches get here.”

                As if on cue, Geoff entered the room carrying a tray with four sandwiches and four beers. “Enjoy, Masters. And if there is anything else I’ll just be cleaning the property.”

                “Thanks G.” Said Jordan.

                “Sweet service you’ve got here!”

                “Yeah yeah, whatever. It’s kind of annoying though. I can’t even take a shit without him holding a rack of toilet paper for me. God, he’d probably wipe if I asked.” Jordan looked off into the distance with a grimacing look on his face. “Oh yeah, he would, no doubt.”

                “Ha, well if you want me to test him out later just say the word.” I laughed.

                “Shit, no thanks. Anyway! We’re getting really sidetracked here… fill me in. I’ve gone through so many candidates I can’t keep them straight. I think you’re the guy though, and from what my assistants have been saying, you fit the bill real nicely. Lay it down.” And with that he popped two beers, tossed one over and sat back in anticipation.

                “Well, it all started on Craigslist…” I began. I had been searching Craigslist last fall, looking for cheap Subaru parts and good swapping items when I came across a very peculiar ad. The title said it all, $40k a year to attend Harvard University as me. I couldn’t believe it, wouldn’t believe it. How could someone be so bold? What was the catch? I thought that the best way to uncover the mystery was to, well, apply! I emailed the OP and jumped into a cacophony of phone calls, emails, and face to face discussion with numerous different people all working for, what I know understand to be, Jordan Chimefort.

                The requirements were tough, but I was a solid fit. High school had been a walk in the park for me. I had crossed the graduation stage as captain of the debate team and salutatorian. Oh, I was also the youngest kid in my class. Now, I was in the final stretch of finishing up my business degree at my local university with similarly high grades and academic standing. The one thing I had sucked at in life, at least at first, was my social life. I had skipped two grades in middle school which made me three years younger than my nearest classmate (other people born in November can somewhat relate). Fitting in during those first few years at college was difficult. I was a freshman at 16! To combat what I foresaw to be a challenging transition, I lived in the honor’s dorm my first two years at school. Because I was mostly void of friends, instead of going out, I studied, and studied hard. Classes were easy and I had always regretted not going to a better school, but I had been… scared? I think that was it. Fortunately, had I gone to a more top-tier school, the conversation I was now having with Jordan might have been possible.

                Once Junior year rolled around, and people my age started filtering into the freshman classes, I began to make friends and build up the courage to “go out” and “party”, albeit toned back. This was when I started to enjoy college. I got back on the university debate team, joined numerous other clubs and organizations, and still maintained at 3.9 GPA. College was finally fun. But, all too soon, I was a graduating senior who regretted wasting those first two years of school; hiding behind my desk and work. This was why the opportunity in front of me felt so right. The excitement of “re-doing” school, at a real school, buzzed through my entire body like newly discovered energy. It was barely containable. I felt like I was driving that Ferrari parked outside, speeding it down the highway at over 140mph!

                “Whoa whoa, Kyle!” Jordan laughed, “Let’s stay on topic. We can go out for a ride later if you want. So, yes…” Jordan continued. He talked about his reasoning for picking me as the most likely candidate for the job. My age turned out to be a huge factor, with my near perfect grades as icing on the cake. He had been expecting to hire a non-traditional student, someone who would live off campus and only attend necessary classes in order to obtain the degree. By turning Kyle (me) into Jordan, he was fully able to establish the coup of a wealthy smart kid entering the halls of Harvard. It was perfect.

                “So,” I said, “why don’t you just attend the school?” It was something I really wanted to know. He was already accepted, courtesy of the fancy letter he had showed me, so why didn’t he just go? Harvard wasn’t impossible to be accepted at, but it seemed like a waste… in a way.

                “Remember that non-disclosure agreement you just signed?”

                “Yeah.”

                “Good, now…” Jordan was rich, wealthy beyond all measure, and with wealth comes an ability to, as he put it, “…get whatever the fucking hell I want.” So, although his grades were nearly identical to mine, and he was graduating from an elite private school nearby, he deemed his business venture in South Korea to be more important than going to school. “My Dad is already down there, and supports me in this.” He added. Jordan wouldn’t even be in the country for the four years while I was in school, pretending to be him at Harvard. So, he explained, with mountains of money at his disposal he bought his way into Harvard using some of his Dad’s contacts and a little bit of bribery. He wanted the degree for networking purposes, and to bolster his resume in a way that couldn’t be ignored.

                Jordan kept talking about the stupidity of the school system, and the depravity of this or that organization or government official that was keeping his business back. He explained how he wanted to get right to work in South Korea and build upon his fortune without wasting another minute. “But to do so, we need to prepare you to be me.” He said, “This is where things get tricky. Graduating from Harvard? That’s the easiest part. They have a 98% graduation rate. I feel like anyone that can tie their shoes can get a degree from there, the hard part is getting accepted which, as I just explained, is already taken care of.”

