The drive to SLC through snow and rain was less then cool, and I almost died, but it led me to my flight destined for Geneva. Thank the gods again I have good friends in Salt Lake who are kind with me, because otherwise, I may have not lived through the leg of travel. I could leave my car with my homeboy Isaac, stay at the home of another person named Dave (always cool) and go on my merry (ha!) way. Its been eight years I am doing this now, traveling I mean, and obviously after the last trips within America, I was not feeling rested or motivated, but in shape. Naturally, as the journey began it seemed cool, I was chanting my mantra Chad taught me to be cool, look nice, be a G, and for good reason, as it saved my ass in when I learned that all my next five flights where delayed by at least 5 hours, and I was now flying to Russia (not!). This brought me to airports I never thought I'd see, and I tried to take pleasure meandering through planes, and airports littered with Chaos and debris from the human race.

As always, I wondered if it was possibly me who was influencing the situation so poorly, a telepathic transmission of bad luck on all things I encounter? No. I realized that probably wasn’t possible, and ordered myself a cafe latte in Frankfurt, Germany, which made me sick. Starbucks of course, and it cost 9 bucks. Lesson learned. Wisdom gained. Great success. Nothing sci-fi happened as I arrived at my final destination (a center for international politics by the way), which was extremely disappointing. I would have loved to have landed in Geneva and a Longolier-esque/ Twenty Eight Weeks Later/Mist scenario could have ensued but, no. Nothing for Dave, no crazy shit, just people looking freaky, all moving in herds and generating lots of noise that felt like a compromise.

I thought about the Island, got my bags from the giant moving wheels, and threw them directly on the ground as I always do when I get them back from the cargo Mafia. Locating my chalkbag, I chalked up out of habit, got my special black phone out for Europe, and was satisfied everything seemed in order. People were staring at me as always, but since "I just don't give a fuck", to quote one of my favorite songs, it was cool. Enough dilly-dallying I decided, and I was off. Moving forward and forever onward I picked up all my shit and put it on a cart, simultaneously marking my 36th hour of transition. I passed border controls with flying colors, won a stamp and touristic human rights. Then discovered my rental car. All systems were go; I spoke French again, and oddly after my 8 month sabbatical from the language, I could swear I knew more words, and spoke even more French.

Satisfied, all I had do to at that point was fill the cat up with gas and drive, I felt tired. I rolled a cigarette, hoped in the car, smoked it and felt sick as death. Life is a mysterious thing. After driving to my destination, having some nice Swiss cafe, I slept, awoke, and started to regroup for a day or two in the Valais. As some of the coolest friends I have in the world live here, it was a blast, and I made my jet lag feel pathetic and weak. It couldn't touch me. I charged up on good vibes, and prepared for the next leg of my itinerary. The drive was swift. Seven hours and I was there.