The Land, The Waves, The Compromise and The Dream

If there wasn't an entrance gate with a few local boys collecting nominal parking fees, then you might never get to the best beaches. Are Goling, Mawun, and Wawi are three of my favorite spots east of Kuta Lombok. You have to go over the hills. Around ten thousand pot holes. Through countless rice paddies or peanut paddies or soy fields or are they something else? Passing the huts of thatched roofing, bamboo walls, and no electricity. Then you hang a left. Which left? Not sure, just go left towards the ocean. But like I said, if the gates weren't there, you'd probably turn back. Before you can see the beach or ocean you have to literally pass over rice fields, by the barefoot workers, and on muddy, rundown, and grooved out dirt roads. You've been riding your bike for over an hour now. Your hands hurt from braking and holding your self steady on the atrocious dirt roads, your eyes hurt from concentrating too much on pot holes and kids playing in the street, and your sunscreen is wearing off allowing your skin to be further damaged as your sweat magnifies the results. Then...just as you doubt your way for the hundreth time, the foliage breaks. Your eyes wide open and your mind running at full speed, you're awe struck. Though I'm trying, this unexplainable beauty lays infront of you. Undeveloped, unsetteled, and undisturbed these beaches are just waiting. Waiting for surfers to play on their fairytale waves. Waiting for you to test your medel and stamina as she heeves double over head sets onto you. Waiting for your toes to slip through the quinoa like pebbles of sand. Or is it time sculpted coral debris? Speaking of coral, it's plentiful. With blues, greens, and reds lighting the ocean floor you'd be mistaken if her beauty was as kind as her touch. Waiting for your bloody feet. Waiting for your return despite it. Waiting for your eyes, imagination, and creative ideas to unfold her beautiful landscape. It's something from a dream.

The waves are a crashing of reef break. With a little local knowledge you can navigate your way through the shallow coral, maybe at the rip or between the rocks.  The tides move slow. The waves can be perfect, literally what you see on tv. There's hype here in Indonesia and for good reason. I've had more days surfing alone here on Lombok than with company. It's been overhead up until yesterday. Offshore winds hold the barrels wide and make for awesome 15 foot rooster tails off the backside of the wave. Paradise couldn't be much better than these gems.
  
The compromise. The land is cheap, really cheap. 3 to 7 thousand per 100 square meters of beach front. But the roads aren't developed. You can purchase from the locals but who's to say it's legal, legitimate, or safe? You can purchase through a realator.  But they will inform you that you need a local to purchase the land for you then that local must sign over the power of attorney to you. Supposedly this is the safe way? Now you need to find a local you can trust. The "Kiwi" we spoke to last night has his trusted sponsor "Jay" from "Tate Development." A local that this New Zealander has known for 6 years.

The task seems daunting, especially for a traveling dreamer with little money to put where his mouth is.  Everyone here hopes that Lombok is to turn into the next Bali. If this happens, prices will skyrocket. But this endeavor is less of an investment as it is a procurement of my future "Drummond Island." My Grandfather and his sons have been going to Drummond Island in the northern peninsula of Michigan for half a lifetime. I've been going for my entire life and hope to conitinue this tradition till I'm gone. I'm left wondering. Sitting in the quinoa sand, starring at the "Jurrasic Park" backdrop, and listening to the perfectly crashing waves, I can't help but wonder how my Grandpa feels. How he feels for creating a tradition. The only real tradition I really know.  The only real tradition our entire family knows! Out of thin air, with guts, a little foresight, and passion for his hobbies, Grandpa carved the way for lifetimes of tradition in a place our entire family has come to cherish. How does that feel Grandpa? To be a creator? To be a leader? To be a Sturdevant? I can't say for certain that Lombok, Indonesia is the place, but I can say I will surely start building upon your tradition one day soon.  