                “Yeah,” I interjected, “I’ve started doing research online about what the curriculum is like, and it seems almost like joke. Of course, I bet most people who talk about the curriculum online downplay it to seem a bit more intelligent, but I feel like it won’t be any harder than anything I’ve already done.”

                “Mmm… That’s what I’ve heard as well. So…” Jordan continued, getting to the best part; pay. I was to make $60,000 a year, not including books, housing, transportation and living expenses. Then, once the four years were over and I walk across the stage as Jordan Chimefort with a four year Harvard degree, I’ll get a $100,000 bonus to quietly speed me on my way.

                “So,” I piped up, “what more do I have to do? How can I prove that I’m your guy?”

                “Well, it seems you already have.” Jordan said, tipping his beer in my direction. He explained that most of the people he had interviewed were ready academically, but were socially inept. He had wanted to sit down with me, eat a sandwich, grab a beer and test my ability to hold a conversation. On top of that, my debate skills continued to add to my strange new resume in a way that impressed Jordan into making his final decision. “Grab that last beer and follow me.”

                I obeyed, grabbing an exquisite IPA I had never heard of from the tray, and following Jordan out of the room. We walked back out to the marble hallway and towards the double staircase that spiraled further up into the mansion. I was trying to get used to the splendor, but it was still blowing my mind. Each railing post seemed to be decorated differently than the last with carvings representing different seasons of the year. Leaves were etched into the stone with such lifelikeness that I felt like if I tried hard enough, I could smell them. We ascended the stairs and turned left. The room we walked into was darker with computer monitors lining two of the four walls. There was a large, dormant printing machine sitting in the middle and an older, greying gentleman typing furiously at a keyboard just behind it.

                “This is Markolm, he’ll be doing the nitty-gritty stuff so we won’t get caught, so you won’t get caught.”

                “Grunt.” Markolm grunted. “No beer in here.”

                “Ah yeah, your rules… fine.” Jordan said, grabbing my beer and placing in outside the room next to his. “Anyway, this is how things are going to work; Social Security manipulation.” Said Jordan. He elaborated.

I was going to adopt everything that was Jordan’s. Markolm was able to forge about whatever he wanted too, it seemed, from licenses to documents to birth certificates. An A+ hacker that had spent many years working for the CIA doing these exact things for undercover agents around the globe. Apparently, he was a vital part of whatever business was operating in South Korea as well, but his secondary tasks would assure that I walked into Harvard with Jordan’s information, but my own face. “We’re going to need a new license, a new passport, a new photo for the Harvard database…” Jordan rattled off a long list to Markolm who continued frantically typing on his overly loud keyboard.

                clicklclicklick click click clickclick clickclick click clickclickclickclick clickclick click clickclickclick

                “…and that should do it.” He said, “Kyle could you step over to the wall there, right in front of this camera.”

                I walked over the whitewashed wall and faced the camera. It was a big one, with those shiny, flashy umbrellas ready to light up the shot.

                “Ah, wait hold on!” Jordan said, taking off his suit jacket. He whipped it over to me, followed by his tie and then his white dress shirt. “Put those on, Jordan’s a classy ass fool! Right Markolm?”

                “Grunt.” Said Markolm, swiveling in his chair and walking over to the camera.

                I pulled the sleeves on and was happy to notice that they fit almost perfectly. “Looks like I’ll be shopping through your closet before I head to school, haha, right Jordan?” I chuckled, putting on the rest of the ensemble.

                “Don’t worry man, we’ll be going shopping. You’re going to need a new car too, to keep up appearances.” Said Jordan, looking slightly foolish in the dimly lit room with only his pressed dress pants and shoes on. It seemed that when he lost his designer suit shell, he lost all form of impressive demeanor as well. He was just a kid again, like me, from the waste up. I didn’t have long to ponder this image though as the brilliant flash from Markolm’s camera blinded me. He took about a dozen photos before grunting his way back to his computer.

                “I feel famous already.” I said, tossing Jordan’s clothes to him and blinking back my vision.

                “Don’t worry, that feeling will wear off. Come on, I have one more place to show you.” said Jordan, turning on his heel and leaving the room. We walked down the hallway, Jordan looking a bit more human after abandoning his suit, and into what looked like an average bedroom. This room wasn’t like any of the other parts of the house. It didn’t have ornate furnishings or hand carved bed posts. There were no plasma screens pinned up onto walls or Chinese silk sheets draping over the bed. It kind of looked like, well, my bedroom back home. “This is where you’ll be living on school breaks or vacations or whatever. People need to see that you live here ya know, so they don’t get any ideas.” He walked farther into his room and pushed some clothes out of the way with his foot. “It’s not much, but I like it this way.” He said.

