“There is a kind of freedom in getting lost, Leo. Suppose you were traveling to a destination and you made a wrong turn in a thick woods.  Before long, you lost track of which road led you there, and you had no clue what direction to follow.  The thing is; there is a freedom in not knowing where to go. You now have the chance to start from scratch in a confusing situation.  You may choose any path you want, and then make the most of it.”   LEO 2.25.12

I feel as if I have been living a life contained within these words.  I have and will continue to create a positive relationship with the uncertainties of my tomorrows.  I tend to find a motivation behind the ideal that “the slate is clean” and in doing so, I hold a colorful array of chalks to draw my next steps into the future.

We have all stood upon the threshold of life’s “crossroads”; staring aimlessly all around ourselves, hoping for that golden answer to blow in the wind.  As our two feet grip at the edge of what is to come next we brace ourselves to shake hands with “Anticipation”; knowing that inevitably an adventure is going to ensue.  Within this much defined moment that we grasp we are also confronted with the graces of “Uncertainty”.  She dances around dressed in a great gown of anxiety, as if to befuddle and amuse us.  Neither one seems to come without the other, and both leaves us immediately reacting to an event that we do not yet truly understand;  Tomorrow will come, in tomorrow’s hands.  Do not be wronged by the thought that “yes” this is a fight or flight moment in our lives.  It is one to judge our grit upon, and understand our frights.  We all must face what we don’t understand, and to do so allows us an internal comprehension of whom we truly can become.  There does come a time when our fears vanish into the distance of yesterdays and within such moments we are then left standing to the entrance of our freed future.

I have found that freedom comes within the understanding that we can create the magnificence of our very next step.  Believing in ourselves is the hardest struggle, but once we do- may we all see our futures in a whole new light.

How do you envision freedom?

Today; life’s morning breath wrestled with a metallic wind chime, awakening me from my dreams that have left their playful depiction across my minds many miles.  Within the darkened nightscape, my mind raced around cultivating it’s own imagination, and painting pictures of elusive worlds that hide in the recesses of far away corners.  Within these fair dreams creation was invented, and potential was draped with drops of oil color reality.  I am humored of what comes to fruition and resembles desires that grace the movements of my lips as I speak.  Aspirations send reverberations across the moistened pale skin that does border my mouth; leaving me enamored by the delicate sanity that one might confuse as feasible.

The first steps of opportunity are always the most embellished for me.  From the far end of my visual scope I stand; waiting and ready- intimidated by the first step that I must take.  The distance that spans from me to my dreams; my envisioned reality, is filled with treacherous passes that seem to carry on as far as my own existence.  Yet, a desire to manifest such dreams into my reality lingers within each putter of my beating heart.  It is this banter between the pains of uncertainty and the craving for the outcome that fills me with a lust for life.  It is without hesitation that I take my first step and find myself immersed in a life that I live, that I breathe, and that I dream of.

As many may know; I am not uncommonly seen as a wanderer, a traveler, and I have done all but plant a flag upon the hillside and raised my voice in a proclamation of establishing myself as a vagabond in this day and age.  I have been inspired by those that have taken the first steps into what many may seem reckless and undetermined.  As well, I find myself with comfort as their stories fall from their tongues dripping with passion, or as their written words whistle and explode in a firey display of dramatics within the night sky of my imagination.   However in these moments of dreamy eyed hope and for longing, I am left with mixed emotions.  It is a feeling of uncertainty of whether to indulge in the endless road over the next landscape or bask in the calming sense of a home.

There comes a time when one (I) becomes restless for travel, and a time when one (I) becomes restless for a home.  There comes a time when I long for my pack strapped tightly across my shoulders and a never ending horizon of opportunity laid in front of me with foreign languages tickling my ears.  And there comes a time when the ideals of a “Home”; the comforts of age old friends, the normalcy of a daily routine, retracing memorable steps, and the simplicity of my own bed becomes a burning desire.  I have crossed over the fine line, and found the need to lay my pack down, to unburden my shoulders with the weight of the world’s activities on the other side, and to open my arms and heart to a place that has been calling me home for many years now.

A humor finds me while I stash my pack under the bed, hoping that I do not hear it calling to me in the middle of a quiet night like a loving girlfriend hoping to be held with reassurance.  As I fumble through boxes of my belongings that I have long since wrapped up and packed away, I come across one main box of interest.  It hides itself so well behind the “kitchen” box and the “camping” box; it is called the box of “life”.  I can’t help but squeak out a simple giggle as to why I would have labeled some of my belongings in such a way, but it is apparent that in the chaos of packing such things I found humor in it.

