Hey guys, it has only been a few hours since my recent bulletin post asking to pray. Please keep it up. I hope the traveling nitemare to be over tomorrow when I finally make it to the Mountain of Oaks. But until then, and only if all goes well there, once then... I need your prayers. This trip is taxing me and I am at my end. ...feeling pressed, pressed, pressed.

Presently, I am writing from inside of a big bubble located near if not on the Plaza Major in the city of Salamanca in Spain. I was stranded here last night when I found the end of a long string of bus rides and ticket lines. I don’t know how much time I can spend writing right now. I stumbled over some free event where I was able just to wonder into an internet room, and grab a computer. Now there is someone talking loud in Spanish over a speaker, and I have no idea what she is talking about. Anyway, the room is a big plastic dome filled with air keeping it inflated. Remember the moonwalk bouncing inflatable carnival attractions that you would have to take your shoes off to go play in when you were a kid? It is basically like one of those but someone sort of made a big domed yurt out of one. So you hear the humming of the air compressors constantly, the lighting is really strange, and the sun is pounding down from the outside making it warm and toasty to the point of being just hardly bearable. Enough about that, let me take it back to Amsterdam.


I left my friend Nate’s house Friday morning. I was just getting over being sick and groggy all the past day, and my right ankle and lower leg was swollen for who knows what reason, but at that point I decided I had a shin splint. The weather was chilly and moist, but not raining, as is usual for Amsterdam. Physically, I was not ready, but it was time to go. I had a reservation waiting for me in a hostel in Paris. My plan was to hitchhike from the same place I had began the previous adventure from Amsterdam. I found out that the Eurolines station was also there at the same place, and I decided that before I tried hitchhiking, I would check the times for buses leaving for Paris. I already knew that the price for the bus was only €40, which seemed certainly reasonable after spending over €100 for a ride to Amsterdam from Karlsruhe. Upon arriving at the bus station, I found that there were two buses left that were not full, and they only had 3 seats each left on them. I decided to go ahead and buy the ticket for the 1100hrs. So off I was to Paris not by autostop (French and Spanish for hitchhike), but by bus. It was a good thing I went this way, because I arrived far later in Paris than I expected. It was rainy, cold, and later than 2100hrs by the time I got to the hostel. My leg was throbbing, and I was thankful they did not give my bed away.


The bus ride was alright. I spent most of my time slowly reading I & II Thessalonians, and I & II Timothy. I acquired a travel buddy on the trip whom I grew quite fond of. He is a Christian from the Congo. The bus picked him and his friend up in Belgium where he was raising awareness about the problems in the Congo concerning an American and Belgium government obstinate towards democracy. As he explained, these countries do not support a democratic Congo, because the chaos allows them to go into the anarchistic corruption and exploit the gold, diamond, and quartz resources. (Get informed people and write your congressmen!) As Americans, in the past there were the conquest for the Americas, the extermination of the American buffalo and along with it the genocide of several races of Native Americans and horrible oppression of other races. Then there was our involvement in the enslaving of thousands of Africans who we would not admit were human. Well, none of us were alive to claim direct responsibility for those atrocities. We pride ourselves instead for rescuing the Jews from the holocaust... if you can call it a rescue. That kart already rolled over millions by the time we stopped its turning. I can’t claim responsibility for that victory either... I was not yet alive. Today, America is involved in a slavery that (time will tell as the awareness grows) could very well be as atrocious as the displacement of peoples and total possession of their humanity ... a continuation of a past sin. We are only self righteous hypocrites if we condemn or fathers for their involvement and say we have learned something, while turning a blind eye to our own empathy to enjoy our lives in our Nike shoes, diamond rings, Guess Jeans, Old Navy t-shirts, while chewing our slave Snickers with an iced cappuccino. Am I hitting home for anyone? …Something to think about. I don’t know a lot of what I am talking about, but if I don’t find out, Shame on me. I know I am guilty of these things, while I may stay away from Gap, Nike, and Old Navy, I love Snickers. As Americans, we are hooked on our own society, and I am finding out that the hook has me right in the heart and the purge HURTS!