                “Wow Jordan, thank you…” I said, explaining how the ridiculousness of the house was starting to weird me out anyway, especially Geoff. Having a butler would be a bit odd. I didn’t really know what else to say, things had taken such an interesting turn during the day. I left school that morning with no expectations of what was going to happen, and this was all hugely exciting; and overwhelming.

                “What was it like growing up? For you?” asked Jordan.

                “What do you mean?”

                “Not fucking filthy rich like this, what was it like?” He sat down on his bed and looked at me, genuinely curious.

                “Oh,” I said, taking a seat on a computer chair. I told him everything, at least, to the best of my ability. I told him that I grew up in a house the size of his garage with two siblings and two overworked parents. I told him that I remembered helping my parents sew my clothing back together, how when I was at school I skipped lunch on occasion to study, not because I needed extra time with the material, but because I didn’t have food to bring to school. I told him that I watched my two older sisters get bullied and teased because of their cheap clothing and shoes, and how they got jobs at 14 to not only pay for things they wanted, but to buy me things as well. I told him that I got a job at 14 too, delivering papers every morning at 5am, by myself. I told him that I was working my way through school with a little help from the government, and that each weekend I would have to drive back home and work my retail job so I could buy food and help my parents. I told him that my life was hard, it was hard to be poor, but I never hated it. There were, of course, times when I wished I had money. Heck, I always wished I had more money. But, I told him, I never lacked a family that cared for each other. I loved going home, even if the fridge was empty and heat was off. I remember my dad wrapping all of us in a blanket and reading to us by flashlight. I remember my mom who worked hard, out of love, and how much that meant. I believed that it was my parent’s work ethic that pushed me to do so well in school and that even when I had a patched suit, two sizes too large, I still would win debates just to prove to people that hard work is more than appearance, but rather production and results.  

                “…it was hard, man.” I finished, “but it made me who I am ya know?”

                Jordan sat on the bed for another few seconds, just staring off into space. “Yeah.” He said, getting up off the bed and walking over towards me. “I know I’m making the right choice here, Kyle.” He said, “and make it $70,000 a year.” He smiled.

               

                The next four years were a blur for both Kyle and Jordan. That summer, the two spent nearly every day together on the Cape as Kyle learned what it was like to be Jordan. In return, Jordan gained the first true friend he ever had. When school came around that next August, it was Jordan who dropped him off at the door, shaking his hand and wishing him luck. Jordan then flew to South Korea and continued to help build his Dad’s company while Kyle plowed through Harvard, living the college life he had missed as a 16 year old, skittish Freshman at the University of Blah. After graduation, Jordan gave Kyle $100,000 and Kyle gave Jordan a book. He had written everything down, starting from the first day they met in February. A few years later, Jordan published the book as “fiction” and if rumors are true it will soon be a major motion picture, The Wolf of Harvard.  

...to go back to Maine

            This past weekend I was reminded once again just how fast the human brain problem solves. The speed of the mind is something rarely recognized during your average work week. That same brain that helps you decide what to wear in the morning, what to eat for breakfast, what to do at work, is the same brain that prevents car accidents and, well, drowning in Class IV rapids; the latter being on full display this past weekend in Maine.

We’ll get to that later.

            It’s been years, literally years that I’ve been searching for a kayak to call my own. No, I wasn’t looking for some open-top Old Town lake kayak that anybody can walk into L.L.Bean and take off the wall; I was searching for a playboat. This search has brought me closer and closer to owning the real thing and for the first time ever, I drove up to Maine this weekend with my own playboat strapped to my roofracks. It was like a dream come true! I couldn’t stop taking pictures of my vessel as it was shuttled around, first class, on the roof of my Subaru. The moment work ended at 6pm last Friday, my boat and I hit the highway for what was sure to be an unforgettable weekend of white water.

            Saturday morning rolls around early and another day of rafting brings me to consciousness. Most of the time, a day of guiding the Kennebec is something I crave but as I walked onto the loaded bus that morning I felt a twinge of anxiousness. It wasn’t that I was frightened about hoping back into a raft after a month long, work related, sabbatical. I just wanted to kayak instead! But, like most things, work came before play and we hit the river with a seven boat trip of excited customers.

            After what felt like the longest day on earth, Mason and I start packing the car for our long anticipated, inaugural run with two brand new Jackson Rockstars. The boats look perfect as we strap them onto the roof for the ride up to the river. They’re scratch-less, and so smooth and light that they float around atop the Thule roofracks as if the boats themselves can’t wait to hop off and into the river. We’re being accompanied by Tyler and some other guy who appears to be a hitchhiker that Mason had picked up on his way to Windfall (the basecamp). They pack two, heavy-duty rubber tubes onto the kayaks and we hit the road what was sure going to be an interesting night.

