 There was more trepidation than I would care to admit getting back on an airplane, let alone flying to a country I never visited. I thought with it being basically three months since my arrival in Poland any hesitation would be out the window. My previous excuses for not traveling the last two plus years have been due to Covid. Wouldn’t you know it but the end of September took care of that with a healthy dose of bed rest and extra portions of Magnum ice cream bars. Going to Latvia and Estonia were bucket list countries, ones that I had intended to visit for over six years (Latvia) and twenty-eight for Estonia. I wish I could report back and tell you both countries were exactly how I imagined with planned return trips on the horizon, but the universe has a funny way of shifting focus. To begin, I had the highest of hopes for both spots. I even looked at potential airfares to return during my Christmas vacation. There were different activities from an old Soviet Union plane museum, to an Orthodox church on the water, to the Riga Zoo, that I knew I could fit in on a future trip. This trip would be one for getting acclimated and learning how to get around without stressing myself out. Now I’ll be the first to say I’m not some city slicker. If I have a choice, it’s more rural or a smaller city at best. If you look at any of my travels the last six weeks, aside from a trip to Warsaw to visit a park that is long past its prime, I have traveled mainly to cities with less than fifty thousand people, save the day trip to Katowice to chase a spaceship. The point being, I underestimated how congested Riga would feel as the largest city in the Baltic states. I should have known immediately upon getting on the bus from the airport to the city center, that for a more introverted personality who did his best to keep his distance during the majority of the pandemic, that this was not going to work out well. Let’s be clear, I could have been ripped off and taken a taxi for twenty-five dollars as opposed to the two dollars it cost to do my best sardine imitation with a hundred strangers who had the same idea to save a buck. Wanting to get a real local experience, I paid for this awful Disney wannabee trip where at best I stood against a pole with six inches between me and the exit door. Several yahoos, who would be my traveling companions, enjoyed the thrill of adjusting ourselves at every stop as more idiots tried to see how many people could be crammed into our little section. At one point we just laughed at the onlookers who tried to join us, with one guy actually telling him, “Yeah right.” There was no space, save the schmuck and his two traveling companions glued to their phones that elected to throw their bags on top of the lone free seat in the entire bus. I might have made a break for the area, simply to see if it was possible to call this fellow traveler out for his callousness, but I had other problems. Between the exit door doing its best guillotine impression of my hands and feet at every stop, I had a little girl who insisted on pushing me closer to my doom. Even when she wasn’t pushing me, the little girl who was coughing up a lung didn’t help matters much. Her mother had no concept of germs and deemed her hand the appropriate barrier to protect the rest of us from whatever infection or ailment her daughter carried. After twenty-five minutes of this road show, I saw that we had managed to get to the Latvian National Library. A beautiful structure with over four million books, I would have jumped to walk through their halls, but had to settle for getting off the bus once we crossed the bridge. I knew there were still several more stops until the expected departure, but short of screaming, I had to get off when I did. True to every other place, the college population paid closer attention to their screens than walking through the underpasses and the sidewalks. I felt like I was in a 3d version of Frogger which entailed me almost getting run over by a 1950s style tram whose track conveniently came out from a blind spot on the corner of a derelict building. In my infinite wisdom to get a real Latvian experience I didn’t book a hotel room in the old town. That was for Instagram tourists, love birds, or British stag parties who needed better proximity to the many bars and establishments that enjoyed taking easy money. Maybe the extra fifteen minutes of walking was worth the added price. I wouldn’t know the difference because instead I sought out the most direct route to my living quarters, a route that opened my eyes yet again to city living and the contrasts of those residing within the limits. Not since Warsaw in 2017 have I seen any homeless people camped out in underpasses or at bus stops. Granted currently living in Krakow, I’ve seen my share of public intoxication (by college students in the early morning hours), but nothing during the afternoon in the middle of the week. Within a few minutes in this section of Riga, I saw both. I managed to figure out where the central market was, the largest in the Baltics with oversized German Zeppelin hangars as the covered portion of this shopping bazaar. I might have taken longer to admire the flower district with numerous booths and stands of varied colors and designs, but I was still reeling. The blasted underpass I was forced to walk through, a tunnel of shady