One of my favorite break-of-day pastimes is sitting outside, embracing the coolest air of the day while listening to morning bird song, those ethereal tunes that soar with the soul on updrafts of joy, carrying my heart to consecrated heights. This morning, the only bird songs so far are the melancholic moans of the mourning dove, a song I've grown to dislike but not as much as I despise the honk of the Canadian Geese, probably more for the shit they leave everywhere when flocks congregate, more than their braying honk. But the bird and honk and shit are one and the same in the primitive centers of my mind, specifically the amygdala, triggering my fight, flight, or freeze response. Thankfully, my prefrontal cortex stays my hands from illegally wringing their slender, midnight-hued necks.

There are at least three states in the union I try to avoid because they are governed by Christofascists implementing policies such as book bannings, oppression of the sexually different, the blatantly unconstitutional imposition of Christian dogma in public schools, and other policies that would feel right at home in 1930s Nazi Germany. Avoiding Florida is easiest because it sits in isolation on the Southeast coast so crossing that flatland is unnecessary to visit other states. Besides, I've been there and the geography, other than the Everglades, is uninspiring. I was considering visiting Big Bend National Park at the second southerly hump in south Texas. I decided against the visit because it would mean spending significant money on lodging, gas, and food bolstering a state economy with grotesque policies I detest.

At the tail end of a twelve-hour tour beginning and ending in Dublin with stops at Belfast and Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, I was wiped and nodding off when our tour guide livened the tail end of the trip with an expository on Irish folklore. She pointed to a lone tree in a field and commenced to exposing a nuanced part of Irish history, some deridingly refer to as folklore, rife with potential danger to us listeners should we not heed her warning. A fan of mythology, I was intrigued.

Had this trip been undertaken prior to the Good Friday Agreement (or Belfast Agreement) of 10 April 1998, the Northern Ireland leg of the trip would have been skipped for fear of being collateral damage to car bombs and other violent sectarian activities. As it was, the two hours spent in Belfast seeing memorials and hearing the history from a person impacted by the Troubles, their term for the tumult, was, emotionally, easily my favorite part of the entire Ireland experience. I only wish it was much longer, like, the entire day longer. Even then I doubt I would have been satiated by the experience...

This will be my third international trip in just under two years. The two previous, Iceland and Colombia, did not really jazz me into pre-trip excitement. In my mind, they were nice places to visit but there was no real excitement leading up to the flight. Once touring, the time was enjoyable and enlightening but not as exciting as some of my previous international excursions to Turkey, Jordan, Sri Lanka, India, or Nepal. The common theme being the cultures extend deep into history long before the Americas were invaded and mangled by fortune seekers. I am excited to be visiting Ireland, Éire in the native language, a name derived from the Irish goddess Ériu meaning plentiful or abundant.

Because one of my wife's dogs is terrified of fireworks, they send her into shaking fits where her body vibrates with the intensity of a buzzing bee, we have skipped out of Chicago the past few years to stay at remote Airbnbs. In Chicago, the explosions start well before the holiday and last a few days after. A couple of times we stayed in Brodhead Wisconsin on a lake nestled in a forest, once we picked a lovely lake residence in Minnesota but that experience was ruined by incessant jetski noise destroying any chance at serenity until the dark of evening when skeeters emerged by the gazillions. This year we opted for a residence in Southcentral Illinois. It was a rustic cabin on a large ranch with manicured lawns between many trees and included a pond where I fished. For the most part, we stayed at the cottage basking in the peaceful natural environs that are so different from the everyday hecticness common to chaotic Chicago. I had ample time to sit on the patio with a pair of binoculars to view birds while I explored the inside of my head for hours each day via the magic of written meditations and the burning of incense to carry the meditations into the universe. The writing meditations were interspersed with fishing, another meditative activity. It was a glorious week, one I could live over and over again...

As is my ritual, I woke up early in the morning following a full day of travel from Chicago to Kauai, made myself a cup of Earl Grey sweetened partly with honey and partly with sugar, before setting up to write on the outdoor, covered patio with a grand view of the tropical surroundings. When I travel, it is vitally important to me that I spend part of each day reflecting on the experience otherwise much of the adventure is lost in the dead letter box of my mind. The interlude also helps me maintain my sanity.

I cannot honestly say I wanted to visit Hawaii. My wife tried to get me to go there a few times but I always kept her at bay by dangling other promising locations. I enjoy travel but, for some reason, and despite the Brady Bunch thoroughly enjoying themselves on Oahu, the thought of Hawaii did not appeal to me. Given a choice, I would much prefer a return to Belize or, perhaps, another island in the lovely Caribbean where the flight would not be very long and I could add another country stamp to my passport. This year, with time running out to use up her paltry handful of vacation days, I agreed to go to Kauai primarily so she could holiday with one of her dearest friends and her partner, a couple who had visited numerous times previously so knew the lay of the land and would be great guides helping us get the most out of time on Kauai, the oldest island in the archipelago. They were a good choice for travel companions.

Getting to our hotel in Bogotá did not go without a hitch. It was not as bad as the plane fiasco bringing us to Colombia from the United States, still, it was annoying. The hotel told us and we verified via emails that there would be a hotel driver picking us up at the airport. We went to the designated waiting and waited and waited and waited for more than an hour. We called the hotel but the phone was never answered. Finally, we took a taxi. I didn't mind waiting outside since the air was cooler, frigid by Amazonia standards, delightful by mine. It was the lack of promised service that was annoying and that they never answered the phone when I called multiple times. But that is the nature of international travel. At least, we were able to arrange alternate travel to reach the hotel. It was a pleasant, if sterile, accommodation.

Just getting to Colombia was brutal. The combined flights on United, my primary airline for over a decade, were supposed to have our feet down in Bogotá by 7:44 pm on the same day. Unfortunately, the first leg from Chicago to Miami was delayed due to a mechanical problem. The first delay would still allow us to make our connecting flight on Avianca Airlines, a partner carrier. A few delays later, we were well past the time necessary to connect. The service desk was able to reroute us from Miami to Houston via American Airlines where we would take our third flight finally arriving in Bogotá by 4:44am the following day. For some reason, they could not get us on the later Avianca flight despite it still having seats available.