Tag: Injured travel

From New York City to Maine to Miami to Nicaragua to Costa Rica to Colombia; a Covid-19 journey of boundless determination: An ineffable odyssey of the heart.

It was April and soon I would be off to Europe to live and also record the pilot episode of my adventure travel TV show: Wheels Up! Having just returned from living in Amsterdam, Holland before Covid-19, still viewing the world through rose colored glasses, the thought that international travel would come to a standstill was absurd. And then it did. Almost all travel came to a halt, resulting in me becoming a man without a home. Yet with adamant resolve, I was determined to persevere in finding my way to Europe.

After being denied entry to board the plane to Holland twice in New York, over a one month time span, it became clear I was going nowhere. After checking into a hotel in Queens, NY, not a minute passed before I was looking for a new foreign country to settle until this virus blew over. After two weeks in a hotel yielding no results, soon to be broke and homeless in NYC, the idea of moving to Europe was a distant wish.  Eventually, by way of love from Elaine, a friend from Maine, I landed myself in Portland.

One Maine winter and almost seven months later, with the world of international travel non-existent, having tried twelve different countries, stranded at another hotel, with expenses adding up as savings dwindled, desperation set in. With spring on the horizon, one night on a call with a representative from Amazon, who resided in Nicaragua, after connecting with him through my story, he said: “Why don’t you move to Nicaragua?” I replied: “Well, it never occurred to me to move to there, but I will look into it.”

Figuring Central America was a great place to lay low for a short time, it became clear I had to get to Miami in order to then fly further south. By this time it was determined that Colombia would be a better location to shoot the pilot episode. Nicaragua was meant to be a temporary layover until I was able to gain entry into South America. Before moving there I knew there was no possibility of filming while Ortega was still in office. Nicaragua is a police state where one must mind their political “Ps” n “Qs.”

Off to Miami Beach I went for some well deserved relaxation in the sun. Not many cities in the world can pale in comparison with the experience of Miami. It is truly an international hot spot, though mostly for the naive rich who are unaware of their responsibility of time and wealth, or those who wish they were of the inane class of the aforementioned. Every third car that passes by on the neon lit streets of Miami Beach is of some exotic luxury or custom foreign import – a pretentious display of grandiose ostentation.

Staying at The Claremont Hotel in the heart of the inferno proved prudent. Mitch and his team were angels in disguise, always attentive to my needs and requests. Much time was spent at their restaurant and bar, where I was met day-to-day with pleasurable conversation and gregarious guests. As often is the case when out-and-about, I was invited to join another table for drinks and to chew the fat. One night Dan (see photo) and Kim from MA invited me to join them. A night of tipsy revelry was had by all.

Dan had experience with a family member who was in a wheelchair and understood the daily challenges and difficulties I faced. He knew getting to the beach required special assistance with the wheelchair – so he invited me to join them the next day. It is not often when traveling the world that a Dan presents himself – what a serendipitous gift! It was so refreshing and invigorating to my soul to hear and feel the ocean again. Water makes me feel as if I am back in the womb. A day of fond memories; I am grateful.

And after one month in thus far another hotel, with airlines still a total disarray of misinformation and canceled flights with little or no notification, finally I found a fitting condominium to live in Granada, Nicaragua. After much searching, I was able to reserve a one-way seat on a private charter flight to Managua – at ‘only’ double the price. Flight now reserved, with necessary medical clearance tests and registration with airline and government completed, one week later I arrived in Managua, Nicaragua.

My plan was to live in colonial Granada for six months until I could move to Colombia in August. Things were not right from the beginning with the owner of my home. An utterly unscrupulous man, often he changed prices and rules – but I blindly looked past his shenanigans. To say he was nefarious would be an understatement. When, after three months of his games, he decided to bribe fourteen heavily armed para-military to beat down my door to evict me with ten minutes to depart, I knew it was time to leave.

Within a week I found a way out of Nicaragua. It was not as easy as you might think at this time – travel was a total mess in this region. And with an impending election of a forty-year dictator, many airlines and companies no longer had an interest in doing business in Nicaragua. The day before I was to depart to Costa Rica, via land at Penas Blancas, my taxi driver canceled on me – surely connected to the owner. Thankfully my dear friend David from Madrid, Spain, decided to rent a car and drive me to the border.

Once safe and sound in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, I was able to relax and re-assess the whole situation. I spent my time in the land of Pura Vida sitting by the water, eating delectable far-off foods, recuperating. This was my first time to this part of the country. It is a land rich with an abundance of natural beauty, possessing no lack of verdant and liquid splendor. It was the respite I needed before traveling to my final destination: Colombia. Liberia airport has a quick and efficient Covid-19 testing center right on premise.  

Five days later, I found myself with an extended layover in Miami. After another week in Miami rollicking with friends and freshly energized from my nightmare in Nicaragua, in the fullness of time I departed to Cartagena, Colombia. A friend from Bogota had been helping me to find an apartment but none had come to fruition still before my departure. So it was decided I would stay at a hotel again until a more permanent residence could be established. That wish would prove much more difficult than anticipated.

As my reservation at the hotel in Cartagena was coming close to an end, a vital decision had to be made. There were no appropriate homes in the city limits fit for my requirements in searches at this time. I was forced to make a new reservation, at a higher rate. The Hilton at El Laguito is a dream for a wheelchair. The staff is immensely helpful. There are ramps and flat tile floors all about the property. And I had full access to the pool and outdoor bar and restaurant. But it was starting to break my already slim bank.

Amsterdam reappeared on the radar but it was soon fall in Europe and I was more hell-bent on staying in the tropical sun of South America. A friend from another city further up the Caribbean coast from Cartagena lives in “Qiami” AKA little Miami, Barranquilla. It is a newly developed city with state of the art roads, modern buildings and other large community projects. It is well known throughout Colombia for its seafood. The food there is spectacular. The amalgamation of people and culture is one of a kind.  

So one day a friend came to fetch me from the hotel, delivering me to Barranquilla. It was such a better solution than a taxi or the dreaded overcrowded bus. True, inevitably I ended up at another hotel. This time I made a reservation for three weeks, figuring that was adequate in order to locate proper housing. That initial three weeks turned into four months at the same hotel. Once again I was blessed with the most helpful and caring staff. Fifty-five apartments later, we still had yet to find a suitable apartment.

At this juncture, with the input of close trusted friends and mentors, it was decided that I would move to Mexico. Oddly, it was not a country that made it onto my possible “go-to” list. Adam, the producer of the TV show, has screamed since the start of this Covid-19 catastrophe that I should just blindly travel to Mexico and relax. As it turns out, it is also a country that qualifies for filming my adventure travel TV show, Wheels Up! The evidence was mounting for me to find my way somehow to Yucatan, Mexico.

Shakespeare postulated that life was a play and we are all actors on a grand stage. To go even one step further would be to entertain Musk’s belief in simulation theory. It is even possible we have lived this life already and presently are watching it play out as part of the ultimate virtual reality, one unimaginable in our current stage of human development and understanding. We are not suitably equipped with the required tools of profound intellect and spiritual know-how to answer the bigger questions of humanity. 

It is said that we need what we get and get what we need [in life]. Life is a river, and if one goes against the current, they are knocked down. In life we have our agenda, but life has its own. Guess whose wins? Not yours. Fall down seven; get back up eight. The journey continues when one looks within, taking the hero’s journey, slaying their inner dragons, thus entering their heart, in turn entering their soul: their inner God. You are a creation of God; you are a part of God. The chasmic quest of the heart is the way.

You are not from the universe; you are of the universe: you are the universe. All the answers you seek in life lie within you. One only needs to bridge the heart divide to start finding answers. Once in your heart it will bestow upon you the ride of your lifetime. Looking into my heart sent me down a road that today I am still in the process of trying to digest, understand. It practically left me broke and homeless abroad in a wheelchair, more than once. I would not change a thing. I am where I should be. The story continues.

There are no mistakes in life; all roads lead to the same destination. Next preordained mooring: Mexico.  

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher. 

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Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.  

Thank you for your love and support.

Jettisoned layover in Maine during Covid-19 crisis; Surviving scarcely on lobster rolls, whoopee pies and IPA.

I am grateful the universe guided my way to Maine for summer. There are a lot of locations for jetsam to wash ashore but Portland sure resulted in as serendipitous a coast as any to land. A reserved melancholic state filled with boundless Subarus and massive white pine forest, where I could spend my summer frolicking about in nature, or so I thought. As I soon discovered je ne sais quoi, it was a state of ‘Maniacs’ who know much less about survival in the bush and much more about fine cuisine and craft beers. I was in the right place; there are no mistakes in life.

More on Maine in a minute, but first an update on the wags from Queens, NYC: Bart and his pious compatriots in Pennsylvania (owners of the Hilton Garden Inn at JFK, NYC) provided round two of comedic relief after their abhorrent treatment of me at their hotel while stranded poor and homeless in NYC. As if their first response to asking me to leave their hotel, under a discriminatory (non-existent) 14 day stay policy, was not humorous enough, the second reply through their attorney wins the ‘almost Darwin’ medal of honor, a world-class pisser.

In my second week at the hotel from hell, while attempting to transfer from the toilet to my wheelchair, the grab-bar I was using for support broke off from the wall, leaving me to find support on a hard tile floor. Their lawyer, in his greatest vomit of jester twaddle, attempting to make me look bad, as vacuous his basis and unsound his argument, however sophomoric and ill-prepared his research and statement, replied to the NY State AG’s complaint by insinuating: 1. It was a made-up story; 2. It was revenge against their ‘raved about’ General Manager, Tracy Kass; and 3. I intentionally caused the grab-bar to break off from the wall. Bartholomew, please send me a package of what your Lancaster crew feeds you for breakfast – evidently reality changing.

It is hard to believe such saints still exist in this world but notwithstanding their holiness, I will address these delusional saboteur swines who treat loyal Hilton customers like trash then cower and hide behind a half-assed inept lawyer who I would not hire to defend my trespass dog. Allow me to pull back the curtain for you: 1. Your hotel clearly partakes in discriminatory practices – easily verified through other guests; and 2. I could have called an ambulance, sued and definitely walked with a settlement, akin to your ilk – but I did not, I chose the high road. To what end?!