Welcome to Mawi Beach

This place is something out of the Jurrasic Park movies, The Beach with Leo, or a large version of Tom Hank's island on Cast Away.  Wait, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself. More on the scenery in a later post. The segway is the motor-bike story and the two flat tires...

Ok, Having already been to Mawi beach the day before, I was confident on the route necessary to get both Morgan and I there again. We head towards the Airport, avoiding the steep pot hole ridden path and sticking to the smooth expressway. Don't worry, we look like tourists and are wearing the dorky helmets everytime, despite what the locals do! We pass the outdoor market that resembles the one in Mataram. The next left turns into a half way descent road with only 50% pot hole coverage. 30 minutes later it connects with another nice road that heads us back down towards the beach and away from the airport. We pay the $1 parking fee for Mawi, head to the beach still 10 minutes from the gate. I have talked this place up to Morgan for a few hours and I was eager to get to the sand. It was maybe 1 pm, after an hour and half bike ride from Kuta.

And it is just stunning. Morgan loves it. The backdrop is spectacular. A perfect setting for lounging in the sand on our newly bought sirongs. Doing the feed Jason's face and otherwise romance thing for a couple hours, the surf starts to pick up. Oh yeah, Mawi is a world class surf break that pumps from way outside. A heavy left that spits, crushes, and humbles the best of the best. On our way in, we spoke with some older Aussie's who had just snapped two boards and the other guy was pretty well exhausted. It happens with 10 foot sets rolling through!

So after a couple hours of kissy time, I wade out waist deep, carefully stepping around the sharp reef and take the rip current out to the break. I paddle south or to Morgan's left as she watches, to put myself in position for an epic session alone! Yes, I was alone, 10 footers rolling in...and needless to say I was pounded for a while. I caught some great ones though, and even Morgan saw!

This was right about when I noticed two young boys climbing the goat trail to the otherside of the cove to wear Morgan was laying by herself...   I puffed up like a bullfrog trying to exude my dominance and frieghten away the preditors from a couple hundred meters away in the surf. I was about to paddle in but the boys stopped at the top of the hill...I got smashed by a couple more sets and realized they were just watching the surf...or were they?

The sun is setting and I knew I needed to get in before it got dark becuase driving back home with Morg's on the scooter through rough hilly conditions would suck. We get to the bike, everyone had left by now. By everyone I mean the 4 or 5 locals who supposedly watch your bike but really just try and sell their fruit, snacks, and drinks. I start the bike, Morgan hops on the back, and then a couple locals pull up. An older local and a young boy. Small talk for a bit and we carry on...I make the turn out of the sandy parking lot and almost wipe out! "What the heck? Do we have a flat babe?" Morgan looks down and says yup! I'm furious, just fuming! "WTF!!!! Pay to get into this place, they slash our tires and now it's getting dark....what now?"

A group of little kids drive up, playing dumb, they offer their services for a small fee to fix the bike. First they try and get Morgan to leave with them and return for me with the fixed bike. No way was that happening! Seen too many movies for that one. Then they said they would drive the bike to get it fixed and they'll be back in 20 minutes... Then I start thinkning to myself "wait...if they can drive it, then it's not flat, they just let most of the air out of the tire...little bastards!" I began raising a fuss and probing questions trying to indulge my ego for some sort of hopeless redemption...the wiser of the two, Morgan, stays practicle and gets me in survivor mode. "Who cares what happened, we need this fixed now!" she irritably says to me. She's right too.

The old man helps out, puts Morgan on the back of his bike, I follow. She burns her leg on the exhaust pipe, I swear at the kids who scammed us. We stop at a local hut, where a family lives with the chickens. Naked babies, cocunuts, and rice paddies are abundant. The old man takes the bike and the last of my $50,000 rupiah ($5 American) to go put air in the tire. Left with the family, Morgan and I small talk our way into getting coconuts. The 15 year old climbs the tree barefoot and knocks a couple down. The bike returns fixed, the change was given to the kids and another 10,000Rupiah for the coconuts. It was dark. With lights on, the bugs hitting my face and eyes, and the scam artists left behind, Morgan and I headed home. Pissed, vulnerable, shaken, pleased, excited, scared, nervous, anxious, happy, and among other emotions we made it safely home. This flat tire was not my fault. It makes for a good story though. I think I will buy land on this beach one day. The kids who flattened the tire can work my rice fields for 2 bucks a day for all I care!  
                            