As I peel long strands of transparent packing tape back and bits of brown cardboard rip along with it; I am met with my first glimpse of “Life”, and it strikes me with a sense of assurance.  It is a box of my memories, and ones that truly bring a meaningful twinge into my heart.  Not to say that any one physical item can sum up a person’s life, let alone my own identity, but it is so in a peculiar sense.  My box of “life” contains my family, friends, and all the grace of my years spent walking upon this fair earth.  It holds a dozen journals (my life’s transcript), family photo albums dating back to when Santa Claus still existed, and a sense of reality to the accomplishments that I have made.  In a way this box of “life” transcends me to each and every moment that I have captured in my life time.  This box of “life” is just that; the days that I have lived.

In amusement; I can sit and revel in the meaning behind one or the other (my pack or the box), but truly one is not without the other.  The box in a sense is the ends to what my back pack began.  So as I sit and wonder whether I should be packing a bag or unpacking a box, I find myself content knowing that both are an exploration of who I am.  I will continue to enjoy and explore both within staggering moments of my life, and both are a necessity to fully comprehend the love and meaning behind the other.  In knowing this I can sit in the comforts of “home” with a cup of tea in hand and stare out upon the vast horizon that always captivates my imagination.  Knowing that in days to come new stories will be made and after which there will be a time to share such tales of fortune.

A sublime drive that meanders along the Verdon River valley eventually delivers me to the entrance of my desire.  Annot is a French village about an hour north of Nice; where one main street is lined with patisseries, cafes, and butcher shops.   Whereas when I peer to the heavens I am interrupted with mountain ridgelines that intend to hide its true identity from the chaotic scrambles of the real world.  Where old men sit around smoking cigarettes and offer a nod of respect as I stumble through cobblestone alleys that breathe a medieval life that is far beyond my comprehension.   Warm smiles and welcoming conversations are handed out from the local merchants as I dream of an espresso and a bag of pastries saturated with the most delectable butter I have ever placed upon my tongue.  However as much as I am enthralled with the quaint local lifestyle; I have truly come to be enlivened within a passion amongst the forested hillsides that are littered with magnificent sandstone boulders.

2 kilometers north of Annot; a dirt switch back road jostles its way through the depths of Mt. Argenton.  I see small foot paths leading into the hidden cover of autumn painted trees as I peer through a dust covered windshield.  As it is the off season for this mountain village; I seem to have the quieted wilderness all to myself.  I ramble along kicking my bare feet in the eroded sandy trails keeping my eyes keen upon boulders that tower above me.  As there are no exposed cliff bans or towering peaks within Mt. Argenton these stately stones seem to be a mystery as to how they have arrived throughout this hillside; clustered together with no real rhyme or reason.  Some are still cloaked with velvety layers of green moss, and others have been dappled with white powder markings that a certain breed of individuals takes as a welcoming.  I leave my mystical notions of creation behind as I ready myself for why I am truly here.  Today; being my last and final farewell I have come to indulge within the natural beauty.  I have come to climb.  With my hands blanketed in chalk and my toes scrunched tightly within their shoes I can feel the sharp grip of my first hand hold.  My muscles clench and strain as I work my way strategically along the rock faces, dancing upon my tip toes and finger tips.  I am bewildered with distress as I fall to the ground below with a thud, but then I am met with an elated triumph as I stand atop each boulder hardened with accomplishment.  It is a personal relationship that I encounter while in my natural surroundings; in the wilderness of choice.  I am at peace and I can hear the clarity of my thoughts as my heart speaks.  There are no judgments passed or fears formulated; it is a world that I embrace and become everything that I have always intended to be.  I have been blessed to have found such an attraction, to have been able to open my heart, and to have been able to share a moment in time.

Even as I say Au revoir; I know that at some point I will return to bask in the beauty of Annot- my “European Love Affair”.

Regarding your next climbing travel adventure link here:

http://www.rockerclimber.de/index.php?Itemid=55&catid=34:climbing-a-bouldering&id=46:bouldering-in-annot-france&option=com_content&view=article

For more information regarding Annot and surrounding areas:

http://www.francethisway.com/places/annot.php

If you have similar stories, adventure or links to destinations; please feel free to share and add here in the replies.  I am more than keen to hear from everyone- especially of places I have yet to have visited and experienced.

