Breaking Free
Page 22
Since there is a wide interconnection of silver metros above the roads, with spray painted catchphrases on its sides, I hop on one of those for a quick visit to the Sears Tower. Nowadays under another name it will always be that skyscraper with the iconic antennas, with over five hundred meters in height, poking holes in the ozone layer. In a specially designed elevator, you’re launched to the top in but nine seconds. Here one can marvel at the spectacular view from the hundred and third floor. Fading horizons in the far distance are at least as captivating as the other grey-colored high-rise down below. For those not afraid of heights they constructed glass cubicles on the exterior of the building, creating the illusion as if you are soaring in the sky. It was definitely worth the few dollars to go up there.
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On later trips to the northern parts of the Americas, I often pause in this city for a few days. Its mixture of vibrant and antique styles has made it one of my favorites. To be fair it is a little bit too liberal-minded for my taste nowadays, and there is a lot of criminal activity which is an absolute shame due to so many things it has to offer. From theatre and talented musicians downtown to the engaging architecture of buildings like the train station, continuing to great parks and the shores of Lake Michigan and so much more. During my stay this particular time the agenda is unexpectedly filled with a lot of interestingness, but for now, I will highlight one funny event, so this chapter can come to a closing.
A few blocks away a small crowd gathers in front of a sizable window. With my curiosity aroused, I worm my way to the front until my nose nearly presses against the glass. Three reporters in suits are sitting behind a colored desk with bright neon lights. In front of them an entire camera crew are in action with all the fusses about them. When I ask bystanders what is happening it appears some popular sports network is on-air. Citizens come to watch the weekly sports scores being filmed and broadcasted live from this location. Both sides of the studio hosts huge screens where we as spectators outside can directly follow everything. All of a sudden the cameras turn around to point directly at the street audience with me standing at the front, meaning I am full in the picture. There you have it, not even half a day in the United States and already on national television! Everyone chants and screams in excitement for the entire world to see. Except for me, standing there I cannot help thinking, shit I hope she’s not watching right now! Ironically almost blowing my own cover.
Walking past neat apartment complexes in residential areas, I feel the heat from the day gets more intense by the minute. Right above my head the summer sun throws down pressing rays. In addition, the weight from water bottles recently added to my luggage is starting to take its toll. In the middle of the day I am increasingly getting tired, even extremely tired. Due to the time difference it’s already night at the place I just came from, over in Turkey. Not yet forsaken by the angels, destiny finds me a spot to crash in the late Sunday afternoon, right next to the lake. Because the days of John Gotti are long gone, I feel comfortable enough to stay outside. Even though they are easily as big as rats with evenly sharp teeth I pay little attention to the excess of squirrels in the patches of grass around. Sliding my backpack, still screened by a layer of dust from the Middle East, beneath a picket bench I can finally close my heavy eyes. Babbling billows lull me into a deep sleep soon after.
By the time it is pitch black I am swiftly woken by an incredibly bright light. So bright that it makes it impossible to open my eyes. When I am finally able to spawn a slight squint, I recognize the black uniforms with golden insignias instantly. Two police officers are shining their flashlights right in my face, holding the things as if they’re ready to club me down any moment now. Where did I experience this before? Whilst questioning me, they lead me to the police car where I am put into the backseat. Just great. Who else manages to end up in a police car on the first day of being in another country? Little did I know; the madness had just begun.
Afterword
So that was it for now. How to properly end a string of tales anyway? To know the last page of these writings is certainly not the end of the story. One might argue if a story ever truly ends in the first place. If only people keep reading and talking about it, it may actually live forever. Stories are created by dreamers, and daring to dream involves risk. Start your own search for true happiness and begin today.
Throw your television set out of the window in order to put a halt to the lies and indoctrination. Set yourself free from the utter nonsense that kills brain cells and leaves you bitter and spiritually poor. Go easy on eating pork because it’s ruining your body and infects your soul, and while you’re at it, try to hold back on the E-numbers as well. It might be a major change. You don’t have to be a tree-hugging loony to take care of yourself. Don’t be afraid of rejection or kicking useless friends out of your life who aren't real ones to begin with. What do you have to lose? Nothing. What can you gain? Precious time to invest in yourself and things that matter. If done in a natural way, working out in the gym will actually make you a better person. And for the love of God, make up your own ideas instead of letting others decide for you. Sitting home depressed, watching your life go by, or going to waste, is a destructive suicidal thing that drags you down into depths rather avoided. People who had a long and fruitful life hardly regret the things they did, yet they do regret the things they didn't do.
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Being born into a family that never believed in me, where enthusiasm was mocked, creativity ridiculed and fantasy scoffed at, it was a long and heavy journey to break free from all that negative energy, for the lack of a better term.