Scooters in Bali

   They only cost 5 bucks a day. Some are new, others pull to the left and skweak over the bumps. Mine has a surf rack and usually a board to go with it. Morgan drove it...for like 5 minutes. She rather liked it. Having taken a spin with Jake following behind, she was off getting her balance. She came back, met me on the side of the road by the coconut tree and couldn't stop smiling. "Soooo...how was it?" I asked.  "Great, haha, really fun...I think you better drive though!" she replied. "Okayyyyy, what happened? Did you crash?" "No, no, but you should drive!" I ask "Jake! What happened?" He said "you should drive bro!" I laugh and take the commander's seat and never bring it up again. Whatever happened, only Jake and her know :) I've been driving ever since!

It's wierd driving on the left side of the road...after a few minutes you get used to it on a normal road just cruising along.  But when you get to an intersection with 50 other cars and bikes making turns and honking at the weary, you get gun shy.  I know I can't hesitate, but man, pulling into the left lane on a right hand turn through an intersection is the most odd feeling. It's worse than realizing you have just turned down a one-way street in opposition to traffic flow.

Now I have a couple weeks under my belt. I'm a master on the thing now. In Kuta on the Island of Lombok, Morgan and I negotiate steep uphill terrain that requires the utmost precision.  The hardest part is going really slow up hill over pot holes, muddy car tire slots, and loose rocks. With Morgan on the back I know my mistakes in hurry. Bam!! We bottom out, scrape the kick stand or oil pan and keep scooting.  I'm really good though, I promise! Ask Morgan! We've only had two flat tires...and presumeably only one was my falt, though I deny both :)  