None of your attorney’s baseless accusations are worthy a reply except only to rebut: 1. Permit me take away the function and operation of your legs and see how well you can stand up to pull a screwed-in bar, almost one meter above the floor, from the wall and 2. You first could start off by complying with Federal ADA and NY State bathroom building code(s) – your grab-bar was not mounted to wall studs. It was anchored into sheetrock, unable to handle load – sure to get you multiple city infractions upon [further] inspection; and assuredly, possible future litigation.  

Hilton Honors has still yet to sufficiently address the situation or provide an adequate reply. They recently reported earnings to Wall Street, Q2 77% revenue decline. As well, Hilton has had to close 1000 hotels and has experienced a 56% decline in room revenue resulting from Covid-19. And this is how you respond to true-blue customers – silence? What are you so busy doing that customer service has fallen off the radar?  One might think they would choose to treat their Diamond members a teensy-weensy better – but do not hold your breath. J.W. awaits my return.

As I mentioned in my first blog concerning being stuck in NYC under Covid-19 crisis, it did not take long in the car before my attitude and energy were on the rise. As my good friend Elena drove out of NYC, up Interstate 95 towards Maine, the excitement of visiting The Pine Tree State was palpable. We arrived into Portland later than expected. George at the Black Elephant Hostel was gracious enough to provide me an emergency number I could call to be let in. Safely ensconced by the cozy fire, cup of tea in hand, I was where I needed to be. Puff, puff, pass.  

For the next eight days my home was the Black Elephant Hostel, a boutique hostel with a bohemian savoir-faire, owned and operated by a saucy local entrepreneur and former New Jersey native, previously in the horse business, Heather. George kindly reserved me a room that was ADA compliant. The bathroom in the room was exceptionally spacious, a real treat to a traveler in a wheelchair. As well, the kitchen was drafted by architects with the injured in mind; designed pragmatic and utilitarian, sunlight abound, a great place to congregate for mid-afternoon tea.

Aside from a superb kitchen you will also find a delightful general room with comfortable chairs, a table and a layout couch for a relaxing fireside chat or read and an outside patio and lawn area for joining other guests for a smoke or drink or chat. Marijuana is legal in Maine – becoming fully legal for retail sale in October, 2020. The outdoor garden seating area is a great place to meet with friends over a joint and discussion of transcendentalism. Albeit a cheeky owner, the staff, most especially George and Isabelle, was super helpful and caring, always willing to assist.

My over-confident exuberance was quickly replaced with worry and anxiety as summer housing was not panning out as originally thought. Housing is at a minimum in Portland. Real estate well over priced, is in a bubble. A few places did become available but then quickly turned south as one informed me the roommate no longer wanted me as a roommate (only after informed about my injury) and the other did not want my wheelchair banging up his thirty thousand dollars in new upgrades to his double-wide trailer. Anyway, probably prudent I do not appear on Springer.

Was coming to Maine the right choice? Of late, with housing options once again slipping out of reach, and money a wee bit short, it appeared inexorably I had placed myself in a worse off situation than in NYC. In spite of all successive otherwise invincible obstacles, I remained overly brimming with bold perseverance and infinite hope. What would I do now? Where would I go, sleep? Staying in a hostel was surely not the answer. It was expensive; not a long term solution.  

After receiving some unsolicited compassionate help from a few friends, I was able to get a room at the local Hilton in order to reassess the situation and come up with a new plan. It soon became clear that I was in need of additional assistance; I had just become poor and homeless in Maine. It is similar to being poor and homeless in NYC but surrounded with more congenial people and prettier scenery. After five torturous days of having no-where to sleep I was ready to give up.

However, something deep inside told me it would be ok, that this unfortunate situation too shall pass. As if the universe was testing me to make sure I truly had given up control of the wheel of life. The lesson(s) must always be worked through and understood before one can advance past the incessant hurdles of life onto increased mental capacity and psychological resolve. As I state in my book, Unbreakable Mind: One first must pass through darkness before they can enter into the light; it is a journey, not something you can order up from the fast-food universe. There is no free ice cream in the world – all is well-earned, graced upon you – endowed by your higher-self.  

The Vedic astrology reading, a gift from Sunita, I had from Nepal in June was coming true: I was warned I would face four months of hardship, having to rely on others for my survival: Doing the Dirty Dishes of life – only to emerge into the shining light whence soon thereafter. So I was now in the thick of the fight, in the middle of battle. As it turned out I did not qualify for any general assistance in Maine. Apparently the $178 in my checking account was not broke enough. The YMCA manager was able to find me a room but sharing one bathroom with forty other men on one floor, with my injury’s requirements, and its high costs, would not have been feasible.

After two weeks of being bounced around Portland like a pachinko ball in a Tokyo parlor it was time to give in and stay at a hotel. Portland is not a cheap city for lodging – and already suffers from a housing shortage. The manager at the Hilton did not want me to leave to another Hilton branded property for an extended stay so he offered me an amazeballs daily rate [to stay at his location]. It ended up being cheaper to stay there per night than the local hostel. I gladly accepted the deal. Vernon, Tim, Gudrun, Stephanie, Les, Al, Seonye and all staff were absolutely first-rate.

Once settled in and feeling a bit of wanderlust, it was time to explore what Maine had to offer. The most northeastern U.S. State sated with stunning ocean and lakes, craggy rocky coastline, limitless verdant forest, winding mountains and rivers, marvelous lighthouses and ripe maritime history, it is an outdoor wonderland – loaded with supernatural beauty at every new rocky cove. Our day trip to Sebago Lake with Joe, our new friend from Park Slope, Brooklyn, whom we met in the local hostel, was a proper introduction to the outdoor allure and natural grandeur of Maine.

One day Elena decided to take me on a road trip, a magic trail replete with drinks, food and breathtaking panorama. We ventured north 160 km to Camden, famous for its high mountainous peek, scenic vistas and gorgeous views of the harbor and surrounding landscape. We had stopped on our way into town at a local oyster farm, and along with the healthy snacks, pita and hummus Elena packed, we had ourselves a smorgasbord atop the hill, whilst the sun set over the harbor. After some mouthwatering local seafood and delish beers in town, we were off back to Portland.

One weekend an old friend, Sunita, from Boston, visited with her daughter Hazel. It was a typical summer day in Maine, bright azure sky overflowing with cotton-ball clouds, awaiting outdoor exploration. We ventured to the Head Light Lighthouse, just across Casco Bay at Fort Williams Park. There was a local restaurant’s lobster roll stand just up the hill – wow. No doubt I agree that roadside stands serve the best rolls in Maine. On another day we visited Old Orchard Beach and all its tourist fanfare. On our way home we stopped at Bayley’s Seafood for their NE Clam Chowder and a shrimp roll; also stopping at Clambake Seafood Restaurant for locally fried Maine clams. The best “Clam Chowda” and tastiest fried clams I ever savored, respectively.

A new friend, Rita, from Brasil, the following weekend, invited me out for lobster rolls and oysters. We decided to spend the day at Pine Point, a breezy back-bay sand-grass filled marshy delight where delectable food and drink are served at any number of “famous” restaurants. We settled for the local empire of Bayley’s – this time visiting their Pound Shack, on the water. Social distancing in place, masks off, it was a splendid day of hoppy IPAs, freshly shucked oysters with briny liquor and spicy peel-n-eat shrimp. Next we plan to meet in Rio de Janeiro.

The list of out-of-this-world foodstuffs, pioneered by distinctive carpet-bagging restaurateurs with all the right ingredients to make your taste buds pop with excitement, is inexhaustible. The square pizza at Slab Sicilian Street Food is one of a kind, worthy of review. The Thirsty Pig has the most unique menu of house-made hot dogs [with toppings] and sausages, paired with local beers. After sampling lobster rolls at Red’s Eats in Camden, the lighthouse stand, High Roller, Bayley’s, and one upscale restaurant, Scales, the best was High Roller in downtown Portland.

The local bar scene is as bustling as the food scene, with many locations sharing both honors. The East Bayside district of Portland, with its old emptied-out capacious industrial warehouses and expansive lots, has been turned into an extensive neighborhood of eclectic flavorful micro-breweries. Kris and Marty AKA baby tiger (his 14 yr old Shiatsu) visited one Saturday from New Hampshire. We selected Austin Street Brewery – perfect for sitting outdoor with friends. We ended up pairing with Sarah and Gabe, on their second date, which were sitting at the table next to ours. Later we met Miguel at Rosie’s Restaurant and Pub, where food and drink is served late into the night. And in a town where most places close at 9pm, it is a refreshing godsend.

If ever there was a place to be stuck for the summer, Maine wins the award. Portland has quickly moved onto the top three list of my favorite small US cities for food and beer. A charming and enchanting town, filled with a mix of artistic and liberal personalities, a feeling of unrestricted freedom to expand inside & outside the self, packed with an endless number of satiated artisanal restaurants and drinking establishments, it is certainly a place to visit with an open stomach and heart – without fail, both will be better off after a short visit. They will thank you tremendously.

With Europe unquestionably now in the rearview mirror, as the world is mired in a continuing international health and economic crisis, it begets the million dollar question: where off to next?

Stay tuned!

CLICK HERE for PART I of Covid-19 story: Stranded in NYC, JFK.

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher. 

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.  

Thank you for your love and support.

Bruges, Belgium: Your velvety waffles, twice-cooked fries, succulent mussels, tasty beers and rich buttery chocolate are pure decadence.

Belgium was never a country that stood out to me and screamed “come visit” all I have to offer. Truth be told, I did not know what she had to offer other than gastronomic delight.  I first encountered this quietly hidden mischievous country while in community college in the early 1990s. While visiting England, as part of a cultural foreign exchange program, a few of us decided to wonder astray to further explore mainland Europe. Oddly enough, Belgium was only chosen as one in our group was a chef from a big casino in Atlantic City, whose employer was picking up the tab on all food and drink bills as part of a foreign taste discovery tour. Dave was a wild cat who liked to party; lockstep, we all followed his lead.

We had not arrived in Brussels ten minutes before Dave began watering at the mouth over the thought of all the beers and foods he was about to try, and others he had yet to discover. As large casinos are always on the hunt to increase the food variety they offer at their restaurants, twice a year, all expenses paid, they fly selected chefs anywhere in the world to eat and drink, on their dime.  As Dave was already there because of a program the casinos increased his expense account. That is where we came in; the casino was only meant to pay “his” dining costs. Well, I can assure you, it was not eleven minutes before Dave was buying the first round of Trappist beers. It was my first taste of Belgium beer – unforgettable.

