.Sherowski Daily.

I have not been without a digital point and shoot camera for nearly a decade now. Digital photography suits me well because I’m lazy and also down for instant gratification. But I don’t know, I realized recently that sometimes there is no camera, and you gotta do what you gotta do. When my Panasonic Lumix got yanked halfway through my trip to Spain, I bought a disposable camera for ten bux—and rediscovered the joys of film. Maybe it’s the fact that this camera actually was from the 70s (it was coated in a thick layer of dust upon purchase), but somehow these shots have a genuinely “parents’ photo album” quality…  

By the time my nephew was two years old he knew that after every photo was taken he could peek at the shot on the back of the camera (welcome to the digital age!), but if I’d done that with this picture, I’d have discovered that my thumb was covering part of Iker’s body. Instead, it’s just a happy surprise! 

A morning hike through avalanche debris at Astun.

And the king-sized-kicker building that followed.

An ancient citadel in downtown Jaca, complete with moat and drawbridge. Those creatures lurking in the shadow are deer. 

The work day is over and we can be real damn tourists like everyone else.

Lord of the Ring clouds at Formigal.

Zac and Laura—a cute moment captured…

BARCELONA! 

I drank ice-cold coconut milk here. It was just like heaven…

Acoustic sweetness in the sunshine.

admin Uncategorized

After the Madrid camera heist we split for the mountains again. The sun had come out, the snow had settled, and it was time to get something done. We set up camp in the town of Jaca and explored new areas. It was all blazing alpine sun and windlips for days.  It sounds nice but even that got old after a while. Whiplash, dehydration, tapas overload, and travel-induced short tempers. The ten-day mark had come and gone. Time to start thinking about home.

(Due to lack of digital camera, I found this image of the spot we were at on the interwebs. Stunning, no?)

So yeah, we packed the cars and pointed them towards Barcelona, where once arrived we blew off steam with a humungous drunk night of sangria, wine, whiskey, et cetera, et cetera. There was singing, there was tap-dancing (I think), there was wandering through the old city’s cobblestone labyrinth clutching street beers bought for a Euro a piece from dark men with uni-brows. Creatures of the night would fall into step with us, whispering secretive offers in our ear … “Hashish, lady, you like to smoke marijuana?” and so on and so forth. We laughed, we cried, we got separated, but everyone made it back to their respective hotel rooms in one piece by morning.

Barcelona bathed in the morning sunshine upon my arrival two weeks ago.

And just when I started to worry about traveling all the way to Spain without once pulling out my skateboard, I found myself outside the famous Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art with four wheels in hand. Marble ledges, a big mellow bank, stair cases, a massive open flat-top, and several dozen skateboarders from all over the world—everyone peacefully doing their thing as students walked by clutching college texts and pigeons fluttered around looking for scraps. So awesome.

Anyway, I’m on the plane now and dreaming about clean sheets and Cougs. Time to sleep …

admin Uncategorized

So there I was with my paws clinching the grimy overhead bar on the packed Madrid subway, taking in a cornucopia of different body aromas and thinking about how bad my travel-seasoned body probably smells (until I caught a whiff of a real European armpit and then I didn’t feel so bad), when some swarthy guy with a backpack abruptly bumps into me. I look at him and mumble something like “excuse me” although of course it’s not my fault.

Back to thoughts of traveling and smells of the body and being a stranger in a strange land, when suddenly it’s our stop and I alert everyone to that fact as the train draws slowly to a halt. We make our move to get off, and suddenly swarthy guy shoves me hard from behind and before I have time to turn around and be all, “What the fuck?!” I’m on the platform and the doors are closing behind me. And that seedy motherfucker is on the other side of those doors getting carried off by the train to the next stop—with my camera and whatnot in his hot little hands.

Yeah it’s the oldest trick in the book. I got robbed on the subway in Madrid and now I’m sad and taking pictures with a disposable camera.

Oh well, life is still good and the open road still rules. But I’m definitely putting my money in my long socks for Barcelona, know what I’m sayin? Until I can get my disposable to Rite-Aid for a developing session, please enjoy a couple out-takes from my ramblings…

Pierre in a tree near Navacerrada. Filming might be his trade but he’s a nimble tree climber and quick with a woodsaw.