Random Randomness

The sweeter it is, the faster I drink it. This Indonesian tea is getting the best of me. I sit at the thatched roof hut in front of the place we call home and find comfort in each sip (or gulp) of this hot tea. Today, Jay and I caught a ride (in an actual Mitsubishi Truck) to a somewhat nearby beach we've fallen in love with. Mawi. No spelling error there, Mawi. I have to say...it's actually more breathtaking than the Hawaiian Island it's so closely named. I already finished my tea. Dang it. Now to debate getting another. It's times like these I'm reminded I am an American. I opt out of the second cup. For now.  Anyway, Jay and I went to look at some beach property for sale. It was likely the wisest investment we could make at this point in our lives. But, o ya, that one minor detail...money. It's $333,000 for 50 Are. It's a pretty decent hunk of land. And the location couldn't be more ideal. More tranquil. More perfect. We let them take us past the airport, along the bumpy road, through the deep sand, up the mountain, across the goat path, through the water buffalo pasture, and to this little makeshift hut near a mountain. There, we met an old man with a body that suggested he has worked this land his entire life. He moved a curtain of leaves from the base of a tree near his makeshift home. He used the long knife he held in his hand to sound against a small chunk of concrete behind the leaf curtain. The young, thin gentleman that drove us out interprets, "this is where the property begins." We then step over the green growth that covered every inch of the Earth and possible sand below us. We make it to the next corner which happens to be another tree. "This is the back of the property, from the cement to this tree." I look over. "Dang babe, this is a HUGE piece of land." About 100 meters. We then walk toward the ocean. You can not own the beach itself so we stop when we get to the sand that was covered with the earlier high tide. I look back to the trees. "What!? I want this."  "Me too." We make our way across the deep quinoa'ed sand to the last corner of the lot for sale. "Wow."  We took pictures, talked in dreams, and made the hike back to the truck. The local talked to locals and I pulled a bag of banana chips from my purse to indulge Jay. We rode back, "Terima Kasih'd" the driver and now I write. Jay surfs.  This morning, we saw children playing with kites they had made from trash bags. It was innovative. But hit home. They weren't even new bags. They didn't mind. The five of them ran around and laughed when the 'kite' hit the ground and bounced up into its own dancing swoop.  I'm getting really used to it here. I know that I will miss it when we leave. We've been here, in Kuta, for over a week now. I didn't really know what to do with my time at first...but now, Jay and I have our little routine down and it feels like home here. We have made friends in the form of a local family that we visit for at least one meal a day. (Normally vegetable curry with tempeh...SO DELICIOUS!!) (You just have to know where to get it)...the mom is a doll. She caught a liking to Jay the first time we went in there. The second time, she remembered what he had ordered the first time and I remembered that I was to remember her. Lol, but seriously, she's a very sweet lady. And she cooks great food! The little girl is adorable. She's eight years old and has the poise of Audrey Hepburn (in her better characters) with short hair to match. She has a piggy bank she has been saving all of her change in. Change is still in bill form here so her lifting the pot she calls a bank gave no jiggle of success. Her mom said that she almost has 20,000 Rupiah!! (That's two dollars. TWO DOLLARS!!) I would get more than that when my tooth fell out. Or when my mom would let me keep the change for buying an ice cream or something. So, naturally, I doubled her money. With intention of contributing more, of course. We have a little pup there too! We call him Brindle. I talk to him in my little puppy voice and Jay thinks I'm cute. (He told me, I try to not be so smug naturally...) I give Brindle my left overs and he has a cute little cry when he begs. He is a stray...they all are. It's really sad. We walked by a kitten today, probably could fit in my hands, that was malnourished. "Well, she doesn't have much longer." It hurts to hear but the realities here are to be acknowledged not burdened. I find it so easy to ask Jay, "what would you do to help, what would you change?" He says mindset. Give a sense of pride. So the locals spend more time picking their trash up off of their beautiful beaches and building better homes. It's a good answer for a question that doesn't have one. It's a piece of the puzzle. We know that. It would be too big a task for any one person or one thing to work. And they seem happy with their lives...so maybe it simply is what it is and my only job is to accept life on life's terms. I still feel it nonetheless.  I got to help teach a teacher!! We both did. It was great. He came up to Jay in a market we were in and asked him where he was from. "America." He asked if it was 'correct to say that a widow is a woman whose husband has died or divorced.' I popped into the conversation and we found ourselves correcting the workbook that serves as the teachers English teaching bible. We scratched and rewrote, scratched and rewrote. The thing must have been from the fifties. Full of random spellings errors and misnomers. We giggled and I rewrote some of his handwritten paragraphs and explained differences and more correct options. I listed my prepositions and wondered why I hold onto such random information. I explained the differences in military branches and talked about our government. It was a blast!!  Jay and I met an Aussie girl (from Australia) that opened up a restaurant on the beach. The property is owned by the government but many of the locals (and Aussie's, apparently) just built on it. Randomness selling randomness. I would do the same thing, make a buck while I could. It's sad to see that it will all be taken away from them. They build little huts and sell surrongs (sp?)...sleep in the back on a bamboo table with a blanket or two, put their babies in a hammock, and use the corner of the table as a home for the bowls they eat out of and buckets they fill with water from the community drum. I wonder how often they kick the bucket while they're sleeping. Not even funny. Ok, I should go for a run. I haven't actually worked out (besides yoga/doesn't really count) since I've been gone. Cheers.  

