Post Archive


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

Therein lies the element of faith. Did Jesus really feed 5,000 people with just five loaves and two fish? Did John really preach and die in Ephesus? Is Christianity truly superior to Hellenism? The truth is, we don’t really know and likely never will. Archaeology and history are soft sciences, and without a time machine, we can only make an assessment of what actually happened. But I answered those questions with some of my own.

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.

It has been a slow week. That's been the case since I finished writing and editing my book. I've spent a lot of time sitting around watching Hulu and YouTube. I hate being lazy like that, but I'm also keeping an eye on my daily budget. I have plans for the future that require some extra money. That's not a complaint; it is just the reality of the situation.

I've travelled around and talked to a lot of people in my two years abroad. Inevitably, at some point in the conversation, I get asked "What's up with your country?" The United States' unique economic, defence, and political position in the world gives us a lot of pull, but it also makes people think about us. Like learning the English language, the more someone tries to learn about the American way of things, the more they get confused.

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.

"How do you afford it?" The answer is as simple as it is unglamorous: financial discipline. Not hacks, not complicated investment strategies, not collaboration with influencers, just good old fashioned discipline.

Border controls like this one are a fact of life for long-term travellers like me. As Americans, we have an idealised view of what international travel looks like as we take our annual two-week vacation to popular tourism destinations. We are often waived through without serious inspection, our tourism dollars more valuable than customs regulations. I wasn't visiting tourism hotspots; I was visiting countries both on and off the beaten path.

American influence is waning. Our word is no longer law, our policies no longer universally revered, and there is little appetite for a resurgence of American interventionism in the name of freedom. Nor necessarily should there be. Our domestic social division undermines our ability to play world police and prop up governments who share our aspirations, but that doesn't mean we don't have a role to play. Our ideals and democratic values are still very much alive...

Watching the spectacle before me, I realised it was the first time I had seen something die before me in person. This wasn't a movie, video game, or a thought experiment. Death was real in the ring.

In running, I lived life not just to the fullest but to its potential end, less than a macabre call for help than living life all out, or at least as much as I could without staring a bull down in the bullring later that evening.

The vast majority of Iraq lived in relative peace. Militant factions remained, but they were in the minority and largely focused on opposing the Western military presence rather than targeting international tourists.

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.

In the post-October 7th world, the term "Zionist" became a widely-used, poorly understood slur. Anyone who condemned October 7th or affirmed Israel's right to defend itself was labelled a Zionist whose opinions should be wholly discounted.

I am an American, and I fell in love with tauromaquia...

It seems the perfect day to launch my new column - Dispatches. Today is a day of reflection, celebration, and positivity, not just in terms of faith, but life.

There are few places I feel at home these days. Home has taken on a different meaning for me since I started my travel journey. The Sahara is one of those places. From the Atlas to the Tenere, Morocco to Egypt, Ribats to Cathedrals, the Nile to the Niger, the Sahara is a place that makes sense to me, welcomes me in, and provides a refuge that few back home can understand.