But I am not writing this blog to talk about that. I am writing a story about a hard trip. I digress. It would do no justice to the man I met if I did not get the wheels turning a bit for his people. The Congo has a lot of potential. He says that there are countless Congolese Christians all over the Congo praying for a democracy, but the greed of the west is overpowering their efforts. Let us not see ourselves as Americans in this matter, but as Christians first, standing up for our brothers and sisters who are struggling to see positive change in their nation; that they may spread the love of Christ who is victorious over these evil times in this our greedy generation. The man, sorry I don’t remember his name, and I had a wonderful conversation. His father and law lives near Paris, and he offered to come and pick me up from my youth Hostel the following morning for church. I really looked forward to that, however, he never wrote me back so that we could square away the details. I am sure he ran into some complications and there were some good reasons for that.



My time in Paris was short, but long enough. I suppose it would have been a better time with loser money, better knowledge of French, better health, and a guide. The hostel was great, and I had a good time meeting the people who were there. I saw the Eiffel tower, and was actually impressed. It was a lot bigger than I expected. I saw a building whose outer walls were engineered to grow plants. The wall was covered with small plants. I was thoroughly impressed! Then I went to find Notre Dame (this was on Saturday). I walked up to it, and thought.... “Wow! Quazi lived there? I would have felt trapped. It is big, but so much smaller than I thought. It is interesting, but huh!” I had to go through this metal detector which with all my metal chains, and belts and what not (as you can imagine) was a hoot. Then I got close enough to snap some pictures of the exterior. I was just about to leave, but really had nothing else to do. So I decided to wait in line, pay the Euros for the entry and take a look inside. I walked down into a dim lit cave, and was very disappointed. It was old, reverent, but where was the rest of it? I thought it was supposed to be gothic! With big windows and stuff. I was just about to leave when I saw some people coming down a stair case, and then I saw another stair case on the other side. I thought, "Oh! There is more! That better had not been it." I was feeling so ripped off. I walked up this dark and narrow spiral staircase to a nice big glorious room with towering stained glass windows. "Now this is more like it." I thought. I stood staring at a window trying to tell myself a story from the pictures that I had seen. I thought I was seeing the story of Joseph being sold into slavery, and that it was progressing on into the rest of his life. But I kept on losing the story about the time I saw knights on horses. Then I found an English laminated guide to the windows. It Turns out the story was not about Joseph at all, but something about people recovering the holy relic of the crown of thorns. "Oh, okay; not Joseph." I continued to look around at the stained glass, snap pictures, and consult the guide. I had spent good money, had nothing better to do, and was trying to make the most of where I was, so I took my time. After a while though, it occurred to me that I had not seen anything anywhere in this whole experience that advertised the fact that I was in Notre Dame. I began to realize that I must have not been in Notre Dame at all, but just assumed that when I came out of a particular metro station that the first big and old gargoylie church I saw must have been Notre Dame. Ha! ha! Jokes on me! My spirits rose as the realization came and I chose the last few moments in that room before I left. I wanted to burst out laughing.

When I actually found the real Notre Dame, I wanted to burst out laughing even more. But I was set at awe by its size and grand presence. I took my time in Notre Dame as well. I snapped a lot of pictures. I did not treat this as a tourist attraction. After all, this was the home of the Huntchback. Rather he was real or imaginary did not matter. I was standing in a place with notoriety for its symbol as a refuge to the outcast and disenfranchised. This was also a big symbol of the Catholic Church. I observed all the tourists, and thought, ”it is good that they are here. At least here they get to see as spectators the inner domains of people who worship the one true God.” I was there to pray, and to worship. I sat on the benches, and I walked around the great cathedral inside and out: snapping pictures, praying, and reading passages of scripture. It took a while, and when I stayed possibly longer than most other people I think would have wanted to; I as well began to tire, helped along by seeing too many disturbing statues of Mary -which I have yet to understand.

So I left Notre Dame and walked to the Latin Quarter where I heard there were several art galleries and good reasonably priced food. Well I found the quarter, but not the galleries. The food was not so reasonable in my opinion, but then I guess I practically look for handouts.

