4 AM, Paris

We just stood in front of a big apartment window smoking cloves and talking to our new friend, and fellow couch surfer, Philip. We're all staying with a kind man named Julien. For now, what I know of Paris is the distant Eifel tower, great company, and smoke drifting with the breeze.

I don't know that it could get better.

Found Couch!

Will be staying with a guy named Julien in Paris. Cheers to that!

Paris

We're packing up this morning at the Five Elements hostel after a night of drinking and football (Man United vs. Barcelona) with our hostel-mates. Yesterday we went to the train station and reserved 3 seats on the Frankfurt - Paris train, so we are headed that way today. The train leaves at 7 PM and arrives at 11PM. We still don't have any place to stay, so hopefully that will work itself out!

Salut!

Here

Sitting at the Five Elements Hostel in Frankfurt. The flight was long, but not too bad. I think Brian was the only one to actually get some sleep. I'm a bit more picky! But regardless, we flew through the night and found ourselves facing a brand new day here. It's about 3AM in Oklahoma, but 9 AM here. Cheers to that!

When we got off of the train the weather was just incredible. The city is great! Tons of bikes. Lots of tall buildings straddling the little streets. We're about to go explore!

I'll update as much as I can. The language barrier gets pretty interesting sometimes =)

What to Take

It's amazing how rich and rewarding something as simple as packing a bag can be. Here I am in Stillwater, OK., staring at a floor scattered with clothes, maps, books, toothpaste, and an assortment of other things. These things will define me over the next month. Language is perhaps the most defining means we have to express ourselves. I can explain how I am feeling, justify my actions, describe emotional states, and so on. I can tell you WHY I did this or WHY I am feeling this, and in this way you gain a better grasp of "who" I am. This is why I so desire meaningful conversation - it is a sharing of oneself with another.

And it is this desire of mine which will be stripped from me. This beautiful means by which one person may connect with another will be gone. I have a feeling that I will be talking to myself often, if only for a taste of language - one of many necessary steps toward insanity before I can truly call myself a philosopher.

So here on this brown tile floor sits the means by which I will connect with the world. I pick up various pairs of jeans, investigate them, and inquire into the kinds of impressions that they might make upon others. I look at each shirt carefully - should I wear anything with English text on it? Should I stick to dark colors? Should I choose comfort or conformity? Each bit of cotton passes through my hands and back into the closet, completely unaware of the power that I have now ascribed to it. For the first time in my life, I truly understand those that seek to define themselves with their wardrobe. I might wear the scrappy undershirt here in the states, but now I'm holding myself to a higher standard. After all, I want people to like me.

I am packing as light as possible, and it is looking as though I can get everything I need within a pack conforming to "carry-on" size. This would be ideal, and it looks promising.

There are two books which crown the pile of necessities, books which I have carefully chosen for this kind of trip. The first is "The Dharma Bums" by Jack Kerouac. I've heard incredible things, and I know that I will be able to relate and gain inspiration from Kerouac's travels. The second is "My Ishmael," a sequel to Daniel Quinn's life-changing "Ishmael." I can't think of another book that shook me so violently to my core. I hope to receive a second shaking. I need one.

I'm taking a journal which I will use when I do not have access to a computer, or when the details are too grotesque and explicit to relay here (joking). I also have the Let's Go guidebook which I have ripped apart, keeping only the relevant information attached to the spine.

In 48 hours I will be flying over Europe, with these things on my floor quickly turning into my livelihood. I'll sure miss the intimate conversations...

Beginnings...

It's Saturday night and I'm beginning to feel excited - 3:20 AM - I can't quite get to sleep. I decided to create this blog in order to make use of my restlessness. Much is running through my head, and the journey to Europe is surprisingly not on the top of that list.

Hopefully I'll get up at a decent hour and get to OKC to visit Nathan. If there's one guy who knows Western Europe, it's Nathan. I should be able to learn much from his travels, though something tells me that the extent of his advice involves beer and stumbling. Surely such wisdom must be placed on the shelf next to the Bible and Chuang-Tzu. Each claim to bring a change of perception and true bliss - and so far one has been more consistent than the others, even if its effects are only temporary...

I'm ready to get away for a while. I'm not unhappy - just scattered. Very scattered. I know it has been a long school year, but most of the time I feel as if it passed as quickly as it began. Sometimes I wish it would never have ended. Regardless, it is time to leave these things where they sit, and to turn my focus to the hostel sheets which gently cradle a new perspective.