Awesome warning sign. Electrocution, it’s like getting a lightening bolt to the neck!

Eiki, exactly 60 miles from Madrid.

admin Uncategorized

It started snowing one day in Baqueira and didn’t stop, probably dumping four feet in 24 hours, and we had an all-time afternoon at an empty resort. But honestly, there was so much snow that eventually we started getting stuck going down the hill. You’d just be innocently riding along and then feel the nose of your board burrow a little too deep and feel that sinking feeling and then just … stop. An average of about ten sweaty, swear-word filled minutes of trying to outmaneuver the snow later, you’d be on your way again.

Hipster mustaches turn into walrus face when it’s puking down snow out of the sky. Zac knows.

I couldnt get enough of hanging out with this guy, but he didn’t want much to do with me. He was more of a “dog’s dog,” kna’mean?

We bushwacked through the underbrush for about 45 minutes one day. It was not that rad. I’m still finding branches in my jacket pockets.

Anyway, the avalanche danger was so high after the storm that we split for the city for a couple days to let the snow settle. We’re not trying to die or anything, right? So yeah, Madrid bound, we passed through deep windy canyons, sunswept fields with snowy peaks off in the distance, and finally, the gleaming metropolis of Madrid.

There is a whole world beyond the road. You have to park the car and get out, though.

Zac and Laura, beers in a field off the old A-6.

We caught sunset in Madrid. Awesome.

admin Uncategorized

7:26 a.m.above the clouds looks a lot different than 7:26 a.m. below the clouds.

Yep, two six hour flights with an entire row to myself, a jet-lagged whirlwind afternoon in Barcelona where we walked up and down La Rambla—the main shopping thoroughfare filled with street artists and pickpockets, and here I am up in Baqueira, a tiny town in the Pyrenees near the Spain/France border.

La Rambla.

Sagrada Familia by Gaudi—as seen from the “nightmare” side.

Zac and Pierre at the Aero Puerto.

Please appreciate the glory of this guy’s “German tourist” outfit: socks with sandals, pants under shorts, a vest for camera and cigarettes.Nearly perfect.

Anyway, we drove about five hours Northwest from the city to our mountain destination on Sunday, and when I wasn’t desperately trying to stay awake like that old cartoon with the bulldog who uses toothpicks to keep his eyes open, I was taking in the dusty countryside out the window—all rolling fields, old brick barns, and orchards laid barren for the winter.

The moon rose at dusk, and in the darkness we wound our way up a steep canyon with sheer cliffs falling away to the right. How far down it was to the water was only revealed when, every now and then, a metallic moonlit river popped out of the blackness hundreds of feet below.

Zac, spinning 900 degrees over a view of the highest mountain in the Pyrenees.

Eric, bottoms up with his first glass of caña, or “tap beer.”

Anyway, Spain so far? Just fine. It’s easy-style over here. People sleep till 10, and no restaurants serve dinner before 8 p.m. Plus, every meal is a three hour affair. Good livin’ if you ask me.

admin Uncategorized

Off to Spain for two weeks tomorrow morning…can’t wait. Above is an Osborne bull or “toro de osborn”—a 14-meter-high silhouetted image of a bull and the unofficial national symbol of Spain. In honor of my trip and of the legacy of the Spanish bull forced to die like a beast in a ring, I leave you with this Bukowski poem.

side of the sun
the bulls are grand as the side of the sun
and although they kill them for the stale crowds,
it is the bull that burns the fire,
and although there are cowardly bulls as
there are cowardly matadors and cowardly men,
generally the bull stands pure
and dies pure
untouched by symbols or cliques or false loves,
and when they drag him out
nothing has died
something has passed
and the eventual stench
is the world.

admin Uncategorized

It was spring today, did you feel it? Not just sunshine, but real warmth. A breeze instead of a wind, and on the air, something almost fresh. Something thawing out, something stirring—I’m not sure what. Time for adventure I think.

Oh, looking for something to listen to? Play this: John Phillips, “Someone’s Sleeping.” It was made for warm livable evenings like this. 

admin Uncategorized

“The great thing is when something good hasn’t time to be spoiled.”

admin Uncategorized