proportions, was unsettling at best. This sorry bastard pissed himself after a duo of college aged girls passed his woefully obvious bathroom spot. Granted, they weren’t lucky from their vantage point either. Who thinks someone is going to drop their drawers next to a busy road at the entrance of a heavily frequented sidewalk? I sure didn’t. To see this inebriated man chase after the girls after he soiled himself didn’t help matters. Even with them yelling at him to let them be, he followed them all the way to the market, probably asking for some change or a date to make up for them ruining his precious relief moment. I couldn’t believe this was my introduction to the city. Lines of people waited for buses not even fifty feet from this exchange, and there I was wondering what I had gotten myself into. I wish I could say the rest of the trip was easy after those initial awkward moments, but I think it was the beginning of the end for me. Even before the pandemic I was always careful about my traveling. I wanted to make sure it was as flexible as possible and that I wasn’t adding anything to cause unnecessary stress. Being around people, let alone crazy drunk people wasn’t on my to do list for vacation. I would love to have a conversation about how Riga was a city of contrasts from newer buildings, remodeled ones, and completely derelict ones all on the same street. The same was true of the sidewalks, the shops, and from what I could gather the people as well. As a lover of Art Nouveau, aside from an early morning run, I didn’t get a chance to compare Riga to Prague or other hot spots of this style. This city famed for this architectural style wisely hid these beautiful structures far enough away from the real city and close enough to the tourists, or those more financially endowed to paint a completely different picture. Of course there is always more to the story, but the short version is I wasn’t ready for Riga. She might have been ready for me, but it was too much stimulation, too much varied energy, and as a lone traveler I needed to be somewhere more low key where I could feel grounded and renewed. I did find some moments of brevity and release, from my walk to the opera house, seeing what remained of the largest synagogue, and finding a half decent restaurant in the old town. Still, I had planned to be in Riga for two nights. I was already on a bus to Estonia after one.
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 Katowice, a city of 250,000 souls, is an hour train ride from Krakow. I passed near the city on my first trip to Lubliniec and heard whispers of its coal mine past and present. While I should have planned for more than a four hour trip, I secretly wanted an excuse to test out my new video camera and walk around. With a Monday journey to Latvia on deck, I didn’t want to overdo it, but I also wanted to be out and about. The ongoing goal is to visit somewhere new in Poland every two weeks, although due to a busy travel season ahead, once a month is more realistic. Katowice did not disappoint. I found it super easy to navigate and in my case get to Spodek, the famous sports and entertainment venue where Metallica, Genesis, and The Cure played their first Polish concerts. I wasn’t there for a show though, but to catch a glimpse of the saucer-like structure. Any chance to see a potential UFO or a fake one was in order for this Star Trek fan. I loved the fact that Spodek was the largest indoor use facility in Poland for over forty years. Even now, it’s still number two. After enough time to get in some shots, I meandered through the city and looked at the varied architecture. This one building in their center square caught my eye simply because it was blue. I found myself next in a beautiful church and eventually at a large park where a parachute jumping tower stood like a lone soldier. I’m still processing a day later how that tower was used prior to the German invasion in World War 2 and I’m confident again after the Red Army made their arrival to the city. Seeing a bit of history is always rewarding. With the sun out and the temperature just right, I finished off my trip roaming the park and watching the various dogs at play. It was a great trip, although I could have done without the temperamental self register at the grocery store in the mall. For over five minutes that sorry bastard would not let me put my backpack in the bag area. Despite pressing the help button, no one was eager to give a hand to this American as the line grew. I confused a well dressed man as a store employee and gave him a wave only to retreat just as quickly as he brushed past me into the mall. I gave up, threw the bag on the floor, and the register finally let me scan my items; including a double scan of a loaf of garlic bread I thought needed to be ingested. Note to self, don’t buy that item again. From there I thought it would be a quiet ride home. If someone told me I would be on a train returning to Krakow in a compartment full of rabid Backstreet Boy fans, I might have just laughed at the absurdity of it all. Truth be told, when I stepped on the train and slid past a corridor full of eager people ready to disembark at a future stop, I saw the pulled curtains and wondered what I was getting myself into. With my camera in hand, a more confident me might have filmed as I pulled open the door, but I