Senggigi of Lombok Island, Indonesia

Jake had left for home in the States, Nina and Esmee continued on their voyage, and Morgan and I went off searching for adventures. We chose Senggigi. A sleepy town, one that could be missed if you sat in the car for too long and had a spell of daydreaming of icecream on a hot summer day.  The sand was dark, black even. It sloped steeply away from the poolside hotel terrace. The gardens in the hotel courtyard flashed colorful flowers, tropical fruit trees, and tiny toads that hopped around in the rain.  It was raining the entire time we were there. Hard to believe that Gili Trawangan was only a mere 45 minute boat trip away and never rained. The locals on Gili were surely offering handmade goods but nothing like the vulchers here in Senggigi.

Morgan stopped off into a cafe for some internet while I went around hunting for a scooter and a place to stay. I was back in 20 minutes, only to find her surrounded by a canvas painter, a blowdart gun maker, and a wood-carving local. I showed up in time to halt the mayham, give her a chance to finish her pinapple curry, and make a promise that we would return for their crafts. I was especially interested in the blowdart guns, but we had business to take care of, and I never like purchasing outright. Some reconnaissance is necessary for me to pull the trigger. Morgan had percieved value, and two paintings caught her eye which eventually caught her wallet. They're stunning and she loves the memories they illicit. Well played my dear!

We hoped for the sun, waves as promised, and culturally memorable experiences....the only thing we got was the ladder. I filled the bike with a fresh two liters of petrol, $1.20. With Morgan wielding the camera and our empty backpack, I set off in the rain for Mataram. Her arms rapped around my waist, laughing at the local children, and smiling at the homeless puppies, Morgan was ready for an adventure.  We weren't sure what we were looking for or where we were going for that matter. After 45 minutes or so, we looped around the large town of one-way streets to end up at a local market. 

Cultural experience found! Not dissimilar to the markets I've been exposed to in South America recently, this market teemed with oddities.  The dark alleys of clothes, musty rows of unimaginable food, and endless indigenous comments indiscernable by us.  I was curious how Morgan would react.  I lead the way at times but let her take the raines and stear us through the clutter. I watched her face, listened to her breath, and tried to feel her emotions. She was calm yet attentive, unimpressed yet curious, and sad yet smiling. The smells were pungent.  They could eat the enamel off your teeth. Picture something similar to a now non-smoking hotel room that some years back was converted from a smoking one, but with fish. It was wasn't fresh fish smell or rotten, just earily reminiscent. Baskets of fly ridden produce, rice, and meats. There were dried and salted fish carcases, small ones, big ones, fileted ones, green ones, yellow ones, and white ones. I followed Morgan around, scratching my head, watching her smile at the local non-english speaking women.  She spots a bowl of green wet balls. They looked like a group of tourquoise tadpoles without their tales, slimey, motionless, odorless. These little rice-dough palm-suger filled snacks were sprinkled in coconut shavings and served up by the barehand-full. The lady hands one to Morgan. Not sure what to do or how to do it, she takes a nibbel...brown room temperature juices fills her mouth and slips down her lip, making a perfect glue for the cocunut to rest on her face. She cringed then laughed, and smiled unexpectedly. Morgan asked "how much" the lady holds up 10 fingers, which is 10,000 rupiah or one dollar for the "Klepon"...Morgan hands the money in exchange for a paper rapped heap of greenish-blue tadpole looking dessert snacks that glistened from sticky wetness. Then I got the gumption to try the similarly displeasing looking yellow snack made from "Cassava." The mild yet sweet, bland yet fermented tasting treat was worth a buck. Plopped into a plastic bag it looked like one globbular cluster of half melted yellow cheese lump. Not sure which was more powerful...the actual flavors, textures, and sight of the treats or the fact that you were trying them in a moldy, musty, presumeably dirty market-converted warehouse. Next thing I know Morgan is pushing me infront of the local women cooking and offering me some satay's of meat...one is red, the chicken, and the other yellow, which happened to be horse. Seeing my curiosity, the lady graciously hands me the yellow as a gesture of kindness. Morgan laughed as I consumed horse flesh wide-eyed and chewing with half bites like you would with hot food or something icky tasting like caviar or HORSE! Enough said, I ate horse, Morgan laughed with the locals, and I oddly found it edible yet still displeasing. Cultural experience...check!                                   