For the next three days our motley crew of misfits wreaked havoc on Brussels and our stomachs. I was introduced to a whole new world of food that, until that time, I did not know even existed. A few years earlier my eyes were opened up to the world through international travel, writing one’s own page of history, and now my horizons were being spread even further in a new direction: the refined world of a culinary and oenophile palate. Dave was a true connoisseur, especially all things French. He introduced us to a whole new world – and took us along for the ride, first class. Though we may have been unsure some items he ordered, we tried them all. Not one complaint registered, but plenty of memories did.

My first trip to Belgium was memorable but did not leave me with the immediate desire to return soon without reservation. Fast forward twenty-seven years and I am now spending my summers living in Amsterdam, Holland. A close friend from Philadelphia, Joe, decided to visit me in Europe. What started out as a one week trip turned into two, then into five, before finally settling on an auspicious seven.  We decided we would take a few local side trips within Western Europe to visit some fun places. Spain was a bit too long in an auto for my injury so we flew there, deciding driving to Cologne, Germany and Bruges, Belgium. First stop on our adventure was Bruges – a city visited long before with some fellow comrades.

With all activity of prior nights’ raucous debauchery, those of young ‘innocent’ teens running amok in Europe, long forgotten, it was time for diverging roads and new indelible memories – Bruges awaited. Joe had never been to Europe – it was his first time. As almost always is the case I travel the world solo, so it was super helpful having someone along for the ride. And also someone to relieve me of driving responsibility, which can be quite taxing on my body as it continues to heal and progress further toward walking again. In life, it is only through Doing the Dirty Dishes that one can hope to change or grow as a person. One must get their hands dirty in life, becoming bold, vulnerable, choosing the path less chosen.

Long ago on my first visit to Belgium, a side-trip while on a cultural exchange program in England, we only swiftly visited Brussels, Bruges, Ghent and Antwerp. We were students on the hunt for anything non-academic and everything fun. My trip this time is a bit different as now I travel in a wheelchair. In my recent book: Unbreakable Mind – written for those facing an insurmountable obstacle or struggle in life, or those looking for a great story of motivation and inspiration – I speak on the need of continually broadening and expanding the horizons in your life; when the story ends life begins, and to travel the world is to remove prejudice through cultural understanding. Plan a trip in 2020 ~ hence this blog!

Since we only had a few days to visit we decided to pick one town, reserve a hotel and explore all the popular local sites. We chose Bruges. It is my favorite city in Belgium to visit. Located in the northwest, the capital of West Flanders, it is most well known for its picturesque canals, cobblestone streets and remarkable buildings from the medieval time period.  In previous years, with its huge canal network and access to international seas, the city was known for fishing and extensive European trade. The most distinguished part of town is city center, home to fine Burg Square, where the 14th-century City Hall (Stadhuis) is located, and nearby Markt Square, with its 13th-century Belfry and 83m tower with a view.

We chose to stay in the most central location, a hotel only fifty meters from Markt Square. Knowing the streets would not be forgiving on a manual wheelchair, it was important to be closer to the action. To claim access to the hotel in a wheelchair was difficult would be the understatement of the year; making the hotel clerk’s message to me a few months earlier on the ease of access the overstatement of 2019. Without Joe’s help I would have had a very hard time even getting in the front entrance. There were two hard doors to navigate before entering a one-man elevator with only a hair to spare for the wheelchair. The halls were carpeted, curvy and hilly – all nightmares for a wheelchair. Joe was an angel with wings.

As we had arrived mid-evening, there was no time to waste – local treats awaited arrival to our bellies. What would we try first? Joe was seduced by my description of the best waffles in the world. Well, there was no shops close-by who sold such warm goodness. Joe spotted a fry stand. After polishing off two orders of twice-cooked fries (Dutch are cooked once only) with obligatory mayonnaise (Andalouse), we decided on a drink. As we were already on Markt Square, there was no lack of outside restaurants to sit and enjoy the local delectable eats while enjoying the sun, conversation and amazing people watching. Six hours and three outdoor cafes later, while chatting with Nepalese staff, we closed down the plaza.

In Holland, their neighbor to the north, they prefer to call them Flemish fries (Vlaamse frites). They take their fries seriously in this part of the world, and so that ‘label’ ensures them a guarantee of the highest quality. Belgian fries are best known for being freshly cut, irregularly shaped, thick, distinct potato taste – and, twice-fried, served in a paper cone, they are crispy on the outside and super light on the inside. Flemish refers to Vlaanderen, which is the northern section of Belgium that is Dutch speaking. The Dutch relate well to this part of the country because they share the same language and history. Once upon a time they were the same country. The southern part of Belgium speaks French and is closer to France.

Over the next few days we would explore the city residents simply consider a village. A cosmopolitan yet nostalgic town at heart, with roots in medieval Europe, home to the regions’ most talented artists, an assortment of fine dining, it is an international city of tourists that maintains a small-town heartbeat.  The realm of eats spans from inexpensive street foods to expensive Michelin-star dining establishments. My five all-time delicious items to consume when in Belgium: Trappist monk beers, mussels, waffles, fries and chocolate. There are fourteen Trappist monasteries, six of which are located in Belgium. The city offers all types settings, from street to casual to modern. There is something for everyone to relish.

As you walk through the narrow cobbled streets, past astonishing medieval architecture and buildings such as the Belfry and Rose Hat Quay, exploring the quaint canals – possessing their own special energy, finding hidden off-the-beaten-path gems, feeling the song of this seductive mistress being sung unto your soul.  The easiest way to see the city’s extensive network of canals is by boat tour. The city’s past is affluent and influential, once home to the Hof Bladelin, a part of the Medici banking system. Float by the Jan Van Eyckplein and Burgher’s Lodge, at one time where you could find the city’s famous and elite. The Groeningemuseum displays art of the ‘Flemish Primitives,’ such as Hans Memling and Jan Van Eyck.

The city is best explored on foot – getting out into the streets and seeing what aesthetic pleasures await your discovery. The historic core of Bruges is an UNESCO world heritage protected site. Once you get beyond city limits there is an extensive network of abbeys and castles, known as Brugse Ommeland. Visit the squares, climb the tower and see the cityscape views, eat some of the endless street foods, go to a fancy restaurant, take a bike ride through Loppem Castle – a garden labyrinth built for noble offspring dated to the 19th-century, take a canal boat tour, go to a museum or enjoy the summer sun with friends – savor life. Americans do not pale in comparison – Europeans focus more on enjoying life to its fullest.

Most cities in Europe I visit require navigating public transportation systems, whereas Bruges, village-like and historic, with only tapered canals and cobbled roads to navigate, nonetheless still a daunting task in a wheelchair, is manageable. Regardless, the number of worries never changes. Bruges, with its small doorways and untold stairs, is not for the novice injured traveler. With a bit of meticulous planning, you could have a spectacular trip. And when things do not go as planned, which is often in my case, trust that the universe will see you through it. Otherwise, start with fries and mussels (Moules frites), with a Westmalle Dubbel on tap, followed by a warm waffle with chocolate, strawberries and cream as dessert.

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

My three day adventure to New York City via Greyhound: Next time, I will think twice on transport.

It has been over twenty years since I lived and worked in the “Big Apple,” AKA New York City (NYC). After a couple years, the twenty-four/seven non-stop lifestyle wore on me and eventually I moved back to the Philadelphia area to start a company during the .com boom. “The City,“ as locals call it, had not yet seen the wheels of my chair; unsure if I would ever experience her special embrace again. Many years have passed since my last visit; all these years she has been slowly whispering sweet words of taunt to me, alluring me back into her arms. She is one-of-a-kind, energy unmatched the world over. It would take the invite of an old friend for me to consider dancing with her once again. Dance, we would.

One late morning while stretching in bed my phone rang. George Solano, a close friend from university, was calling. With a growing Law Practice in Newark, NJ, he is an extremely busy man.  What could my crazy irascible friend possibly want today? George recently returned from a one month trip to Ecuador, a trip he invited me on but I was unable to attend as I was in Spain at the same time. So often we tried matching our schedules, making weekends tough and anything longer even tougher. Alas, Georgie had some free time. He invited me to his home in Jersey City for a weekend of pre-holiday cheer. A trip to NYC will take some planning, “Let me get back to you, Georgie.” Two days later I answered, “Yes.”

In my final attempts to be freed of owning a car, I stumble here or there how to get certain places. It is no secret that public transportation in the United States does not compare to other industrialized nations, especially Europe, where I also live. And now that I must travel in a wheelchair, more meticulous planning than usual is required. Auto is the best way from Delaware to New York City – straight up the ‘world famous’ New Jersey Turnpike.  Auto no longer an option, other ways would have to be considered. There are only two other viable options: bus or train. Both go to and from the exact same stations. The train is much more expensive, costing up to three times normal fair on an off day.

Knowing the travel-ways would be busy the week before Thanksgiving I decided to plan ahead. Having established Amtrak was too expensive, Greyhound won out as the chosen type transportation.  Being that George lives in Jersey City, it would be more convenient for both, and a closer pick-up/drop-off, If I traveled via bus return trip through Newark’s Penn Station. Greyhound’s website is [still] not the easiest site to navigate. Once able to locate available trip information online I quickly found two convenient departure and arrival segments. As they had a special area to designate, I checked the box for injured travel, with wheelchair as transportation mode. All planned, including wheelchair reservation, I smiled.

My bus departed on a Friday mid-afternoon.  Forty-five minutes before departure I rode an Uber to the Wilmington bus station. The bus arrives and slowly one by one it loads almost full. There, outside in the blustery cold raw elements, I sat and froze. After a few minutes it quickly became clear the bus driver did not have the key required to open the door to the lift so I could properly board.  The driver, from Alabama, was kind and thoughtful, as she sat on hold with dispatch to see how best to proceed with the situation. I requested to get some passers-by to help me onto the bus but the driver declined due to liability. Eventually relenting, one strong fellow passenger, Miguel, lifted me into the first seat. I was on.

