Post Archive


Here you can find every post from Jack's Journal, even the ones I've hidden! 

On our last full day, we decided to get out of the city and went for a hike outside the Royal Residence. We spent nearly all day and afternoon out there wandering the paths and woods. It wasn't an especially rigorous hike, but we both enjoyed our time away from the hustle and bustle of city life after the past several weeks. Plus, Jo managed to have us stumble upon the Civil Guard's K-9 training center.

The war has gone on for more than nineteen months, and resulted in tens of thousands of civilian casualties, mostly Palestinian. As of this writing, there is no end in sight, as neither side is willing to budge on its war aims or political objectives.

It is my morning ritual during the fiesta: awake early, drink a double espresso around the corner from the hostel, and read the morning paper. I'm specifically reading the section related to the bulls and bullfights for the day. The Diario de Navarra publishes the pictures, ranches, and weights of the six bulls that will run through the streets in less than two hours.

Our hike started on dirt farm roads where local villagers tilled their fields and built their homes. That part of the hike was hot under the Cambodian sun. The French couples burned quickly under its oppressive rays. They hadn't heeded the warning to cover their shoulders, wear long pants, and wear proper shoes instead of sandals. I, on the other hand, was roasting by the time we reached the jungle. Hot and sweaty, but fortunately not burned.

Prisoners from the front were moved to the Risiera, interrogated, and transported elsewhere for their wartime internment. Not all of them made it, however, as prisoners who died under torture or who were deemed undesirable to Nazi authorities were cremated on site. When the Allies invaded Italy, the Nazis retreated, destroying the crematorium and other parts of the Risiera in the process. Like the death camps, there could be no evidence of their crimes for Allies to find.

I knew this story from Sunday School as a child, but I had long chalked it up to theological parable.  Standing in the great theatre, I could no longer ignore that the riot was real.

Iraq. A combat zone. A geopolitical flashpoint between the U.S. and Iran. The only place I’ve ever been shot at. Naturally, the perfect destination for The Great Gallivanting.