At this point I was at a loss for what to do. I had lots of ideas, but they all cost money and were more something I prefer to share with someone else, like my kids. When I get kids, I would like to bring them into Paris and then spend time at the Louvre, and other museums and historical places. My interest was in revolutions past and present. I wanted to get educated, with up close looks at what had happened in the past in Paris, and what was happening now in the Paris underground. Mostly I was looking for the scene in Paris. Where do the kids go? Where do the hippies hang out? Where do the punks go to knock skulls and crash bottles? Where do the anarchists have their info rooms? Even today, Paris is known for going on strike and having demonstrations at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, I just could not find these scenes. I looked and I looked. I even went to the Pigalle to see if I could find any signs of scene around the Moulin Rouge. But I found nothing of note. Paris is a big place though, and far more complicated than Manhattan. So I must have just been looking in the wrong places. This was upsetting. I had hoped to use my time in Paris to establish some sort of contact that would benefit me in future visits. I intend to do some heavy investigating and better planning before my next trip to Paris. I had a few tiny adventures on that walk, but the one worth noting was my walk down the river towards the end of the day. I did find some beds made neatly near the wall, and under a set of bridges there were some sleeping places tucked away virtually unnoticed by the untrained eye. So now I know where I may sleep next time I decide to slum in Paris.

The miracle happened though when I passed by a man smoking a cigar. I was not really enjoying myself a whole lot, but trying to make the best of it. He was talking to his girl, and as I walked by, I just commented that the cigar smelt really good. He was down to a small stub (not nub, but stub) by that time. He looked at it once, and then offered me to finish it. "Really?! Thanks!" I took the stub. "What kind is it?" I asked.

"It’s a Cohiba." he said. My eyes lit up really big.

"Bless you sir, bless you." I walked away backwards holding the stub with my hands pressed together, and bowing as I went.

I walked a little more down the river with my Cohiba stub, found a bench which I chose to lean against rather than sit on, and nursed that Cohiba stub for over 30 minutes, I’m sure. It was the highlight of my day. Not so much because of the cigar, but because I sensed the Lord speaking to me saying, "I did not give you the cigar to say I love you. I gave you the cigar so that you would sit down, slow down, and love on me." Even though I had been praying in Notre Dam, my heart has been in sad shape since I started working at the Shelter. It is difficult to know why, but all this complaining and gloom, and feeling sorry for myself I have been wrestling with I think must really go back to me grieving my loss for the Amsterdam I once new. Saying goodbye can go deeper and be more profound than we realize.


After the cigar, I got up and decided to go back to the hostel, change shirts, and find someone to go out on the town with for the evening. In that I was not disappointed. I went back to the hostel, and found a new roommate who was very generous with his wine and small portion of food. He was Italian and did not speak English. I had to use Spanish to talk to him. Then came in another roommate who was from Mexico City. We all decided to go out and look for a place to dance which in our little Latin subculture of three was called a discotec. The girl from Mexico City became the translator between the Italian and myself. We went out and walked around the city for quite a while, but did not find a discotec. Then, the Mexican got tired and returned to the hostel. The Italian really wanted to dance, and I decided I was down with whatever. He had come from Italy to party in the Paris night-life, and had done his homework. But he said that he had already been to all the places on the list and they were no good. He chose a few to go back to, however and make another attempt. So we went, and walked around some more. The places we went were free entry, but only if you brought a girl in with you. There were lots of girls walking around, and it probably would have been easy to ask one if we could buy them a drink, that is if we knew French. Nevertheless, I did not feel so aggressive to necessitate winning this conquest. My associate, on the other hand appeared too timid. So we decided to go get a beer. I ordered a big one, and he ordered a small one. I paid. This all was not such a bad deal accept for what happened next.