As if that was not a peculiar enough start to a trip, it was about to get a bit more interesting. The first omen of many to arrive, once on the bus, appeared when the driver was unsure how to exit downtown Wilmington for the highway to the bridge to New Jersey. She was also unsure which direction on i95 to take, North or South. One goes to Florida, the other to New York, on its way to Maine. Big difference! She entered the entrance to go towards Philadelphia, the wrong way. After directing her through city-center we eventually made it onto the correct highway. After more wrong turns in Newark, getting the bus stuck on tight one-way streets, two and half hours late, we finally arrived at Penn Station, Newark.

George was parked just across the street from the bus station. Upon entering his jeep, he exclaimed he had a long week, was tired of waiting and needed a drink. I concurred. Off to La Fortaleza Mexican restaurant to meet friends we went.  Twenty minutes later, two naked lime margaritas arrived as we awaited our table at the bar.  Ahh, it was time to relax in the company of a long-time close friend. Soon after, other friends joined us for a memorable night out. Their guacamole is luscious; with a nice twist. I ordered beef tacos. After trading two beef for two shrimp tacos I was in taco heaven. Their chocolate covered churros and fried ice cream are highly recommended for dessert. Their food is delicious.

Saturday morning Bikram Yoga comes early. As George’s neighbor was visiting Vietnam, he was dog-sitting Herman, a French Bulldog with an impish grin.  I awoke to my jacket on the floor, covered in slobber. Hermanator swears it was not he who was mischievous in the night. And George thinks perhaps there is more to the story. Ask Herman. Deciding to sleep through Yoga (great session) gave me an extra two hours stretching and preparing before departing to NYC. We had ferry tickets reserved for a 14:00 departure. The ride from Jersey City to NYC midtown takes approx. 12 minutes. Once parked, we met up with Tim, a SAP Software Engineer, who incessantly travels the world implementing software solutions.

The ferry dumps you out on the West Side of Manhattan, midtown section, which now is predominantly taken up with the ever expanding growth of real estate project Hudson Yards. It is the largest private real estate development in the United States, including Chelsea and Hudson Yards neighborhoods of Manhattan. At $25 Billion one would expect some wow factor. It delivers, NY style: in your face. It has an outdoor courtyard with beautifully light-lined trees and various landscapes for walking or sitting to watch people. It is anchored on one end by The Vessel, an eclectic structure and landmark that offers great vistas of lower Manhattan from its lookout deck. The shopping, food and drink are world-class.

The fact Georgie is a foodie, and one of the friends we were meeting out, Steve, is a local NYC hotspot and food critic blogger, was sure to make for a gastro-oenophile connoisseur’s experience of a lifetime.  Not five minutes passed before George arrived with a round of fresh Sangria. Every person circled Mercado Little Spain over and over, each time returning with new exotic and delicious tapas. Mike and Tim also ventured into the unknown abyss for food. Each attempt took a bit longer; the queues were long.  Mike was mistreated by a chef. Steve returned with rabbit-chicken over rice. Then Mike with tasty succulent octopus and paprika potatoes; George with chorizo sausage and tomato bread, and on and on.

Bellies filled, we decided to see Tim’s friend’s jam band play in the West Village. The band did not come on for a few hours and so we headed to Washington Square via Uber. As the area has many obstacles for a wheelchair, and for obvious safety reasons, I am grateful to George and friends for their selfless assistance.  This square, always filled with interesting and unique characters, served as my balcony view when living on 9th St. during my Wall Street days, with clear views of Arc de Triomphe, NYU Library and the [prior] World Trade Center.  As stated in my book, Unbreakable Mind: Doing the Dirty Dishes of life is the truest path to real growth. The night’s participants were out in full effect. The night was young.

Only in Washington Square can you find a virtuoso opera singer singing aloud atop a $85K Steinway Grand Piano, sand artist (Joe Mangrum) constructing a Mandela about three meters across, tourists busy snapping photos in front of the Washington Sq. Arch and drug dealers every fifteen feet – “The City,” a class its own, unrivaled on this planet. We left there to take a stroll down Bleecker Street, a street replete with the most delicious of foods, endless comedy show cabarets (hawkers too) and innumerable supply of the odd variety. Oh, and plenty of homeless too, mixed within misfits and unusual people lining the Village streets late into night. The West Village is known for being strange. It always delivers.

The show was at The Red Lion sports bar on Bleecker Street at 21:00. They host rock and blues bands, all while international futbol is broadcast via satellite to TVs throughout the bar. On the way we stopped at Olive Tree, an Israeli restaurant, comedy show below, for hummus and mint tea. Wheeling through the Village streets can be challenging but easily done with some effort. If crowds bother you, better to have someone guide or watch for you. To me, as in life, it is all about our energy. Mine is good, thus those surrounding me are affected in extra-special ways, allowing for pleasant exchanges of acknowledgement and synchronicity of love with complete strangers. The West Village is a people-watcher’s wet dream.

The band performed their original music as well as some covers. They were astounding. Our friend’s friend played the electric violin like no one’s business. This guy could give the devil in Georgia a run for his fiddle.  They were a jam band and jam they did – the whole place was rocking, a good time had by all. After a few hours we decided to try some local eats. It did not take all but two minutes for a consensus: Joe’s Pizza on Carmine Street is the best ‘pie’ in the West Village. The line for slices some nights can go on for hundreds of feet, especially when all the bars let out. We were there early. Eighteen minutes and $26 dollars later, we were in an Uber dreaming of eating the large pepperoni pizza steaming in the box.

As is the case with most those who live and commute in the tri-state (NJ, NY, and CT) area, I spent most of my trip on different sides of the Hudson River, which separates NJ and NYC. The ferry between NYC and NJ is easy and convenient for a wheelchair, with parking close by and flat walkways and docks. A one way ticket during the weekday, $9; discounts on weekends. Once in the city you can expect the normal obstacles, with some neighborhoods’ buildings harder to access than others. Do your research, first. Accessible subways in NYC are hit and miss, many MTA stations have no lift access, or the station is under construction – which seems like the whole system some days. Rider beware (rats inclusive)!

Sunday we decided to stay in NJ. With countless options, as a cold damp rain fell outside, we decided on a football game at home, movie in later afternoon and then some food from the old days. Being in the NY TV market the only two games on were the Giants and Jets. I was forced to watch the Jets – it was tough. Afterward we headed off to see the new movie starring Tom Hanks, A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, which was much better than I had expected. Bow Tie Cinemas in downtown Hoboken is easily accessible, with limited handicap street parking however. Hungry from theater treats, we headed to Mamoun’s for their renowned falafel. It is as delectable as it was twenty-five years ago. Wow!

After delicious Lebanese food in NJ, original location on Bleeker in West Village in NYC, we were off to Newark’s Penn Station for part II of the Greyhound debacle. Life is a journey but sometimes we have smaller unforgettable fiascos along the way. This was one of those strange times. If I didn’t know better I might think there was some LSD in my system. Hmm, maybe some was leftover – sure felt like it. Would that make this Gonzo Journalism?  The weekend was one of those trips in which you are never quite sure which dimension or plane you are living on. It makes way for fresh growth, allowing sun to shine on your garden of life. It is only through struggle, facing our fears, which we truly grow and prosper in life.

Was it my first choice to take Greyhound to the NYC area for a weekend? No, not exactly. I preferred a different mode of transportation. But that was not in my cards. And so the bus it was. It was quite the experience, no doubt expanding my horizons, branches of tree of life and  forming indelible memories. Being that I had lived in NYC many years previous I had no interest in a weekend of the standard tourist hot-spots. It was meant to be a weekend with cherished friends in the Jersey City/NYC area but also turned into a story. It was a most delightful weekend.  The bus was late. I had to be carried on and off again by kind passengers. Such was my experience taking Greyhound.  Next time I will opt for Amtrak!

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

Barcelona: Though your beaches are overflowing with caca, your history, architecture, food and culture are spectacular.

Barcelona, Barna to locals, or Barthelona as spoken in Catalonian variety of Spanish, is my favorite city in Spain. This beautiful charming seaside town, the Catalonian capital, second biggest city in Spain, filled with astounding architecture, rich history, vibrant parks, beautiful beaches, world-class museums and art, amazing food and night-life, a great Futbol Club, and world-class culture is sure to bedazzle you.  With buildings abound from Antoni Gaudi and Lluis Domenech i Montaner, its ever-present art and stunning architecture will delight even the toughest critic. There is something for everyone in Barcelona. You are sure to be enchanted by her relaxed charm, impish modesty and unassuming sophistication.

Since I live in Amsterdam in summer, it was my first time experiencing intra-European Union (EU) travel. How nice to only have to fly a few hours to be in beautiful and sunny Espana. KLM, always the local airline of choice, especially since the only other choice is a regional discount airline that frequently is late or worse yet cancels. Checking in and entering security at Schiphol is fast and convenient. Like most airports, they have special lanes and people to tend to injured travelers. As far as world airports go, Schiphol is top for injured travelers. They have an Assisted Services Department and website with all relevant information. It was a short midday flight with wine, cheese and crackers. Bring on the sangria.

Upon arrival in Spain, after being escorted off the plane in an aisle-chair, also with adequate services at the ready to assist travelers in need, we quickly headed for the exit. Unless I just had a long trans-Ocean flight and am totally knackered, I choose to go the airport alone, denying all attempts at assistance once off the plane and in my own wheelchair. Solo travel has always been my M.O., teaching me to be a one-man travel show. I place my carry-on on my lap, leather bag on top of carry-on (when both packed, up to my chin) and wheel through the airport. Independence in life is refreshing, no matter if injured or not. Though this trip I was traveling with a friend, Joe from Philadelphia – who was visiting me in Amsterdam.

Within fifteen minutes of landing we were through immigration and straight on our way to fun in the sun. The airport is very clean, with accessible toilets. There is no immigration if arriving from another EU member country. When you exit, passport control imprints your passport with an exit-stamp.  When I was a younger world traveler trying to fill as many passports as possible, it mattered. Now, it doesn’t.  As I state in my book, Unbreakable Mind, life begins when the story ends. The taxi queue is just outside the exit. As there is no Uber in Barcelona you have no choice but to use local taxis. They really are not fans of ride-share services – just ask one. Thirty Euros later, we arrived at our hostel – let the fiesta begin.

