I recently read an article posted by a colleague called “Wanderlust – The Fuel For My Soul” It is very well written and stirred up the “change in the wind” innervation I generally have before saddling up my bike and making an abrupt exit stage left. Wanderlust…it’s a word I use frequently, I even have a slot for it to be tattooed on my body… a word that makes sense to me. It’s a condition I live with. She asks herself in the article if there is a “cure” for wanderlust, and that, is what got me to thinking.
What follows is not a pretty tale. It is a true story however, sprinkled with a smattering of artistic license. A tale with tail so to speak. A story of sex, drugs and rock and roll…with vomit…and more sex. To sprechen in plain Deutsch, it’s a night on the Reeperbahn. So if par chance you are easily offended, or you are blind to the lifestyle to which I refer or you don’t like this type of story…that is to say, if it’s not your cup of tea, brand of digestive biscuit or type of lemon tart, then… piss off and don’t read it. Seriously, I mean, don’t get half way into the third paragraph, see the hookers, smell the vodka, and then realize it’s filled with the things that offend you. I’m telling you in advance…piss off now you silly git.
As it turned out, the Fish Food Treaty of 2014 was to be forged under the tutelage of my sister. Not surprisingly in the five months after the last incident preceding her arrival, absolutely nothing was accomplished in moving towards peace. Well, not nothing exactly. I spoke about it briefly once at the breakfast table and I did smile (somewhat crookedly) at a monkey in downtown Delhi….from the back of a Tuk Tuk…a fast moving Tuk Tuk…I’m positive he saw me…and waved back. Nonetheless, my sister was here and as expected, wanted to crusade deeply into monkey held territory. So we did; and with very pleasing result.
I suppose I could gussy it up and call it a disagreement. A differing set of values between species. Or perhaps I could say it’s a police action…the biggest euphemism for military conflict in history. The Monkeys would tell you it’s an invasion. I am a Wandering Hippy occupying their sovereign state and they are but simple freedom fighters defending their homeland. The truth is: you can’t put lipstick on a pig and call it a lady….you can kiss it sure, but it ain’t no lady. This is Asymmetric Warfare, plain and simple and I should be kicking Simian ass from here to the Taj Mahal…yet the facts are clear. I’m going to lose this war.
Wandering….what a concept! When I dropped out of the rat race in 2013, I sincerely had NO idea where I was headed or what I was doing. I mean, there was a loose plan; but in all honesty, I was flying blind. Now here I sit in the fresh ka ka diaper of 2017, just two days old, and I am still unsure, still navigating with a makeshift plan, a concept, an idea…hell man, I’m still just wandering. As I reflect back over the adventures I’ve had with Mrs. R (my wife,) and Mina (my motorcycle) in 2016, I realize…turning my back on traditional society, thumbing my nose at the North American ideals, embracing the wanderlust, leaping unafraid (seriously scared actually) into the unknown and blazing my own trail was the sanest thing I have ever done…
.. sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover. – Mark Twain.