My 5 months in a nutshell......

Since January and my initial posting on this blog, many things have occurred both good and of course many not so good.... Let me start from the beginning in chronological order. (Sorry for the incredibly long post, but this covers about 5 months of ups and downs and everything in between so grab a coffee and hunker down if you do so choose)

For those who didn't know, I had been playing professional volleyball since August 2011 in Holland in a city called Groningen (this was my initial calling to travel, that has lead me so many other adventures I had not foreseen no matter how many scenarios I played out in my head).  It had been 6-7 years since I have fully dedicated my mind and body to the sport of volleyball, and I was ecstatic to re-immerse myself in the sport I love, with my new found appreciation for it. Of course I was excited, of course I had planned on experiencing some "speed bumps" along the way, and everything was going according to plan...... I had been with my club officially for 3 months and I had to miss my first league match against the pre-season ranked #1 team (Doetinchem) due to lazy paperwork handling on our clubs part, however I got to see what the true nature of an international volleyball game looked like from an outside perspective (we lost 1-3). My inescapable knee pain had returned, however I was jumping just as high as I had been when I was 21. My passing had essentially gone to sh**, whilst my attacking was right on par with where I wanted it to be. My attitude and competitiveness had not dwindled in the slightest, but I have also never experienced a coach who seemed to loath me so much. There were matches where I played incredibly inconsistent and several times I was subbed out of the match not to return, however as the year progressed and the matches became more important (European Cup, rival matches, games after I played like crap), I stepped up my game and often was the match leader in points. These are the types of scenarios I HAD gone over in my head in the 2 years prior to leaving for Europe........ now for the unexpected!

Things were starting to become second nature for me. I was finding my stride in the sport and on my team and was looking forward to finishing my first year overseas with a championship title. Things were looking great. My agent was working on getting me tryouts in Germany and Belgium (which are both better leagues in terms of level of play AND financially) once my Dutch season was over. I was already moving up and now all I had to focus on were the playoffs for the Dutch league and make sure I performed well. Our team had locked up the 3rd seed in playoffs despite the "wrinkles" we were ironing out, and we had JUST discovered the type of team we were and how to use it to our advantage. We had two league matches left before playoffs started, the first match was against the 8th ranked team in the league and we should have NO problem sending these guys back home with their heads hanging. The next match..... was against the undefeated Doetinchem whom I had yet to play, and was more than ready to show them their first win against us was simply due to the fact that our team was not in "full strength"...... but first things first. We are playing Zaanstad (#8 team) at home and we are winning 2-1. I am playing well. During the 4th set I received a jump serve, and the pass was not the best. The only option for our setter was to bump-set the ball to me, so I anticipate this and gear up for another approach...... just as I am about to pounce on the ball I get tackled from behind, or so I thought! I am stomach down on the floor, not sure how I got there, and have in intense dead-leg sensation on my right calf. My initial thought.... "Who the f*** would get in my way when the ball was obviously mine!!!" Still not sure who "knocked" me down and who to "blame" I contain my rage and try to stand up. As I try to walk, I simply can't.  With the help of my roommate/teammate and the team trainer, I am helped to the sideline. A few diagnostic tests are conducted, but I am in very minimal pain now and feel as though I can continue. Under the recommendation of our trainer, I take five minutes to “walk it off” where I slowly, and to my detriment realize, I can not continue.  We win the match while I am on the bench trying to figure out what the heck happened. I am taken to the local hospital for a medical evaluation where it was immediately diagnosed by the physician; I completely ruptured my right Achilles Tendon…. Prognosis; 6-12 months. Devastated……

Video link of my injuring it, not gruesome at all don't worry...