For the record, the RENFE train system runs from the airport to city center. Trains run every thirty minutes – station located at Terminal 2. Metro line L9 Sud, Aerobus express service, as well as TMB Airport Bus (#46) and Airport Night Bus (N17) all take you to city center (info). FTC, Tram and buses are all accessible; Metro stations with “Y” have lift access (check map). Some beaches have accessible pathways. We decided on staying at the Generator Hostel. The hostel, with locations throughout Europe, is centrally located in the city, not a far stroll to the old city and beach. It has an elevator and accessible rooms – two bars and a restaurant. All safe, we reserved an accessible room beforehand.

As is the case with almost all injured travel, upon attempting check-in at the hostel, our room was taken. Hence what makes injured travel such an even bigger challenge than bipedal adventures. We had intentionally reserved an upgraded room with balcony and view of the sea. In the end, they gave us two choices: 1. a larger accessible room with no balcony or 2. smaller non-accessible room with a balcony and beautiful views of the city, La Sagrada and ocean. Easy choice – we opted for the vista. By this point of the summer Joe was used to carrying me places. On the way he had to carry me to the last row of the plane. The crew said they never had a wheelchair passenger – he saved them a lot of time and hassle.

Well, the room certainly had a beautiful balcony with a stunning panorama of the ocean but I could not access it. Nor could I access the bathroom in our upgraded ‘room with a view.’ I had to ask them to place an extra chair in the bathroom so I could transfer from the wheelchair to the chair to the toilet. A triple play! It is not fun, especially when tired or in a rush to get to the toilet, itself already a strenuous task. It would have to do. In life, it is always best when given lemons to buck-up and make lemonade. The exit to the balcony had a large lip which impeded the wheelchair. Joe had to lift me from my wheelchair to a balcony chair outside. Once there, I was in heaven. With the view, I could stay for hours. And I did.

The hostel, located in the electrifying section of Gracia, a bohemian refuge with old-city ambiance, close to tourist attractions, thrilling eclectic districts with muy delicioso tapas, cava, sangria and dance, and the beach, is the best deal for the money.  It is situated on a main thoroughfare, allowing easy access to taxis or public transport.  Even though most of the city is accessible, with Spain generally cheaper than most other big cities in Europe, I always opt for taxi transportation when practical. Gaudi’s iconic Casa Batllo apartments are a close walk. Mouthwatering artisan cafes and urban street food are located in the neighborhood. It is close to Las Ramblas, a great central location from which to explore the city.

There is a restaurant on the base level of the hostel; buffet breakfast and a la-carte lunch and dinner available from 07:00 to 22:00.  Multiple other fine cuisine options exist within walking distance.  The Fiesta Gracia Bar, also located on the base floor, has diverse craft beers and small bar bites and snacks. I recommend the bombas. As well, located atop the hostel, there is a bar. As there are stairs leading to the roof-top bar, it was not easily accessible to me.  Joe could have carried me but we never needed a drink bad enough to venture there. Travel in Spain definitely is a clear example of Doing The Dirty Dishes in life. The food at the hostel, and across the street at Pikio Takio, is convenient, cheap and delectable.

We spent much time relaxing on the patio of our hostel room – with beautiful panoramic views of the ocean, Gothic quarter (known locally as El Barri) – part of the old town (Ciutat Vella), Basilica de la Sagrada Familia and neighboring districts – quickly becoming our refuge. There is a certain peace that overcomes a person when able to sit in beauty and calm whilst the chaos of the outside world continues on. There are many clubs and Catalan restaurants close-by. If you wish to partake in actividades verde in Barna, than you need to patronize a different type club. Membership is required (tourists can join one year), limits on amounts purchased and must spend fifteen minutes there first before leaving the club.

One day we decided to venture out into the city. Western Europe was in the middle of a bad heat wave, but thankfully the sea breeze and geographic location of Barthelona provided a respite from the extreme oppressive warmth.  La Sagrada Familia, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Gaudi’s unfinished Roman Catholic minor basilica masterpiece, was our first stop. Who let the tourists out?! It did not take long before this site was overrun by photo snapping sightseers, many almost getting seriously injured by passing cars while jockeying in the road for the perfect selfie. Obligatory basilica photograph out of the way, it was time to escape the insanity.  The thought of some local Catalan sangria could not be ignored.

But that would have to wait. Just as we escaped the madness at the basilica we decided to take a quick city tour on a hop-on hop-off bus. The ticket was surprisingly more expensive in Barcelona than other cities in Europe but it is an easy and convenient way to see numerous sites of many cities. Our trip was short and so did not allow enough time to venture out on foot to every desired spot. And the bus is also convenient for the wheelchair. Plus it saves wear and tear on my shoulders and body – energy better left for the evening, when the city comes alive and it is most needed. They cover all the must-sees, with 31 stops – choice is yours. There are two interchangeable routes, East and West; passes are also available.

Later that day, unsure what to do as the afternoon sun shined bright, we decided to take a journey to the beach to see what it entailed. Other than ocean water filled with feces from the Barcelona city sewer system. Yes, you read that correctly: All the poop and pee from the residents of Barna dump right into the ocean, the same one you experience when swimming on Platja de La Barceloneta to Platja de la Mar Bella. There is a long cement strand along the beach where you can easily walk with astonishing views of the beach and ocean. There are beach clubs – entering at street level, descending one floor via elevator to beach level – where beautiful women serve you traditional style sangria. Five pitchers later….

Our last day was spent roaming the narrow medieval streets of the Gothic Quarter (Barri Gotic). During the day craftspeople pedal their wares, mostly hand-made, by the Cathedral of Barcelona (Catedral de Barcelona). The Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia (its official name) is a Gothic cathedral, constructed from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries. At night the district’s trendy bars and Catalan restaurants come alive. No one ever accused the Spanish of bad food or an inability to have fun. If you are looking for a great time, night-life like no other, tapas that will leave indelible marks on your world ’best-of’ menu, an experience forever ingrained on your soul, save the poop, than Barthelona is for you.

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

SEC Football Stadium Accessibility – Volunteers at University of Tennessee, Knoxville Do it Right!

It was a long weekend at the mining site, resulting in departing home on an early Saturday morning instead of Friday afternoon as we were accustomed. We were tired but after our third flight the beers were flowing, as were our spirits. Single at the time, I did not mind being stuck in any city on any given weekend. Big Sexy AKA Alex and I were sitting at a Toronto, Canada airport terminal sports bar enjoying great conversation and some college football whilst awaiting boarding flights to our home bases. Mine was in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and Big Sexy’s in Nashville, Tennessee.  All the sudden, out of left field, an invite came from Alex: “Come to Tennessee for a game?” Wait! What?!

Immediately rebuffing Alex’s attempt at being a polite Southern gentleman, inviting me down to his neck of the woods, the South, for a SEC college football game, I smiled. And I am a Vols fan too. Hmmm, could it be true? Alex stated: “I assure you in Tennessee we are sincere, if we make an invite it is authentic, it is real. None of that sugar-and-spice, all things nice you find in some other Southern States.” I told Big Sexy that his reply sounded more like sugar-and-spice than ever before. He laughed as he said “Come on down and see for yourself.” At the time Alex made the invite we were working for DeBeers diamond mines in the far north of Canada as management consultants.  Much had changed.

Seven years later, a book about meeting an express train rendering me a quadriplegic published, Alex once again brought up the idea of going to a Vols game.  By this time in my recovery I was comfortable attempting attending a college football game, and all it involved. But the dates just could not work. One year later, a new friend, also in a wheelchair, from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, in conversation made an invite to attend a LSU Tigers game. After quickly figuring out her invite was traditional ‘Southern spice’ – also known as BS – it was back to square one. Then a text arrived from Alex. He found a game date, and would it work for me? I replied I was in Europe for summer, would check schedule and advise.

Two weeks later, my summer and fall starting taking shape, and it appeared the weekend Alex wanted to finally see a Volunteers game together, I was free. But I would have a friend joining me. Alex did not mind as he had three tickets and was happy to break another SEC fan’s cherry by attending not only his first SEC college football game, but also his first Volunteers game at Neyland Stadium in Knoxville – home to the 4th largest college stadium in the US, seating capacity 102,455. The finer details still needed to be worked out. For now it was on – me and a friend would be venturing down south to Tennessee to see our first SEC game at Neyland Stadium. We were thrilled to the brim at the idea of the trip.

A few weeks before the game I inquired with Alex to see if our seats were handicap accessible or not. I was aware that Neyland, a very old stadium, has some parts dating from early 1900s, thus making accessibility a potential issue.  Our seats were not accessible, in fact. An idea came to mind. Alex, don’t worry about seating, I will call the Athletic office to see if they can find us some nice accessible seats. I will do a story on the stadium and my experience Doing The Dirty Dishes of life, attending a game there in a wheelchair.  He loved the idea. Well, it turned out, UT-Knoxville did as well. Now, instead of sitting in the nose-bleeds, we were front-and-center, end zone, first row, pro-gratis.

Originally I wrote a letter to the Assoc. Dir. of Athletics for Communication, Tom Satkowiak. He put me in contact with a Manager in event coordination, Angie Doyle. She put me in contact with someone at the ticket office – “Will the ticket man,” self-described, and super helpful. Tickets sorted, not a minute passed, and Angie fired off an email with all the information specifically needed for handicap parking, and direction to special handicap accessible buses that would shuttle us to the stadium.  It was quickly becoming clear I was dealing with a momentous event of serious proportions that would take proper planning and execution. It was also clear the level of professionalism of all UT-K staff was a step ahead.

Angie momentarily sent an email with descriptions of many types events, activities and other pertinent information leading up the game. We would have to arrive early. Early as in 8am or so! I had heard SEC fans liked to party early before noon games but did not think they were serious. Oh yes they were. We arrived at the stadium early that morning, the streets already buzzing with activity. It was fixing to be a hot day too, according to the forecast. We followed Angie’s directions, parking at the Agriculture Campus, where they had a special lot reserved with over 120 parking spots. And it was free, too. Bonus at a time when parking can exceed forty dollars, beers fourteen dollars, etc. at events.

The school’s athletic department has a ‘Game Day’ page where fans can find out upcoming game time, critical updates of any kind, along with stadium rules and regulations. There is an information tab clearly marked for accessible/ADA seating. There you can find information on parking, entry and seating. For those sitting in the upper levels, please check with the ticket office as you may need access to an elevator, which requires a pass. The website also describes the various game day festivities offered – there are many:  The Vol Walk, Band March, Volunteer Village, Tennessee Park, Kickoff Call-In Show and Tailgate Tennessee are a few of the endless activities offered prior to every home game.