            After running shuttle we get to the top of the Kennebec dam. The river is blowing out 8200 cf of water every second, Big Water… Hell. Yes. The dam is notorious for changing “scheduled” flows and I didn’t want to believe that Big Water was happening until I saw it with my own eyes. Sure enough, the river had crept up the sides of the gorge and was lapping away at roots and trees that on most days saw less than a spinkle. Besides the quickly setting sun (it was 7:30pm) it seemed that everything was going well. I raced back up the stairs to put on my gear and notice Mason and Tyler rummaging rather greedily through my trunk.

            “Nah, man… I swore I packed it!”

            “Ah, I think I forgot!”

            “Yeah, uh, I really don’t have my life jacket right now.”

            “And I forgot the extra…”

           

            Here we were, finally, getting ready to drop our boats in the water for the first time and we were missing TWO life jackets. Mason was going to pack an extra for the hitchhiker who was still with us, and he forgot, and Tyler… well… He just straight up didn’t bring his.

            As someone who is a habitual planner with near OCD precision I started to feel a bit deflated. We were so close! But, with the desire to hit the river overpowering common sense we did a bit of improvising. Tyler found an extra life jacket somewhere, somehow and Mason donated his life jacket to the hitchhiker who I was beginning to think maybe wasn’t a hitchhiker after all. Finally, down the stairs and off to the river.

            I had set my boat up in the grass back at Windfall so I was able to sit in it with perfect comfort right from the get go. (This is where I’ll actually be reviewing the boat, so if you know nothing about kayaks then just be prepared to feel a little bit left out). Both of our boats were equipped with Happy Feet and Sweet Cheeks. I nestled my booties into the bottom of the boat and locked them into place, along with my knees and hips courtesy of Jackson’s perfect outfitting. Of every Jackson boat I’ve paddled, the comfort level has been leagues above the competition. I couldn’t move an inch within the boat, just the way I liked it… With outfitting this comfortable it was as if the boat were just an abnormally shaped and colored part of my own body. I slipped into the water for the first time.

            This new Rockstar, compared to previous models, felt perfect. It was as if everything I had wished for in a boat had come true. It boat felt a bit tippier than its predecessor, but not in the way you would imagine. After paddling a 2Fun that was too small for me I really got to feel what “too tippy” actually was. This Rockstar had just the right amount for someone in the middle to low end of its weight range. The tippyness gave me the ability to move more to the stern and bow of the boat. It was so easy to slice! I would have played around a bit more but the current was taking me after a few practice rolls and the river had grown dark with night. I wanted to get a move on. I paddled forward down the river, easily slipping to my stern and bow in my vain attempts to wave wheel. While the previous Rockstar remained a solid, stable boat it wasn’t the easiest to get to stall. This new Rockstar needed minimal paddle work to want to get on edge or on its nose. It felt like it wanted to have fun! So I let it.

            The first class III-IV section on the Kennebec is Rock Garden. Mason and I split the pour-overs in an attempt to really test out maneuverability. I watched as two perfect surf waves slid by, (next time for sure) and we continued to head down river. The boat was FAST. It seemed to feel very similar, in speed, to a Titan Genesis… (Although MUCH more comfortable). I bounced over waves, catching air and doing my best to stay upright through the munch of class IV rapids. The boat crossed eddy lines and boils with ease and I launched off Big Momma (15’-20’ crashing wave) into the hurl of water. With the Sweet Cheeks supporting me I felt like I had a better vantage point of the Kennebec in a kayak than I had before. The run continued and nothing went awry until Supernatural. The last big wave before Cathedral Eddy. It was here where I was amazed at the speed of the brain.

            The wave hit me, hard and knocked me over and onto Pocket Eddy’s boil line. As I began to situate myself to roll I felt something… strange. The right side of paddle, my rolling side, felt much lighter than it should of. I tried to roll and felt zero power. “Maybe I was slicing it?” I adjusted and tried again… nothing. Still underwater, and on a boil line, I felt the end of my paddle, sans blade. Nothing felt broken, there was nothing sharp, there was just… nothing! It was here where I had to make some of the quickest decision making of my life. I couldn’t pull, no way… not on my maiden voyage, so I scrambled. My off-side roll was only 50/50 in combat and I didn’t want to risk another failure, especially with my waning breath. I also didn’t want to hand roll because that was only 50/50 too and I would have had to ditch my black paddle into the black water at night where the chances of finding it again would be very slim. “Could I switch my paddle?” I thought it was worth the risk. With the boil line streaming around my upside-down body I very carefully turned the paddle around so that the left blade was now by my right hand. I rolled, success! All of that felt like it happened in slow motion, truthfully it must have been five seconds. Crazy.