After the beers, I was ready to go home, but my associate said he wanted to walk around just a little more. I assented to his request. Unfortunately, he just walked to all the same places again as if he was going to find something different than the last time. “Are you ready to go find the bus yet?” I asked. I don’t know exactly what time it was by now, but it must have been after 3am. He told me he wanted another beer, and then we could go. He said he was paying this time. I agreed. So he chose this bar that looked like prime real estate as it was the gateway to all the other places we had been. He went in and ordered for us. Out came two beers…again one big and one small. I offered him the big one, but he refused. I wanted to tell him that it would be too much for me, but there was nothing turning him. I don’t know how much he paid for those two beers, but the guy gave the bar tender a 20 euro bill, and the bar tender asked for more money. I was shocked! I have never seen so much paid for beer in all my life. The receptionist sat us in the wrong section, and the waiter got mad and moved us because he would not get a tip from us whom he had not served. So we sat in our new assigned seat, drank our beer, and I got up slowly.

Up till this night, I have never been drunk. I have had a buzz, before, but I had to really concentrate to find my way home. Was I drunk, maybe, I don’t really know. I do know that I was definitely impaired, and I did not like it. My associate was of a double mind, and chose to stay out some more. I told him I had had enough, and fought with my sluggish wits to get home.

The bus ride was a bit crazy. I think I got on without paying, but I think so did just about everyone else… I mean I had tickets to ride the metro, but I did not see a way to implement them with the bus scanners. I saw some Brazillian guys on the bus who I had met earlier that night when I was having the first set of beers. They were pretty nice guys, and said I Iooked like John Lennon. (I’ve never got that one before.) Then as I was already looking to make my exit, one of the Brazillians started yelling at some other guy, and that just seemed to go on and on. I decided to cause a diversion as I got off the bus by saying, “Bye!” really loud to the Brazillian guy in the confrontation. Then scream out even louder as I left the bus… “I am the Walrus! Goo-goo-ka joob!”

I had tried this once before to break up a fight in the red light district. It was very effective. It got lots of laughs, and one of the guys in that conflict tried to mow me down in his car. (A very difficult thing to do if you are driving through a crowd of people in the red light district, where there are also large iron poles keeping cars off the same level sidewalk.)

From the bus, I found my way home quite well, and on into bed. I believe I finally made it to bed about 5am.


The next morning began understandably much later than most mornings. I woke up with only one goal, that was to go buy an iPod cable. I left my room for the lobby and found a magazine with a veriety of different adds. The day went on from there. I did not find the iPod cable, but I did get to see more of the city. The magazine pointed me to several churches, and timing of the service had me showing up at the very first English speaking Calvary Chapel service following a good French lunch. From there I visited the Pigalle looking for anarchists, and took pictures of my Jesus Freak friend Freddy whose mug is up all over the metro in an add for wireless communications. Finally, before returning to the hostel for one last evening, I watched the sun go down while taking pictures of the Cathedral Le Sacre-Coeur and eating ice cream. Then, before going to bed, I made things ready for a quick exit in the morning. (By strange coincidence, if you go to the following address, you will see from that site the 3 and only those 3 Paris Cathedrals in the exact order which I visited them. Hmm… http://www.runet.edu/~mbrady/ParisCathedrals.htm).



Monday morning came soon. After breakfast with the early crowd, I tried riding the train south to the A10. I was trying to ride out as close as I could to find a gas station, and a ride that would help me down the road. It ended up taking me all day, however, just to find a good entrance to the A10. So after a day of walking, and switching from one train to another, and finding confusion one way and then the next, I found the motorway. I was hoping to get just the A10, but I got the A10 and A6 together. Before I made it to a gas station or entrance ramp, one guy picked me up and took me up on the motorway to an entrance ramp to A10 direction Orleans. The man was on his way to Paris, but said that he would let me off where there is soon to be lots of slower traffic, and maybe I would get lucky with a ride. Sure enough, it was a great spot. I was sure to get out there, but as cars went by, one after another, I found no exit from Paris. A few stopped, but they all wanted to go to Paris instead of away from. The entrance ramp had a double wall barricade that guarded cars from cascading from atop the elevated route. This double barrier made a great place to stash my bags. I ended up making two taxing journeys off the ramp. The first time was to fetch cardboard to fly a sign. The next time was to get something to eat. After flying the sign till it was too dark for it to do any good, I decided to call it a night and sleep right there between the two barricades. First I left my things and went out for a meal. The only place nearby was an expensive hotel where I had a fine dining experience costing me around 16 euros for the meal. Then I walked out of the hotel and back to my place between the barricades. As I made out my tarp and thermarest for the evening, I thought of Paul who had learned how to be in places of plenty and places of nothing. Then I thought of the Vision cast in Red Moon Rising where it says, “They would eat caviar on Monday and crust on Tuesday, but they would not even notice. They are mobile like the wind, yet they are slaves of the hungry, and the dirty, and the dying.” After getting situated, and trying to keep from being noticed by the guy who was staring at me through his kitchen window, I put in my earplugs, covered my eyes with my hat, and drifted off to a peaceful sleep. I thought of this time as a great commercial idea for some outdoors company like North Face who should have taken video of my peaceful sleep on the side of that dirty mossey motorway, along with the nice dreams I had which had me forget where I was.