The morning of the game we arrived bright and early, securely parking at the Agriculture Campus. The campus was very easy to find; police and event staff could be found every fifteen feet. Within minutes of parking we were in line for special accessible buses that would take us to the stadium. Only ten minutes passed before we were approached, given wristbands to enter and exit transport buses, and readied to board. Since I was traveling with a friend from home, Joe, and a friend from Nashville, Alex, we would need room for three. There was never an issue, at any point – the staff was always more than accommodating. Within thirty minutes of parking our car, we were off to see our first SEC game.

As we embarked on the short drive from our parking lot to Neyland Stadium, excitement was in the air, palpable on the bus and extending well beyond to the endless throngs of people outside, all slowly making their way to the stadium. There was no lack of tailgating everywhere, food and drink abound. They were not joking – it is serious business in Tennessee.  As long as you were wearing orange you were welcome to eat and drink as much as you liked, you were treated like family. Every direction you turned someone in orange was ready to offer a smile, beer, burger or laugh. The hospitality of the people of Tennessee is real – it can be felt.  Finally, fifteen minutes later, we arrived at the stadium.

Luckily we were dropped off close to the ticket office and also gate we needed to enter stadium. As there were large crowds of people gathering near the entrance I asked Alex to please sort out the tickets. Five minutes later Big Sexy appeared with three seats in Section Y9, Seats 4,5,6.  Ready to go, a polite event supervisor approached to inform us of a special medical entrance that would allow for a more convenient way into stadium. Everywhere we turned there was a fan or staff ready to help, incessantly offering any assistance they were able, always with a big Tennessee smile. We followed his directions and minutes later entered the stadium. The excitement in the air could be cut with a knife.

Game time close, Alex, the polite TN host he is, offered up first round of drinks.  At the same time, a gentleman from the main gate following us, two chairs in tow, lead us to our seats. As we entered a blinding sea of orange came upon us. They sat us in the best seats in the house, with amazing views of football play and fan shenanigans, on all sides. John, the host of our section, a Yankee originally from Michigan, had his house in order. The whole game he made sure we had a clear view of the field, as did fellow fans. It was as if we were being treated as VIPs, though we were in all orange and bought a seat like everyone else. Tennessee really knows how to make a couple first-timers feel incredibly welcome.

As could be expected, as with pre-game activities, there were a number of other great Volunteer traditions in order as time to kickoff approached  closer. Only recently had they started selling alcohol at the stadium, resulting simply in higher levels of fanaticism.  Though I am not too sure the fans needed much help. Somehow I couldn’t imagine counting the number of eggs and beers breakfasts served. Oh, with sausage biscuits and gravy, of course. The band began playing on the field – the anticipation of kickoff looming larger. Soon the Field Commander entered – closing out his five-star performance as the band split into a “T” – allowing team to enter field through “T.” All the while, Rocky Top played aloud.

There was no lack of delicious food or drink on the first floor main concourse for purchase. Bathrooms were plentiful; one never a far distance.  Within thirty feet walk of our seats there were two bathrooms, both with handicap accessible stalls.  Thankfully I was spared testing the facilities, though they looked amazingly clean for a stadium that sits over 100K fans. John was the consummate host, always checking in to see how we were doing, seeing if there was anything we needed.  He served as a great photographer as well. A magnificent time was had by all. The game was spectacular; the seats even more so. The fans were the nicest I have ever encountered at a stadium. And we won, double bonus!

Leaving the stadium was just as easy as entering – right in front. We exited the same gate as we entered and within minutes were in line for accessible shuttle buses returning back to the Agriculture Campus.  Fans were orderly and polite, lending a smile or joke whenever possible. The Vols had just won a game after the worst start to a football year since 1988. Fifteen minutes or so and we were being loaded onto a bus to take us back to our car. The bus driver tied me in, asked me if I needed anything, and we were on our way. It took no time at all to make it back to our parking lot. A few minutes later we were exiting the campus, entering highway on our way back to Nashville for two more exciting days.

The system they have in place in Knoxville for football games is meticulously well thought out. Bus lanes and pedestrian walkways ensure one quick access throughout stadium grounds. Event staff can be found as easily as a Southern Baptist Church on Sunday. There are no lack of signage or clear directions on flow of pedestrians and traffic. The stadium was entirely accessible, a totally stress-free experience. The food and drink offered were more than adequate. The staff working inside the game was more than helpful, always willing to lend a hand. Our greatest thanks and gratitude goes out to the University of Tennessee, Knoxville – all their staff, players and fans. We had an unforgettable experience. Thank you. Go Vols!

Travel Blog: Click here.

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Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

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Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

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Thank you for your love and support.

Colombia: Eres dulce, ardiente y picante, tentadora y seductora – tus besos me sedujeron.

Todo lo que puedo recordar es que yo estaba pensado “¿Wow, esto está realmente pasando? Eran finales de los 1990’s y yo había sido contratado como maestro para el Colegio en Bucarmanga, en el Departamento Santander, en el Norte-Central de Colombia, en un contrato de dos años. Resulta ser que al tiempo que recibía mi Visa de trabajo para Colombia, me estaban ofreciendo una posición en Tokio, Japón, con el gobierno japonés. Decidí moverme al Este en lugar del Sur, determinando que encontraría otro tiempo y oportunidad para regresar a Colombia. Usualmente la vida no nos da segundas oportunidades, pero, veinte años después, la vida me da la oportunidad. Desde ese entonces es como si Colombia me llamara, dijera mi nombre con un encanto ilimitado, me susurrara dulcemente al oído, la seductora de indias – una vez mordido ya no hay timidez. Estoy enamorado. Este es el cuento de mi aventura en Colombia, viajando lesionado en silla de ruedas, y de toda la maravilla y esplendor que resultó de la magia del tren.

Era un vuelo temprano a la tierra ardiente y picante desde Filadelfia: 06:00. Eso significaba despertarme a las 3:00 am, casi sin haber dormido. No era un comienzo prudente para un viaje largo con una escala de ida y otra de regreso. Poder descansar mi cuerpo en posición horizontal durante la noche le da a mi cuerpo y músculos el alivio necesario por un día de embestida de la presión a mi columna vertebral, siempre lo necesito con desesperación. La escala en Atlanta fue un regalo y una maldición por igual. Me permitió estirarme y tener un fácil acceso al baño, así mismo esto causo que se alargara el tiempo de mi viaje, causando innecesariamente estrés en mi cuerpo. Antes de cualquier viaje pienso en todas las variables posibles e imaginables: costos, tiempos de viaje, aeropuertos, retrasos y posibles escalas, comidas y el estado actual de mi recuperación. Cada aerolínea y/o aeropuertos tienen su propio personal que asiste todas estas necesidades. Cada año he notado que estos servicios no solo han crecido en cantidad, sino también y aun más importante en eficiencia. Son como un regalo celestial. Gracias a ustedes por toda su ayuda.

Tan pronto llegamos a Colombia, en ese instante supe que habíamos llegado al trópico. Aeropuertos de tipo retro, aeropuertos donde se despliegan escaleras de acero, estacionamientos de aviones en medio de la nada, verdes palmas alrededor, la sensación que te da su aire, es como si te golpeara una toalla caliente mojada, navegación requerida, son de lo mejor; sobre todo cuando un discapacitado necesita ser sacado del avión en una silla temblorosa de metal asistido por dos hombres delgados del personal de aeropuerto. Fue un viaje divertido, por lo menos no me tiraron, un punto para Stevo. (fotos de mi viaje las pueden ver aqui.) Como lo escriboen mi libro, en la vida, si uno quiere lograr algo importante o sustancial, debes entrar en la tómbola, presentarse, correr el riesgo y participar: Doing the Dirty Dishes [de vida].

Este iba a ser el primer viaje a un país industrializado donde sabía que los estándares no serían una especificación internacional, si es que existían. Desafíos abundantes, tantos como malezas en manantiales, estaban en todas partes. Apenas salí del aeropuerto fui acosado por una manada de taxistas. Pedro me pareció una buena opción, me gusto su currículo: un nombre bíblico en un país bastante católico. Buena elección. Puntuación doble para Stevo.   Solo el equipaje en el asiento trasero del taxi, la silla de ruedas iba en la cajuela. Cumbia la música a todo volumen hasta que llegamos al hotel. Fue un trayecto corto de tan solo 9 kilómetros, no me tomo mucho tiempo para darme cuenta que estaba en el lugar correcto. La energía de Colombia te abraza, yo lo podía sentir en mi corazón. Estaba donde se suponía que debía estar en el tiempo adecuado en mi vida. No hay errores. Aún estaba inseguro por que el universo me había mandado a Colombia justo en esta intersección, sin embargo, pronto encontraría la razón. Tan pronto entre a Boca Grande, Un camino largo y con curvas por la carretera mientras casi podría abrazar la playa y las olas, era 420 y “Peter el Papa” estaba más que feliz de compartir un poco de amor fraternal. Puntuación de bonificación para Stevo. Bienvenido a Colombia, era una grandiosa “Bienvenida” si tú me preguntaras.

Apenas baje del taxi y me enfrente con mi primer obstáculo real. La pendiente del camino de la entrada del hotel era demasiado empinada como para recorrerla yo solo en la silla de ruedas. Esta situación no ayudaba ya que el 90% de mi hotel estaba rodeado de la playa y no tenía banquetas para caminar, y cuando había algunas estas, eran demasiado difíciles ya que tenían piedras o escalones y algunos de los bordes eran de medio metro. Tener acceso a restaurantes o bares estaban fuera de mi alcance sin pedir ayuda o que el taxi me dejara en la entrada. Incluso tomar los elevadores del hotel requerían un empuje hacia arriba, era una pendiente pequeña pero empinada. No tenía baños accesibles excepto el de mi cuarto que era en el piso 29. No me era accesible elcafé del lobby del hotel, eso era un gran impedimento. El viajar mientras estás discapacitado o lesionado requiere una planificación impecable.