            I held my broken paddle up in the air and looked back at Mason who was paddling furiously towards me. “Dude you were under for so long! I thought you were going to pull!” I showed him what happened and told him what I did. “That’s crazy, man!” He said.

            I was so scared. It was the most frightened I had ever been in a boat. Not of what had happened, I kind of felt like the man after that, but for what was to come. We still had half a river to run! Including a hit called Maytag which some people put in Class V territory. With my broken paddle I was forced to quit experimenting with my boat and start thinking about how the heck I was going to get down the rest of the river! I was so bummed! I had driven five hours to do this and now my Werner Player Carbon paddle had decided to take a vacation. If that blade had come off on something like Lachine, or the Penobscot, I could have lost my brand new boat. I was pissed. Luckily, this was the Kennebec and I knew the lines of the river perfectly. Still though, the broken paddle made me run the highway and miss Maytag, something I had been looking forward to running for weeks. Fortunately I was able to watch Mason surf it with the craziest two bounce surf I’ve ever seen. This wave is massive. For real. House-sized.

            So, review halted due to poor manufacturing of my paddle but soon, SOON! (like, this weekend if Werner gets their butt in gear and sends me a new paddle) I’ll be right back out there for another go. Now only if I could convince the sun to stay out later. 

...to jump into a sulfur hot tub with an old Hungarian guy

38degrees C isn't really that hot for a hot tub but I still felt slightly uncomfortable in the sulfur bath as the couple next to me participated in a much too vigorous PDA show. I mean, getting hot and bothered might happen more often in a steamy, yet therapeutic, bathhouse but the couple I was sharing my large tub with went at it without a care in the world! I could have jumped into different skin-cleansing bath but I was so enthralled I just had to watch, and no, I wasn't watching the couple... I was watching the old man across the tub who was eyeing the couple with this unexplainable expression plastered to his sweaty face. Half-disgust, half-lust but completely hilarious.

Budapest, Hungary was my home for the duration of the mid-semester break. It was in this city where my attempt to dive into the Hungarian culture lead me to Szechenyi Thermal Bath and subsequently the situation I wrote about above. I had been told about the "famous" bathing culture from someone at church so when I packed for my early Ryanair flight I made sure my bathing suit found its way into my backpack.

Hungarian Bath House Culture: 

(A synopsis) 

Big buildings, many rooms, many baths with numerous temperatures, several very hot saunas and MANY people of all ages/genders/classes converging to enjoy them. An experience indeed!

          Also, NOTHING is in English so be prepared to walk around aimlessly in search of the bath rooms. Too far to the right is the women's changing room (oops) and too far to the left is the super exquisite massage room, complete with fruit, twigs and berries... (oops)

The language barrier was minimal though, as most people will speak English to the best of their ability, but trying to pronounce even the most basic of words is a challenge

thank you : köszönöm
excuse me : elnézést
cat : macska
how many Hungarians can fit in this tub? : hány Magyar fér ebben kádban?

I basically spent the majority of the time pointing at things and hoping I would be understood. My best attempt at communicating with the indigenous happened at a bar one night...
         We sat down at table to enjoy some semi-local beers when all of a sudden this girl across the room decided to empty the contents of her stomach on a bench. Ok, bluntly, she puked everywhere and left. We were mortified, of course, but hey! We hadn't finished our drinks yet so we stayed and cheered on the bar tender as he mopped up the mess. Where was I going with this story? Ah, yes, so later on two girls sat down on the same bench that was previously occupied by throw-up so I went over to them and tried to explain to them why they should sit elsewhere. My first attempt resulted in an accidental awkward staring contest. My second, slower, attempt made them think that I had thrown up on the bench. My third attempt, complete with a mock demonstration of what throwing-up looks like, convinced them enough to change benches. In the end I should have just said... "Valaki hánytam a padon!"

Budapest is truly an incredible city. It felt like we had walked into a third-world country, to an extent. One of the best parts of the trip was a museum called The House of Terror which contained a history of Hungary from WWII to 1990, the first year Hungary wasn't considered communist. The building itself held a certain amount of "terror" as it used to be the headquarters of the Nazi regime in Hungary. Nate and I both thought how incredible it was that the city escaped communism only 2 years before we were born.

"Traveling is the only thing you can spend money on that makes you wealthier" was a quote I saw while in Budapest. Now, Mitt Romney will certainly disagree because technically investments have made him a millionaire but, Bain Capital aside, I really feel like traveling does in fact make you a better person. I'm not trying to equate wealth in the financial sense to making you a better person, but the real wealth found in travel is the new experiences and knowledge that you keep from a trip like this one to Budapest.
      If i'm not making sense, call me and we can talk about it

Alas, I have crossed the half-way mark in this EuroTrip. Alas, I miss everyone (even siblings). Alas, many more adventures to come I am sure!