The next morning, I woke up somewhat rested, and hoping for a ride before noon. I took my time getting up as I wanted to wait for sunlight before flying my sign again. I had not been going long when some cops drove by making some funny wild hand gestures at me which I could not rightly make out. Nevertheless, very disappointed, I decided that was my cue to leave the ramp to the motorway. I was not looking forward to exiting this road with my bags in tow. It was quite a hike over some difficult terrain with a hurt leg. Somehow I managed, however, and with a loss of how to find a good spot to catch a ride..

I walked a ways down the road, checking buss maps as I went. Then I found out that there was a train station just double the distance back from the way I had come. I had had it with Paris! I decided it must be like Manhattan to Jersey -urban sprawl forever. So, I figured that if I at least got out to Orleans that I could get out of the urban jungle sprawling from Paris.

Upon making it to the train station, there was some confusion. By this time all of the ‘no breaks bad luck’ I had been having got me taking Murphy’s Laws more seriously. After buying my ticket to Orleans, and looking for the right train platform, I had the intuitive idea that the lady misunderstood what I was asking and gave me some local ticket to the wrong spot. I spoke to the guy at the other ticket counter on the other side of the tracks (quite a walk from where I first bought my ticket.) He confirmed my suspicion, but would not exchange my ticket for the right one. Instead, he made me walk all the way back over the tracks to the counter on the other side to wait in the line to talk to the lady who sold me the wrong ticket. That lady gave me a refund, but could not send me to Orleans. She sent me across the tracks again to where I could buy that ticket. They said that I could not buy it there either, but there was another station down the street where I could by the ticket. So I went to the other station… frustrated and tired of Paris, but getting tired of France all together. There I was able to buy a ticket to Orleans, but could even get a ticket to Bayonne on the coast. Earlier that morning when I began hitchhiking, I encouraged myself by saying that I was going to get to the coast by nightfall. So I went ahead and spent around 80 euros for a High Speed train ride to Bayonne.

The train was fast. That was cool. There is not much more to say. I watched the train pass cars on the highway that were passing other cars, and decided this was the fastest I had ever travelled on the ground. Other than that, I ate some expensive snack, and slept.


Upon arrival at Bayonne, I was near the coast, but nowhere near the beach. My map did not really tell me how to get there, but it did tell me which motorway to take to Spain. So I first had some food at a brasserie, and then set out to bus to the motorway. This proved difficult. I had to go from one buss, and transfer to another, but the first bus came before the plan was clear in my head. There was no map on the bus to help clarify. I ended up telling the bus driver the wrong information, and going too far on that bus to the wrong transfer. So I got back on the same bus going the opposite direction, and overshot my stop. So I got back on the same bus going in the opposite direction and got off where I needed to be. Then I searched nearby for the bus I was to transfer to, but had just missed the final bus of the evening by about 3 minutes. So all that confusion caused me to miss the bus that I wanted, and I took off walking the bus route all the way to its last stop where I found the highway I needed.

My first autostop attempt, however, I was in the wrong place. Someone stopped for me and helped me get a little sorted out. So, I walked a little further and found the entrance road I needed to take. I had my thumb out there for a while but it was dark, and when I got tired of the long day, I found a bush behind which I went to sleep.