I have recently been given a great deal of emotional grief; as if it were to come to me wrapped like a present from another.  Unfortunately the red bow that is draped across it is not to signify the holidays, but rather the pain that fills me.  The black paper that someone so elegantly wrapped it in, is actually the anger that controls me.  And as I open to see what is inside; the emptiness is as absorbing as my self doubt.  It is an overwhelming feeling that hinders me, but I am aware that in time the events of today will show me a new opportunity filled with positivity for tomorrow.

These are the feelings that have laid behind this pain, and what I have learned thus far…

The weight of a great tusked elephant sits upon my chest, constricting the ease of each breath and heart beat.  The enjoyment of simple thoughts have been replaced with a montage of confusion and bitterness, and  I stare aimlessly at a textured white wall adorned with an old fashioned hanging clock.  Chains drape from old toothed gears that meticulously keep their pace, and I absorb a slow rhythmic “Tick” as the gear lunges forward, and “Tock” as it settles into it’s nearest rung.  Ticking away; the wall clock drones on, beating monotonously into my deadened mind.  I am harassed by the way it can so casually continue forward second by second, hour by hour, day by day and never skip a beat.  I wonder how something can so effectively move forward in time; so true and never waver.  I finish this great mental painting with darkened sullen clouds hovering above my thwarted reality.  I cower in the corner of my depressed mind, hiding from any positive ambition of tomorrow becoming a new day.

Pain comes with many different masks, and never truly makes it’s presence known until the above feelings have control over each breath and every second of our existence.  It lingers within us; blinding us from the beauty within the continuing “moments” that lay in front of us.  Pain is not something that we should hide from, or fear to understand.  We should learn to embrace the tragic moments in which pain has been brought to us.  We should learn to treasure the story in which it wants to show us, even when the end is hidden from our comprehension.  I speak these words knowing that while within such a darkened embrace of life it is often extremely difficult to see such a positive.  As individuals; we are graced with the power of choice, and the ability to see opportunities hiding within all that is around us.  We are capable of seeing beyond the immediate pain, and understand who we want to become past this fallible moment.  In doing so we become more mindful of our role within the immediate moment and those leading on.  It is a choice that when one is ready they can chose to make, and begin to climb from the pitfall of such a burdening personal moment.

Today is not easy, tomorrow may not greet us in favor, but as we take the time to understand and become aware…..  Opportunities become endless.

All that lies between me and the realm of reality is to believe in my dreams.  Over the years I have been trained as a chef, I have a lustful passion for travel, and it is unprecedented when the two can align themselves into one reality.  A willingness to see an opportunity, being a chef for hire, and a passport in hand is all that was needed to accomplish this new journey.

I was startled awake as I felt the large rubber tires skipping off of the cracked asphalt that stretched out across the edge of the earth before it met with the warm Mediterranean waters.  My ears tried to comprehend the language that rattled from the speakers above my seat, but in my dreary state I abandoned all hopes of truly understanding.  I was herded down a long air conditioned corridor that was dressed with soothing printed carpets and smelled like the universal cleaning supplies of all governmental buildings.  I smiled as I peered out across the unfamiliar land lying behind the tall translucent panes of glass that divided me from a new stamp in my passport.  With a heavy handed thump from my French counterpart who sat stashed away behind a cold protective glass; a “bon jour” welcomed me into Nice.

My first steps onto the sun drenched pavers were met with hillsides that were littered with rust colored faded villas.  The streets wrapped around aimlessly like awkward woven spider webs and were cluttered with rambunctious drivers of all sorts.  As we followed the coastline 30 kilometers to Beaulieu Sur Mer I perched my chin on the cracked passenger side window, and gazed endlessly as silver ripples lapped against rocky beige beaches.  The car scuttled into the harbor that is now being occupied by many small fishing vessels, sail boats, and private yachts.  Is this is where my willingness of a new adventure has brought me?  I took my first steps in awe onto what I would be calling home and work for the mean time.  Amorazur II is a floating monstrosity consisting of 4 levels that are 50 meters long, furnished with fashionable living quarters, lounges, dining rooms, sun decks, and costing roughly $10 million.  In consideration of overall space, and kitchen gadgets my galley more than rivals many of the professional kitchens that I have worked within.  My “willingness” has tricked me once again.  I have now become a chef on a private super yacht in the south of France.  I say those words full of sarcasm for those of you that don’t know my humor.