Me recordóde mis días en Magee Rehabilitation Hospital se “supone” que es uno de los mejores Hospitales de terapia física en Filadelfia, donde me querían correr por reusarme a aprender como saltar grandes bordos o banquetas en mi silla de ruedas. No le encontraba el punto. Por el contrario, pensé que era violento y peligroso. Mi respuesta a eso fue fácil: “Yo pediré por ayuda. (durante este viaje fui levantado en mi silla de ruedas en el aire, eran tantos los obstáculos y ocurrencias, más de lo que se puedan imaginar)” Cartagena fue verdaderamente un sinfín de obstáculos que recorrer en mi silla de ruedas. Mejor eso lo contare más adelante, pero nunca fue un problema. Este es un viaje de lesionado—Bienvenido al Club. En mi libro Unbreakable Mind hablo sobre la necesidad de levantarse y salir al mundo y vivir de nuevo. Todos los tropiezos no deben de contar, lo que cuenta es todas las veces que te levantaste. Esa es la mayor fuente de madurez y desarrollo en la vida, en vivirla, en ser feliz. “la Buena vida mi amiga”

Hotel Dubai Cartagena originalmente no sugería detalladamente las habitaciones accesibles para lesionados, en mi búsqueda inicial en línea en tres grandes sitios web de viajes. Yo quería saber más, así que me contacté directamente con el hotel. Lo bueno es que lo hice, ya que ellos querían, podían y estaban más que felices de tenerme como huésped. Usualmente encuentras información inadecuada o simplemente errónea en los sitios web de viajes, así que sé más inteligente y trata de buscar más información. Escribe correctamente tus preguntas, habla y has preguntas directas sobre tus necesidades para así poder estar seguro que estarán cubiertos tus requerimientos para lo que necesitas sobre como tener un viaje placentero para tus discapacidades en especial, antes de tomar cualquier decisión. Porque cuando de antemano piensas que todo estará bien pueda que fácilmente cambie y se vaya todo a la mierda. Este hotel me aseguró que reservaría para mí una habitación con regadera y baño accesible a mis necesidades incluyendo otros de mis requerimientos, era como escuchar fanfarrias y campanas para un huésped lesionado. Bueno, ¿puedes adivinar qué pasó? Entonces sean bienvenidos a un día en mi vida.

El portero me acompañó a mi habitación. Al ver una cama en cual podría recostarme para estirarme y descansar mi cuerpo, lo eché a un lado, realicé un chequeo del baño, me lavé la cara con agua y jabón, cuando apenas estaba postrado en mi cama estilo King California me di cuenta de que no estaba en una habitación para discapacitados. Ramón, Gerente de Operaciones, llegó unos minutos después de mi llamado. Después de visitar diez habitaciones del hotel, todas con diseños diferentes, determinamos que se debían hacer algunas modificaciones en la ducha y el inodoro para hacerla accesible. Hubo que quitar tres grandes paneles de vidrio para permitir el acceso de mi silla de ruedas al área del inodoro y la ducha sin tener que pasar por una serie de obstáculos casi imposibles; Los que podrían causar problemas en una situación de emergencia, si fuera necesario. Juan, el gerente del hotel, era la persona más atenta y complaciente que una persona lesionada podría desear, me preparó la mejor calabaza y bombilla de Argentinean mate. Fabio y su equipo de cocina hicieron todo lo posible para preparar la comida más deliciosa. Al final, me pasaron a una suite en el último piso. Recibí un pase de cortesía de $ 200.

Cartagena, fundada en el siglo XVI, en la costa colombiana, repleta de plazas, calles empedradas y arquitectura colonial de colores brillantes, es mágica. La gente es tan interesante y ecléctica como los interminables edificios pintados en colores pastel en la Ciudad Vieja. Donde quiera que vayas te encontrarás con amigos colombianos, desde taxistas hasta vendedores ambulantes y camareros; solo una pequeña parte del telar que une a esta fenomenal gente y la ciudad de El Caribe. El marisco es uno de los mejores que he probado en el planeta. Y la muy establecida Diáspora libanesa, que emigró a Colombia del Imperio Otomano en los siglos XVIII y XIX por razones religiosas y económicas, también tiene comidas deliciosas fuera de este planeta. Todos los mejores lugares turísticos locales están cerca y son fácilmente visitados en automóvil o autobús público. Desde que me lesioné, opté por un conductor privado para el día. Y ya que estaría tomando fotos con mi nuevo Sony Alpha 6300, la ventana del auto serviría como mi apertura creativa.

No había pasado una semana y dos de mis escenarios de viajeros lesionados más temidos fructificaron. En mi lista de los acontecimientos más temidos y ansiosos mientras viajaba por el mundo en una silla de ruedas, dos de los tres primeros son tener un estómago enfermo y un resfrío. Bueno, el tiempo había llegado; por supuesto, cuando llueve, se vierten, ambos me llegaron por la espalda, sin darme cuenta.Después de ser cuidado y atendido por Simon y mis amigos, decidí explorar la Ciudad Vieja en taxi por la noche. Fue justo lo que ordenó el médico, permitiéndome visitar la ciudad en su magnífica gloria nocturna.Por la noche, hay un “sentimiento” diferente para la gente y la ciudad, como si se presionara un botón y la energía se relajará aún más. Durante las próximas dos semanas tomé muchos viajes en taxi con mi cámara lista para filmar todo, desde el Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas, la Plaza de Las Bóvedas, Getsemaní y muchos otros barrios culturales locales, algunos con arte callejero de renombre mundial. Cartagena es una ciudad rica en historia y cultura, con una belleza infinita, una verdadera delicia. ¡Ve y visítala!

Aparte de los contratiempos de un viaje normal, ocasionales salidas equivocadas, ser robado a ciegas por un cambista de la calle, luchar contra los vendedores ambulantes de playa y la lucha perpetua con los taxistas por tarifas excesivas, mi aventura en Colombia fue un gran éxito. No se podría haber hecho sin el cariño y el apoyo de otros, los amigos y extraños por igual. Michael, un amigo de Alemania, a quien conocí mientras vivía en Ámsterdam, vino de visita por una semana. Fue tan bueno tenerlo allí; siendo parte de su viaje interior, igual como yo había comenzado. Simón, mi vecino y un capitán de yate noruego, con base en Miami, Florida, eran mis brazos y piernas muchos días cuando estaba acostado en la cama luchando contra un resfriadovicioso o los horrendos problemas estomacales que experimentaba, los cuales requirieron antibióticos, pro-bióticos y Algunos TLC internacionales. El personal del hotel fueron muy amables y serviciales. Siempre estaré muy agradecido por todo el amor y la ayuda que recibí.

Como resultado de mi accidente, no pude viajar internacionalmente durante seis años. Mi voluntad y mi espíritu fueron quebrantados. Pero ahora mientras viajo por el mundo me siento más cómodo: estar en el flujo cotidiano, vivir la vida. Fue la última parte de mi libertad recuperada y estaba más que extasiado de viajar y experimentar el mundo nuevamente. Es la misma razón por la que inicié este blog: para ayudar a inspirar a otros lesionados a viajar de nuevo, a abrir los ojos a las posibilidades que existen, cuando uno abandona la seguridad de su hogar. Cada viaje empujo mis límites un poco más lejos que el anterior. Esto me ha brindado un crecimiento interno ilimitado y la experiencia más maravillosa al conocer personas extraordinarias y visitar lugares sobrenaturales, ese tipo que solo se encuentra cuando tus ojos y tu corazón están bien abiertos; aceptar y enfrentar nuevos desafíos de cada reto, formando recuerdos indelebles, al mismo tiempo que se forjan relaciones profundas y significativas que duraran toda la vida. Colombia cumplió con todo lo anterior. Tomé sus aguas frescas y ahora me siento con ganas de escucharla para que vuelva a llamar mi nombre, Colombia está para siempre en mi corazón. ¡Besitos, mi amor!

Traducción por: Araceli Arroyos  Contacto: 25arroyos@gmail.com

Travel Blog: Click here.

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Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

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Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

Colombia: You sweet, hot and spicy, beguiling temptress – your kiss seduced me.

All I can remember is thinking, “Wow, is this really happening?”  It was late 1990s and I had just been hired as a teacher at a collegio in Bucaramanga, Santander Department, north-central Colombia, for a two year contract. As it turns out, at the time I had received my work Visa for Colombia, I was also offered a position in Tokyo Japan, with the Japanese government.  I chose to move east instead of south, determined I would find another time and opportunity to get back to Colombia. Well, usually life does not provide us a second opportunity but, twenty years on, finally she did.  Colombia has been calling my name ever since, with boundless allure, whispering to me softly, the seductress de Indias – once bitten, not shy; I’m in love. This is the tale of my adventure to Colombia, traveling injured in a wheelchair, and all the wonder and splendor that resulted from the magic of the trail.

It was an early flight to the land of piccante y caliente from Philadelphia: 06:00. That meant a 03:00 wake-up call with little to no sleep. Not a prudent start to a long trip with a stopover each way.  Being able to rest my body in horizontal position at night gives my body and muscles the relief from the daily onslaught of spinal pressure it so desperately needs. The stopover in Atlanta was a gift and a curse, all the same – it allowed me to stretch and easily access a bathroom but also lengthened my travel time, thus unnecessarily stressing my body. Before any trip I weigh all viable and imaginable variables: cost, total time of travel, airports, layovers and possible stopovers, food, and current recovery status.  Each airline and/or airport has their own staff to assist those in need. Every year I notice these services not only increasing in their sheer numbers but also, most importantly, efficiency. They are a godsend – thank you for your assistance.

Upon arrival in Colombia one instantly knows one has arrived in the tropics. Old school airports where they roll out steel stairs, plane parks in the middle of nowhere, verdant palms abound, as the air hits you like a heated wet towel, navigation required, are the best; especially when in a wheelchair and need to be carried off the plane in a shaky old metal aisle chair by two slender ground-crew members. It was a fun ride. They did not drop me.  One point for Stevo.  (Photos of my travels can be seen here.) As I authored in my book, in life, if one wants to get anything grand or substantial accomplished, one must get in the mix, show up, take a risk, live and participate in: Doing the Dirty Dishes [of life]. This was to be my first trip to an industrialized country where I knew the standards would not be up to international specification, if they existed at all. Challenges abundant – like weeds in spring, they were everywhere.