When the next morning came, I got up even a bit before the sun, packed my bags, and crossed the street to snag a ride. I decided it was a good place, and I should try there till noon before giving up. I waited for a while with this in mind. As the cars passed, I stood for a while, and sat for a while. After some time of this rotation, I found myself dozing off while sitting on my bag. Eventually, I’d had enough and left to find a nearby breakfast. There were only hotels around again. This time the breakfast was continental buffet, and they only charged me 6 euros. After breakfast, I walked back out to my hitching spot, but before I made it back, I caught a ride. Woo Hoo! Finally a ride! He did not take me far, just a little ways down the road. From there, fairly quickly, I caught another ride from some guy who was late to work. He lived in France but worked as a local driver in Spain… imagine that. So he gave me a ride all the way to Ituris (or something like that. It was near San Sabastian anyway.) He let me off at a gas station near an entrance to a motorway. There I bought a map, and was greeted by a very helpful Spanish lady. I tried hitchhiking from there, but was not having any success until finally, a guy stopped in his VW Bus.

He let me in and said he would take me to San Sebastian. He spoke excellent English. There was something stangely familiar about him, and something in my head said cult…12 tribes. Sure enough, he was from the 12 Tribes. (Oh I can hear Phillip laughing now.) I had never met him before, but perhaps some of you will remember meeting Elionai when he was in Asheville last summer. Man, if this was not –not –not cool! I was glad then that I had an alias to go by. He asked me my name, and I told him it was Kiezel. He was very nice. He took me back to the compound where he said he had to drop off his son, and grab another car with which he had some business to do in San Sebastian. He asked me if I had already eaten, and I told him I was full having already had a good breakfast. He offered me Mate, but I told him I was straight. Then he went into the house to grab keys for the other car, and came out with a huge fresh loaf of organic spelt bread. I accepted the bread with gratitude, but decided I would not eat the bread until I was safely out of the city. The rest of the time he tried to engage me in conversation, wanting to learn more about what I knew about the twelve tribes and in what I had been involved in Asheville. I opted to play it really cool. I was way too vulnerable, weak, and weary to get into any big conversation. I know these guys had done their homework on some of us, and while they may not be as familiar with us as the Breatheren, I was not interested in being recognized at that time. I could see him doing his best to make it look like he was helping me out, but trying to hang on to me to the last possible moment. For instance, he would show me a hitchhiking place, and then tell me he thought he knew of a better one. Finally I asked him if he could just let me out at the bus station. When we got there, he walked with me in order to be sure I could find a suitable bus. Perhaps he was just doing his good pseudo Christian duty of being nice and helpful, but I could not help but wondering if he was attempting to manipulate the situation somehow to grab a new convert. I opted during the whole encounter not to mention anything about my involvement with life house, or even identify myself at all with the Christian faith. This was very difficult. I had never been protective of my association with Christ before in that way. For those of you who wonder at this strange behavior, you do not know the Twelve Tribes. Just imagine yourself hitchhiking and then being picked up by a radical Islamic fundamentalist. The twelve tribes just may be as deceptively manipulative as a jihadist is violent.

Finally, Elionai said goodbye to me, but not without giving me a paper that gave the other 12 tribe locations in Spain. I decided this would be very helpful, as it would clue me in on which cities to avoid as I travelled through the country. Then I got a bus that took me to the next city, which was Vitoria.

(There is something I would like to say here. There are not a lot of 12 tribe members in the world. They may be everywhere, but they are not a huge group. There are far more Christians in the world. So how come, while hitchhiking, I have not met one believer who would give me a ride. I have seen plenty of fishes on cars even in Germany. Nevertheless, I get picked up by a 12 tribes person. Come on guys, where is the Christian service and love. The pagans are showing us up big. I here that several of 12 tribes converts come from people who run into them hitchhiking. They are a very generous and wealthy group who love to take in strangers, and feed them Organic food along and perverted excuses for the truth. You could learn something from them though… Have you stopped for a hitchhiker today?)


In Vitoria it was raining, so I decided to get a bus to Burgos. In Burgos it was still raining, so I got a bus there to the Spanish town of Salamanca. The next bus from Salamanca to Guarda, Portugal did not leave till the following afternoon. So I walked in all the wrong directions till I found the train station. On the way, I found a hostel that would be closing at midnight. The train did not leave till 0450hrs. Rather than wait for the train, I crossed the street and ended up having my first really nice break… other than some not so bad bus connections all throughout Spain, and the nice rides earlier that morning of course.