didn’t have a chance as one of the five women in the compartment let me in. There were a few giggles and immediately I was asked what my level of fandom was for the Backstreet Boys. Music boomed in the background. These five moms were at the end of a nine hour train ride from Szczecin. The almost empty bottles of water, Coke, and a fifth of vodka made that clear. I smirked at the empty plastic cups spread across the table and wondered if the right Kuiper son was traveling this day. For the next hour, I had more fun on a train than on any other journey thus far in Poland. How is it not easy to join in with a choir of women singing BSB songs from the late 90s and early 00s? I can only imagine after selfie time and some impromptu dancing what would have ensued had I accepted a shot or two of vodka. I guess we’ll never know. Traveling in Poland continues to be more exciting and rewarding with each trip I take. Here’s to keeping the momentum going and for more adventures to share along the way.  Planes, Trains & Automobiles was a popular 1980s movie that I was too young to appreciate, let alone allowed to see by my parents. Yet my life from May to the present has consisted of all three modes of transportation. You can throw in a boat for good measure, if you would like. For those Stateside, many are only familiar with their personal SUVs, trucks, and muscle cars with the occasional plane ride mixed in for the winter getaway to the Sun Belt or a Mexico holiday. Unless you are Amtrak Joe, you likely have had more time playing with a train set at Christmas time, than actually riding one with any consistency. Before I ventured across the pond, (yes I will overuse that phrase in the years ahead), I took a twelve hour jaunt from Boston to the Washington DC area. In a previous post I might have said eight, but what’s a few hours among friends with a three hour bus ride thrown in for good measure? The point being that if you were around me after my train ride and the thousand stop journey, including a point where I thought I would have to get out and push (somewhere across Long Island Sound), you would know I flew back to Maine not wanting to see what punishment the train could cause to the other side of my neck for a return trip. I also was quick to point out to anyone that would listen that Poland trains were far superior to anything the USA had to offer and I would be content riding them whenever that might be. Fast forward to the present and three separate round trip journeys. I went three hours north to Warsaw to spend time in my favorite park. That was a disappointment between the unkempt trees, the added graffiti, and a restaurant that was long shuttered and left for squatters. My trip was saved though with an early morning run through Lazienki Park and glimpses of royalty and a palace that I had overlooked on previous trips. I loved the entire scene, even with the light chilly rain that fell throughout my jaunt. The only part missing was a partner in crime to stroll with in some Victorian recreation. There was a point here somewhere, aside from the fact that also on that run I smiled at the anti war messages painted roadside in front of the Russian embassy, and that point was that riding the train was not how I remembered. The wagon or carriage, whatever we want to call it, was clean and that was a given. First class where one paid a few extra Euros for the right to share a cabin with five strangers as opposed to an open seating area with others was underwhelming. I think I was hoping for either a cabin straight out of Harry Potter or one that’s so common in the former Soviet Union and Eastern Bloc with the four sleeper racks. It might also prove my age that the last time I was on a real train that didn’t serve only as a city’s metro system was from Yaroslavl to Saint Petersburg for an overnight journey. This was during my undergrad years. As for the train from Krakow to Warsaw and back, the seats were comfortable enough. I had a corner seat, thankfully so I didn’t have to be wedged in between anyone. Granted it’s not like I’m dealing with Americans on these trains. Obesity is nowhere the same in this country so the uncomfortableness some people feel say on planes Stateside has not been my reality here thus far. The only issue in the shared quarters is people having to negotiate where they put their legs and their bags. Certain individuals who I can’t name because well I simply glared at them in disgust have no issue lugging their oversized wheeled bags into the cabin and leaving it in the middle as a stage prop. There is no qualms about throwing multiple bags on the rack above our heads even if it looks like there is only space for one bag per person. Once people get settled there is a wide cross section on the proper dos and don’ts that depending on one’s age dictates certain protocols. I believe that people expect it to be quiet in the carriage but then again that doesn’t stop some from taking phone calls, watching movies without earphones, and playing music. Granted this is usually done when people don’t expect their cabin buddies to return. I had that blessing when I went for a bathroom trip on my return ride from Jaroslaw. I was gone a few minutes and this older woman was blasting her phone to Tik Tok videos. After a death stare, and the fact I mouthed some choice words whether she understood them