No sooner I walked out of the airport and was accosted by a gaggle of local taxi drivers.  Peter seemed like a nice choice. I liked his resume: biblical name in a very Catholic country. Good pick. Score two for Stevo.  Solo bag in the backseat, wheelchair in the trunk, Cumbia music blaring, we were off to the hotel. It was a short drive, only 9 kilometers.  It did not take long to know I was at the right place; the energy in Colombia was all encompassing; I could feel it in my heart. I was where I was supposed to be at that time, in life. There are no mistakes. I was still unsure why the universe had sent me to Colombia at this juncture but I was soon to find out.  As we entered Boca Grande, meandering down the highway as it hugged the beach and waves, it was 420 and ‘Peter the Pope’ was more than happy to share some brotherly love. Bonus score for Stevo. Welcome to Colombia – a mighty nice Bienvenido, if you ask me.

Not a moment out of the taxi and my first real serious obstacle appeared.  The slope of the driveway of the hotel was too steep to get up in the wheelchair on my own. That situation was not helped by the fact there were no sidewalks for 90% of the beach area surrounding my hotel. And when they had some form of sidewalk or stepping stones made of broken uneven pieces of jagged concrete, the curbs were almost a half meter high. Access to local eateries and bars was out of the question without assistance or a taxi ride. Even getting to the elevators of the hotel required a push up a small but steep incline. There were no accessible bathrooms except in my room on the 29th floor.  I could not access the café in the lobby as it had a large step as an impediment.  Travel while injured requires impeccable planning.

It reminded me of my days at Magee Rehabilitation Hospital, a “supposed” top physical therapy hospital  in Philadelphia, where they wanted to kick me out of in-patient therapy for refusing to agree to learn how to jump my wheelchair up large curbs.  I saw no point; I found it violent and dangerous. My answer to them was easy: “I’ll ask for help (throughout this trip I would be carried in my chair in the air, over more obstacles and occurrences than I could count).” Cartagena was a never-ending veritable obstacle course in a wheelchair; best left to the advanced; but never an issue. This is injured travel – welcome to the club. In my book, Unbreakable Mind, I speak of the need to get out into the world to live again, that it is not falling down that counts, it is how many times you get up that counts – that is the greatest source of maturity and development in life – in living – happiness.  La Buena vida, mi amiga.

Hotel Dubai Cartagena did not originally come up as having accessible rooms in my initial search online with the big three travel websites. I knew better and so contacted the hotel direct. Good thing I did as they were willing and able and more than happy to have me as a guest. Most often you will find the information on travel websites to be inaccurate or flat out wrong.  Be smart and seek out more information – write the property, ask the appropriate required questions and make sure all concerns for your injury or special requirements are addressed beforehand. Because even when you think you have it all worked out beforehand, it can easily go to shit, quick. This hotel assured me they would reserve a room with accessible shower and all the other required whistles and bells for an injured guest.  Well, can you guess what happened?  Welcome to a day in my life.

The doorman accompanied me to my room.   Relieved to see a bed to lay down on to stretch my body, I shooed him off, performed a bathroom check, washed my face with soap and water, when no sooner was I prostrated across the California king duvet I realized I was not in an accessible room.  Ramone, Operations Manager, arrived a few minutes later. After visiting ten different hotel rooms, all with unalike room layouts, we determined that some modifications had to be made to the shower and toilet to make one accessible.  Three large glass panels had to be removed in order to allow access for my wheelchair to the toilet and shower area without having to go through a near impossible set of hurdles; ones that would cause trouble in an emergency situation, if required urgency. Juan, the hotel manager, was the most caring and accommodative person an injured person could wish for. He prepared the best calabaza y bombilla of Argentinean mate.  Fabio and his kitchen crew went above and beyond to make the most delicious food. In the end, they upgraded me to a top floor suite.  Pass GO, collect $200.

Cartagena, founded in 16th century, on the Colombian coast, replete with squares, cobblestone streets and brightly colored colonial architecture, is magical. The people are just as interesting and eclectic as the endless pastel painted buildings in the Old City. Everywhere you go you come across friendly Colombians, from taxi driver to street vendor to waiter; only a small tatter of the fabric that binds together this phenomenal El Caribe people and city. The seafood is some of the best I have tasted on the planet.  And the very established Lebanese Diaspora, immigrating to Colombia from the Ottoman Empire in the 18th & 19th centuries for religious and economic reasons, also has out-of-this-world delectable eats.  All the best local tourist spots are close-by and are easily visited by car or public bus. Since injured, I opted for a private driver for the day. And since I would be shooting photos with my new Sony Alpha 6300, the car’s window would serve as my creative aperture.

Not a week had gone by and two of my most feared injured traveler scenarios fructified.  On my list of most feared anxious happenings while traveling the world in a wheelchair, two of the top three, are getting a sick stomach and a bad cold. Well, the time had arrived; of course, when it rains, it pours – both arrived back-to-back.  After being nursed back to health by Simon and friends I decided to explore the Old City by taxi at night. It was just what the doctor ordered – allowing me to take in the city at its magnificent nocturnal glory. At night there is a different ‘feel’ to the people and city – as if a button is pushed and the energy becomes even freakier relaxed. Over the next two weeks I would take many taxi trips with my camera on the ready to shoot everything from Castillo de San Felipe de Barajas, Plaza de Las Bovedas, Getsemani and many other local cultural barrios, some with world renown street art.  Cartagena is a city rich in history and culture, with infinite beauty, sure to delight. Go visit.

Other than your standard travel mishaps, occasional cultural faux-pas in Espanol, being robbed blind by a street money changer, fighting off beach hawkers and the perpetual fight with taxi drivers over padded fares , my adventure to Colombia was a huge success.  It could not have been done without the loving care and support of others, friend and stranger alike. Michael, a friend from Germany, whom I met while living in Amsterdam, came to visit for a week. It was so great having him there; being a part of his inner-self journey as it commenced.  Simon, my neighbor and a Norwegian yacht captain, based in Majami, Florida, was my arms and legs many a day when laid up in bed fighting a vicious cold or the horrendous stomach issues I experienced, requiring anti-biotics, pro-biotics and some international TLC. The hotel staff was so friendly and helpful. I am forever grateful for all the love and help I received.

As a result of my accident I was unable to travel internationally for six years. My will and spirit were broken.  While traveling the globe I am most comfortable – being in the flow of life, living life.  It was the last part of my freedom recovered and I was beyond ecstatic to travel and experience the world again. It is the same reason I started this blog: to help inspire other injured to travel again, to open their eyes to the possibilities that exist when one leaves the safety of their home. Each trip I push my boundaries a bit further than the last. This has provided me limitless inner growth and the most wonderful of experiences meeting extraordinary people and visiting supernatural places, the type only found when your eyes and heart are wide open; accepting and tackling new challenges at every curve, forming indelible memories – all while forging life-lasting deep and meaningful relationships.  Colombia delivered on all the above. I drank her Kool-Aid and now find myself pining to hear her to call my name again – she is forever in my heart. Besitos, mi amor!

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

Dirty Dishes Travel blog is on the way……

Throughout my life I have done things my way, and they have always worked out – as if I’ve had luck in my corner. Of course there were challenges along the way, but these were always dealt with head on and produced great results. This approach brought me around the globe: living from Tel Aviv to London to Tokyo to Jakarta to Buenos Aires; from Wall Street to Main Street to Midaq Alley; from an apartment on Fifth Avenue to living out of my car. No matter what, I was “all in.” This approach has brought me both failures and successes, including a once thriving and financially successful business. The question for me was not whether I would be successful in life, but rather, how?

All of my optimism and bravado came to a crashing halt one cold December holiday night, when after an evening out with good friends, I suffered an accident. I was beaten with a pipe and later found under a moving train, resulting in quadriplegia. Given virtually no chance to walk again, I was devastated. But I also had hope, and lots of it. A fire that exists deep within, and has since childhood, burns on no matter the circumstances. I am here for a bigger mission. What would that mission now be? Better yet, how would I get through the mess that I was about to face?

Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come. Every part of my life– emotional, physical, mental, spiritual, financial, including family and friend relationships, suffered. Still, not ten seconds of pity passed through me while I lay on that gurney in a cold, dark, sterile hall in the trauma center, with a priest’s hand on my arm, I was determined to recover, to heal. This sense of optimism was supported by a deep inner belief that all things in life are impermanent, and no matter how bad it was, it too would eventually pass. Having a background as an entrepreneur, I organized and operated my recovery as a business, down to a daily spreadsheet that had my time split into fifteen minute segments. This process changed me in deep, introspective ways, allowing me to get in touch with my heart– with compassion for myself and others.

As a result, today I am a changed man; a new person, reborn into a new body. I embarked on a journey of recovery and healing that brought me through great pain and darkness, a result of looking deep within for the bigger answers related to who I am and what my purpose is here, only brought home through God’s grace and the sweet song of having touched my inner-self-soul. After six and half years of grueling physical therapy, I am also now learning to take steps again. There is no doubt in my mind, I will walk and run again. My body is sure to follow.

Upon completion of writing my first book, Unbreakable Mind, Channeling your Survival Instincts after Catastrophic Injury, so many new doors and life opportunities, otherwise previously unavailable possible options to me because I lacked the chutzpah and know how of injured travel, now opened up as a result: I was invited to give motivational and inspirational speeches the world over. One of the greatest rewards of my recovery was my ability to get back onto an airplane and travel the world again. So often in life the injured are marginalized by friends and family, and most definitely by the travel industry as a whole. Some days it was hard enough to get the courage to leave the house, let alone plan and take an international trip where so many factors [the injured like to be in control of] are outside of your control.

Stepping onto my first plane again after seven years of being unable to travel gave me my life back – it made me feel whole and complete again; a new and refreshing breath of air was breathed into my heart. It is my hope my travel expeditions and experiences can also assist others in a similar situation to find the courage to start living life again. Injury, mental and physical, affect so many in our own personal lives – and will only increase over time as sickness and disease become more and more prevalent in a modern society so reliant on doctors and medicines that do not heal. Starting to live life again through domestic or international travel has endless physical and mental health benefits.

If you or someone you know has suffered a life trauma, recovering from surgery or sickness, or if you are part of medical or support staff, a friend or family of someone going through a life changing experience, then this travel blog, a record and report of each trip I take somewhere in the world, will help you to find the motivation and inspiration to get out into the world – to breath – to live life again. Eternal light and love. First blog post to arrive soon.

Teeth to the wind! S

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher. 

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.  

Thank you for your love and support.

The Journey Begins

Thanks for joining me! First travel blog to arrive soon.

The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.

— St. Augustine

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout.  Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher. 

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden,  Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.  

Thank you for your love and support.