The hostel was a nice room with 2 beds all to my self, along with tv, toilet and bathtub. The bath water was the color of rust, but it was warm and wonderful. It was when I was in the tub that I began considering my ankle more, and concluded that somehow I must have injured it more than a week before on Monday when I was cleaning in the Shelter Hostel. I even began wondering if I had broken it. It was severely swollen, and quite painful. That night I was able to elevate it, and had a wonderful evening in a real bed, the first in weeks, as all the others had been on top bunks.

I had been told that evening that check out time was 1100hrs. So I was bewildered when the next morning, as I tried to leave my things in my room and check out train tickets at the station and the return to the room before check out time, a different attendant made sure to it that I left with all my things in hand, and completely checked out. This was aggravating, especially for my leg. So I left heavy laden to the train station where they said that the train for Guarda leaves only once a day… at 0450hrs. Okay, I thought, no problem. I wanted a bus anyway. So I went to the bus station and bought a ticket for 1330hrs. I still had 2hrs to kill so I went to the market and bought goat cheese and broccoli for the road. Then I looked for someone to tell me where I could get an iPod cable. When I found directions, they were too far away, so I opted to go back to the bus station and wait.

The bus was to come into terminal 30. So I waited nearby, and noted the bus in terminal 29 as I reclined on a bench and read I Timothy. After watching the bus in terminal 29 leave, I noticed that the last terminal (the one next to said 29) was 31. Therefore, I had the terminals missed lablled in my head, and had just sat and watched my bus pull out without any notice, care, or stress. Immediately, I was furious! I really, really, really wanted to be on that bus! But there was no bailing me out of that one. I really messed that one up and there was no going back on it. I went back to the ticket counter in order to get the ticket refunded for a later bus. That is when I found out that only one bus a day goes to Guarda. I was ready to foam at the mouth! Because of my bone headedness, I was stuck in Salamanca till the train left the next morning at 0450hrs! I looked to make the best of it. I would go back to the train station, and rent a locker to store my things and then I would walk around town bag free to buy an iPod cable and make the most of my day with a nap before the stupid early in the morning train. Well wouldn’t you know it? When I got to the train station, well, the best explanation I could get from the security guard is that I could not use the lockers because they were closed for the next month just starting that day for renovations. Can some body shout RANDOM!!! Augh! So not only did I miss my bus, but now I was stuck carrying around my heavy bag through the city all day! What did I do? Why? What was really going on? The Lord certainly had my attention, but what for? I could not hear him saying anything. I was about to lose it, and probably would, but I was too tired to throw things at people. I was too afraid to put myself in danger of being arrested and deported. So, I bought an ice cream cone. After ice cream, I went next door to the email café to send out a distress bulletin over myspace to ask for prayer. Then I took my heavy bag on my possibly broken leg back down town to look for an iPod cable. When I got to the store I was told of, the sign posted said that it was closed for another two hours. I guess it was time for siesta. I decided to get out my journal and make an attempt to get sorted. I did write much before I became sleepy and started to doze. People walked by and I just reclined there with my eyes closed. Eventually I got tired of sitting and decided to keep walking a bit further, just in case I got the wrong store. But I never met up to where I thought I should. Instead, I ended up walking into the old town, and even visiting an old cathedral. After a while, I got too turned around to leave, but I found an information kiosk where they gave me a map. I followed the map and on my route I ran across this place where I began writing this blog.

