El Diaro Che

Poverty is forced passiveness. To be wealthy is to be able to live life aggressively.
And this kind of wealth should never be forsaken and unappreciated, wasted, or lost.

Ernesto "Che" Guevara as a pop culture icon bothers me. My adoration of Guevara is not based on the concept of him as a counter-culture, fuck-the-man, martyred-by-the-CIA figure. Guevara is a symbol of what it means to explore, to set out on the open road, and to be touched by people. He is the one who said "Let the world change you, and you can change the world." And he did. He really did change the world. It was for a short time, but he fought and won a revolution. He led resistance in the Congo and in Bolivia. He was the ultimate destroyer of systems, ignorer of structures, inspirer of masses. It was convenient that the slang of his country allowed him to wear such a populist nametag as che -- dude, buddy, friend. At how ironic that such a name would always highlight his roots in South America's most European country. How fitting that he wore that badge, the blood of the Spaniards so strong in his veins, while fighting for the cause of the single, mestizo race of Latin America.

Guevara was the ultimate traveler, couchsurfer, idealist, visualizer, thinker, dirtbag. He should be studied for his thoughts, his journal-keeping, his experiences, his goals. He is not a lesson in failed populism, CIA intervention, halted revolution, or narrow-minded idealism. Guevara is a lesson in the value of the journey, the importance of the daydreamer, the power of the open heart. Those lessons would do everyone a lot of good.

He changed the world, and it all started with a backpack and the road.

Summer Time (And The Livin's Easy)

Life in Vancouver has certainly not gotten off to any kind of modest start. Besides the epic road trip which marked the beginning of my transition to life here, the first week in BC was incredibly eventful. For starters, my road trip companion was around for the first two days. She had that "see it all while I can" attitude that only visitors can really maintain. We hiked in Stanley Park, tried various restaurants, befriended bartenders, checked out the art museum, saw the zombie parade, went shopping, and explored some of the funkier parts of town. Then she left, and I dissolved into a pool of my own conflicting emotions: excitement, apprehension, ambition, fear, happiness, loneliness...

After only a day or two of wallowing in that strange space between visitor and local, I got back on my feet and resumed the project of exploring this town. I made some friends, ran errands, demystified the public transportation system, and stopped carrying my guidebook and map with me every time I left the house. I climbed onto my bike and charged up the 15 block hill towards downtown, intent on exploring the massive campus at the University of British Columbia, which has more preserved green space than Stanley Park. My ambitious plan was thwarted after more than 100 blocks, though, when an oblivious driver opened her car door directly into my handlebars. My bike went flying, and so did I. Amazingly, I have only some nasty bruises and a sore hand to show for it. (Yes, I was wearing my helmet.) My bike is even undamaged. But my temporary hosts convinced me to contact the insurance company of British Columbia, as reporting all accidents involving autos is mandatory. I feared the driver, who not only tried to blame the incident on me but also gave me the finger as she stormed away, would try to file a claim against me for damage to her car door. To protect myself, I made a statement with the insurance company first.

I didn't expect anything to come of it, I just wanted my story to be on record. But protocol led me to an appointment with a claims adjuster, who took my story and listened to my tale attentively. He encouraged me to request reimbursement for my costs. The bandage for my hand cost $5, and he said he'd reimburse me for that. I laughed, but he was serious. Never has an insurance company so begged me to ask them for money. At one point during the meeting he even said, "Well, you've got a great attitude about this, and I like to give presents to people with good attitudes." I am not sure what he was insinuating with that remark, but I hope it means I'll be somehow compensated for my inconvenience even though I haven't filed a claim. I'm sure he's just trying to keep me from going to court, since that would cost the insurance company way more than a little settlement, but I have no intentions of filing a claim, let alone suing. I suppose the gods are smiling down on me.

Hopefully, the good vibes that have characterized my first week and a half here will continue to set the flow for the coming weeks. I move into my apartment this weekend, and school starts a few days after. The pace of life will certainly be changing, but hopefully not too much else. Well, I guess I could hope for a little better weather. It's been unseasonably cool for the past few days: a welcome change when compared to D.C.'s 90-something and humid summer, but still a bit harsh for August. Things will never be perfect, but so long as the weather is the worst thing I have to complain about, I'll go ahead and say they are.