...to go to Ireland, to call an ambulance at 4am

SHMLACK

The sound of a face smashing off a brick pavement is disgusting. It's not a hard sound, like the dropping a rock, it has more substance, more flesh. A unique sound indeed. It was this sound that made me turn around to see my new friend, Manny, face down on the Irish pavement at 3am, knocked out cold.

But that was 3am, let's start this Irish tale where it truly began, 11am at Isaacs Hostel, Dublin Ireland.

We pulled into the hostel after our early Ryanair flight and dropped our bags in the locker room. By "we" I mean Nate, Jenn, Cassie, Steph, Amanda and myself; 6 American's on their first Irish journey, 6 people who are completely clueless. We couldn't check in to our room until 1 so we began a very long journey around the city that included, but was not limited too, Temple Bar, Guinness Factory, a 200 year old prison and every other iconic Dublin tourist trap we could find. We walked, and we walked, and we walked walked walked all around the city and explored our home of 48 hours.

I experienced a city that was dirtier, more confusing, cheaper and in my opinion better than London. It just had the feeling that you didn't have to rock a collared shirt to take piss and the amount of Bentleys and Ferraris I saw was zero. This place was sweet, but the walk was only the beginning.

That night we joined a Hostel Pub Crawl which, for those who don't know what that is, is a guided journey around several pubs and restaurants where we would get free shots and discounted drinks. For 12 euros its a great deal! We started at 9pm at the Mercantile with a half-pint of Guinness and meandered our way around the city. I brought no money with me on the crawl so I wouldn't be tempted to buy any drinks so to keep my sober self busy I started meeting people. I jumped from table to table through the night looking for other college students with the tell-tale orange Pub Crawl wrist band and met people from all over the world. At midnight Nate and the girls were ready to head back to the hostel, but not I! They left and I remained with 4 guys who were staying at Isaacs Hostel too. Manny, Diy, Lile and Mason were my new companions as 12am rolled around.

After watching Manny throw down a pint in 3 seconds, and partaking in my first real Jeager Bomb, we left the bar with the few Pub Crawlers who remained and headed to Dandilion, Dublin's #1 club. It was sick. Three floors down opens into this massive club and bar where we would spend three hours dancing and drinking and having a merry Irish time.

In Europe, drinks are bought in rounds. For example, if there are five people in a group you buy five drinks, and then the next person buys five drinks, and so on and so forth. I was put in the round even though I explicitly said that I didn't have money for even one drink, much less a round, and all of a sudden I was 6 drinks deep and it was 2am. Awesome.

Also, in Europe, clubs have a much different atmosphere than in America. In America you go to a club, or a house, or a party and you look for someone to dance with; and by dance I mean grind. In Europe you go to a club, or whatever, and you actually dance! You jump around and dance with girls face to face and ahh its so much better! Needless to say I lit up the floor as usual, people love the worm in almost every setting!

At 3am the club music ended with Robbie Williams - Angels and everyone filed out to their next adventure. Being 3am I was dreading by 6am wake up and couldn't wait to get to bed, but alcohol had other ideas. That was when I heard it...

SHMLACK

...and I started running toward Manny who was face down in the street with blood dripping out of his mouth. We got him onto his back and Diy called 999 (911 in the US) to get an ambulance. By the time Diy got through to the operator Manny was able to sit up so he nixed the call and helped him lean up against a building to check him out. Then, this man came up to us and thought we were mugging him! For real! Once we reassured him that we were not in fact stealing Manny's money, but were trying to help him out, the guy left only to be replaced by two other blokes who thought the same thing! GEEZE! This time, the two guys decided to call 999 instead and an ambulance showed up with a paramedic who gave Manny a look-see and deemed him 'ok'. Manny went with Diy in a taxi back to the hostel while Mason, Lile and I walked.

4:30am and I crawled into bed with my head abuzz from the nights adventure, and drinks. I fell asleep for what felt like 10 seconds and was awoken by Nate's 5:50 alarm signaling the start of our next day. Tour day. We hopped on a bus and went all the way over to the other side of Ireland, specifically the Cliffs of Moher and the surrounding countryside. It was incredible! The bus navigated the coastline on the tiniest roads I've ever seen! Nate and I felt the Atlantic ocean and we all considered the journey one of the best parts of the trip. Ireland is gorgeous!

All good things to come to an end though and we hopped back on a plane the next morning and made it back to London in one piece. A whirlwind adventure for sure, and one not to be forgotten any time soon!

...to get mugged (not really)

Turning off of the path trodden upon by millions of tourist's feet can be an exciting experience, and Gumtree is leading the way.