As I got to the part where I was hanging out all night in Paris, I was asked to leave so they could do the presentation for the observers who were there in attendance. Form there, I decided to go out to get something to eat. Coming around a corner, on my way out of the old part of town, I met Warren. Warren was a German traveller who had been on the street for 15 years. He had been in town the last 3 days, but the whole time apart from yesterday it was raining. He was holding out a box for people to drop spare change. I sat with him for a while, and then offered to take him out to eat. He had not eaten in 2 days. He opted for a Chinese restaurant, which I was very pleased with. On the way there, we found enough half smoked cigarettes on the ground for him to make about half a pouch of tobacco. Once in the restaurant, we had a wonderful meal and conversation. The visit with Warren spilled over into a nearby park where we found water, and he took a bath. After some more nice conversation, Warren decided he wanted to walk around some more. I opted to stay in the park, and so we said our goodbyes. I made a place to lie down in the grass under a tree listening to sorority girls scream their chants from somewhere else in the city. I lie there a little cold, and not sleeping as I waited for my alarm to go off. When I did, it was time to go to the station.


I sat my alarm early, so when it went off, it was 3am, and I was ready. I gathered my things and took up my heavy bag. On the way to the station, the dreaded thought occurred to me, “Of course the train comes at 0450hrs, but will the doors be open to let me in to ride the train?” Normally I don’t consider or worry about such things. But now, since crazier things have happened, I began to consider how I may get to the station by way of walking the tracks if in fact the station was closed. When I got to the station, sure enough, it was closed. There was a sign that was difficult to make out. I followed the arrow though, and checked every door along the way weather it was probable or improbable. (Incidentally, you ever feel like you are in a video game? I feel this way often when I am on the road. I’m Always talking to strange people to get information, picking up random things off the ground that prove useful later, and checking all the doors in a train station in the super early morning before dawn.) Some drunk guy showed up who said he was from Brazil. He communicated, making no little effort, that the door was open on the other side most assuredly, and we should go get a drink and relax since the train does not come for another 2 hours. I let him slow my pace, but insisted that I wanted to get to the open door in the train station. So I went, with him tagging along and continually slowing my pace to try and tell me something. Finally, however I made it to the tracks, the right train platform, and an open door to the station. I met another Brazilian there who knew some English. We spoke briefly before I found a cubby between the elevator and window where I could put down my bags and go take a nap. So I lied down, set my watch again, and went to sleep.

Again I set my alarm early so that I would be ready for the train to arrive. I got on, and found my place, which were two bench seats in a cabin with 3 other people. My bags were too big to store in the overhead rack, so I apologized in Spanish as I situated my bags on the floor below my feet and got comfortable. Setting my alarm early again, I drifted off to sleep. I awoke at one stop and found that the lady and her boy had left as I slept. So I stretched out, and woke up next time to my alarm. The train was stopped, and when asking someone outside the cab, he said we were one stop from Guarda where I was to get off. I went and laid back down, but determined to stay awake. Nevertheless I dozed several times before the train left the station. I felt the train moving once, but the next thing I knew I awoke and the train had stopped. I peaked out of the cabin to find that the train was in Guarda. I quickly went back in to get my bags, but then could feel the train moving. I heard other people screaming, and then felt the train slowing again. By the time I made it to my exit, the train (thank goodness) had stopped. Quickly I jumped out, and thanked the Lord for watching out for me and making sure that I did not miss my stop.



Soon I was on the next train headed for my final stop in Castelo Novo. This as well was an experience, but it is best that when reader and writer are both weary of a story, it is better to skip some events and get to the point. The point is that I finally made it to Castelo Novo and the Mount of Oaks. Barbara met me Friday morning at the train station, and I was so happy to see a freak holding a big smile for me. She really is a cool girl and now on my 5th day here, I am settling in and really enjoying life here. I have been working hard on the land and we are trying now to get a hold of the right people in order to get a Visa extension. Pray that all goes well. I feel like I have found a great place in Europe. It is quiet and peaceful. I look forward to spending the winter here and being able to store some personal items while travelling light throughout Europe next spring and summer. The days in France and Spain were the hardest yet, but now I can rest and be refreshed here on the mount of oaks.

Thanks to all those that prayed for me in my travels to Portugal. They were most needed. Praise the Lord for his final deliverance here to what for me right now just about seems like the Garden of Eden. Please intercede now on my behalf that I may be granted this first Visa and that it will be the beginning of a long-term several-year string of legal standings within the Shenghen provinces.

This has been a long journey, but I praise the Lord for where he has brought me. Hallalujiah, A-men.

Thanks for sticking with me and reading it all.