http://youtu.be/DuJmWIV1cBA

The immediate thoughts that run through my head; Will I play volleyball ever again and be able to pursue my Olympic dream? Who “ran” into me and was this their fault? Will the team drop me and will I have to find a job simply to make ends meet? Who is going to pay for my surgery? Do I need to buy a flight home to America? Do I need surgery tonight? What are my options? And on the tail end of my concerns yet still in the forefront of my mind, Will I be able to meet my best friend Jason in Bali for what was supposed to be a trip of a lifetime? Frustration, anger, sadness, devastation, fear, PAIN, uncertainty and worried are just a few words that can describe my mindset at the time.
That was the bad….. but as with every bad event that had happened earlier in the year, something good came from it! As I watched the video clip on the local news channel, I realized it was simply a freak accident. No one had run into me.  It was no bodies fault (unless you count my bad pass as the culprit).  The next step was to assess the damage, and if it is possible, slowly make my way back on the court. The reality of this injury was that I need surgery and I need it within a week. This game me time to consult with my father, my mother, local surgeons, surgeons at my fathers practice, the board members of my team, the president of the club, the coaches, our trainer and everybody else that I felt I needed to line things up with. This is my future, my dream on the line and NOBODY will force me into a situation that I am not confident with. After much deliberation and soul searching, I decided to have the surgery done in Holland by a reputable surgeon. I had our team trainer (who is more of a friend than anything else) willing to work with me on my rehab. The president of the club and board members were paying for the surgery. And this girl I had been casually dating even offered to help take care of me at home while I was immobilized J. I talked with Jason about the devastating news and how I was not sure if I could attend our rendezvous in Bali due to the limitations I had with my walking. In a true bro-mance manner, Jason completely understood and his utmost concern was my wellbeing and rehabilitation. 

During the 2 months in which I was forced to lay on a couch and watch my team play, I learned many things. The first and most prominent lesson I can think of is the patience I have learned. There is nothing more I can do except get better and cheer on my boys.  The second is that nothing is certain and things can be taken away without ANY warning. The third (which is an ongoing lesson) is nothing is given to you and if you want something bad enough, you have to work your @$$ off.  The fourth is that love really does find you when you are least expecting it (the girl I was “casually” dating, I am now proud to say is my girlfriend).

After 2 months of discipline and life lessons, I was able to walk again without crutches and able to make the trip to Bali to see my boy! I even got to bring along my new girlfriend!

The smart thing for me to have done was to get back to America and rehab the crap out of my leg, but I felt the opportunity to travel with some of the people I love most in the world, the dedicated rehabilitation and progress I had made (in so many facets) was enough to warrant a little break and simply enjoy myself in a tropical paradise.  Now that I am back home in America writing this blog entry, I regret nothing and am thankful for everything!
I am 27 years old and just starting my professional career.  Some would think this is too old to get started, but they are not me and they do not know the drive, passion, friends and family I have on my back. Thank you EVERYBODY for your influence whether you read this blog or not, and I will make you all proud!

Fishing with Jacob Wiens...its Tradition!

Though it's only two years in the making, our annual deep sea fishing trip was great. Originated in Cabo San Lucas and continued in Gili Trawangan Indonesia, Jake and I had a blast. We didn't catch anything more than a nice morning buzz, but our adventure was just what we hoped for. A time of bro-mance. Where the vodka and beer run rampant, where swear words float seemlessly, and where manly stories of women are overly embellished in confidence. It's where we go to dream, speak freely, and bond. Jake and I have an unspoken pact that's probably worthy of being a highly acclaimed bechmark for others to envy. It's deep rooted and fares the storms, quakes, and landlsides so common in brotherhood. The fish were nowhere to be seen. Not a single bite. We never changed lures either. Supposedly a result of the turbulent sea and forthcoming storm but who knows? None-the-less, our deep-sea fishing fix was satiated and we were both content from having caught up on life. We have upheld a high standard of fishing in paradise, one that can't be trumped...only matched. It is by this standard that we shall continue building our friendhsip for the many years to follow. Here's to us bro! Forever growing and forever fishing!