When I was about ten years old I hitchhiked for the first time. That day I drifted from home quite a bit as a narrow trail led me to stroll along dense reed shorelines of a big lake. As usual, my eyes were set to find bird skulls and real treasures, so much so this particular time that I didn’t notice massive thunderclouds rolling in. When lightning began I realized there was nowhere to hide in the unprotected open fields. At a nearby highway I put my little unsuspecting thumb up in the hope to escape the armageddon upon me. Moments before the weather would turn savage a couple pulled over in the smallest car you’ve ever seen. I will never forget it, behind the wheel sat a man with a long dark ponytail, silver rings in both ears, a black leather vest and his arms tattooed. Next to him an old lady with long grey hair, looking like a stereotypical witch. It took a few seconds for my curiosity to prevail over the hesitation. Seldom did I meet such lovely people though, a bit weird perhaps, but lovely. Once home, my parents were clearly more angry I got into a stranger’s car than relieved I was back safely. Not a sign of concern nor compassion. It’s because of this reaction I don’t hitchhike even a single time in the following fifteen years.
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Every once in a while you find a real home in unsuspected corners. For example, back in the early fall of 2003 I happened to be in the Swiss country side on the border with France. Leaving wooden mini villages behind I am getting ready to climb a certain mountain at the foot of the Alps. It seems a well-considered thought to ask to fill up my water bottles at a small farmhouse next to a green field with fenced-in horses. When she notices my stuttering as I try to find the right words in French, the lady of the well-maintained house shifts to German, a language we both happen to speak quite decently, when required. Chatting away about my planned solo ascension and the reason why I am dressed in a camouflaged army uniform (for me and my friends loved to have survival weekends in the woods) it turns out her daughter had communion that very morning. It is Sunday and the whole family just came back from church. Now seated at a long table with spotless white sheets, cutlery of real silver and a surplus of traditional local dishes. Although feeling a bit awkward and out of place I accept her spontaneous invitation to the celebration. Shy children observe the intruder from across the table until the first one approaches. It doesn’t take very long to be surrounded by them, all wanting to take a picture with me.
One d
elicious lunch later the lady of the house starts off a serious conversation, leading up to her asking me about my dreams. By now it’s just the two of us in a different part of the beautiful spacious overgrown garden. Unknowingly being three years away from the actual event, I open up and share I am going to Tibet to climb Mount Everest. This is on my agenda and nothing can make me deviate from this goal. Completely contrary to the patronizing responses I’m used to, she says the following that I will carry in my heart for the rest of my life: “Send me a message when you’re there”, meanwhile writing her contact information on a piece of paper. Wait, what? From the undeniable determination in her voice I know instantly she has put all her faith in me. Almost choking up, I detect not even the slightest glimmer of cynicism. She recognized the passion in my eyes. Perhaps for the first time in my life I feel as if someone really believes in me and my capabilities. Bizarre to get such encouragement from a total stranger.
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Speaking about reaching goals, a prominent recent one is aiming to inspire others with my story. Hopefully you enjoyed reading my comprised endeavors, and join me in continuing where I left off in the next upcoming volume!
Always forging plans for future travels there is plenty to research or dream about. But first things first, every journey starts with finding the means to be independent. Some travelers choose to solely rely on hospitality of locals, disrespectfully draining them in the process. In my proverbial book there is no escaping of having to work and save. And actually, I kind of like it like that. Funding yourself gives no greater satisfaction when spending it on new experiences in far-away cultures. Already making preparations for the next incredible journey I can’t wait to do what I do best. I think deep down inside I will always be that little child, sitting in the seat on the back of my mother’s bicycle, ready to escape to explore the world.
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To be continued…
Thank you
Dear Reader
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Having written Breaking Free means a lot to me, and I feel grateful for the many positive comments I have received so far. I would greatly appreciate it if you could possibly post a short review.
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Thanks a lot in advance!
Jeffrey
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I will soon be releasing part 2
in the series Good To Go:
Beyond the Equator.
About the Author
So far Jeffrey Vonk has travelled over 60 countries, and authored three books, two of which from the series of Good to Go!
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Coming from a Dutch working-class family, he started out as a carpenter, got himself certified as an outdoor sports instructor and made it to university through pure determination.
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Although Jeffrey loves being at home writing, realizing his dreams of tasting new cultures is what he does best. Ever-yearning for raw adventure, the icy trails of Mount Everest are not unknown to him, as well as meeting up with members of Hezbollah in the Middle East, or experiencing a Peruvian jail cell from the inside.
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Traversing the arena of the world on foot, motorcycle, or even horseback, being on the road is the sole passion of his heart.
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Getting himself into trouble at times, as a modern-day Marco Polo he follows in the footsteps of the first true explorers.
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Do you wish to know where he sets his foot next?