or not, she put the phone away and went on to read her Vogue magazine. While it’s slightly off topic at this junction another older woman was looking for her seat. I don’t know if she was blind or just confused but the seat numbers are to the left of each door. After the conductor checked our tickets and identification, a minute or two passed and the conductor returned with this same woman. She pointed to the far window seat where my Tik Tok wanna be had transplanted herself. There was a weird exchange, because clearly my buddy had taken the wrong seat on purpose. She planted her three bags above her head and her coat as well. Begrudgingly she slid over, directly across from me. She wouldn’t even move her bags without some prompting. I watched the entire exchange and wondered why she thought she was better than the others in this compartment. Come on now why can’t she have the window seat? The blind bitty, left and then returned two times with a multitude of bags. My favorite part was when she unceremoniously extended the table and plopped her reading material down. I swear she gave a cross eye to the Tik Tok lady. I might have wanted to see a cat fight but aside from a snarky “Dzien Dobry,” it was rather mellow. Things went quiet after that with eventually naptime ensuing for the elderly in my area. Look at the ingenious way to keep out the light in the photo below. I wouldn’t trade this train ride with Warsaw or my trip to Lubliniec because for once I didn’t have to hear the banter of couples who decided the hallway was the best place for a two hour long conversation. Or did I have to watch those same passengers linger in front of our window to stretch their legs. But best of all, or should I write “the most classic moment” is that I didn’t have to sit across from two guys who decided that finishing the bottle of vodka before 11am on our way to a pilgrimage site was a good idea. Those old timers started with soda and then changed over using two small plastic cups for cover. The best exchange was watching one of them debate on where to throw out the 1 liter bottle. Riding the train is eventful that’s for certain. There are informal rules but already I have seen them broken by many. Nevertheless, I prefer this method of travel. Where else can I enjoy the views of the countryside and see a country I never truly explored from the vantage point of a leather seat? I imagine there is more to discuss on this topic but like my train rides time goes quickly. I promise a part two to trains, but we’ll get off at this station and plan for another ride together in the near future. Till next time. JFK  If there is one major regret from my time living in Italy it would be that I deleted my journal and blog entries from that time period. How many times have I done the same with this very website? With the exception of the memories I have, I no longer have a record of my feelings on certain days or observations, and what I found revealing. Fast forward five years later, now in Poland, I’m going about this a different way. Too many family members and friends have asked for some sort of ongoing vlog. To remedy this situation and to share more of my overseas journey, I have set up a YouTube page and Instagram account. I’ll share the links below. I’m not sure how committed I’ll be to these new ventures. Still, I’m starting with some shorts and we’ll go from there. Concerning the blog, I have pictures to share from over the weekend. My latest adventure, three weeks post Covid, took me to the Ukrainian border. I don’t know if it was twenty miles or thirty, but the point being I was fairly close. My family was concerned simply due to what the media has shared back in the States. I can assure you the only thing I saw was an amazing sunrise over Poland’s “corn basket.” Is that even a term I can use? I find it funny how I found my room for the night at an old manor wedged between Jarosław and Przemyśl. There was no available place to stay in P town so by default I looked around for any hotel, motel, room; whatever that would suffice. I know next time I’ll do more planning in this area. These are both what I would consider provincial towns, one around 40,000 people and the other 60,000. While not small, they are far from the big cities of Poland. Taking the train for three hours was one thing but the fact I couldn’t get an Uber (there are no drivers in that area) made my traveling costs increase. Talking about prices, my roundtrip train ticket was around $31. My taxi fare to and from the manor ran about $28. That’s crazy to think 12 miles of driving was almost the same as trekking across the lower part of Poland. As for the manor itself, I loved the decor as it was a hodgepodge of styles from suits of armor, classic cars, old radios, and Victorian style parlors. I can’t leave out the main seating area for the restaurant that is a hunter’s dream. The food worked for the evening and the grounds were serene. Best of all, a mile up the road were unparalleled views of the vast countryside. I’ve seen corn before but never so much in one place. Even this morning when I went running, I continued to explore by foot the agricultural vistas which included a run in with a deer bounding across an open field for the tree line. An introvert by nature, just putting myself in a new situation was deemed a success. I was patting myself on the back after I managed enough Polish to get the hotel attendant (who spoke no English and worse Italian) to call me a taxi so I wouldn’t miss my train. Back in the States I don’t think I would celebrate over such a trivial thing, but in this case I either had to walk back 5.5 miles to catch the train back to Krakow or figure out a way to communicate to get there faster. Being in Poland for me is about self discovery, pushing my limits, but also celebrating little moments. This overnight trip was one to celebrate and I’m sure the first of many. Who knows I might head back out towards the manor. It’s the only place I have seen so far where the taxi drivers go about 75 on a narrow country road.  