   We needed a fridge, plain and simple. You can't drink cold beer, you just can't, and bars are way to expensive for anyone on a budget. SO! What do you do? Go to Gumtree, the pseudo Craigslist, and start hunting for a cheap fridge relatively close to you, and that was exactly what I did. Finally, a deal popped up, a real banger, 35pounds for what looked like a small mini-fridge, a mini-fridge perfect for our dorm! As I emailed the seller and made arrangements for the pickup, students paraded around the halls and through our room on their way to a night of pub crawling and club nuke-ing. Not I, not Nate, we were on a mission. 9pm rolled around and we finally had a destination, stop T on bus 18, 30min away. We walked out through the main doors like the other students but instead of dressing like classy Londoners we threw up our hoods and skulked below the cameras looking ghetto as possible, we were going fridge hunting.

   We crammed on bus 18 which was packed with people leaving the main part of the city, presumably toward their respective homes, or to jail. As we shuttered along we noticed the buildings growing smaller, the lights becoming dimmer, and the stops becoming fewer. Finally, stop T showed up and we hopped off the bus into the litter filled street in a part of London that no sane tour company would ever bring customers too. We were in the middle-east. No, not literally, but even though I can't read Arabic I know what it looks like and the majority of shops were covered in either Arabic names, or Arabic graffiti. The diesel bus leaves the stop as an army of police officers fly by at 60mph, sirens blaring; it was too late to turn around now.

   I pulled out my iPhone to look at the map, instantly assuming I would be jumped, and tried to find the correct road to take off the main drag. Upon finding it we ventured forth through the darkness towards something called Jubilee Centre, our meeting point. Apparently the Mayor of London spent very little money on this part of town, with its minimal lighting and trashed streets; can't say I blame him. We passed fully covered women sitting on their stoops, staring at us through the slits in their clothing, expressionless. Tv's blared from flat's windows in foreign languages and uncut lawns sprawled across the sidewalk we were walking on; this fridge better be worth it.

   Finally, we find our man. Neil, I think his name was, stands on the curb wearing a sleeveless collared shirt and a wicker bucket hat. I was amazed he was English, having not seen anyone white in 20 minutes, but I was no less worried about being mugged and beaten, especially being an American. Neil made a joke about Crystal Meth dealers, something about how he thought we would be one of those, and he unlocked his gate to his flat. After unlocking his gate he unlocked his door, and then unlocked his house, and then we saw it... the fridge. It was working, nice and cold as Neil promised. It was Bosch and "...Bosch appliances run forever!" Neil reassured. It must have been a 20 year old fridge, but as Neil counted the 35pounds under the yellow light of his porch our journey with the fridge was going to begin whether we wanted it to or not.

   Nate and I hefted the MUCH larger than expected fridge out of the gate and started making our way back towards the bus station. This time, instead of being sketched out, we were the ones who looked sketchy. Just two Americans, walking though Pakistan with a fridge at 10pm, no big deal. We found a street with more lights this time and set down at the bus station. As the bus pulled up to pick us up he opened the doors only to wave at us frantically and shout NO! He drove off. Crap. Well, we thought about trying the next bus, crossing our fingers for a more lenient bus driver, but when we read the digital sign that told people the estimated time for the next bus it said "NO BUSES EXPECTED FOR 30 MINUTES" double crap.

   So we hailed a taxi, loaded the fridge in the seats, and made our 10pound journey back to Regent Park. The taxi driver even gave us 2pounds off because, as he said it, "I feel bad for you guys." Well geeze, if people gave me money every time they felt bad for me I'd be in good shape! But, we thanked the driver and made our way into our dorm and started cleaning the filthy fridge with hand-soap and water, mixed up in an old Coke bottle.

Clean that fridge!!

   And that was it. We woke up the next morning, turned on the fridge, and to our delight it fired up and cooled down, it even has a freezer! Our goal is to charge people for keeping their drinks cold, hopefully we'll have the fridge paid off by the time we leave. Until then, we have the coolest dorm room in Reid hall, we have a fridge.

...to go to London!

London 2012

It appears I have changed locations, dramatically. This blog will now be giving updates of my adventures (with Nate) of London and oh boy, it’s been ridiculous already.

Plane: Freaking smallest plane ever. I’ve been on a bigger plane to Wisconsin!

Orientation: Slept through the whole thing so you’ll have to ask Nate (who was probably taking notes) what it was all about.

Public Transportation: Easiest thing ever. Cleanest thing ever.

People: Nice. Kind. They say “Cheers!” as “Thank you” and I’ve already decided to adopt it.