My time here will allow a glimpse into an unfamiliar lifestyle of “yachties”, it will give me my first steps into a culinary pilgrimage that has been waiting since the purchase of my first cookbook, and it will continue to reinforce the idea that I can create my own reality on the breath of my dreams.  I believe that an infinite amount of opportunities exist continually around us, and that daily the possibilities are left at our feet.  With a set of open eyes and the willingness to believe; we can create far more than what we ever thought to be possible.

Those little bells from my alarm clock become overly annoying when the morning light still has not shown its awakening glimmer.  After a quick wipe of my dreamy eyes and a mint infused brush upon my teeth; I take my first staggering steps into the Mediterranean morning.  The dragging flip flop sound from my heels is all that fills Beaulieu Sur Mer’s pastel sunrise streets.  The subtle salty sea filled breeze washes over me as I make my way along the cobblestone alley to the corner cafe.  I am greeted with a hint of a glimmering eye and a whispering, ” Bon Jour”.  In my broken french dialect I greet my host and mutter a request for an espresso and croissant.  In my lucid dreamy state I am given a miniature white porcelain mug steaming with a bitterly sweet dark extraction and a crisp buttery work of art.  The first sip of coffee awakens my groggy morning spirit; bringing to light why I awoke from bed so early for this adventure.  While sitting at the street front table pulling apart my first bite of croissant; I found myself in a gastronomical wonderland.  This has become an accomplished stepping stone in my chosen foody lifestyle.  A crackle of the perfectly baked crust is followed by the pulling strands of a steaming doughy center.  I could smell the richness of butter before the first flakes ever touched my tongue, and as my lips encased the first supple bite - I fell in love with this French morning.

The obnoxious beeps ring loudly from my alarm clock as I thrash from my bed to turn it off.  I stammer with my thoughts wondering where I am or where I have come from.  The foreign dream has quickly escaped my reality, and I am left with recognition of another ordinary day.   As my eyes focus I stare at the metallic picture that garnishes my wall, and was the depiction of my dream- “Buddha and Thai metal prints; Chang Mai”.

Photographer; Christian Heeb has an eye for images that will transcend you to faraway lands with a simple glance.  Look into Christian’s incredible galleries via www.heebphoto.photoshelter.com or catch him at www.ccophoto.com where he and his wife, Regula have created the Cascade Center of Photography in Bend, OR.

Offer your comments in regards to Christian’s work or other travel photography below.

“Vagabonding is not a lifestyle, nor is it a trend.  It’s just an uncommon way of looking at life-a value adjustment from which action naturally follows.  And, as much as anything, vagabonding is about time- our only real commodity-and how we choose to use it.” Rolph Potts

He brings to light a different perspective of travel, professional drive, and quality of life standards.  He will be the first to point out that vagabonding is not for everyone, and should not be taken lightly.  However if you have ever felt the urge to travel abroad for an extended period of time, wondering where the road may lead, or what language you may be speaking tomorrow then this is a priority read for you.

If you have had the opportunity to read Vagabonding and have comments on it, or similar books I urge you to share with us all.  As well; if travels have helped you, or inspired you in some way I wish that you would share them in my comments below.  Thank you for participating in “My So
Called Moments”

A cloud of chalk envelopes me as I clap my hands visualizing my route along the bulbous stones that stand in front of me.  With my first grasp upon the textured rock it slightly cuts into my palms as if I were rubbing against sand paper.  My straining muscles slowly pull my feet from the ground, and I begin the problem in front of me.  With a deep breath in I move from one finger clenching hold to another, and with a deep breath out my feet follow.  It is a puzzle that lies in
front of me with no clear direction other than up.  Several moves from the top I am filled with a
slight uncertainty as my fingers strain to hold true to the stone.  My mind races as I contemplate letting go to fall to the safety pads below, but I soon look past the direct problem of fear and find an overwhelming calmness from within.  One more breath allows me to focus as my body moves with an assured agility reaching for the top.  A blind slap of my hand over the final hump locates the closing piece to the puzzle.  My fingertips anchor around a nub, and with all of my might I strain to pull myself over the top.

With an elated sense of accomplishment I gaze breathlessly over vast hillsides and into a pastel pink sunset.  The first drops of rain from the building storm moisten my hair and begin to trickle down my face.  The cool droplets are remindful of a champagne shower while standing on the champion’s podium, and standing victorious atop “Hunter’s Rocks” I was indeed.