I intended to update this over a month ago, but time has gotten away. Now as I stay a prisoner to my couch, half listening to the clanging noise of whatever the tenants are doing above me with a few choice words for added flavor - I thought it would be no better time than now to write. "Words don't come easy," plays in the background and I struggle to breathe from my introduction to our dear COVID fairy. Yet, I can attest that up until the last few days of bed rest, my time in Poland has been a fairly smooth transition. To say the country has changed in the five plus years since my last visit would be an untrue statement simply because I hadn't seen enough on my initial trips to make a real judgement. I think having only spent time in Warsaw and Gdansk for a few days at a time didn't give me a proper sense of what this country had to offer. What I can share that's changed from my last stint in Europe is the prevalence of scooters. Whoever had the wherewithal to put money into that investment, is making a killing throughout Poland. Personally, I could do without the drunk tourists racing in the wee hours of the morning or the families out for their tours using sidewalks as some deemed right of way. Had I any sense of coordination, I would likely partake in these time saving devices to get around town, but for the time being I'll remain content navigating the cobblestones on my two feet. Then again I wouldn't have to navigate around every dog walker, baby carriage, and cyclist either, but I know winter is coming . . . Having never been to Krakow until my move, I will share it's a great city, one with a solid reputation. Compared to Warsaw, Krakow has a welcoming spirit, with lots of history, buildings of character, and green spaces to enjoy. There is even a dragon guarding the castle walls that breathes fire throughout the night. For the DC comic fans, there are enough bats to get the Caped Crusader excited and this runner a bit nervous for his early morning runs along the river. I have yet to find a good slice of pizza in this part of the world, but then again maybe I should be looking for potato and meat dishes. Like any true American, McDonald's Golden Arches called me in for a consultation and I'm proud to report that the McChicken is better here than at home. I imagine there will be more to report in the weeks and months ahead. Stay tuned and let's enjoy what fall has to offer.
  Two weeks exactly and I'll be on a plane to Europe for a new teaching assignment. My lofty goals of going to Canada have been replaced with added time in Maryland, Washington DC, and Virginia. It's always interesting to me how fluid my travels are, but truly I like having the ability to shift gears, especially when I know my time stateside is coming to an end. Some coworkers and family continue to ask when will I return to New Hampshire for the long term. I don't have a firm answer simply that life brings change. I believe if one is already looking several years ahead at different potentials, then the present is overlooked. Living in the moment is key, especially in the crazy times we all live in. Not to mention, I haven't even gotten on the plane yet. To that end, the summer break continues to be a holding pattern. I filled much of my time consolidating my belongings and whittling them down to two bags. It's been a bit crazy because at the beginning of the year I had a two bedroom house with a writing loft. Now, my writing haven is gone. Even Microsoft Word isn't working properly on my new computer, which hopefully isn't a sign that no new books are on the horizon. I have saved one book for my trip. Surprisingly, I didn't take Rusty Star (no room), the Marcus Files, or any of my Luza books. The only book I will take is From West Virginia with Love. Whether it's for nostalgia reasons, I'm not sure. I wrote the book when I lived outside Tampa, The story takes place in the Washington DC area and in Crimea. In my adult years I have spent more time in greater DC, so I wanted to create a story in a region I know well. (On a side note Luza takes place in Lakes Region, New Hampshire) As for Crimea, I often look back on my student exchange time on the Black Sea. In Yalta, my eyes were first opened to life outside the USA and how even with cultural differences, we are all connected. I know that my month living in the old wine vineyard, stirred my soul and created this desire to travel and live in different areas. In regard to the novel, creating Chase and his search for love was a fun ride. Having a paperback copy with me will remind me of the journey I continue to take and the many twists and turns to follow. I'm curious if you had one fiction book to choose for your travels, what would you take?   