Ok, so what have we been doing? Exploring. This city is immense and overwhelmingly exciting. We have been out almost every night to a different location pretending to not look like tourists. Big Ben, Piccadilly Circus, Buckingham Palace and so on and so forth. Once we learned that you stood on the right side of escalators, and walked on the left, traveling around the city became much less embarrassing and much easier. We’re Oyster Card pro’s, swiping that thing erryday, on the busses as well as the trains. We’ve tried to find pubs and bars (harder than you might think) to buy some rounds at and generally messed around the city as best as possible.

Our pre-term-get-together happened on the Thames River on a pretty good sized party boat. The boat gave us some amazing views of London’s coolest attractions, all at night. We popped a champagne bottle (courtesy of Tayeb) and hung out on the boat’s deck just in awe of life. It was an incredible night, a night that will probably never happen again in my life. It was as if I was suddenly transported into luxury for 4 hours, an amazing 4 hours.

Tonight was much different, but no less exciting. After explaining to people that I was going to church to worship God, and not going to Club Church to rage on ecstasy, I set off with a map in hand to find Victor who would be showing me the venue. I knew Victor, through Roo, through Ashely, through Windfall and we met a tube station in Euston. Along with a fantastic message the church held a great deal of wonderful people, and a lot of them students. Looks like God put me in contact with the right people this summer!

Alright, I know this was a quick update so hopefully I’ll have more time to write in the future. Cheers!

...to have the summer of my life

                Even though this summer has been different in every way imaginable from my ‘typical’ summer, it ends just the same; cold nights, colder mornings and trees hinting of fall with their premature color changes. Of course, ‘busy’ is used again to describe the last few weeks I’ve spent up here but this time it’s been a different type of busy. Guiding has finally become a more relaxing activity and I’ve been able to focus more on kayaking and spending time with the people I’ve met up here in Maine. As the summer progressed I was able to see my skill at navigating the Kennebec get sharper day by day and it makes me realize how outright awful I was at this guiding thing at the beginning of the year. Like, first year guides suck, I was no exception. But now I have a handle on it, (I think) and I can worry more about making a funny face for the camera, than trying to avoid Good-Bye hole with a boat full of camp kids.

                Two big things happened this past week. One being “Guide Olympics” and the second being a trip to Montreal that was utterly amazing.

                Guide Olympics? Yep, Olympics for guides, not even kidding. We had thought about making a team and entering but sadly finding six team-mates was easier said than done for Windfall so we watched the games instead and made mental plans for next year. Basically, it’s an evening of fun for guides of all companies (except Northern Outdoors(because they suck)) to get together and compete in various events such as… The boat stack, the trailer stack, the guide flip and of course… the beer chug. It was an eventful night for sure, I haven’t been around so many drunk people since UNH, but Windfall’s sober presence was felt in the community. I guess Windfall had never been to Guide Olympics before, ever, so this year Mason and I made sure we got our team there and we had an excellent night. Next year though, we’re competing!

                The other big event was Mason, Mitch and I’s trip to Montreal to surf the Lachine rapids. Basically, we drove 9 hours round trip to surf one wave, and it was so worth it. We left Jackman at 11pm and made it to Magog QB at 2am, found a campsite and slept under the stars with our boats close at hand. The next morning we drove to Montreal and started kayaking around 9am on this one wave called Big Joe. It was the perfect surf wave. A behemoth wall of smooth water that kayakers dream of surfing. It was such a sick wave that there was actually a stand up surfer surfing it. Like, on a surfboard. It’s hard to describe how cool this place was and we spent almost 9 hours lapping the wave and hitting it as many times as possible. Hopefully I’ll be able to make a quick edit from the GoPro shots we got during the day. Oh, and a sidenote, this section of rapids opened up into a bay so if you had to pull your skirt, you would have to swim for three miles... Kind of scary? Yes!

This was our campsite, no tent required

                I know that the amount of detail in this post is lacking but its hard to describe everything on paper, or, computer. If you really want to experience what you're reading you need to come to Maine! Yes, the summer is over, but if its God’s will I’ll be here next summer and those who didn’t make it up will have a second chance :)

                So that is it for the summer portion of the blog. I want to thank everyone who made this dream summer a reality. Thank you Michelle for Facebooking me and putting the idea of this summer on the table, it was the best summer of my life on so many levels. I know that I will be leaving Jackman Maine a stronger person physically (Have you seen the pictures of me on the river? I’m ripped! Jk) but more importantly I’ll be leaving a stronger person spiritually. I’ve been able to make so many new friends and acquaintances and work for an incredible organization. Thank you parents, grandparents, friends, bosses, coworkers and everyone else who encouraged me, this summer rocked.

                The next portion of this blog will be London. Nate and I will be stepping on a plane this Wednesday and heading to Europe for an entire semester. I’ll be leaving Jackman Maine (population 900) and entering London (population 8,174,100), but I can’t wait.

                So long for now!