10 Days

The last 10 days or so have been lived at quite a breakneck pace. I've said farewell to Barcelona and am now in the later stages of a return to the West Coast that has included, so far, stops in Berlin, Paris and County Clare, Ireland, and an impending stop in Boston for a trade show for work.

Saying goodbye to Barcelona was a surreal and emotional experience. I can and will write pages about it, later. Yet, trying to go into minuet detail about my journey through Germany, France and Ireland would take equally as long. So for now, just some random highlights and musings about changing my longitude, and latitude for that matter, over the past 10 days...

Having traveled all the way to Berlin to watch the World Cup, never in a thousand years would I have imagined watching the German team win the third-place game from the deep end of a pool. But that's exactly what I did with my friends Malte and Sarah my first night in Berlin. Germany set up "public viewing areas" all over the country for the Cup. Most were in public parks or squares. But I got to see the German fans go buck wild watching their team in a 100-year-old bathhouse. Someone thought it would be a cool idea to drain the pool, drop in a huge projection TV, encircle the pool with foosball tables and set up some chairs and beanbags that used the pool's slope to create a natural stadium seating effect. They were right. By halftime, instead of fighting our way through the crowd to reach the restroom topside or the bar in the shallow end of the pool, we realized the fastest way to the bar or restroom was to actually climb up and down the pool ladder in the deep end. Way to go Germany!

Not having enough money to scalp a ticket to the World Cup Final was a small bummer, but the voyage from downtown Berlin all the way out to the Olympic Stadium was worth it nevertheless. Seeing people from every continent on the planet – save for maybe Antarctica -- smiling and celebrating TOGETHER was something to behold.

There is something very odd, yet exhilarating about feeling the sand between your toes when you walk into an open-air beach bar... one in a vacant lot and one overlooking a river... BOTH times smack dab in the middle of Berlin. Talk about two worlds colliding.

And now that I am 30 years old, its nice to know that I can still party til 8 o'clock in the morning at the above mentioned vacant-lot/beach-bar with the young kids. Something tells me that was a once-every-four-years-ONLY-for-the-World-Cup-Final-performance. And you all thought France and Italy were the only ones that went to extra-time that night?

Currywurst and French fries for lunch every day in Berlin? So bad, but sooooo good!

Trains in Europe are amazing melting pots. Where else can you meet a Senegalese soccer player who used to play for Feyenoord in Holland and a Malaysian couple who "swear" they had no idea the World Cup was going on when they booked their tickets to Europe?

Whether it is Berlin, or Paris after a night train arrival, watching big European cities "wake-up" at dawn is better than any socioeconomic lecture the greatest academics could ever hope to give.

Berlin is slowly and steadily developing "it."

Paris still has "it."

After five years and numerous trips, I finally got to play soccer on the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower. I've longed to play there since July 3, 2001. That day was the first of a three-month adventure backpacking through 15 countries in Europe, so my practical side choose not to play out of fear of breaking an ankle or something and being left to backpack my way on crutches. All my other trips were during the winter or for other purposes, like getting engaged! It's simply the beautiful game in one of the world's most beautiful places. Oh, and the Tunisian, the Frenchman and the American whooped the three Spaniards from Madrid, 5-3.

The weather has been so fantastic that I actually had to put on sunscreen hanging out by the Eiffel Tower at 10 a.m. I then had to re-apply more sunscreen seven hours later ... IN IRELAND!!!

All the sunshine has allowed me to confirm one thing. "Burned Brits" is not just a Barcelona thing. England's navy was once the most feared armada on our planet. They are still probably one of the most-respected global powers. They once criss-crossed the globe to bring the finest teas back to jolly ol' England. Given all that, somehow the invention and usage of sunscreen is something that Brits just can't seem to grasp.

Even better is the fact that my sweet Eurotrash mullet is flowing so long and graceful that I don't even have to put sunscreen on my neck!

Nothing beats the quality of strangers you meet in hostels.

Doolin is getting bigger and, so far, better.

While it saddens me to learn that an old friend I made in Doolin has passed away, I have a sneaky suspicion he went out with a bang.

The music at McGann's is indeed legendary … but the food is catching up.

The Guinness really is better the close you get to Dublin.

Watching Doolin wake up is about as incredible as Paris and Berlin. A cup of coffee, a cinnamon and raisin scon, and a stroll down Fischer Street is truly a slice of paradise. Except since everyone was grooving to the craic the night before, the "waking up" doesn't really happen until about 10 a.m. Not a sound spoils the beauty of the rolling emerald hills and bright morning sun.