My journey on the train has come to pass. I only took the train to Washington DC but elected to fly back for the return trip. I wish I could say I was eager to ride another eight plus hours, but I made a novice error on the way down that I paid for the remainder of my trip. Note to self, don't turn only your neck and look out the window the entire journey. Let's just say the stiffness in my neck, back, and shoulder have only now begun to recede. I wish I could say this is simply about getting older, but truly I was like a little kid focused on every tree, building, body of water, and scenic vista that crossed our path. My neck did not share the same level of interest, clearly. On the return trip to Maine I found myself on a prop plane, a Cessna that sat seven passengers in total. I was the lucky one to ride directly behind the pilot. I made sure to not make any drastic movements, like kick the seat or lunge forward during our flight. Only 1500 feet high, I didn't want to tempt fate. Having never flown on a Cessna before, this was a real treat. We flew along the Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine coastlines. For the first time I was able to get a different vantage point of home and while the engine/turbines/propellers were quite loud, this was a beautiful journey. I can see why people shell out the bucks to take fall foliage flights. Now in Vacationland for the next three or so weeks, I'm thinking about a return trip to Lubec or Eastport. With tourist season underway, the easternmost points in the state are less populated by the throngs of New Yorkers, Jerseyites, and Connecticut types that have taken over the roads these past three years. I'll be sure to share some photos when I get a chance and update when I can. In the meantime here are some recent snapshots from my latest lakeside retreat. There is something special about summertime in northern New England. Summer is fast approaching, thankfully. Here in New Hampshire, Memorial Day weekend is the beginning of the season, but truly things don't get rolling until mid June. Once schools get out, then it's time for summer camps, lake side fun, and more relaxing for many families. As for me, I will be doing my fair bit of travel with stops in Maine, Maryland, New Brunswick (fingers crossed), Nova Scotia (hopefully), and Poland. After two summers of laying low, I decided it's time to shake things up a bit.
I'll do my best to update my travels. The first leg will be an old school bus and train journey to Maryland. I could fly but to be frank I have a love-hate relationship with Southwest. As the dominant airline in my area, one must fly them or else. For whatever reason my last two flights on them have been delayed. I also detest the herd line up with the free for all for getting seats. It aggravates me enough to not fly this trip. Usually I make the pilgrimage south by car, but with gas prices and traffic, it's not saving me tons. I do enjoy the open roads and yet traveling by train seems like a fun alternative. The last time I took a train longer than an hour was in Russia, twenty something years ago. This will be a nine hour journey. Regardless of how it goes, I expect some good people to watch and some food for my creative mind. I can see it now my next book will be The Man on the Train. That's the latest from my end. I will share that I'm reading a fascinating book on survivors of polygamy. Not sure if the book will manifest into new ideas, but God's Brothel is worth a look.  Commander Stokes family home in Rusty Star My final draft of Rusty Star is back from my copy editor. I'm reviewing the edits and comments, hopeful to be done on my end in the next few weeks. This will be a first compared to previous releases in that I'm waiting until I'm done with the final read prior to getting the cover done. Typically, I have a cover or two created way before this point in the production process.
Truth be told, I think the book cover creation is my favorite part. There's something about seeing that catchy picture and the title in a large font that says, "Here I am, read me." I don't know it just makes me happy and I realize that it's almost time to shift to another project. This time is a slight shift because I want to see things from a different perspective. I want the story itself to be good to go and formatted completely. It can be frustrating when the cover is complete, but one is still waiting for the edits to come back. While it might be a week, it could be another month. In old school publishing that was how things were done, but as an Indy, you don't have to do things in that order. I know some authors who create a cover before even writing a single word. Granted, I think that's jumping the gun and downright misleading, simply because some use the cover to sell advance copies for a book they haven't and will never complete. Thankfully, that's not the case here. We got an 89K word novel almost ready for press. Stay tuned, it won't be much longer. |
Sixteen plus years as a published author, Jonathan has been independent the last eleven. With readers across forty-seven countries and six continents, he has readers around the world. Writing across genres, he loves good dialogue and flawed characters. Archives
February 2023
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